#strap in folks we’re going for a Ride

[jorvikzelda]

in case you ever wondered who the most predictable person in the world is it’s zelda with a crush. will NOT fucking shut up about it like literally ever, if you are my friend you Will hear about it and it Will be constant and yes it Will be annoying. and yes, i Will be useless about it

[yourlocalartsonist]

MFIP (and life) UPDATE✨✨

1/13/25 | Update 3 | Next Update | Last Update

Oh-ho-ho notice how I didn’t have “monthly” in the title this time~ Yeah, we’re not doing these that frequently anymore. I realized I have a lot going on, and MFIP doesn’t really have progress done every single month; I’m writing a fic, so it’s even harder to show progress without spoiling shit honestly, and I don’t make a new art piece every month. I’m still gonna be doing these updates, though! They’ll happen every 3-4 months—not including hiatuses—so I’ll actually have stuff to share with you guys and not have to worry about scraping for dimes.

Anywhizzle, today’s update is gonna be a long boi, and I wanted to just yap about what was going on this semester in general. I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty for not working on the fic as much as I wanted to, but I still wanna give you guys an explanation as to why I randomly disappeared for a good few months. Unlike what I usually do however, Imma start with the life bullshit this time instead having it at the end. We’ll get to the actual progress update afterwards, and boy oh boy was progress made. So strap in for the ride folks!

Now Presenting: “What The Fuck Happened To You⁉️”

Okay, so, I’m a little bit of a dumbass—

Dudes if any of you are gonna start college or are currently in college, please think twice before making the same mistake as me. Last semester during the fall, my teeny tiny little apeshit brain thought it would be a good idea to enroll in six courses, four of which are online.

“I can handle it!” I thought, “How bad could it be~” And much like the Onceler, I got motherfucking humbled.

See, I dunno if it’s different anywhere else but for my college, online classes typically mean you get a fresh new load of work to do and hand in every week. Two of the classes my little Einstein heart enrolled for AS ELECTIVES were Criminal Justice and Creative Writing. Ya know! For fun! It’s not like I was enrolled in Calculus Level 2 and the Calc 2 Lab Class for my career requirements at the same time as those or anything—Oh, wait.

Anyways, me being the little genius I was thought that wasn’t enough, and enrolled in two more elective classes. To give myself some credit, one of those classes was Geography which would be a very easy grade. To immediately take that credit back, the other class was Physics: Energy and Environment literally because they wouldn’t let me enroll in an actual Physics class until the Spring semester and my moronic ass was impatient, so gave myself a supplement💀

As you can probably tell, I had massive regrets lmao. The workload was extremely hefty considering both Creative Writing and Criminal Justice had a LOT of reading and writing; both classes would have around 3-4 assignments due for each class at the end of the week. The Physics class took place hella late in the day twice a week, so I’d have to get all that work done before that class started ‘cause I’d be way too exhausted to do anything afterwards.

It was a living hell.

I was working on studying and homework almost every single day for hours on end. Being real with y’all, it added to a lot of stress and irritation, and admittedly a few breakdowns where I legitimately had to just cry to relieve the stress. It’s why I hope no poor soul bites off more than they can chew in a moment of overconfidence or just poor judgement the way I did ‘cause man that semester was so rough. I actually love college too, so getting me to dread it meant I def fucked up with choosing classes. Needless to say, I barely got to work on MFIP for four months. Progress was slow, if any at all.

I’ve talked about this before too, but my mom’s a breast cancer survivor and I’m an only child. Since my dad’s the sole breadwinner, I’m the only one who can take care of my mom. AKA on top of all the pressure from college, I had to manage doctor appointment after doctor appointment, and it only adds up to more chaos as more doctors have to get involved.

BUT HEY!

I got through it in the end! And without withdrawing from any of my classes or getting a low grade! So the torture is thankfully over and I now know to literally never do that again for as long as I live— Now that it’s winter break though… 👀

🎉CONTENT TIME BABYYYYYYY🎉

So the good news of all of this is once winter break hit I uhhhhh got silly.

DUDES you won’t believe the sheer level of fucking insanity that took place once I was finally able to finish this semester, go on break, and actually write. I uh…

I finished Chapter 10 in two days🦐

Yeah I uh finished the fucking chapter in two days I am not shitting you. My ass went on break, sat down, and accidentally finished this long ass chapter that’s above 11K words within two days. It’s even funnier because I was tweaking so badly to work on MFIP the entire semester that once I finally sat down, I figured out exactly what I want to happen all throughout the rest of the arc. To properly explain, Imma just say how I usually work on my chapters.

I don’t actually have an organized outline for MFIP! I have a Google Docs full of ideas and certain beats I know I want the story to hit, and I generally know in my head what’s gonna happen. The details are what I figure out as I go, it’s like improv but for writing. Why don’t I just make a proper outline for the story? Because my brain genuinely can’t work that way for MFIP🦐✨ I’m not sure why; it’s not like I suck at outlines or anything, but MFIP just gets overcomplicated when I try to make an outline for it. There are so many different threads all tying back to each other that the only way I can properly comprehend it is by trusting what’s in my head.

I’m not going into detail to avoid spoiling, but I know exactly what most of the story is gonna be. I have an endpoint in mind, albeit one that’s very far into the future.

I knew what was gonna happen in the end of Arc One all the way from when I started the first chapter. That’s why the entire arc is building up or spiraling down to the events of Chapter 14. The difference is, now know 90% of the details for each of the remaining chapters too! It basically means I’ll have a very smooth writing process ‘cause all I have to do for these final chapters is to write them.

I’ve completely finished Chapter 10 and am currently around 5K+ words into Chapter 11.

Once my team finishes editing it, it’ll be published here and on AO3 as usual. I’m anticipating for it to come out sometime in late February!

HOWEVER, THERE’S ✨MORE✨MOTHERFUCKERRR

💥ONESHOTS💥

THAT’S RIGHT! We’re getting canon Oneshots along with the chapters! I’ll be posting them in a specific order, but I’ll say between which chapters the Oneshot takes pace in the author’s note so y’all can keep track easier~

The Oneshots will vary in POV. Sometimes it’ll be Salena, sometimes someone else.

I’ll make it obvious which character it is if it’s a relevant character at all but I’ll also, once again, leave the info in the author’s notes! We’re not tryna recreate FNAF here-

They’re a cool way to show more content to the story that’s either too short to fit a chapter, or just not from Salena’s perspective. They don’t HAVE to be read in order to understand the story of MFIP, but they do add a lot more substance to the events that transpire. It’s like peeling back to see another layer and more context.

The first oneshot Dear Moon will release soon after this update!

It might even release the next day, honestly. I really can’t wait for you all to read them! I think they turned out really well ;w;

✨To Art, or Not To Art? That Is the Question✨

Yeah I’ve been a bit indecisive on the whole art in the Updates thing

I’m not gonna post any art for this Update bc it’s already getting like WAY too long, but I’m debating the whole thing altogether. I don’t really think it’s necessary, and I would much rather make art its own separate posts on Tumblr and yap about ‘em there. It’ll def take off the pressure of creating a new art piece to talk about considering this is a fanfic not a comic. Otherwise my ass was scavenging through procreate for art like a hyena scavenges for meat💀 I might try out showing off all the art I posted here and link to the posts where I yap about them.

It’ll be like a gallery for all the pieces made between the Updates~

I think it’ll be more fun to post stuff that way instead, and also reduce how much I procrastinate with these Updates—

And That’ll Be All Folks~!

I think that’s everything for this Update. You guys have no idea how happy I am to FINALLY be back😭

Classes start again for me in around a week, but I’ll probably still have time to create stuff so won’t need a full blown hiatus again. It’s gonna be a bit tricky since my classes are very math-heavy and intense this semester, but I tried being smarter about my schedule to not overwhelm myself.

So yeah, I’ll keep working on MFIP and posting whenever I can! I’m so excited to finish off Arc One of the story and finally get to the part I’ve been building up to for around two years now. Only five more chapters to go~!

Some last little reminders!

Dear Moon Oneshot will be out within this week

“Are You Free Tomorrow?” Oneshot will be out sometime in late February

MFIP Chapter 10 will be out on the soonest Friday within that same week of February

ROTTMNT: Moths Fly In Packs

[seat-safety-switch]

In my neighbourhood, there used to be a hospital. Eventually, the government decided that it was “too old” and had to go. Dangerous, they said. Obsolete, they said. Can’t afford to have sick people in it, they explained. And then the building just sat there, empty, rather than being full of doctors helping people. This story is not about healthcare, or even about the time that I had to drive myself to the other, worse hospital across town while holding my own gaping wound closed with a ratchet strap held in my teeth. It’s about urban exploration.

For those of you unaccustomed to the word “urban,” simply replace it with “city.” Same deal with “exploration:” big word, just means “looking-at.” Together, you’re looking at stuff in a city. Now we’re all on the same page. Urban exploration is what folks who break and enter into abandoned buildings, storm sewers, and disused industrial mechanisms call their practice. It’s pretty dope: you go into a cool old building, take lots of pictures of cool old stuff, and then spend the rest of the week wondering if that fever you’re running might be because the old YMCA had a swimming pool full of pigeon shit and you just went wading through it “for fun.”

The old hospital, through these eyes, was primo. Big ol’ building, full of abandoned machines, long hallways, and windows to set up eerie photographs. It also had a sanitarium, which was only grudgingly converted into a cafeteria in recent years. This inconvenient fact will not stop those of you with overactive imaginations from believing that you are being stalked by a malevolent spirit of one of the patients, which is additional free entertainment for both you and the other members of your exploration party. Fun for the whole family! Actually, on second thought, don’t bring the kids, because they snitch, and then the security guards will start chaining up the doors and removing all the dusty autoclaves full of rusty surgical tools.

If there is something negative to be said about urban exploration, it’s that they don’t let you drive your car in there. There’s a lot of walking, you see, and my feet get tired after a mere four or five hours of running around in a blind panic through a series of identical corridors, wondering if that creaking sound is a security guard, or the building’s superstructure imploding. Things would be a lot easier if I could bring my three-thousand-pound 1970s Chrysler product along for the ride, because at least then we could store snacks in the back seat, and maybe some of the mice in the trunk would find a new home. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Little Government will give up on the idea of maintaining the highway next.

[iamthekaijuking]

oh great now we're getting into pixar cars speculative biology

strap in folks it's gonna be a bumpy ride

Oh don’t worry we’re not getting into that

Mostly because I’m going to be preoccupied with the god children of ana for kaijune, but also because cars biology is a nightmare

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

chapter 9

warning: swearing, arguing, Dan grows insecure after their last conversation

AN: This is a long one folks. And I'm drawing lines directly from the original Night Court too. Dan's little speech will be from season 2 episode 19. Enjoy!

Tags: @illiana-mystery, @eroticaplush

Abbie texted us the next day asking if we could come in early. Dan had been quiet since we got up and I grew nervous as I entered the bathroom. Steam flowed out of the shower when I opened the door. Standing behind Dan, I wrapped my arms around him. Pressing my cheek to his back, I sighed contentedly.

“You alright?” I asked quietly. Dan stiffened and tried to pull away but he had nowhere to go. “Dan?”

“I’m fine.” He finally pulled away and got out of the shower. I stood there watching as he wrapped a towel around his waist and left the room. The water beat down on me as I stood there in shock. Showering quicker than I ever had in my life, I ran out after him.

“Dan?” I asked hesitantly as I watched him get dressed. He didn’t even look at me.

“If you want a ride you better get ready. Otherwise you’ll have to take the bus.” He walked out of the room as he did his tie. I stood frozen in shock before my phone went off with a text from Abbie. I checked it quickly and got dressed. Dan was waiting by the door with his keys when I emerged from his room.

“Dan please.” I pleaded, my chest tightening as he still refused to look at me. “What’s wrong?” He opened the door and started down the hall. Groaning, I followed him and awkwardly got into the car. I played with my phone as he drove, subtly sending a text to gurgs that I needed to talk with her and Abbie as soon as possible. Sighing, I looked out the window and saw we were a block from the courthouse. I decided to try one last time. “What is going on Dan? Why aren’t you talking to me? What did I do?”

“Just shut up about it will you?” Dan snapped. I jolted at his outburst. I stared at him wide eyed and whatever was holding him back snapped. “You want to know what you did? You got me thinking! About all this. Us.” I tensed up in my seat. “All that talk of kinks and now…” Dan ran a hand through his hair after he parked. “I just need time to think (Y/N). You said I could have that. Let me have that.” I stared at him in shock. Dan looked over at me for the first time today. “Maybe…” he sighed and hung his head before looking pleadingly at me. “Maybe we should take some time apart. Just until I figure this out.” The tears Id been holding back finally spilled. Wiping them frantically, I nodded.

