#usually that same trajectory would take an hour

[purplecelestial-buddy]

Nothing quite like the bond between you and the person beside who has also been sleeping for most of the trip

[lovebugism]

first time having sex with eddie pleasepleaseplease

bug's blurb sleepover (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)! 18+

The first time you and Eddie have sex, he gives you a paper ring.

It’s made of the delicate wrappings of a straw. He’d gotten it for his drink at the diner, ripped off the end of it, and blew it square in your face, then laughed when you tried to do the same to him.

You couldn’t get the trajectory quite right, though, and decided to count your losses.

When he retrieves the pieces of forlorn trash from your end of the table and twirls it around in his hand, you figure he’s just fiddling with it. That it’s some absentminded thing he’s doing because his mind is always so preoccupied with one thing or another. Then he reaches for your hand across the table and takes hold of your left hand. 

Your fingertips are ice-cold, he finds, from where they’d been clutching the ribbed glass of your milkshake. He holds onto them anyway, and slips the twisted piece of paper onto your fourth finger. It’s tied at the top like a ribbon with a large knot at the center like a ring. 

You don’t realize the sentiment in it at first. You think it’s some party trick, like tying a cherry stem with your tongue or making a paper crane out of a napkin. 

Then Eddie smiles at you, a big, dumb, and sparkling grin — “Let Henderson try to make fun of us now, sweetheart. It’s finally official.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. 

Eddie used to call you his wife as a joke. It started as a way to get free meals at fancy restaurants you couldn’t afford. Then he saw how it made you blush and he did it just to make you laugh. It became a habit he couldn’t break sometime thereafter. The rest of Hellfire teased him to no end about the whole thing.

But it’s official now, or so he says. And you know it’s not real, not entirely, but suddenly you’re sad that it isn’t. 

Eddie steals your milkshake and lifts the lip of the glass to his mouth rather than use the straw. He smears whipped cream all over the tip of his nose and his cupid’s bow. You realize you can’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The thought doesn’t scare you as much as you thought it would. And you know that you’re just a couple of kids who don’t know a single damn thing about the world, but you know that yours would be so empty without Eddie in it.

You keep the ring on the rest of your lunch and flaunt it like it’s the real thing. It may not be made of metal with a too big diamond at the center, but the sentiment feels the same.

He takes you back to the trailer a little while later. Eddie makes sure to tell you how pretty you look sitting in the passenger seat of his van while he goes a world over the speed limit. You scold him for not paying attention and he blames you for distracting him.

Wayne’s truck is gone from the drive when you get to Forest Hills. It’s the first time you’ve had the trailer to yourselves and the realization sends a sick feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach — an elation, an apprehension, a shiver of anticipation.

And things weren’t tense exactly, nothing between you and Eddie was ever tense, but it was a foreign edge of a different kind. Things were unusually charged, like, sexually. It was just the thought of having the place to yourselves, of what couples usually did when they were alone. It left the both of you silently stewing over whether or not to take advantage of it all.

But you manage to keep things fairly innocent despite the distant, lingering libido that purrs like a roused sleeping dragon in the backs of your mind. 

The post-lunch fatigue hits the both of you like a ton of bricks, and you peel off what little you’d put on for your short trip to the diner most innocently. In nothing but oversized t-shirts and less than sexy underwear, you crawl into his bed and slip off to sleep without thinking.

That, coincidentally, is when things bubbled over.

You wake first some hours later. The setting sun has started to coat Eddie’s bedroom in various shades of orange You rise only because of the way the boy shifts behind you, sliding his hips over your back and gripping your waist with his fingers only for them to go lax a moment or so later. 

He tangles himself with you and it’s all perfectly normal. Eddie tends to shift in his sleep and the only way he can ever be content, it seems, is when he’s holding you like a teddy bear.

What isn’t normal, though, is the very apparent erection nudging at your lower back. 

“Eds…” you murmur, voice still groggy and heavy with exhaustion despite your alarm.

The boy, still half asleep and unknowing of the brick in his pants, mumbles back a lazy “hm?” 

He shifts again as he becomes more aware of his surroundings. It isn’t until his sensitive cock brushes against you that he notices how alarmingly hard he’d gotten in his sleep. He tenses, utterly mortified, before he feels you rock back against him. 

It’s intentional this time, knowing, and it lessens his fear but certainly not his hunger.

You press yourself further into him and twist your neck to look over at him. With tired eyes and heavy mouths, he shifts over you and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s lazy and slow, simmering with a cozy warmth. It doesn’t take either of you very long to wake up.

He presses a hand to your shoulder and rolls you onto your back, propping himself on his elbows to rest his weight on top of you. In your adjustment, lies a five-second pause that manages to feel like a moment’s blink in time and an eternity all at once. It’s as blissful as it is terrifying, the moment just before the kiss, the feeling when you know it’s about to happen.

Your eyes dart between his darker ones in a silent question. Eddie answers it with a searing kiss.

His knuckles brush against your buzzing skin as he strips you from the top you wear. You lift your hips to remove your panties after, while he rises to remove his own shirt. He tugs it up and over his pale torso, spotted with patches of hair on his chest and belly and fading tattoos.

“This was bound to happen, huh?” he jokes with a grin.

You bite back your own wide smile that threatens to take over your mouth and watch with twinkling eyes as he maneuvers his boxers down his legs without standing up. His hard cock bounces to his stomach, grateful to have been released from its confines. It glows an angry red at the tip.

“Are you complaining?” you retort playfully as he leans back over you again — both of you fully naked, bare chest pressed to bare chest.

The ends of Eddie’s hair tickle your jaw as he shakes his head. “Hell, no I��m not complaining, sweetheart.”

Lust swallows the two of you whole and blankets the room in a heavy heat. It’s all tongue and teeth and scorching touches. You flip yourself over for him suddenly, pressing your face into his pillow, and leaving the rest of you perfectly on display for him. 

Eddie is all too happy to admire the view as he takes you. His eyes remained locked on your ass, trained on the way you swallow his cock and how you meet his unpracticed thrusts with ease and diligence. His nervous hands are nearly numb where they clutch the dip of your waist. 

You peek over your shoulder at him, a playful and eager glint in your eye. Your smile widens when one of his hands lifts to swat your outer thigh. 

He was no stranger to this position — doggy style. In fact, the few girls he had fucked before you, he’d taken this way. But none of them were girlfriends. They were one-night stands from The Hideout or girls who used him to pass the time. He never minded how impersonal it felt before now. Because even with his cock nestled within you, closer than he could possibly be to you, the distance still feels like too much.

The breathless moans you exhale into the pillow cease when his hips still.

“Could you—  Can you, uh… Can you roll over?” he stammers, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

As lame as he feels in his request, you comply without thinking. 

You feel empty when he pulls out of you, warm again when he gets you on your back and looms over you again. You don’t mind when he presses his weight into you. Instead, you pull him somehow closer, catching him by his jaw to pull him into a devouring kiss that has him chasing you back into the pillows.

Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him locked into you though you writhe something fierce beneath him. Your hips roll with each of his unhurried thrusts, exhaling heavily against his mouth every time he presses into you.

“Eddie…” you breathe through lusted pants. “Please. I need… Need more.”

He doesn’t know why you’re begging. He’s never denied you of anything before. He doesn’t plan on starting now. Eddie wants to give you everything you want all the time — even when he doesn’t exactly know how to.

He ruts his hips harder than he had been before, with a pace far quicker than the relaxed thrusts he’d been given you. And it becomes obvious how greatly he’d undermined his strength when his pelvis presses into you and drives you up the bed. The crown of your head meets the wall with a dull thunk that echoes through the quiet, golden room.

Eddie stills immediately, blanching and gaping in fear.

“Ow,” you whine lowly, then laugh at yourself and him and the situation entire. 

You let Eddie cradle the back of your head as his fingers dance through the strands of your hair, rubbing gently at the sore spot of your skull. “Not that much, Eds…”

It makes him feel like a fumbling virgin all over again.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, wincing for you. He presses a sheepish kiss to the tip of your nose, rubbing the buzzing skin of your waist with the hand not pillowing the crown of your head. 