“I understand you need time. I….I just…at least…” Dan shook his head and I shut up.

“It’s nothing against you. But you opened this box. And…” Dan sighed again. “And I need to go through it.”

“Just…” I bit back a sob and nodded to keep myself together. “Just come back to me when you finish. One way or the other.” Dan nodded and I paused. Grabbing my bag, I leaned over and kissed his cheek before getting out of the car. Not looking back, I wiped my tears again as I walked into the building. Once I was past security, I rushed to abbies chambers. Knocking on the door, I sniffled. I tightened my grip on the shoulder strap of my bag and knocked again. Abbie opened the door and looked at me in surprise.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” She asked, quickly hugging me. I took a step forward into her chambers and broke down. “Ok. It’s ok. I’ll text gurgs. It’ll be ok.” I shook my head as she closed the door and sat down next to me on her couch.

“No it won’t.” I looked over at her, hands clasped tightly together. “I opened a Pandora’s box and lost Dan. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” I wrapped my arms around myself tightly and tried to hold it together. Gurgs came into the room and instantly wrapped me up in a hug.

“It’s alright. We’re here (Y/N). We’re here.” She soothed as I sobbed. Her grip on me tightened and I started to pant as my sobs grew stronger. Abbie leaned over and hugged me too. They let me cry myself out and held me tightly as I started to come down.

“Do you know what happened?” Abbie whispered to gurgs. She nodded.

“Dan came in and looked like someone killed his family pet. I figured if he was that bad something had happened and (Y/N) would be worse.” Gurgs whispered back. She rubbed my back as I sniffled.

“(Y/N) said something about opening a Pandora’s box and losing Dan.” Abbie caught gurgs’ eye and sighed, resting her head against my shoulder. Tears still streamed down but I sat up, wiping the back of my hand across my cheeks. Tugging the sleeves of my shirt down, I took a shuddering breath as I realized it was dans shirt.

“We were talking last night. About things we liked and didn’t like.” I waved a hand vaguely and gurgs nodded. “And I told him to take some time to think things over. Things that I told him about and things that he wanted to try. We went to sleep and everything was fine.” I ran my hands through my hair and tugged.

“But something happened.” Abbie thought out loud. I nodded.

“I got up this morning and Dan was in the shower. So I got in with him.” I flushed, knowing I was probably sharing a bit too much but not knowing where else to take this. “He pulled away. Emotionally and physically. We drove here together and in the parking lot he…” I trailed off and tugged my hair again. “He told me he needed time to think. That I had opened this box and he needed to sort through it. And I think I know what about.” I ran my hands down my face and felt another wave of tears threaten me.

“Something you said last night?” Gurgs asked. I nodded.

“I told him he was a bit submissive. And explained what it was.” I sighed out, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. “He got a little defensive. saying that I shouldn’t have to do anything a dominant would do since it’s his job as the man.” Hanging my head, I tugged my hair again and let out a shaky breath at the feeling. As much as it centered me, it also reminded me why I was in this mess.

“oh.” The two said as they shared a look. My shoulders shook as I tried to calm myself.

“(Y/N), take the night off. I’ll ask Neil to drive you home.” Abbie squeezed my shoulder. “Come back when you are ready.” Sitting up, I nodded. Gathering my things, I got up to go search out Neil. Gurgs was already tapping away on her phone.

“He’ll be here in a minute.” Standing facing the door, i steeled myself in case I had to pass Dan. “And (Y/N)?” I turned to look at gurgs. “Text us if you need anything. And I mean anything.” I nodded and turned back to the door as it opened.

“I heard someone needs a ride?” Neil asked, a sad smile directed at me. I nodded and took his outstretched hand. He squeezed it and walked with me back out to the parking lot. “Don’t look.” Neil whispered as we passed the cafe. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dan watch us walk by. “Gurgs gave me the basics. I’m sorry.” Ducking my head, I gave him a slight nod.

“I am too.” I whispered. I held tight to the hem of the sleeves of the shirt. “Wish I could go back and fix all this.” Neil squeezed my hand again and led me to his car.

“He’ll come around.” I hummed in response and got into the car. “(Y/N), I’m serious. It’s Dan. Everything will work out.” I stared out the window as we made our way through traffic.

“I’m not so sure about that anymore Neil.” I sighed as he pulled up in front of my building. “I fucked this up. Big time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to talk to me again.” Neil shook his head.

“I’ve known Dan a little longer than you have. (Y/N), Dan loves you. He won’t leave you. Not for long.” Smiling at me, Neil squeezed my arm. “You two will find your way to each other again.” Smiling softly at him, I ducked my head and got out of the car.

“Thanks Neil.” I said and closed the door. Heading into the building, I wrapped my arms around myself. Once I was in my apartment, I changed into a pair of pajama pants. I settled into my bed and let myself drift off. Thoughts ran through my head but I didn’t pay them much mind. Memories played out and more tears made my vision swim.

“I’m sorry Dan.” I murmured as I curled around my pillow. When I woke up the next day, abbie had texted me to let me know that Dan had talked to her and asked a few questions. I didn’t respond to her and set myself up in front of the tv. It became my routine for the next few days as I ignored all texts and calls from everyone. My phone stayed face down on my nightstand.

The only call I answered was from my parents. I hadn’t told them about Dan but they could tell that something had happened.

“Do I need to come kick someone’s ass?” My dad asked. I smiled softly as I scrolled through social media on my computer.

“No. Nothing like that.” I said. “It was my mistake. I took a chance and screwed it up. Been beating myself up over it these last few days.” My dad snorted.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” My mom added.

“It was pretty bad.” I sighed. Rubbing the back of my neck, I steeled myself to tell them. “I might have called his manliness into question.” My dad chuckled and I could already see my mom getting ready to say something. “Not like that. Just said a few things and he started questioning what I meant by it. I guess there are a few things I wasn’t letting him do that made him feel like less of a man. Not sure what though.”

“Well if it is meant to happen, you two will work it out.” My mom offered.

“How long as it been since you last talked to him?” My dad asked. I looked at the calendar on my screen and felt my throat tighten.

“Almost a week.” I answered, my voice cracking. “But we were talking every day. A lot. Like always talking.” I added quickly. “Now we’re not talking at all.” There was a soft oh on the other end of the line. I jumped as there was a knock on the door.

“you expecting someone?” My dad asked.

“no.” I responded. “Probably just some random person. They’ll go away.” I shrugged it off. There was another knock.

“Doesn’t sound like they are going away.” My mom added. I got up and looked out the peephole. I gasped and scrambled with my phone.

“It's him. Uh...I’ll call you later. Or text you.” I hurried out. “Ok. Love you. Bye.” My parents responded in kind before I hung up. I hurriedly unlocked my door and pulled it open. “Hi.” I breathed out. Dan looked up at me and gave me a sad smile.

“hi.” He said. We stared at each other for a bit. “Uh can I come in?” I nodded and stepped aside. He shuffled in awkwardly and took in my living room. I took a shaky breath as I locked my door back up. Seeing him standing in the living room, I rushed past him and grabbed the empty take out containers and my laptop before tossing them out of the room.

“Sorry.” I mumbled as I looked at him. He looked a little worse for wear, wearing a pajama shirt with jeans. His hair was disheveled and there were bags under his eyes. “Uh sit.” I gestured to the couch and sat down on the other end. Dan nodded and sat down.

“I’m sorry. For how I treated you.” He started, eyes darting over my face. “I should have explained better. Not taken out my frustration on you.” I played with the sleeves on the shirt I was wearing.

“I shouldn’t have opened the box.” I countered. Dan shook his head, hand darting out to grab mine but stopping short. “I’m glad you did.” He shot back. We stared at each other for a minute. “I owe you an explanation.” I waited patiently. “It was the 80s. It was a different time.” I bit back a giggle and dan gave me a shadow of a smile. “Being submissive wasn’t…prospective partners weren’t keen on…” dan wrung his hands. “Most of my prospective partners were women. They wanted a man who was dominant. I cared more about their pleasure than mine. I mean sure I wanted to get off but it was mutual.” I slid a little closer to dan.

“I can understand that.” I cut in. Dan did reach out this time and took my hand.

“I tried. I really did. And it always felt like a punch to the gut when I couldn’t be that way. And I tried. A lot.” He chuckled dryly. “It just kept reminding me of that. How I always thought…” he trailed off and brought my hand up to kiss my knuckles. I squeezed his hand to urge him to continue. “No one is ever going to love me.” Dan looked up at me. “I know that. I’m crude. I’m crass. I’m stuck up. I’m arrogant. I'm a suck up. And a whole bunch more adjectives that Abbie's dad always seemed to want to remind me." I opened my mouth to argue but he kissed my hand again, forcing me to silently wait. Chuckling, he shook his head. "When I first took this job, I was in Abbie's office. I knew it as Harry's office. There was a box on the desk. Said Judge Harry Stone Office." I smiled softly at Dan as he focused on my hand, playing with my fingers like I had done to him countless times. "I had told Abbie I wasn't afraid to open a box. Open up to people..." He looked up at me and laughed, smiling for the first time since he got here. "But a box was easy. I opened it." Dan trailed off and I watched him for a while.

"What was in it?" I asked. Dan chuckled and shook his head.

"When I first met Harry, he had a gun that shot those snakes in a can at you." Dan smiled softly at the memory. "He covered me in them. But I always associated them with him from that point on. So I opened the box and they popped out. Surprised me. And I thought of him. And I took the job." Dan looked up at me. "I was at home. Abbie sent me home too. Apparently I was an even worse public defender than I normally am." He shrugged and I squeezed his hand. "I found this shirt." He tugged on it and sighed. "I had an operation and things didn't go the way they should have. I was in a coma. Harry came and changed me I guess. I'm not entirely sure. But I remember him begging me to wake up. To come back. He was exhausted, in every sense of the word. And he didn't like hospitals. But he came to see me anyway. Fell asleep on my stomach." Dan let go of my hand and leaned back on the couch. "This was the shirt. I remember when he woke up to see me up. We ended up talking. I said the same thing. No one is ever going to love me." Watching me carefully, Dan closed all remaining space between us. He bumped his knee against mine. "Harry said he loved me. First and only time I ever heard him say it. And my heart went crazy. I'm glad medical technology was different back then. Would have been surrounded by nurses and doctors and how would I have explained that the spike they saw was because the person I liked had just told me they loved me." I smiled at him.

"I...I don't see what that has to do with us." I murmured. Dan sighed.

"Harry has a way of reminding me of things even from beyond the grave." Dan finally said. "I hadn't seen this shirt in years. I thought I got rid of it because it was hard to get the hospital smell out. And in doing so..." Dan trailed off and blushed as he looked at me. I nodded in understanding. "But there it was. In the back of my closet. Tucked into a box of my old things. My pre-marriage life I mean." Dan coughed awkwardly. I smiled at him and nodded again. "The entire time I was home, I kept thinking about how hard I was to love back then. How the things I did, wanted to do, even said made me a difficult person to get close to. And how you didn't deserve that." He took my hand again. "I thought the only options were to keep things fairly vanilla," I cut him off with a laugh and a proud smile. "Or to end things. And after that little taste of that life again, I didn't know if I could keep it vanilla." Dan squeezed my hand.

It was quiet for a moment. My phone flashed with a message from my parents asking how it was going but I ignored it. A million thoughts ran through my head as I sat there next to him. Dan tapped my knee again and pulled me close into a hug.

"I was originally getting dressed to come over here to tell you that. Then I saw the shirt. And I thought of Harry, standing in the place he hated most because of me. Because he cared for me as I was enough that he had to come keep me company." Dan kissed my head and lingered there. "I love you (Y/N). I don't know exactly what I want to do in terms of our sex life. But I do know that I don't want to let you go. I haven't felt like this in a long time." I pulled back to look at him.

"I love you too Dan. More than you'll ever know." He hummed happily and kissed me. Pulling away, I cupped his cheeked. Dan turned to kiss my palms and smiled at me.