You’re healed instantaneously by all of the softness of touch.

“It’s okay,” you promise with a distant smile. “I asked for it.”

After your assurance (and then some), Eddie gets back into the swing of things. Distantly, he’s still terrified of hurting you again, but he gets so drunk on the praises that spill so effortlessly from your mouth to care. 

Your honeyed words are entwined with moans of his name and fragile whimpers as you near your peak. It catapults Eddie to his own orgasm. When you come, you do it with your fingers wrapped in the umber strands of his wild hair. Your walls flutter and tighten around his cock and your hands tug at his curly strands, hard — it drags him down right along with you.

He tenses and stills against you, whining and whimpering with his eyes squeezed shut. He fights to keep himself from bucking too wildly against you while you milk him and moan his name like it’s some prayer. You drive him crazy without even trying, reduce him to a puddle of nothingness with ease.

He flops less than gracefully beside you all over again, pale chest heaving with uneven breaths and curls clinging to his sweating forehead. The two of you fight to catch your breath.

You’re not looking at him. Your eyes have long fluttered shut as you revel in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling like you’re not all there. A lazy smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and you exhale sharply, stuttering breaths in the place of a laugh. 

He can’t take his eyes off of you. You look ethereal and filthy, a heavenly being and a succubus from hell. He’s amazed by you, confounded at how an angel like you could wind up in his bed like this, somehow more in love with you than he had been just minutes before.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he promises out of the blue, voice heavy and far away from himself. 

And Eddie so often speaks candidly. He’s honest to a fault, saying things he knows he probably shouldn’t — but that? That catches even him off guard. 

But you don’t seem all that surprised by his words. They make you laugh, actually, eyes squinting and nose crinkling when you finally peek over at him.

Eddie’s still too far gone to laugh with you, but the corners of his lips quirky slightly.

“I thought we already were.”

You lift your left hand to remind him of the ring he’d tied to your finger just hours ago. The paper has slackened around the joint. The knot isn’t as tight as it had been before, hanging loosely at the knuckle. The edges are frayed and ripping in some places. But it’s still there.

And when it tears completely, he’ll make you another. And another. And another.

Until he can replace it with the real thing.

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part i: the winter of our discontent

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.8k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

hello and welcome to my first ever mando fic!! i binged the entirety of the first two seasons in a week to get me through tedious internship work and accidentally fell in love with our favorite space dad and his cute green child along the way. oops (i regret nothing)

with the outline i currently have for this fic, it’ll be around 11-12 chapters, although that’s likely to grow as we get deeper into the story. the posting schedule might be anywhere from once a week to once a month, but this wip *will* be finished.

the second chapter's scheduled to upload next week as a little treat for y'all, so if you want to catch it then hit that follow button or ask to be added to my taglist! ;)

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

You watched the last of tonight’s drunken patrons stumble out of the cantina and into the bitter Nath night with a relieved sigh. Wiping your hands on the stained apron tied around your waist, you fished a set of bronze keys out of a tiny pocket and began your nightly walk around the perimeter of the bar, locking doors and pulling down rusty shutters as you went. The cantina was silent aside from your quiet shuffling– a welcome reprieve from its usual crowded bustle and chatter so hectic you could barely hear your own thoughts. 

You hummed softly as you adjusted booths back to their original positions and swept crumbs off of battered tabletops, wishing that the small holospeaker at the edge of the room hadn’t been broken in a recent bar fight. Swaying to its pre-Imperial oldies throughout your long, exhausting shifts had been one of the only perks of working in this run-down cantina, but without the soothing ambience of music, a chill threatened to sink into your bones and paralyze you with the deep depression this side of the planet seemed to have succumbed to.