"In public, I know I'm a bit of an asshole." He started. "A suit of armor against the world. But when we're alone," Dan let me pull away completely and sit on the coffee table in front of him. He adjusted himself so his legs were on either side of me. "I feel good. Very good. Relaxed, wanted and accepted." Smiling at him, I reached out and put my hands on his legs. Dan leaned forward a little. "You know that crazy stuff that we all carry around inside of us? That stuff that eats little holes in your brain and churns at your insides? That stuff that you know you cannot possibly tell another living human being?" Dan started to blush a little and I squeezed his thigh, nodding. Covering my hand with his, Dan took a deep breath. "I can tell you. And you listen and you understand. And you say it's alright." Dan smiled softly at me. "It's alright. And it is." Dan drew me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me tightly. "And just like magic, you make my problems disappear, my anxieties subside. I mean, God's in his heaven, all is right with the world. There's no way to go but up, look for the silver lining, don't give up the ship and I'll be damned if that's not what each and every one of us is looking for." I chuckled at his excitement. "And I just happened to find mine so the best of luck to the rest of them." Dan flushed bright red when I leaned in to kiss him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned my head against his when I pulled away. He chuckled lightly and averted his eyes from mine. "Ladies and gentlemen, a small peek into the guts of Dan Fielding. No cover, no minimum." I laughed as he smiled at me, finally finding my eyes again.

"The rest of the world be damned." I murmured as I ran my thumb over his cheek. "As long as I've got you, the rest of the world be damned." Dan hummed in agreement as he watched me. "When was the last time you got a decent night's sleep?" I asked, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes.

"When was that night you handcuffed me to the bed?" He asked. Smiling softly at him, I turned around and grabbed my phone. I sent my parents a text saying it all worked out for the better before turning it off. Climbing off his lap, I held my hand out to him.

"Come on." I gently waved him up. "Time for bed." Taking my hand, Dan trailed after me to bed. It was the first good night's sleep either of us had in a week.

[adhd-merlin]

I think you would appreciate this song

https://youtu.be/6vgOV0g2WrY

Not gonna lie I was like 98% sure I was going to get Rickrolled.

Thanks, I did appreciate it! I do like maudlin songs. I quite like the lyrics. Although Arthur's "I don’t know what is out there but we need that Grail" made me think of this hilarious post. No, he wasn't so hot to get that Grail, apparently.

I haven't listened to the other songs in the album but are Lancelot, Guinevere and Arthur, like. A throuple? Because it's giving off triad.

(Lyrics and video below the cut for the interested.)

[Verse 1: Lancelot] Oh my loves, raise a glass to those we leave behind We may end up dead, with a bullet in the head But if we’re not returning from this damn fool quest Then tonight let's drown our sorrows down with whiskey

Guinevere, you’re my stars; Arthur, you’re my night And I know we’ve got to ride at the dawn's first light And I ain’t saying this preacher man’s crusade ain’t right But first let's fuel a few more sins with whiskey

[Verse 2: Arthur] Lancelot, you’re a fool to drink your bottle dry Whiskey kills your fear, and you'll want to keep that near ‘Cause I don’t know what is out there but we need that GRAIL And I love you, but you stink to hell of whiskey

Galahad is crazy but you’ve felt that heat And the only explanation comes from his damn seat And with you and Guinevere I know we won’t be beat So we might as well have one more drop of whiskey

[Verse 3: Guinevere] Drain your glass, strap your piece, for my loves, we ride Empty miles of steel fall away beneath our wheels As we leave a trail of bodies of the folks we’ve slain And the camps we raid for gasoline and whiskey

Maybe it’s the heat or maybe it’s the pain But I can’t shake the feeling we’re not coming back again We’re not pure of heart, but we’re sure of aim And our heads are full of love and blood and whiskey

[Verse 4: Arthur, Guinevere, & Lancelot] There’s a dream that I've had as we ride out west Of a golden age and this world’s wrongs all redressed But I wake to find there’s nothing here but fear and death And between the two there’s only blood and whiskey

Quit your whinging, Arthur, or your wounds won’t heal And the vultures that are circling will get their meal We can mourn our dead later until then don’t feel Just clean the wound with bloody rags and whiskey

[the-red-mafia]

The Carnival

The Carnival Post Information: The Red Mafia's on a new mission to rescue some people who had gone missing at a nearby carnival. When Mad is quickly separated from the group, shortly followed by Maroon and Thorn, will Velvet and Solana be able to find them and make it out alive? Also available on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheRedMafia Next Update: [Updated] Word Count: 5075

6 days after "The Haircut" “Get your tickets here! Over here folks!” Velvet scoffed as the Red Mafia walked into the square. The area was packed with people as small children ran around with their parents chasing after them. Giant carnival tents and rides towered in the distance. Maroon pulled the sleeves of their brown mushroom sweater as they walked next to Thorn. 

“Alright, I’ll go get the tickets,” Solana began, “Mad, you wanna come with? Not sure what language they speak here.” A smile appeared on the robot’s T.V. screen. 

“Right behind you, Solana,” it said, turning to look at the three teenagers behind them, “We’ll be right back, don’t cause any trouble.” Velvet rolled her eyes. 

“We’re not little kids, Mad.”

“Had me fooled,” Thorn muttered, letting out a quiet laugh. The assassin turned and glared at him before sighing. 

“Whatever, go get the tickets.” Velvet plopped down on a metal bench and quickly pulled their phone out of their back pocket. Thorn sat down on the bench as well, followed by Maroon. The three teens sat in silence for a few moments. 

“Well, this is an interesting way to experience a carnival for the first time,” Thorn joked, smirking at Maroon. They returned a small smile.

“Yeah, I guess,” they said, “The rides look cool.” 

“We’re not here to have fun, Maroon,” Velvet stated, locking her phone, “We have a job to do.” Maroon looked towards the ground.

“Right…” Thorn rolled aer eyes and leaned closer to Maroon.

“We can sneak off and ride some rides later,” he mumbled, causing Maroon to chuckle.

“I heard that,” Velvet said, glaring at Thorn.

“Heard what? I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t gaslight me, frūx.”

“I’m not lighting any gas, Velvet. You feeling ok?”

“Oh my gods-” Thorn broke out in a fit of laughter. Maroon looked up at their friend but stayed quiet.

“You are so fucking stupid, mihi deōs,” Velvet mumbled, standing up, “I’m going to talk to the others.”

“Tell them to hurry up!” Thorn called out as they walked away. 

“No!” 

“Mad, Solana! Thorn’s trying to gaslight me!” 

“I- What?” Velvet stopped in front of the two of them and crossed their arms. Solana broke out into laughter at the teen’s serious expression.

“Thorn’s trying to gaslight me so I came over here.” 

“...ok?” 

“Phew, Velvet, you are too funny,” Solana mumbled, wiping a fake tear out of their eye. The teen lightly punched his arm but he put his hands up. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, I’m-” the elf broke out into laughter again. Mad chuckled as the line slowly moved forward. Mad watched as the two jokingly argued (or, Mad hoped they were joking) and Velvet adjusted the strap on their side bag. They had slightly adjusted their usual style, ditching the hoodie for a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans. A red beaded bracelet sat on her right wrist, near a cluster of faded scars on her arms. 

She almost looked like a normal teenager, if it weren’t for the dagger stashed underneath her pant leg and throwing knives in her black bag. A pair of tinted sunglasses sat on her face, a precaution to prevent a repeat of the shopping trip incident. Solana had a pair too, pairing it with green cargo shorts and a white t-shirt. The elf, however, strapped a small handgun to her belt and covered it with the slightly-oversized shirt. 

A loud cough echoed from behind the three of them, cutting off Velvet and Solana’s conversation. They turned around to see a boy around Velvet’s age, with bright blonde hair and icy blue eyes. He smirked at them, glancing at Mad and Solana before locking eyes on Velvet. 

“Why hello there.”

“Hello,” she replied, “Can I help you?” The boy was slightly taller than them, almost as if he was looking down at them. 

“I was wondering if I could get your number?” Solana stifled a laugh, covering their mouth with their hand. Velvet closed their eyes for a moment. 

“No.” The boy chuckled. 

“Sure, sweetheart. How about I-”

“No thanks.”

“Aww, come on. No harm in it!” Velvet’s right hand fell to their bag. Solana quickly batted her hand away and Mad quickly grabbed her right arm.

“Come on, it’s time to get our tickets!” the robot said, pulling them away. Velvet followed along, letting out a groan. 

“I’ll kill them.” 

“They’re a kid, leave them alone.”

“Fuck off, Mad.”

Children screamed excitedly as the carnival staff opened the entry gate. Hundreds of people flooded in and quickly scattered around into the various tents. In front of the closest tent, a man stood on a platform juggling lit torches.

“Woah…” Maroon mumbled, “That’s really cool.” Velvet scoffed. 

“Please, it’s fake,” the teen replied sarcastically. Maroon’s face dropped slightly, causing Thorn to glare at Velvet. 

“No need to be such a buzzkill, Velvet,” Solana said, lightly elbowing the teen. Velvet rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever. Let’s just find a staff room and look around.” The group slowly made their way through the crowds of people. Velvet kept a firm grip on their bag as they moved through the crowd. The group followed close behind, using the path Velvet left behind them. Eventually, Velvet took a left towards a blue, unmarked building. As they approached they noticed a sign on the door that read “Authorised Personnel Only”. 

“Perfect,” the teen said under their breath. One try of the doorknob revealed that the building was unlocked and the lights on. Thorn smirked and lightly elbowed Maroon’s arm. 

“Well look at that, mushroom,” he said, “This mission should be easy. We’ll have plenty of time to ride the rides.”

“You two do realise this mission will probably result in the carnival getting shut down, right?” Mad said as Velvet examined the doorway. Thorn groaned. 

“Damn, really?”

“We are solving multiple missing person cases,” Solana replied, “Of course they’re going to shut it down.” 

“Bummer. We should go to another carnival after this.”

“You are a fucking child,” Velvet said, turning around, “Now walk through the doorway.” Thorn raised an eyebrow and Solana facepalmed.

“Why me?”

“Because I don’t want to get stabbed if it's trapped.”

“Oh, and I do?”

“You probably don’t, but I don’t really care what you think right now.” Mad sighed and walked in front of Velvet. 

“How about I go through the door first so no one gets stabbed?” The droid said. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Velvet asked, smirking, “But sure, be my guest.” Mad stepped into the building, looking around for people. Velvet watched the doorway closely as Mad went down the entrance hallway. 

“No traps?” Velvet wondered out loud, “This is too easy.”

“Hey, at least we’ll get it done quicker?” Maroon said. Velvet shook their head. 

“No, something’s wrong. Mad, come back here.” Before the teen could react, the door slammed shut. The remaining mafia members jumped at the noise, causing a laugh to echo from behind them. 

“What the fuck…” Thorn mumbled, looking around. Velvet quickly tried to open the door again, but found it had been locked. 

“Shit,” they breathed, “Mad! Are you there?” When their question was answered with silence, they turned to look at their teammates.

“Maroon, Thorn. Go check the left side. Solana, you’re with me.”

Mad banged on the door again and was met with no response.

“They can’t hear me,” the robot mumbled, “Great.” They turned around to get another look at the building’s interior. There was a central, grey hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. Every so often, a green door broke the grey monotone. 

The droid began walking down the hallway, looking at the signs on the doors. Most had been scratched out, as if someone was trying to erase them completely. A few were labelled as typical workplace things: bathrooms, a break room, etc. Every single door was locked, well, with the exception of the oddly shaped blue one at the end of the hall. 

When Mad got to that door, they quickly noticed it wasn’t labelled at all. The doorknob was bright gold, or at least a material that gave that illusion. Mad reached out and twisted the doorknob, surprise washing over them when the door didn’t fight it.

“Huh…” the droid mumbled, opening the door fully. The room behind the door seemed to be some kind of computer room, with a giant monitor in the middle. It was powered off, despite the hundreds of wires connecting it to various pieces of machinery around the room. The room itself was dark, almost pitch black. If it wasn’t for Mad’s night vision and the light from the hallway that the door let in, they wouldn’t be able to see. The robot took a step forward towards the monitor.

“Mad?” a familiar voice called out, causing the robot to turn around. In the doorway stood Rhyme Reuter, dressed in a pair of jeans and a tie-dye coloured jean jacket. Mad’s screen featured an exclamation mark as they stared at her. 

“Rhyme? What are you doing here?” Rhyme walked up to Mad, crossing his arms.

“Not important. What are you doing here? I didn’t think Velvet would let you all take a vacation day to a carnival. Also, why wouldn’t you invite me?” the thief joked, a smirk on her face.

“She didn’t, we’re on a mission.” Rhyme raised an eyebrow. 

“A mission? At a carnival?”

“Yeah. Apparently, a lot of people have gone missing here recently so we’re checking it out.”

“Huh, interesting. Say, could you help me with something?” A smile emoticon appeared on the droid's face.

“Sure, what’s up?” Rhyme took a step forward and grabbed Mad’s wrist. 

“Follow me, I’ve gotta show you.”