You never planned to stay here for as long as you had. No one really did, except for criminals who knew that no one would willingly come here to search for them and locals who had never known anything else. Nath might have been charming, once– all soft snowflakes and peaceful walks under sepia-toned streetlights– but that was before the Empire had destroyed every semblance of comfort and culture and replaced them with brutalist brick structures that were already crumbling under the weight of their makers’ crimes. The fear lingered long after the Imps had finally left the post, reflected in the sad eyes of the fishmongers’ children and the way one would be hard-pressed to find a factory worker who didn’t spend his nights nursing a bottle and the ghosts of blaster scars across his back.

You had your own scars, of course, but you still held out hope that things would change and you’d make it out of here– although that hope was gradually diminishing as off-world shuttles visited less and less frequently and the permanent winter worsened. Five years ago, you’d been unceremoniously dropped off at the town’s dingy port, forced to land after your shuttle to Corellia was damaged by an unexpected detour through an asteroid field. You’d taken the cantina job thinking you’d only stay long enough to pay for passage on an outgoing ship, but soon learned that any shuttle risking the terrible weather to land here would also charge an exorbitant boarding price– one that would take you years to afford with the meager pay you received. And your tentative plan of stowing away on a spice freighter and sneaking off once it arrived at its destination (you weren’t picky about where, so long as it wasn’t Nath) was tempered by the increasingly likelihood that you’d get blown to pieces the minute you entered space by one of the pirate gangs that ruled the atmosphere these days. So– you were stuck here, at least for now.

The smell of something burning in the back of the cantina drew you out of your thoughts. Cursing, you raced to the kitchen, where your dinner was quickly blackening on the stove. Kriff. You shut off the burner, staring at the charred mess before you for a few seconds before dejectedly scraping it into an almost-overflowing trash bin. Well, there went your plan to eat quickly and head to your tiny flat before the storm outside worsened. Your rental pod had barely enough space for your bed and a miniscule bathroom, so you had to use the cantina kitchen if you wanted to stay fed– but the stove here was so old, it took half an hour longer than usual to cook anything. You resigned yourself to another night sleeping in a booth, since the flurry outside would prevent you from navigating your way home safely. 

You sliced up a few vegetables and set them to simmer in a pot with the last of the herbed broth and sandseed noodles from today’s lunch special, glancing at the bin next to you. It was probably a good idea to take out the foul-smelling waste before you were sealed in next to it all night. Wrinkling your nose at the unappealing scraps of food threatening to fall off the top of the pile, you hefted the bin up and maneuvered it through the back door of the cantina, being careful not to stain your apron any more than it already was. The harsh winds nipped at every sliver of exposed skin and dusted your hair with a pearlescent sheen of snow, making you wish you’d thought to slip on something warmer than your thin blouse and trousers before leaving the protection of the kitchen.

You navigated through the blizzard to the end of the dark alleyway behind the cantina, your path lit only by two buzzing lamps at each end of the narrow corridor. You scrunched your face up against the cold, willing yourself to keep walking despite your extremely limited night vision. Just a few more steps, and then you’d be free of your compostable burden for the night. You turned the corner, stepping to the left where you knew the trash compactor was, and immediately collided with a giant hunk of metal.

Said hunk of metal cursed loudly as it stumbled head-first over the garbage bin you’d dropped in shock after the impact, falling forward into the snow. “Dank ferrik!” 

Your eyes grew wide as the glow of the flickering streetlights illuminated the very-much-alive Mandalorian lying in front of you. It was just your luck that you’d managed to potentially injure the kind of warrior you’d only heard about in hushed rumors, or at least someone who was wearing the armor of one. Okay, injure was a strong word, but all that cold, hard beskar couldn’t be very comfortable to fall on despite the protection it offered. 

“Stars, I’m so sorry, let me–” 

You reached forward, stretching out a hand to help the Mandalorian up when a small green head suddenly popped up out of a tawny bag slung across their side. You yelped in surprise, losing your balance on the icy road and toppling forward. You winced, bracing yourself and preparing for the inevitable impact– except right as you were about to hit the ground, one steel-clad arm shot out to grab your wrist while the other steadied your hips. You gasped at the warmth of the unexpected contact, pulse quickening as you stared at the–man? person?–beneath you, the only thing preventing you from a nasty collection of bruises appearing across your side tomorrow. 