Thorn carefully looked around the corner of the building, scanning the walkway that went past it. A few of the patrons gave him weird looks, but he ignored them. Maroon walked up next to them and looked down the walkway as well. 

“It’s all clear,” Thorn said, walking forward, “You see any doors?” Maroon looked at the blue wall.

“Nope, nothing.”

“Huh. Maybe that’s the only door in. Think we should try to break it down?” 

“Maybe…” Maroon mumbled, “Let’s check the back first.” Thorn turned and saluted them, causing them to chuckle. The duo continued down the wall and turned to the back of the building. There wasn’t much space due to a hedge wall about a metre behind. Thorn stopped in front of an air vent that sat in the middle of the back wall. 

“There’s a vent back here,” he said. Maroon popped up next to aer and leaned closer to the vent. 

“Velvet uses vents, right? They could get through here as a last resort.”

“I’m not sure Velvet would fit through there, it’s pretty small.”

“True. Maybe-”

“Someone help!” a voice screamed, cutting off Maroon’s sentence. The teens turned towards the noise, which was coming from down the path. Suddenly, a little girl came into view, tears streaming down her face. She had light red hair that was pinned back with a flower crown made of pink roses. 

She couldn’t have been over the age of 10, considering her shortness and childlike structure. She wore what appeared to be a uniform of a black and white plaid skirt with a pink blazer. The kid quickly looked around before locking eyes with the duo. Her eyes quickly lit up and she ran up to them. 

“Thorn!” the kid shouted, wrapping her arms around the older teen, “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Thorn stared down at the kid, their eyes as wide as saucers. 

“...Iris?” The little girl wiped the tears out of her eyes and smiled. 

“Who else would it be, brother?”

Velvet kicked the wooden door again, but it refused to budge. They groaned and put their foot down on the ground. Solana stood next to them, arms crossed.

“All of them are locked?” the elf mumbled, “Weird, considering-” Velvet cut them off, throwing their side bag onto the concrete and looking around. The teen quickly spotted a fallen sign, which had detached from the metal pole next to it. She ran over and picked up the pole, returning to the door. 

“Oh Gazra,” Solana mumbled, watching as they placed it in between the door and the doorframe. 

“Gazra can fuck off,” Velvet replied, putting a foot on the pole. Before they could apply pressure, the door quickly opened from the inside. Velvet stumbled forward before Solana grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Velvet, what are you doing?” A robotic voice asked. Velvet quickly stood up and threw the pole into the grassy area next to the path. They looked at Mad as Rhyme walked out next to them. His hair had changed since Velvet saw him last, now featuring ice-blue tips instead of pink.

“Well, I was trying to save you,” Velvet answered, gesturing to Rhyme, “But clearly you didn’t need me.” Rhyme smirked. 

“Gotta be faster next time, Bolton.”

“Call me that again, see what fucking happens-”

“Chill, drama queen,” Solana said, letting go of their arm, “Who’s this?” Rhyme smirked and gave Solana a small bow. 

“Diamonds, world-renowned thief and criminal extraordinaire. Which one of the newbies are you?”

“Solana. It’s nice to meet you, Mad’s talked about you quite a lot.” Rhyme raised an eyebrow at Mad.

“All good things, I hope.”

“As good as they could get about you,” Velvet mumbled, crossing her arms. Rhyme laughed. 

“Sensing some hostility there, Bolton,” he said, “Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual.” 

“What are you even doing here, Diamonds?” 

“None of your business. I just need to borrow Mad here for a few, won’t take long.” Velvet forced out a fake laugh. 

“That’s hilarious, Diamonds. And 100% not happening.”

“Velvet-” Mad began, but Rhyme interrupted it. 

“I just saved them from being locked in the building for who knows how long. It’s the least you can do.”

“Why, so you can steal some pocket money and a few chocolate bars? That’s rich.”

“Yeah, I will be rich when I finish this. Which is why I really need their help.”

“Just go back to your original plan without it, asinus.”

“Considering things have changed and I was about to call it anyway, no.” Mad sighed and grabbed Rhyme’s arm, stepping in front of him. 

“Velvet, it won’t take very long. This’ll let Thorn and Maroon try some of the rides like they wanted to before we end it.” Velvet glared at Mad

“We have a fucking job to do-” Solana quickly covered Velvet’s mouth.

“Go for it, Mad,” the elf began, pinning Velvet’s arms to their side so they couldn’t fight against them, “We’ll handle the mission. Just let us know when you’re done.” A smile emoticon appeared on Mad’s screen.

“Thanks, Solana.”

“No problem. Have fun.” Rhyme quickly grabbed Mad’s arm and pulled it forward. She ran deeper into the park with Mad barely being able to keep up. Once they got out of sight, Solana let go of Velvet.

“What the hell, Solana?” He looked at Velvet and sighed. 

“Sometimes, you’ve gotta let them do their own thing. The four of us can handle the mission just fine on our own.” 

“I’m going to tell you that when we fucking die.”

“How? You’ll be dead.”

“I- Shut up.”

“Brother?” Maroon asked, staring down at the small girl. She turned to them before letting out a quiet squeak. She jumped behind Thorn, who was staring at her with a few tears forming in aer eyes. She grabbed aer legs and stuck her tongue out at Maroon. 

“Go away!” She shouted. Maroon blinked a few times before looking at Thorn. 

“Thorn…?” they began, “Are you ok?”

“I-” Thorn mumbled, “What…”

“Thorn! We should go. Mom will be expecting us any time now!” Iris said, grabbing Thorn’s hand and attempting to pull him forward. Thorn knelt down and pulled the girl into a hug. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Thorn choked out, “I’m so sorry.” Iris looked at it with a confused look. 

“What? Why?” Thorn closed aer eyes tightly but didn’t answer. 

“Thorn, why are you crying?” Iris asked, looking up at her brother, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No,” Thorn stumbled over aer words, “You…you didn’t.” 

“Then why are you crying?” 

“I just missed you so much, bumblebee.” 

“I was only gone for a few hours.” Thorn shook his head. 

“No, Iris, you’ve been gone for a lot longer than that. How…how did you even get here?”

“Mommy brought me? Didn’t she bring you too?” 

“Mom’s here?” Thorn breathed, their body freezing. Iris nodded. 

“Of course she is, she and Papa would never let us go to a carnival on our own!”

“Iris, I need you to take me to her. Now.” Iris laughed and grabbed aer hand. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, silly!” 

“What’s happening?” Maroon finally asked. Thorn looked up at them and stood, still hanging onto Iris’s significantly smaller hand. 

“It’s…hard to explain,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. Maroon took a step forward and pulled their friend into a hug. 

“It’s ok, you can tell me when you’re ready.” Thorn nodded, slightly resting their head on their shoulder. When they broke apart, Iris was staring right at Maroon. 

“Are you my brother’s boyfriend?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. The two teens went bright red, Maroon burying their head in their hands. 

“Iris, no-” Thorn said quickly, “We’re just friends.” The little girl frowned. 

“Aww, so no brother-in-law?” 

“Iris!” She laughed, gripping Thorn’s hand harder. 

“Come on, momma’s waiting!” Iris pulled Thorn behind her as she ran forward. Thorn almost fell over, grabbing Maroon’s hand. Maroon pulled him upwards, steadying him as Iris kept pulling them along through the park.

Zaeor’s phone buzzed as the god was about to take a bite of his turkey sandwich. He sighed, setting the food down and grabbing his phone off the table. He sighed as he read the notification.

“How does this always seem to happen?” he mumbled, unlocking the phone and dialling a number. It rang once before the other line picked up. 

“You couldn’t let me eat my sandwich, huh?” he joked. 

“Fuck your sandwich,” Velvet said from the other side, “Can you do a magic scan of this place?” 

“I already did, didn’t I tell you?”

“You did, but I want you to do another one.” Zaeor raised an eyebrow. 

“Another one? What are you looking for?” 

“She thinks there’s an illusionist running around,” he heard Solana say from the other side of the phone. 

“Hello, Solana.”

“Hey, Zaeor.”

“Anyways, Velvet, an illusionist? Do you know-” 

“Yeah, they’re extremely rare, blah blah blah. But hear me out.” Zaeor let out a sigh. 

“Alright, go,” he said, standing up from his chair.

“We’ve searched every place in this damned park,” Velvet began, “There’s nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. No leads, no slip-ups, nothing. There’s been no suspicious activity the entire two hours we’ve been here. All the staff have no previous criminal record, not even any school disciplinary action!”

“Why did you check their school records?-”

“Anything can be evidence.”

“I’m not sure that’s a solid legal argument.”

“Tried telling her that,” Solana added before letting out an “ow”, no doubt from Velvet elbowing her.

“Not to mention Thorn and Maroon have…vanished or something.” The god’s eyes widened. 

“Wait, Thorn and Maroon are missing?”

“Presumably, yeah.”

“And you didn’t lead with that?”

“It’s not why I’m calling you so, no.”

“I-” Zaeor stopped mid-sentence, letting out a sigh, “Continue.”

“Anyways,” Velvet stated, “Unless it’s an outside party, which is unlikely due to the carnival's lack of reaction to the kidnappings, there’s some kind of magic going on.”

“That’s fair, but why an illusionist as opposed to just a normal magician?”

“Think about it, Zaeor. How could a normal magician hide a kidnapping?” 

“Mind manipulation?” Velvet groaned.

“You just love talking about mind manipulation.”

“Hey, it’s a cool power!” Zaeor chuckled, going up the pitch-black stairs that lead to the second floor of his home.

“A ‘cool’ power that would’ve showed up on the initial magic scan.” Zaeor stopped in front of one of the doors at the top of the stairs. 

“Oh, you’re right.” Velvet sighed.

“Everyone loves doubting me recently,” she mumbled. Zaeor sighed. 

“That’s not true, I just wanted to hear your reasoning-”

“It’s not important now,” the teen interrupted, causing the god to shake his head. 

“So you think an illusionist is kidnapping people and using illusions to hide it? But why?”

“To fulfil some sick desire, I don’t know.”

“Experiments maybe?” Solana chimed in.

“Maybe, seems weird though,” Zaeor said, opening the door, “Well, I’ll run an illusion scan and call you back. Stay hidden and blend in.”

“Alright-”

“And find Maroon and Thorn! Where’s Mad?” Velvet groaned. 

“We’re just. Not gonna touch on Mad right now,” Solana interrupted, “We know where they are and they’re fine. Just…not here.” Zaeor raised an eyebrow.

“That’s…ominous.”

“Yeah, I’m realising that.”

“But, whatever. If this really is an illusionist, you’re definitely going to need Maroon and Thorn.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Call me when you find something.”

“Alright, I will. Good luck and don’t be stupid.”

“I’m never stupid.”

“That’s just a fucking lie,” Solana mumbled. 

“Solana-”

“And don’t kill Solana!” Zaeor added. Velvet groaned again. 

“Fucking fine! Alright, we’re going.” Zaeor groaned as he hit the end-call button on the phone. The god sat down on the large office chair in front of several different monitors around the room. He didn’t move for a few moments but eventually waved his hand. The turkey sandwich appeared in his hand as he booted up the device.

Alright, let’s see what’s going on.

Rhyme laughed as the pair slowed in front of a chain link fence. In front of them, a gate stood far above Mad’s TV. There were no signs on the fence, but beyond it stood a huge pink and blue circus tent. Mad looked up and down the fence but saw no gate. 

“What is this place?” the droid asked. 

“It’s the V.I.P. section.”

“The carnival has a V.I.P. section?” Rhyme shrugged. 

“Yeah, it has like, special arcade games or something. All I know is that there’s a lot of money in there.”

“So what do you need my help with?”

“You see,” Rhyme began, walking towards the fence, “The fence has something on it. I thought it was electrified at first.”

“At first?” Rhyme slowly bent down and picked up a fallen branch from a nearby tree and chucked it at the fence. As soon as it made contact with the metal, the wood burst into flames. Mad took a step back in shock. 

“I…don’t think an electric fence could do that.” Rhyme laughed. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“So it’s magic then? Mad said, turning towards him, “Why does that mean you need my help? I’m not exactly known for magic.”

“True,” Rhyme mumbled, turning away, “But I think there’s some kind of control panel to it. Think you can find it?” Mad looked at her before looking back at the fence. 

“Maybe…” the robot took a few steps forward, “Are there any wires?” 

“It’s magic, I don’t think it would be controlled through wires.” 

“I don’t know, then,” Mad mumbled, “Did you see another control room?” Rhyme crossed his arms and looked at it. 

“Hm,” she mumbled, tapping her foot, “Oh! Yeah, there’s one nearby.” Mad turned around, a smile on their TV. 

“Well then, Diamonds, lead the way.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Rhyme?”

Velvet kicked a rock down the sidewalk. People streamed past her, down the path towards the kiddie rides. The aroma of freshly popped popcorn and funnel cakes filled the air. Children screeched happily while their parents chatted behind them. Velvet took a step forward, only to find a piece of chewed gum had attached itself to the bottom of her combat boots. They let out a loud groan and ripped the gum in half. 

“Stupid fucking place,” they mumbled, “I can’t wait for this to be fucking over.”

“Vel, no need to be such a downer,” a familiar voice called out. Velvet’s eyes widened and she quickly spun around. There stood a boy about 13 years old, a big smile on his face. His bright emerald green eyes looked warmly at them, something they hadn’t seen in a long, long time. 

“Here,” he said, holding a pretzel out to her, “I got one for you. No need to be an edge lord.” Velvet stared at him, causing him to raise an eyebrow. 

“Vel? You ok?” 

“...Caran?” 

“Yeah? You feeling alright?” Velvet stepped towards him. The boy smiled, holding the pretzel out to them. Velvet ignored it, however, swinging a punch at the boy's head. He stumbled backwards, the pretzel falling to the ground with a loud thud. His bright blonde hair covered his face as he winced in pain. People stopped walking to stare at the developing scene, some parents even ushering their small ones behind them. Caran placed a hand on his face and looked back at Velvet, who kept her composure and crossed her arms. 

“That’s about all the proof I need,” they mumbled, shaking their head, “Next time, illusionist, pick someone who’s still alive.” Caran’s eyes widened as Velvet took a few steps forward and kneeled down next to him. 

“W-what are you talking about, Vel? O-of course I’m alive, I’m right here.”

“Now listen very carefully, illusion,” they whispered, glaring at the boy, “I can’t dissolve you here, that would make me look suspicious. However, if I see you again, in this form or any other, I will dissolve you on sight regardless of the consequences. Am I clear?” The illusion nodded fearfully, causing Velvet to frown. 

“That looks wrong,” they mumbled, standing up.

“Velvet, what on Gazra are you doing?” Velvet turned to see Solana pushing through the crowd, who were whispering as the scene unfolded. 

“I know we’re dealing with an illusionist now.” 

“What? How?” Velvet stepped to the side as she stopped and gestured to the illusion on the ground. 

“Take a look.” Solana’s eyes drifted downwards to the boy, who had tears streaming down his face. Their hands clasped over their mouth and they quickly dropped to their knees.

“...Caran!”

“Sol!” He jumped forward and pulled the elf into a hug. It took a few seconds for Solana to process what was happening but he quickly returned the gesture.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, “You’re…alive!” 

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding,” Velvet breathed.

“Sol! I-I don’t know what I did but I-I tried to give Velvet a pretzel a-and-” the illusion stopped to take a breath, “S-she just punched me!” Solana turned to glare at Velvet, but the teen just looked confused. 

“Velvet-”

“Solana, are you serious right now? This-” Velvet gestured towards the illusion, “can’t be real. Caran is dead.” 

“Or, he could be standing right in front of you,” the elf mumbled, turning back toward the illusion, “How did you escape Unor?” The illusion paused for several seconds before sniffling.

“H-he almost killed me. But I ran. I’ve been wandering the wilderness for- I don’t even know how long it’s been now.”

“See!” Solana exclaimed, pulling him into another hug, “I knew you weren’t dead.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Velvet stated, running a hand through her hair, “Maybe there’s some mind manipulation going on after all.” Solana ignored them, instead focusing on the small boy in front of him. 

“I can’t believe-” the elf paused for a moment, “I’m so glad you’re ok.” Caran sniffled and buried his face in Solana’s shoulder. 

“I missed you,” he said, though it was muffled, “I thought I was seeing things when I saw you guys here and-”

“Shh, it’s ok. We can talk once we get somewhere else. Velvet-” The elf turned to talk to their friend, but she was already gone.

Eventually, Iris slowed down, allowing Maroon and Thorn to catch their breath. 

“She’s just over this fence, in that tent!” Maroon gave the child a confused look. 

“Why is she outside the park?” they asked. Iris turned back to look at them.

“She’s not outside the park,” she began, “That’s the V.I.P. section!” 

“V.I.P. section?” Thorn asked, “I didn’t know carnivals had a V.I.P. section.” 

“And what’s with the fence?” Maroon questioned. Iris frowned at the duo. 

“I don’t know, how would I? All I know is that mom’s in there.” Thorn put a hand on Iris’s shoulder and smiled. 

“Right, sorry Iris.” Maroon looked at the little girl before sighing. 

“Sorry.”

“We just gotta find a way over the fence…” Iris mumbled, looking around. Thorn laughed and turned to their little sister.

“Don’t worry, bumblebee, I’ve got that covered.” It kneeled down and pulled her onto its back. Iris let out a small shriek but a big smile took over her face once Thorn stood back up.

“Piggy-back ride!” she screamed, throwing a hand in the air. The two teens both laughed, causing Iris to turn back to look at Maroon. 

“But what about Mar-Mar?” she asked, “I don’t think he’ll fit on your back.” Maroon’s eyes widened.

Mar-Mar? How-

“They,” Thorn corrected, snapping the teen out of their thoughts. Iris looked at him.

“Oh. They.” Maroon looked at the young girl.

“It’s okay. And I have my own ways. I’ll meet you guys over there, okay?” Iris’s smile returned and she nodded. 

“See you there, Mar-Mar,” Thorn said with a smirk. Plants quickly grew from the ground and propelled the two of them over the fence. Maroon heard Iris screaming as they flew but then- nothing. The two of them completely disappeared from view, as if they had vanished. There was only the sound of patrons behind them and the wind. Maroon’s eyes widened. 

“Thorn? Iris?” they called out. No response. The plants Thorn had grown quickly withered and died in front of their eyes, which sent a chill down the teen’s spine. Maroon grew a mushroom underneath them and looked over the fence. Nothing seemed out of place, just normal fake grass that was spread around the carnival. The tent still stood in the distance but no one seemed to come in or out of it. Maroon took a deep breath before looking at the ground once more and hopping over the fence.

[photon-bytez]

Therizinosaurus cheloniformis (Turtle scythe lizard) is an oddity among its kin. Despite being part of the same family of dinosaurs that include T. Rex, Velociraptor, and Carnotaurus, Therizinosaurus and its relatives have evolved to eat plants. Having a potbelly to digest plant matter, a long neck to reach into the trees, and huge claws used for both foraging and defense, this beast was evolved for a herbivorous diet. And also the occasional honey.

Also, just a quick heads-up; We’re almost finished with May-srichtian Madness. We only got 5 more pieces left to go after this particular one, so we’re in the home stretch!

Another couple things to bring up are some of my future PHP-related projects. The PHP2 reviews, starting with “Islands” is now in production, and will take a while to get done. I’m hoping to get the first episode finished sometime in June. Writing these things takes alot of time, especially when I’m planning to refine and iron out every single detail when it comes to things like explaining each segment, fun facts, jokes/pop culture references, etc. It’ll be a long while to get done, but it’ll also be all worth it once I get all 5 episodes reviewed.

The SECOND PHP thing that I wanna bring up is how all 5 episodes of Season 2 have finally been released on Apple TV +, I’m planning to make a very special piece that I’m hoping to get done sometime around June or early July. It’s gonna be very special, so I’m willing to take my time as possible for this.

All and all, even after May-srichtian Madness ends, my PHP Mania is still gonna be around for a while. You folks may wanna strap in for the ride.

[starseedfxofficial]

Swing Trading Like a Pro: Insider Secrets to Mastering the CPI Effect If you think 'CPI' sounds like an ingredient in your breakfast cereal, then swing trading with it might just be the tastiest financial move you've made in a while. Strap in, folks. We're about to dive into some swing (2-5 days) strategies that leverage the Consumer Price Index (CPI) to spot incredible Forex opportunities—ones that most traders overlook. The Secret Power of Swing Trading (2-5 Days) with the CPI Effect For those of you that are new to swing trading—it's a bit like going on a short vacation rather than moving to a new country. You’re in and out within 2-5 days, aiming to capture short-term movements before the big market decisions ruin the beach vibes. Now, factor in the CPI, the Consumer Price Index—a report so influential that it could make or break the market sentiment, like an unexpected WiFi cut on your vacation. Yeah, that kind of influence. But here's where the real magic happens—the CPI effect in Forex trading isn’t just about interpreting the consumer price basket. It's about knowing when the data hits, how the market reacts, and using that momentum to strategically time your trades within a sweet 2-5 day window. In other words, think of it like surfing: the CPI is the wave, and your swing trade is the surfboard. You’re riding it with just enough finesse to make it look easy (even if there are a few wipeouts along the way). Why CPI Can Be Your Trading Goldmine (And Why Most Get It Wrong) Ah, the CPI report day—or, as some traders mistakenly call it, "panic Tuesday." The CPI reveals shifts in inflation, which have a domino effect on everything from central bank interest rate decisions to the price of your favorite burrito. Most traders go into a frenzy. They see the numbers, hear a talking head say, "This changes everything!", and immediately either hit sell, buy, or curl up into the fetal position. But here’s the first secret: don't chase the news—anticipate it. Swing trading in response to CPI data is not about reacting to the headlines as they come out; it’s about understanding the market's emotional waves. You’re not that tourist diving into the sea at the first sign of a big wave; you're the seasoned surfer already out there, waiting with your board for that perfect set to roll in. Consider this: The biggest players have access to the information before you do, but here’s where swing traders have the advantage—CPI causes shockwaves that ripple for days. Getting in too early or too late is like mistiming your entry at a comedy open-mic. You’ll bomb. The sweet spot for swing trading is to use the 2-5 day trend reversals following CPI announcements to capture mini-trends most traders miss. Underground Tactics to Turn CPI Volatility Into Quick Profits Ready for some little-known gems? Here are the ninja tactics to get you swinging (not in the disco sense, though it’s just as cool): Set Your Traps—Use Pending Orders Instead of jumping in right at release time, use pending orders just above resistance and below support levels. CPI day sees the price making wild moves—like a toddler on a sugar rush. By setting pending orders ahead of time, you catch that sweet market overreaction. Plus, you’re not there glued to your screen (I know, we’re all guilty of watching charts like they’re our favorite Netflix shows). Understand the “Breather Effect” (Day 2 Opportunity) After CPI hits, the market typically has its freak-out (Day 1). However, on Day 2, there’s often a "market breather"—a bit of calm after the storm where the real direction begins to reveal itself. The second day’s price action can be your best friend as a swing trader. It's like a relationship—the initial over-the-top emotions settle, and you start seeing what’s real. Play the Contrarian Game Here's the thing most don't tell you: Forex swing trading loves contrarians. If CPI signals higher inflation but the price spikes only briefly, that could be your signal to swing in the opposite direction—especially if momentum dries up. According to veteran trader Anna Coulling, "The market’s initial reaction is often the most deceptive." If everyone and their neighbor’s cat is going long, consider taking a peek at going short. Sure, you might feel like you're betting against a crowd of madmen, but the payoff can be as sweet as that favorite dessert you always keep in the back of your fridge (don’t lie, we all have one). Timing Tips for Swing Trades Around CPI Releases Swing trading the CPI means having a plan and executing it, not jumping at shadows. Here's a quick timeline that’s worth remembering: - Pre-Release (Day -1): Identify key levels and set your pending orders to catch any extreme price movements. Remember, you’re surfing—not drowning. - Day 1 (Release Day): Avoid placing trades until the chaos settles. Watch the market’s knee-jerk reaction, but focus on how the day closes. - Day 2-3 (Breather Days): This is often the real sweet spot for swing traders. After the storm subsides, the true trend (or the real reversal) emerges, and this is where you want to swing in. - Day 4-5 (Follow Through): If the initial trend was legit, this is where you ride it—if not, get ready to cut loose. Real-World Example: EUR/USD & CPI Play Let’s put theory into action. The April 2024 CPI announcement was a bombshell—inflation came in higher than expected, sending EUR/USD into a wild sell-off within hours. A classic knee-jerk reaction, right? Instead of jumping in head-first during the panic, a smarter swing trader might’ve done this: - Set pending orders just below key support, with a stop above the 20-day EMA (Exponential Moving Average). - Wait for the market to plunge, and watch as it pulls back on Day 2—confirming a fake-out. Price then retraces, and BOOM—your pending order triggers as momentum steadies. - You hold the trade for 2-3 days as the price gradually recovers, banking on the true underlying trend—instead of the emotional rollercoaster most traders fell for. Swing Trading Isn’t Always Sexy—But It’s Effective Sometimes it feels like we want trading to be sexy and thrilling—like we’re starring in some Netflix thriller about Wall Street. The reality? Swing trading the CPI requires patience, discipline, and yes, occasionally admitting that buying those “shoes on sale that you’ll never wear” might be the reason you're out here chasing the market trends. But as I always tell new traders—“slow profits beat fast losses every time.” Swing trading with the CPI is about recognizing market overreactions, timing your trades smartly, and knowing that the market’s first move is almost never the best one. In Summary: Your CPI Swing Playbook To recap, if you want to master swing trading (2-5 days) using the CPI: - Don't Chase News: Set your trades before the emotional rollercoaster starts. - Understand the Reaction Phases: Day 1 panic, Day 2 breather. - Contrarian Opportunities: Sometimes going against the crowd pays big. - Set and Forget: Use pending orders to ride market swings instead of staring at your screen. - Think Like a Surfer: Ride the wave with skill, don’t get wiped out by it. Stay ahead of the curve, stay informed, and if you’re looking for an even greater edge—remember to check out the exclusive insights from StarseedFX. We’ve got the latest economic indicators and alerts, a community full of swing trading aficionados, and a free trading plan to keep you sharp. Visit us here to take your swing trading to the next level. What about you? Have you tried swing trading around CPI releases, or do you have a story of nailing (or failing) that perfect entry? Drop it in the comments, and let’s learn from each other’s wipeouts and triumphs! —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[rawdatabyp3]

True North Versus Magnetic North w/Jeff Jorgensen

We’re back and we brought some changes. Today, join us for an electrifying episode featuring none other than Jeff Jorgensen, the Chief Investment Officer at Cap Six!