A deep baritone sounded from the helmet– likely modulated, from the slightly grainy tone. “Are you alright?”

Definitely a man, then. You pointedly ignored the butterflies that stirred to life in your stomach at the sound of his voice, praying that he would attribute your shiver to the cold and nothing more. Stars, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute. You tucked away the thought, making a note to do some serious soul-searching later on about the depth of your touch-starvation and its potential impact on your mental state. 

You gave a quick nod, muttering your thanks and carefully rolling to the side as you dusted clumps of snow off of your trousers. You looked up at him to see him gently picking up the little green creature you’d been so startled by earlier and tucking it back into the bag, pulling his cloak over its head to shield it from the chill. That was… rather cute, actually. You thought Mandalorians were supposed to be scary fighters, dedicated to nothing but their Creed, but this one was clearly fond of the small thing clinging to him. You couldn’t blame him; the green creature’s big ears and bug eyes were adorably endearing. 

The cold winds picked up pace, and you wondered why anyone would be out here during such a storm as you got to your feet. Anyone local would have sought shelter hours ago, and no freighter would dare to land in such conditions. 

“Are you... lost?” You tentatively asked. “Can I help you find someone?”

The Mandalorian remained silent for several long seconds, helmet tilted slightly. Whatever he saw in your face seemed to have settled well with him, and he released a quiet huff through the modulator.

“I need to get food. For my son,” he eventually admitted, gesturing to the baby peeking up at you. 

“Oh!” You brightened up considerably as you remembered the flavorful soup you’d started earlier. “Well– I work in a cantina back there,” you said, pointing behind you at the rusted door that led to the kitchen.

“We’re technically closed right now, but I’m sure I can work something out.” You winked at the curious child, smiling as he let out a happy babble. 

The Mandalorian’s helmet hadn’t moved from its focus in your direction, and you suddenly felt nervous. Which seemed stupid, because–yeah, it felt intense, but was he even looking at you from behind the dark visor of his helmet? For all you knew, he was making the most ridiculous expression at you behind all that beskar and you’d never know. The absurd thought made you snicker softly. If no one could see your face, you’d definitely act goofy at people all the time.

The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly, and whoops, he’d definitely noticed your little moment now if he hadn’t been paying attention before. Your face reddened and you quickly gestured for him to follow you as you unlocked the door to the kitchen, relieved when you heard the soft clink of his armor come through the doorway behind you.

You placed your hands on your hips, surveying the dimly lit cantina and deciding to lead the duo to a worn table close to the bar. It looked unassuming, but the chairs were the comfiest in the cantina and you figured the baby would appreciate something softer than the coarse bag he’d been in. 

Once they’d gotten settled in, you set about finding a mug of blue milk for the kid and some water for the Mandalorian. You brought the drinks over to the pair, hiding a smile at how eagerly the little green baby reached for his. 

“You’re pretty thirsty, huh?” You observed as the baby slurped up the cerulean beverage. Shooting the tall, beskar-clad man a glance out of the corner of your eye, you continued, “Must have been quite the trip. Most people don’t usually travel to this side of the galaxy for vacation.”

To your disappointment, the Mandalorian remained as still and stoic as ever. Well, that just wouldn’t do. He was your first visitor in years from anywhere outside of Nath, and you were absolutely not letting him leave without getting a bit of juicy detail on life outside of your current drudgery. You decided to go for another angle.

“You know, kids need good role models in their lives. Ones that show them how to socialize with others and communicate. Display generosity of the loquacious sort, even.” You shrugged innocently in your best attempt to mimic the overly casual air the old women at the tea shop always used before passive-aggressively attempting to set you up with their stay-at-home-nephews. “Never too late to start.”

You got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at you under that helmet. Rude. Huffing, you sat down across the table from him and crossed your arms, trying to guess where under his visor his eyes were. Once you were half-confident that you’d found the spot, you stared intensely at it with your most intimidating expression. Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as you had the firepower of a soggy Lothkitten and probably came off as more desperate than anything. 

“Isn’t there some sort of honor code for Mandalorians? One that includes being noble to strangers and whatnot?” 