Hold onto your seats as Jeff takes us on a rollercoaster ride through his incredible journey from pro baseball player to Wall Street wizard. Get ready to have your mind blown as he dishes out the juiciest insights on using data and tech to stay on top of the game, steer clear of blunders, and achieve mind-boggling success!

But wait, there's more! Jeff's knack for turning complex investing ideas into thrilling sports analogies will have you on the edge of your seat but won’t leave you disappointed. He'll emphasize the power of building an all-star team and making tiny tweaks that lead to colossal victories in life, data, and investing!

And that's not all! Our very own Justin Mannhardt, our newest co-host extraordinaire, will throw in his two cents and insights coming. While we dive into Jeff's collaboration with P3 to create game-changing decision-making tools, you'll also glimpse the wild ride we enjoy with our clients.

This episode will leave you buzzing with energy and grounded in the reality of data's transformative potential for old-school industries. Rob, Justin, and Jeff will inspire you to adopt a go-getter mentality, focused on relentless growth and learning. So, strap in, folks, because this is an episode you won't want to miss!

Also in this episode: Flash Gordon

Highlander

Needful Things

Moneyball

The Hangover Equations scene

The Martian “You can accept that or get to work”

Animal House: Band scene

Check out this episode!

[my-weird-news]

Tory Lanez's Fate Revealed! Shocking Hip-Hop Drama Unveiled! 😱

Megan Thee Stallion's Wild Ride: From Hot Girl Summer to Courtroom Drama 😲 Alright, gather round, folks! 📣 Let's dive into the tale of Megan Thee Stallion, the fiery hip-hop sensation who went from twerking anthems to courtroom showdowns. 🎤🔥 Strap in, because this story is like a roller coaster ride with more twists than a pretzel factory. 🕵️‍♂️ So, there's this rapper named Tory Lanez. You might remember him as the guy who somehow thought it was a great idea to fire a gun at none other than Megan Thee Stallion. Yes, you heard that right. Who knew guns and hot girl summers were a match made in musical heaven? 🤷‍♀️ Megan wasn't just going to take this lying down. Oh no, she came out swinging like a furious dance move. She accused Tory of being the human equivalent of a malfunctioning carnival game - you know, the one where you aim for the big prize but end up hitting something entirely different. In this case, Tory allegedly aimed for the stars but hit Megan's foot instead. 💃🩰 But wait, there's more! 🎉 Enter the skeptics, the naysayers, and the meme makers. They came out in full force, tossing shade and doubt like confetti at a clown convention. Drake even dropped a track suggesting Megan might be fibbing about the whole ordeal. 🎵 "This bitch lie about getting shot but she still a stallion." 🎶 Seriously, Drake? Just stick to singing about your feelings. The plot thickens! 📜 A court case ensued, and it was like the hip-hop version of "Law & Order." Complete with tweets, Instagram Live sessions, and the finest of celebrity courtroom fashion. And guess what? The jury was all ears for Megan's mic-drop moment. They actually believed her! 👂👀 🔒 Lanez found himself on the wrong side of the judge's gavel, slapped with three felonies. One for the gun, one for the gunshot, and one for the "Did you really think you could get away with this?" look. A sentence of 10 years in prison followed, leaving us all wondering if he'll drop an album from behind bars. 🎶 Now, let's talk about the online circus that ensued. Imagine the meme fest that erupted when Megan's foot injury was compared to stepping on broken glass. 🦶🍷 Is it just me, or is this the world's most unfortunate game of "Would You Rather?" Other gems include 50 Cent's meme parade and Chrissy Teigen's attempt at a punchline. Ah, celebrities, they really do know how to make light of everything. Amidst all the drama and virtual facepalms, let's not forget the deeper issues at play. Megan's journey from fierce rapper to gunshot survivor has spotlighted the violence that Black women often face. It's a symphony of misogyny and racism, with misogynoir as the conductor. 🎵👮‍♂️ So, here's to Megan Thee Stallion, the hip-hop heroine who danced her way through adversity, sass intact. 🕺💃 It's a story of resilience, power moves, and the undeniable strength of Black women refusing to be silenced. And as the curtain closes on this chapter, we're left wondering if justice was truly served or if this is just another plot twist in the grand saga of the music world. 🎶🎤# Megan Thee Stallion's Wild Ride: From Hot Girl Summer to Courtroom Drama 😲 Alright, gather round, folks! 📣 Let's dive into the tale of Megan Thee Stallion, the fiery hip-hop sensation who went from twerking anthems to courtroom showdowns. 🎤🔥 Strap in, because this story is like a roller coaster ride with more twists than a pretzel factory. 🕵️‍♂️ So, there's this rapper named Tory Lanez. You might remember him as the guy who somehow thought it was a great idea to fire a gun at none other than Megan Thee Stallion. Yes, you heard that right. Who knew guns and hot girl summers were a match made in musical heaven? 🤷‍♀️ Megan wasn't just going to take this lying down. Oh no, she came out swinging like a furious dance move. She accused Tory of being the human equivalent of a malfunctioning carnival game - you know, the one where you aim for the big prize but end up hitting something entirely different. In this case, Tory allegedly aimed for the stars but hit Megan's foot instead. 💃🩰 But wait, there's more! 🎉 Enter the skeptics, the naysayers, and the meme makers. They came out in full force, tossing shade and doubt like confetti at a clown convention. Drake even dropped a track suggesting Megan might be fibbing about the whole ordeal. 🎵 "This bitch lie about getting shot but she still a stallion." 🎶 Seriously, Drake? Just stick to singing about your feelings. The plot thickens! 📜 A court case ensued, and it was like the hip-hop version of "Law & Order." Complete with tweets, Instagram Live sessions, and the finest of celebrity courtroom fashion. And guess what? The jury was all ears for Megan's mic-drop moment. They actually believed her! 👂👀 🔒 Lanez found himself on the wrong side of the judge's gavel, slapped with three felonies. One for the gun, one for the gunshot, and one for the "Did you really think you could get away with this?" look. A sentence of 10 years in prison followed, leaving us all wondering if he'll drop an album from behind bars. 🎶 Now, let's talk about the online circus that ensued. Imagine the meme fest that erupted when Megan's foot injury was compared to stepping on broken glass. 🦶🍷 Is it just me, or is this the world's most unfortunate game of "Would You Rather?" Other gems include 50 Cent's meme parade and Chrissy Teigen's attempt at a punchline. Ah, celebrities, they really do know how to make light of everything. Amidst all the drama and virtual facepalms, let's not forget the deeper issues at play. Megan's journey from fierce rapper to gunshot survivor has spotlighted the violence that Black women often face. It's a symphony of misogyny and racism, with misogynoir as the conductor. 🎵👮‍♂️ So, here's to Megan Thee Stallion, the hip-hop heroine who danced her way through adversity, sass intact. 🕺💃 It's a story of resilience, power moves, and the undeniable strength of Black women refusing to be silenced. And as the curtain closes on this chapter, we're left wondering if justice was truly served or if this is just another plot twist in the grand saga of the music world. 🎶🎤 Read the full article

[digitalretina01]

Drive Business Growth with Effective Social Media Marketing Company in Noida | Digital Retina

Introduction

Hello, social media gurus and marketing mavens! Strap yourselves in because we’re about to embark on a wild ride into the future of social media marketing. We’ll be exploring revolutionary trends that will redefine your strategy faster than you can say “Snapstagram book.” Whether you’re a newbie or a seasoned pro, these trends will leave you shaking in your boots – in a good way, of course. So, without further ado, let’s dive in!

Well, there you have it, folks – the future of social media marketing company Noida in all its revolutionary glory. As the landscape continues to evolve, it’s crucial for marketers to stay ahead of the curve by embracing new technologies and trends. So, go forth and conquer the social media marketing world, and remember: adapt or be left behind!

Well, there you have it, folks – the future of social media marketing in all its revolutionary glory. As the landscape continues to evolve, it’s crucial for marketers to stay ahead of the curve by embracing new technologies and trends. So, go forth and conquer the social media marketing world, and remember: adapt or be left behind!

[blondrichclosetwitch]

But you say through a sigh that I said that lie already

Mind warp deceptor

It's a big dark Hell

In the first verse, we see that this locomotive came, took the vocalist’s girlfriend and bounced. That would obviously be symbolic of a period of time in which – for whatever unspecified reason – the two of them were separated. And we’re also able to ascertain that said separation greatly perturbed the singer.

So the second verse centers on the narrator anxiously waiting for the mystery train to bring his lady back to him. And upon her returning, he has vowed never to let it separate the two of them again. So as alluded to earlier, the main point of this song is for the singer to let the world know that he has no intention of being apart from his “baby” ever again.

And that’s pretty much all there is to it. To some listeners, the reference to “sixteen coaches” may sound as if it is symbolic of has some type of deep meaning. However, this track is largely based on a traditional song called “Worried Man Blues”. And with said tune indeed being a folk song, if the author(s) did mean the “16 coaches long” to be a metaphorical (which apparently they didn’t), then what exactly it does symbolize has likely been lost in time.

And you believed me

I'm calling you weak

Getting even

Oh. I was joking

Revelation 9

“I just feel shame.”

The night of the hay ride

I'll still be thinkin' of you

And please remember that I never lied

Baby, maybe someday

(Still, white horses take us home)

I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks.

You have a video camera strapped to your forehead

Smiling rewind as we die in slow motion

(As if its not happening to you)

Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here

But, it's really not my home

I live on sheer willpower

Keep an arrow trained on their conflicted minds

I made a lot of mistakes

Away away away in India (this is the third time that lyric has played today )

This is the end, beautiful friend

It hurts to set you free but you’ll never follow me

All you silly girls with all your sweet talk

You can all go take a fucking walk

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 308: VIBE: CHECKED

Previously on BnHA: Lots and lots of Shindou idk what else to tell you.

Today on BnHA: Tired Nomad Deku rescues Shindou from Muscular, and us from Shindou. Muscular is all “OH BOY I SURE CAN’T WAIT TO FIGHT DEKU AGAIN AFTER HE TOTALLY KICKED MY ASS THE LAST TIME!! I’M SURE THIS TIME WILL GO DIFFERENTLY SEEING AS HE’S HAD ALMOST AN ENTIRE YEAR’S WORTH OF ADDITIONAL TRAINING, AND ALSO HAS SIX FOURQUIRKS NOW, IN ADDITION TO THE CONFIDENCE THAT COMES WITH HAVING EIGHT OTHER PEOPLE’S SOULS CHILLING OUT INSIDE HIM OFFERING MORAL SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT.” Deku is all, “[kicks Muscular’s ass effortlessly].” Muscular is all, “[gets his ass totally kicked].” I for one am very satisfied with this, and with respect to all, I would like to hereby declare this post a discourse-free zone. I’m just happy to see my son out here making good use of his FOURQUIRKS, and more importantly beating Muscular in less than seventeen pages so we can all go on with our lives lol.

damn Deku since when were you allowed to look this cool

from this perspective and with the smoke, cape, backpack, and mask more or less obscuring his actual profile, he looks less like a sixteen-year-old boy and more like a grownass man

OH SNAP

we got a glimpse of this in the cleaned-up scan of 307, but seeing both of his eyes looking so distinctively All Might-esque here is... whoa. I mean we know that his face still looks pretty normal underneath the mask and he doesn’t actually have the black sclera, but still, this is an awesome look. mini-Might

lol Muscular

you and me both. I mean no offense, but yeah

so Deku is just standing there silently

typical Deku. tight-lipped and expressionless. mum’s the word. quiet as a mouse. silent as a grave

okay no but seriously this is so weird and creepy though you guys. Deku please say something or else I’m just gonna mindlessly say whatever stupid things come into my head in an effort to make things less awkward

so Muscular is all “I should probably make a cool speech about revenge but Horikoshi couldn’t think of anything good so I’m just going to stand here clenching my fist real slowly”

“I’m not here to go on a monologue” he says, as he monologues about not monologuing

okay you guys I confess I have only read through/watched the Deku VS Muscular fight once because the arm-breaking is just way too uncomfortable for me to revisit. and so as a result, I have completely forgotten Whatever The Deal Is with Muscular’s eye lmao so let me go look it up real quick

okay so it’s a prosthetic, obviously, and he changes it out according to his mood. that part does sound familiar. I just can’t remember which eye is supposed to indicate which mood. don’t tell me I actually have to go back and reread this shit

lol I’m skimming through chapter 75 now and remembering/realizing that I hardly paid any attention to this the first time around because as soon as I found out the villains were after Kacchan my brain was like “TIME TO FOCUS ON THIS AND ONLY THIS NOW AND FOREVER” and yeah. ah memories

anyway so he started out with the flower-looking eye, and then later on he was all

which begs the question, how on earth could I have ever forgotten the most ridiculous panel I’ve ever read lmao

anyway, but so after all of that, I'm only just now realizing that this isn't one of his previous eye prosthetics in the current chapter; this is an ACTUAL FUCKING ROCK that he's just randomly shoved into his eye socket fkdsjlk

so basically (1) I did all of that painstaking research for nothing, five whole minutes of my life wasted THANKS A LOT, and (2) what, and I have never meant this more emphatically, THE FUCK

anyway so now he's leaping at the building that Deku is standing on top of. but he’s not aiming anywhere near Deku though, wtf

(ETA: HAHA YOU BROKE ALL YOUR MUSCLES YOU LOSER.)

...huh

lmao okay then. I hope those annoying citizens in the building next door are watching this go down and rethinking their life choices

dlkdkljk

just keep standing there pressed right up against the window, why don’t you. “WHAT’S GOING ON THIS SUPER CLOSE COLLAPSING BUILDING IS BLOCKING OUR VIEW.” well, folks, we’ve long since known there’s a critical shortage of hero and villain brain cells, but what we’re learning now is that civilian brain cells are also in short supply

OH THANK GOD DEKU IS FINALLY TALKING THAT WAS ACTUALLY UNSETTLING AS FUCK

SO HE’S STILL OUR GOOD, POLITE, WORRIED, CONSIDERATE DEKU UNDERNEATH THAT COOL AND MYSTERIOUS VENEER. for real, thank fuck, because I swear to god if he suddenly started acting like the Dekus in all of the vigilante AUs my interest in this series would have dropped something like 50% lol. just because he dropped out of school and ran away from home and is currently dressed like the physical manifestation of a Linkin Park playlist doesn’t mean he’s not still the WORLD’S BIGGEST DORK okay

I MEAN, THIS RIGHT HERE. THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT. HE’S APOLOGIZING FOR THE DELAY

PLEASE FIND THE ATTACHED SHINDOU YOU REQUESTED. BEST REGARDS!!!

OH MY GOD WHY IS HE SUCH A BADASS

something about making bold, confident statements while obscured in smoke?? idk but damn it fucking works

ffjkkl

more importantly, should you tell him you actually need your copy of Shindou in excel format and not pdf?? on the one hand you don’t want to sound ungrateful, but on the other hand what are you even supposed to do with this

this chapter so far consists of like 50% smoke, but on the other hand Deku VS Kacchan 2 had a lot of cinematic smoke too so who am I to complain

OMG IS IT HIS ARMS

IDK DID YOU?! TELL ME YOUR SECRETS. PLEASE, AT SOME POINT THIS FIGHT HAS GOT TO ACTUALLY ADVANCE THE PLOT

OHHHHHHH

IT’S EN’S QUIRK!! OH MY GOD OKAY THAT’S ACTUALLY AWESOME

I CAN HEAR THE SOUND OF DISCOURSE RUMBLING IN THE BACKGROUND BUT I DON’T CARE LOL. WON’T CATCH ME EVER SAYING NO TO ANOTHER SIXQUIRK. GO AHEAD, BRING THEM ON, I WANT TO SEE THEM ALL but take it easy though Deku. don’t want to give yourself lung cancer or anything

also it’s good to see that in a very real sense he’s not fighting alone. the Vestiges really did mean it when they said they could appear more easily now. this is on a whole other level

so is this whole next page still En talking, or someone else? because whoever it is sure is chatty

okay, several things

pretty sure it is En, because he keeps saying “I suppose.” for someone who never said two words until one page ago, this guy sure never shuts up. we can’t all follow Muscular’s lead I suppose. oh my god now I’m doing it too

really like the suggestion of Deku using the SIXQUIRKS like tools in an arsenal, because that’s what he’s good at! it’s almost like he’s been training for this his entire life. “you value quirks too much” LOOK HE JUST THINKS THEY’RE COOL OKAY IS THAT A CRIME

where the fuck did all this rope come from

not gonna ask what the fuck that thing is sticking out from the back of his utility belt. Horikoshi will surely explain this

is that a fucking jetpack. I’m sorry Deku were six fucking quirks not enough for you. you can fucking float??? but JUST TO BE SAFE, LET’S STRAP A PAIR OF ROCKETS TO OUR SHOULDERS IDK

-- or wait, is this all supposed to be like a visual representation of En’s metaphor?? OH MY GOD AM I JUST STUPID LOL, DON’T ANSWER THAT. NEVER MIND. NEW LIST!!

rope = blackwhip

jetpack = float

radio = danger sense

and so I’m guessing that this ridiculously phallic thing is supposed to be a flare or something?? and that = the new quirk, smokescreen. well that was a fucking ride lmao we now return you to our regularly scheduled chapter

so now Deku is floating to his heart’s content and thinking that he’ll just sneak up on Muscular and vibe check his ass or whatever

WOOOOOOOO DANGER SENSE YESSSS I LOVE THIS FOR HIM

okay guys, I'm gonna press pause here for a sec to make a serious note, because I am loving the shit out of this, but tbh I'm having trouble enjoying it as much as I want to because I keep getting anxious thinking about the discourse. I know that a lot of the fandom has very strong opinions on Deku's character development one way or the other, and I want to respect that. but I also really have no spoons to debate this topic at all beyond what I’ve already weighed in on. so if it’s all the same to everyone, I plan on staying out of this discussion, at least this week

anyway! that said, YEAH BOI GET HIS ASS

VIBE: CHECKED. CURB: STOMPED. HOTEL: TRIVAGO

-- OF COURSE HE’S STILL FUCKING FINE LOL HE CRASHES INTO BUILDINGS FOR FUN IDK WHAT I WAS EXPECTING

dammit Muscular. how many fucking quirks does it take to beat you?! the annoying thing is that even with all of his cool new powers, Deku is still something of a mismatch against him. anyway r.i.p. to all these poor buildings

OOOOOHHHHH

you guys have no idea how intrigued I am at the prospect of watching Deku try to play both good cop and bad cop here lmao

anyway so Muscular says he doesn’t know, go figure

“I’m not here to make small talk or anything” he says as he small talks about not small talking

OH MY GOD DEKU

are you really gonna talk no jutsu all of these villains from now on?? that last battle really did have a profound impact on you, huh! interesting

you guys he’s really doing it omg

Deku this guy tried to murder a five-year-old literally just for fun. I mean more power to you, but holy shit you’re really gonna try to defeat Muscular with anger management therapy huh

I MEAN

WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THAT RESPONSE COMING dlkjslkjk

FUCK’S SAKE DEKU, I KNOW YOU MEAN WELL BUT THEY CAN’T ALL HAVE TRAGIC PASTS KIDDO

but. I have to admit, I do still like that he tried. probably knew just as well as we did what the end result was going to be, but still. he made the effort in good faith and I respect that

uh oh

why do I get the feeling Muscular just got a whole lot deader

oh my god oh my god he’s doing the “powering up” stance ffff don’t fucking tell me you can still use your fucking arms here, Deku

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY WHAT’S THIS??

okay so basically he’s saying that whatever it was he sensed in Tomura, he doesn’t sense from Muscular. which, yeah, that sounds exactly right. good judge of character here lol

AHHHHAHAHA YESS

WHOOPS, GET FUCKED I GUESS

WOOOOHOOOOOOOO

lmao so apparently this is the belated result of Shindou’s attack from chapter 307?? I’ll be damned. good for you Shindou!! I always liked you buddy. please just take my word on that and don’t fact check that statement

okay lol the one tiny bit of discourse I will allow is that it’s bullshit that he just did that with his right arm. like, I’ll fully acknowledge that. that makes no fucking sense, and I demand an explanation from the Great Plot Hole Filler himself. he’s never let us down before when it comes to continuity so I’m trusting him not to suddenly start now

that said, we love to see a rematch against a boring guy settled quickly and decisively within the span of a single chapter. THANK YOU

I like that Deku implies that his power is being a smart nerd who battles villains using the power of ANALYTICS. he basically didn’t do anything except restrain Muscular and wait for Shindou’s attack to take effect while halfheartedly checking to see if he regretted any of that murder and stuff

(ETA: and almost forgot to mention, he made excellent use of all four of his active SIXQUIRKS. it’s like the chapter title said; this is basically him fighting all-out, and it’s a sight to see.)

also, as cool as the mask was, this just feels right. like, we had our fun, now let us see his face, yes good

anyway, I think this was a good start towards establishing What’s Up With Deku Right Now! so if it’s all the same to Horikoshi, I would next like to take some time to explore Why’s Up With Deku. that, and What’s Up With Everyone Else, Especially Kacchan. por favor

[hopefullystillatheatrestudent]

The One Where Jensen Ackles Confirmed Cockles in 2016(????) No. Seriously. For real.

this is a DOOZY. strap in folks.

DISCLAIMER: this is chock full of rps. if you are against cockles/jenmish in any way, this post is not for you. however, if you’re like me, ummmmm...

alright. so. we are REALLY in it now, cockles truthers. and make no mistake, i DO NOT want to undersell the significance of what we have found on this glorious day in 2021.

BUT HEY! DISCLAIMER FIRST, THOUGH IT SHOULD GO WITHOUT SAYING! do not EVER bring this to jensen and misha’s attention. do not comment disrespectful things on social media. when cons/panels start again, don’t ask them questions about it. ever!!! that’s super weird, for one thing, and for two, they won’t give you the answer you want anyway! so, yeah. just be decent, y’all. let’s continue. 

so my dear mutual @green-blue-heller made this post today and i promptly lost my mind. in it, they link this video:

as far as i can tell, it’s from VegasCon 2016 but was only unprivated on january 24, 2020(dean winchester’s birthday??? wow ok) for some reason, and we have overlooked it until now. to whoever it was that posted it, THANK you for my reason for being and this delayed gratification five years later. anyway, let’s get into it.

right off the bat, those expressions in the thumbnail kind of tell you all you need to know about what we’re venturing into. i have to thank BOTH jensen AND j*red for being ridiculously transparent. i mean...j*red purposefully avoiding eye contact with jensen and looking at the ceiling with his eyebrows raised sky high? jensen hiding his face in his hands, smiling and blushing like a fool, the misha face™ & grin???

so let’s break down what happens with timestamps and everything.

so! i looked up what the question was, i scoured through the entire Vegas Con video, and here it is:

‘My question is for Jensen and Jared. You guys are both happily married, and I noticed that many people had a hard time explaining how they know their significant other is the one. The one they want to spend the rest of their life with, the one that they want to be with, and so, I wanted to ask you guys, how did you know that your current- who you’re with now(audience laughter cuts the rest of the question off and it’s unintelligible)’ ….i’m solidly guessing that the end of that question boils down to ‘was the one’. (....i...uhhhh....have some thoughts on how this question affected jensen, and i will be going into them later.)