No response. Argh. 

“Well, I’d consider it pretty noble to provide a lonely soul such as myself with a bit of storytelling entertainment on this frigid evenin–”

Your final attempt at prying some information out of the armored man was interrupted by the sound of the kitchen timer beeping increasingly louder and louder until you were sure the whole cantina was vibrating with the tinny noise.

“KRIFF, not again!” 

You bolted out of your seat towards the kitchen, but not before you heard a thinly disguised huff of amusement coming out of the modulator. Okay, he was definitely laughing at you. 

Once you’d successfully saved the soup from imminent destruction-via-cursed-stove and somewhat regained your pride, you finally made your way back to the table with three steaming bowls of noodles. You placed the smallest one in front of the child, who cooed happily and immediately began plopping his hands in the bowl. The Mandalorian huffed in exasperation and began prying little green fingers out of the bowl. “Hey. Quit that, we talked about this,” he grumbled. You winced as broth sloshed out of the bowl, landing dangerously close to the baby’s tunic. The kid’s lower lip started to tremble, a blaring warning sign that a tantrum was going to occur in approximately ten seconds if he wasn’t distracted from his current petulant state. 

“Oh– hey, bug, don’t do that,” you said as both father and son turned to look at you. You leaned closer to the wide-eyed baby and pointed to his bowl. “That’s pretty hard to scoop up, yeah? Look, there are easier ways to eat it,” you explained as you brought the bowl up to your lips and raised an eyebrow, hoping that he would do the same. The kid blinked up at you for several long seconds before turning to his father with outstretched hands. The Mandalorian sighed, but held up the dish as requested. You hid a smile behind your bowl at the sight.

“Good job! Okay, now we’re going to try something fun–” You mimed slurping up the soup with a silly face at the baby, who burbled something incomprehensible in response but finally followed your example and focused on his food.

When you were sure that the baby’s clothes were no longer in danger of being drenched by broth– and by extension, frozen stiff whenever the pair headed back into the storm–you quietly tucked into your own meal, closing your eyes at the warm memories the comforting flavours brought. Not for the first time, you missed the earthy smell and placid weather of your homeworld, a stark contrast to this icy prison of a planet. 

“You are… good with him.” 

Your eyes darted up to find the Mandalorian’s helmet angled directly at you. Your face heated at the observation and you gave a small laugh, willing yourself to resist fidgeting under his gaze.

“I– thank you, I’ve always liked kids. Used to volunteer in the nursery back home, actually, before the Empire stole every resource from it they could.” 

Your eyes widened with sudden realization. “You’re not Imperial, are you?”

The Mandalorian scoffed vehemently, the most emotion he’d displayed since he’d fallen back in the alley. “No.”

Well, that answered a few questions at least. You were prepared to move on from the conversation when he hesitantly spoke, “My ship ran into a few… asteroids. Is there a mechanic nearby?”

You set down your spoon, thinking. The closest asteroid field was four solar systems away and almost entirely inaccessible if one was traveling through hyperspace, so the likelihood that he’d truly run into one was small. In that case, he probably had damage from some kind of fight— seeing as the average pacifist wouldn’t need that much armor— and would want someone reliable who wasn’t going to ask questions about laser-sized holes in his ship’s hull.

He hadn’t tried to kill or rob you yet, so you figured his personal tussles were none of your business and decided to give him an honest recommendation. You directed him to a small mechanical hub close to the ice huts where there were few ships and even fewer nosy citizens. “The owner, Sanna, is the best in town,” you admitted. “I haven’t had the chance to visit her personally, but she’s known for being very discreet.”

He nodded, entering the coordinates you’d given him into some sort of device on his wrist. You tried to contain your pleased expression at correctly guessing his reason for being on Nath. And it had only taken you… well, four tries, but that was better than nothing! 

“What is your price?”

You blinked, confused. “My price?”

There was that increasingly frequent head tilt again. His helmet tipped forward, scanning you. “For the food. And information.” He clarified slowly. 