Jared: *laughs* Jared, Jensen. When did you first meet your future ex-wives?

*both of them laugh*

Jared: I’m just kidding-I get what you’re trying to say and thank you, um...I, uh, I guess my current wife, uh-

*both laugh again*

Jensen: (sarcastically) Let’s start with her.

Jared: (repeats) Let’s start with her. I, uh, I...you said something kinda, uh, amazing in your question, which is that a lot of people have a tough time or a difficult time explaining to their significant others or to themselves what it is. And I guess I feel that I have no way to possibly explain it to myself or to her... I remember that I had been in a relationship and that I was single and I was like ‘I am not interested in getting in a relationship’ and then she and I went on a date and I was like, ‘I can’t go anywhere else. I’m not interested.’ So, that was kinda what, um, what started it for me *clears throat loudly* Uh. Yeah, I just feel like (searching for words) she makes me a better person-there are a lot of people that make you a better person, and so that’s not enough, I don’t think-or maybe it is, who knows-um...I don’t know, I can’t really...if I could explain, I’d be a poet.

here’s where things start to get interesting. before jared says ‘If I could explain, I’d be a poet,’ Jensen’s face looks like this:

stoic, thoughtful, composed. and then AFTER jared says that his face makes THIS little journey:

go watch it for yourself. this man is ridiculous. in terms of body language? he gazes up and AWAY from jared. it is a private thought, he is not sharing in jared’s joke with him, if at all. it is his own personal musings that make his face LIGHT up like that. this fool looks lovestruck!!! this fool is lovestruck!!!

now, i think it goes without saying, but there is an obvious cockles reason that springs to mind for this reaction. (hint: misha is a poet. that’s it, that’s the reason.) i don’t think jared intentionally said this with misha in mind, but jensen’s thoughts IMMEDIATELY went there. whether or not this is because he was already planning on answering and hinting at his relationship with misha before jared says this, which i think he was-you can certainly see the wheels turning in jensen’s head before this moment-his brain involuntarily makes the connection and it shows in his glowing smile. after that remark...jensen’s gone. he’s whipped. and he HAS to say something about it. 

continuing from where we left off:

Jared: ...and I would love to be a poet. (thought it would be fun to mention that at this point Jensen catches what his face did and immediately looks over to Jared and WIPES the expression of his face...but it’s too late, because someone recorded it, i saw it, and now i’m writing about it five years later)

Jared: But uhh…

Jensen: (interrupting) Just tap me when you want me to take over. 

i think that jensen is simultaneously joking and is also more than ready to say what he’s been composing in his head diligently for the last thirty or so seconds. he has made up his mind, and is now ready to drop the bomb on us.

*audience laughs, Jared playfully swats at him*

Jared: Uh… *thinks in silence for a bit* It’s really difficult, it’s really difficult. She makes me feel safe, she makes me feel loved. Uh...when...I’m in a position where I don’t love myself, I know she loves me, you know, um...she’s just an awesome, awesome lady.

*audience claps*

alright! so in terms of my OWN analysis for what’s happened up until this point, the conclusion i have come to is that there was something in the question that was asked that sets jensen’s mind off about misha, and i think it was the ‘the one’ comment. if we’re putting our cockles goggles on, jensen doesn’t HAVE a ‘the one’. he resents thinking like that. i’m also very intuitive, and i get a sense that jensen is an honest person and can’t really tell a convincing lie. i mean...we all saw that horrible airbnb debacle, right? and his slip up when he accidentally confirms that misha woke up and said ‘i miss (maison)’[which how would you know that unless you were...nvm] and became a stammering mess and had to sit down and cover his face. and that misha is always the one to take the lead when it comes to denying clothes sharing, for instance. jensen has never ONCE attempted to explain that away, because i don’t think anyone would believe him, and i think he’s incapable of doing so because he’s not a dishonest person and can’t lie easily. i’m the same way, so to avoid telling a lie i always speak partial truths, and i’m 99% sure jensen is well versed in this talent as well. oh, also, just to really land my point....we all know how he feels about the finale because he can’t make himself speak well on it. he’ll gush about 15x18 and the PEOPLE BEHIND the finale, but he has not uttered one. positive. word. about the actual finale itself. i mean, we all know what he thinks about it. in his own way, he has made his rage glaringly obvious. and i think he’s doing that exact thing here, where he resents the implication that daneel is the only ‘one’ for him, because that’s simply not true, and he can’t and won’t lie about something like that. 

i watched it back again and wrote notes on jensen’s body language as he’s processing the question. here they are:

from 0:13 to 1:21, jensen: 

looks down - tenses face - searching eyes, lost in thought - jared’s comment brings him out of it but it takes a second - fidgets, adjusts clothes, looks at jared - bites the inside of his cheeks and moves tongue around his mouth(pacifying gesture) - eyes start wandering away from jared, looks down and tenses face, looks back at jared - then looks away, eyes and mind far from the panel and pondering the question itself - somewhat wistful expression, gears clearly turning in his head, lips pursed, stops reacting to what jared is saying, fingers start fidgeting, eyes have moved downward as he is lost in thought - something shifts in his brain, he looks to the ceiling, fidgets and adjusts his clothing, squints and seems to resolve an inner thought - slightly comes back down to earth with newfound resolution - and then jared’s ‘i would be a poet’ comment happens while he’s coming down from that

i mean, this obviously doesn’t necessarily mean anything huge(yet), all it shows is that this question took a lot of thinking for him. when you compare it to how jared kind of just dove in? 

anyway; so then jared’s done, he slaps jensen’s thigh to indicate it’s his turn, jensen makes THAT face you see in the thumbnail, jared’s eyebrows raise, jensen looks down and scratches his forehead, and then makes the statement of a lifetime. 

here’s the link for this next part

Jensen: Ummm..I kind of feel like there’s two types of people ..uh..in regards to marriage and the, the one. Uh, it’s the ones that just, just know with an absolute and, and have a certainty of like, this is the one for me, unequivocally. And then there’s those who are, you know, I don’t know, I’m scared, but I’m willing to take that leap of faith with you. And, I kind of find myself in between both of those(...types of people). And uh, and so, it can be a scary endeavour, and it can, and it will certainly have it’s ups and downs, um, but I think it’s a, uh, it’s a bond, and it’s a connection, and it’s a friendship, and it’s a ride, and it’s a journey that, uh, if you’re willing to stick it out with one another, can be an amazing, beautiful thing and I’m glad that I picked the partner and the teammate that I have, so.

i’ll give you like a second to recuperate before we dig in. 

let’s start with both jared and jensen’s body language first, because it wasn’t even the words that clued me in, it was whatever the hell was going on with jared’s face. 

i really wish i could gif, but i can only attempt to convey the SPEED and VIGOUR with which jared snaps his head toward jensen. 

these pictures are objectively hilarious because you can see the entire mental journey that jared goes on. he was aloof and kind of relaxed because he was done, it’s jensen’s turn now, he’s surely not gonna out himself with this question right? and then jensen goes ahead and says ‘there are two-’ and jared instantly zones right into jensen with a look of horror on his face, that he tries to contain, but does so unsuccessfully. that is the face of a man who is internally freaking out, thought to himself ‘did he seriously just say...’ and is kind of staring at the culprit in shock and awe.

i know that’s what’s happening, because this is not the first time we’ve seen him react like this to something jensen has said. the classic head whip. a few examples, just off the top of my head:

1. ‘he has, hasn’t he?’ 

2. ‘he sounds like that in the morning’ ‘how do you know’ 

3. when he whips his head around when he notices jensen’s face(and instantly understands when he realizes it’s misha)

so yeah, i’m sure you get it by now. jared can’t really keep it off of his face. there’s no real analyzing to be done here...it’s just an obvious tell on his part. there’s no real reason for him to have reacted this way if jensen was saying something inconspicuous, is there? he would have continued to just kind of space out if jensen hadn’t just said something jarringly questionable. 

as for jensen’s body language, i can’t really tell where he’s looking from either angle of both videos i’ve seen. sometimes it seems like he’s looking straight at jared, and maybe nods at him once, but he could also(and is most likely) looking at the fan who asked the question. i don’t think there’s anything particularly telling about his body language because i think he rehearsed his answer in his head and also, he’s not shying away because he’s not lying about anything. like...everything he’s saying is true, so he’s not going to have any tells. and it’s the fact that he is TELLING THE TRUTH that is freaking jared out.

now for what he actually says. because oh my god. 

right off the bat, he says “i kind of feel like there’s two types of people..” and first off, what? what does that even mean? if you think of it in terms of ‘this is about daneel and only daneel’....isn’t this a realllyyyyy strange thing to start out with? objectively? the question that was asked to him was ‘how did you know they were the one?’ and he goes ‘actually there’s TWO types of people’ ...like, jensen never answers the question at hand. 

and then he goes “in regards to marriage and the one”. i hope i’m not the only one who noticed he said the words ‘the one’ in a resentful and kind of degrading tone? seriously, listen to it again. he seems like he’s almost mocking that sentiment. i swear i’m not making it up, it really sounds like that to me. 

and then he says “-it’s the ones that just, just know with an absolute and, and have a certainty of like, this is the one for me, unequivocally. And then there’s those who are, you know, I don’t know, I’m scared, but I’m willing to take that leap of faith with you.” *NON TINHAT VERSION OF EVENTS* what he could mean, i guess, is he was both scared to be with daneel but also knew she was the one for him. which....ok. alright. *TINHAT BACK ON* first off, there’s absolutely no risk with daneel. that’s not a judgement, because i love her; it’s just true. she’s a pretty, talented, amazing woman and they are very much in love. i’m not sure what risks he’s taking there. next up: pretty strange wording then, don’t you think? idk, if it were you, and you wanted to get that point across, wouldn’t you use words like ‘she both scared me and i knew i wanted to be with her at the same time’ and NOT this convoluted mess of ‘there’s two types of people and they are both drastically different but also one and the same’? 

SECOND OF ALL, as many people have pointed out.....he never uses pronouns. this is strange. jared does. jared says gen’s name, even. and uses ‘she’ and ‘her’. jensen never once does that, he practically refuses to do so. and yes, i fully believe it is entirely intentional.

because if you look at this phrase from a cockles lens it makes more sense then if you do not. 

the one that jensen knows, unequivocally, with the utmost certainty, is the one for him, no doubts, no risks; is daneel. the one that he doesn’t know about, is scared of being with, but is willing to take that leap of faith anyway; is misha. and all of a sudden the puzzle pieces fall into place.

because he goes on to say “I kind of find myself in between both of those.” 

he doesn’t say ‘i find myself in between both of those...with her.’ nope. he’s just...in between. caught in the middle. of those two types of people. translation: of those two people. mish. dee. 

“And it can be a scary endeavour, and it will certainly have it’s ups and downs, but I think it’s a bond, and it’s a connection, and it’s a friendship, and it’s a ride, and it’s a journey...” 

every single one of those words can be applied to more than one person. think about it. bond(between three people). connection(between three people). friendship(between three people!!!). there’s no ‘partnership’ in here, which does only apply to two people. 

lastly, “i’m glad i picked the partner and the teammate that i have.”

ok, look. you can easily say that it’s just one person he’s talking about here! of course you can. but this is jensen ackles we’re talking about. jensen ‘rock and pebble’ ackles. jensen ‘mish. dee.’ ackles. so yes. i definitely think that ‘the partner and the teammate’ fall into this category. and i think daneel is the partner and misha is the teammate. 

to put it matter-of-factly: you simply cannot prove that this isn’t about a poly relationship. there is absolutely nothing he says that makes it obvious he is talking about one person here. because he isn’t. 

i just feel like, in the simplest terms, if this were about only daneel, that he would not be using these weird phrases that are half-hidden truths. just to compare, i watched another panel where pretty much the exact same question was asked, minus the whole ‘the one’ debacle, and, just as i suspected, it was an entirely different answer. he talks about the moment where he knew he liked her. her, specifically. says the name daneel. gushes about her. there’s no tiptoeing and weird pronoun usage and vague terminology. 

tl; dr : i think he answered the question this way because there is no ‘the one’ in his life. and he is physically incapable of leaving misha out when talking about ‘the one’ because he has TWO ‘the ones’. and he wants to answer the question to the best of his best ability, but lying is unnatural to him. he will talk about daneel at length and misha at length, but i honestly to my core don’t think you could make him choose between the two. oh! and we literally had confirmation all the way back in fucking 2016, we just never paid attention until now. so......thanks, jensen?

sorry, this got super long, but i hope i warned you well enough. 

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher  higher  higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard���fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything  shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

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