“Oh,” you spoke, surprised. “It’s okay, I was making dinner for myself anyway. And you’d have found out the location of the mechanic from someone else eventually,” you shrugged. 

You couldn’t see his face, but from the disbelieving tone of his voice you imagined his eyebrows to be raised. “Not many people would turn down credits.” 

You winced, reminded of your costly dream to get off-world, but there was no way you’d accept this stranger’s money for such a small favor when he had a kid he needed to provide for. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m not most people,” you laughed sheepishly. 

The Mandalorian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like no, you definitely are not. You squinted at him accusingly.

“Hey, you better not be making fun of my interrogation tactics, metal man.” You leaned forward to poke his soup bowl emphatically. Hm, that was strange– he hadn’t so much as touched it. Did Mandalorians follow some kind of special diet? You resolved to look that up the next time you had access to a datapad.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing that to a lonely soul like yourself.” He responded dryly.

You gasped in mock offense, forgetting your previous train of thought and internally groaning that he’d remembered that part of your disastrous attempt to weasel information out of him. Yeesh. Not your most eloquent moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared,” you shot back in the most syrupy-sweet tone you could muster.

The kid grinned up at you with sharp teeth and blew a soupy bubble towards your face in response. You smiled down at him, adding, “But if you really want to repay me, then bring me back a good story about this little guy the next time you crash land through a— what did you call it? Asteroid field.” You highly doubted the duo would ever willingly return, but if making a deal gave this man peace of mind to know his imaginary debt was settled in some future way then so be it. 

The lights in the cantina began to flicker and you got up with a frown, walking over to the electrical box behind the bar. The dull grey display, crammed with incomprehensibly labelled switches and flashing lights that would give anyone a headache, alerted you that the main generator had been depleted of power. You scrambled over to a window, prying open the shutters a crack only to be met with a dark swirl of snow that completely obscured your view of the street. Stars, the storm had worsened quickly— there was absolutely no chance you were making it home tonight. You slammed the shutter closed and turned around with a grimace that didn’t go unnoticed by the Mandalorian.

“What is it?” He questioned, modulated voice growing wary at the expression on your face.

“We’re running out of power, the main generator’s down from the storm so these lights are going to have to shut off soon. I think there’s enough in the emergency generator to heat the cantina through the night, though.” You hesitated, not sure how to break the bad news. “Unfortunately, the weather is— unmanageable. You’re not making it out of here to the mechanic’s until the blizzard lets up.” 

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, so you continued talking. “I was.. planning on sleeping here tonight.” You muttered, trying to think of a plan. You glanced at the sleepy child resting on the Mandalorian’s beskar chest plate. “I usually keep a couple blankets here for that reason— pretty sure there’s enough to cover the baby, but you might need to be okay with sharing.” 

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, searching your memory for where the emergency supplies were kept. Kriff. How were you supposed to know that you’d be snowed in, and with guests no less? Your grumpy boss really should have put instructions for this type of situation in the closing shift directions instead of the usual “sweep the floors” or your personal favorite: “if the customer creates a corpse, they gotta clean it up themselves”.

The Mandalorian interrupted your musings with a firm, “No need,” gesturing to the charcoal cloak fastened around his pauldrons. You eyed it dubiously, but supposed that the material looked thick enough. That was probably to your benefit, anyway, since you were something of a notorious blanket hog and didn’t think he’d take kindly to having his sheets ripped off him in the dead of night. That seemed like a quick way to wake up with more bruises than you went to sleep with.

“Well— alright then,” you sighed at last, tossing the smaller of your blankets to the man and tucking the other into the side of a nearby booth. “I’ll shut off the lights in a moment. Refresher’s that way, if you need it,” you pointed to the end of a dimly lit hall. The Mandalorian nodded once, then returned his attention to carefully cocooning the child in his lap. You set to work fluffing up your own makeshift bed, folding the cleanest dishtowel you could find into a pillow before trudging over to the light switch and enveloping the room in darkness. 

Quietly feeling your way back to your booth, your eyes adjusted to the pitch-black little by little. You pulled your hair out of its messy updo and curled up on the seat, body slowly relaxing. It was strange, hearing the muffled rhythm of breaths coming from lungs that weren’t your own, but oddly soothing in its own way. 

“G’night,” you mumbled, half-asleep already, consciousness swirled down the psychological drain by the overpowering storm raging outside. The lull-and-hitch of the baby’s soft snores echoing off of solid beskar set you drifting off to sleep faster than you had as a child, so lost to the world that you were sure you dreamed the quiet, belated whisper that sounded back to you.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

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read on: part ii

[aranciafiamma]

One day, the Tenth Boss of the illustrous Vongola family decides to go for a walk. The weather was good that morning - promised to be good all week. It was perfect for a restorative constitutional.

So the Tenth put on a pair of sturdy shoes and he walked out the front door. He walked through the front lawn, passed the main gates, and down the very long, gravel driveway that lead to the estate. In a half an hour, he reached the edge of the Vongola's property, then he kept on walking.

Now, this was not so strange. The Boss had been stuck behind the desk for the better part of a fortnight. He was trying to iron out a deal with the Insolenza, fiesty famiglia in Monopoli. They had tripled their numbers in under a decade, making good money off "waste management". Their wealth of success went straight to their heads (the ones in their pants), because it takes a pair of brass balls to challenge the Vongola family. They figured if anyone was gonna make a stand - they would have to do it now, in the Tenth's first year as boss, before he got too comfy with his power.

They weren't the only ones thinking so because a bunch of smaller famiglias allied with them. Up and down the coast of Apulia, from Barletta to Bari, capos began congregating. They were easy pickings alone but spite - oh spite could be a powerful, powerful motivator. Who does this foreigner think he is? Huh? Waltzing in like he owns the place? Well, he was about to get a taste of Italy's heel.

All eyes were on the Tenth. At 24 years old, he looked half his age, without any Roman machismo to call his own. He was as hairless as a babe, not even a stray whisker on his lip. And he kept sending foot soldiers, then capos, then finally an underboss to try and reason with the Insolenza and their associates. Each and every one was run out of town in a rain of bullets - but not blood. Not yet. Soon, they promise as each shot gets closer and closer to finding its mark.

The Tenth had to do something.

So he goes for a walk, straight off his property, and into the picturesque town of Rieti. Now, the Vongola have their proper headquarters in Sicily like any self-respecting, old blood famiglia. But a few days ago, the Tenth moved from the Iron Fort into this quaint, little place just east of Rome. People began to speculate that this was the first move - that the Tenth was beginning to shift his forces and launch an all out attack from the mainland. But Monday passed into Wednesday, and as far as anyone could tell, the Tenth was just in his office, doing paperwork same as usual. Sometimes, he goes out to town and buys himself a pastry.

As such, when the Tenth leaves the property, no one bats an eye. He's probably gonna grab himself an expresso and a biscotti before hiking back to the house. Except, he walks right past his favored cafe, and crosses the city lines.

That... That gets everyone's attention.

Of course, the first to react is the Tenth's inner circle. Gokudera Hayato hops on a bike and blazes down the road. He catches up with his boss in no time. From afar, a curious staff watches as the Tenth never once stops walking, cheerfully taking step after step as he talks to his Right Hand. Whatever he says to the Storm Guardian, they will never know, but it's enough for him to clench his jaw, nod, and then back away. No other Guardians reach out after that.

For hours and hours, the Tenth walks, heading down south. By then, all the other famiglias have sat up and tuned in, sending spies to watch his progress. When the sun sets and he reaches Bussi Officine, they all witness as he begins to shift his trajectory, heading east, towards the coast. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where he was going from there. But surely, they think, that can't be right. He can't seriously be going to the Apulia Coast, on foot, not even flying as people say he could. Yet, as the sun fully sinks and the moon rises high and this guy continues to walk eastwards, everyone had no choice but to believe it.

The Insolenza were at a loss. Half of them were laughing their asses off. The other half were plotting, scheming, trying to figure out the hidden plan that the Tenth must surely have. The Vongola Alliance was equally at a loss. Don Cavallone and Don Cozarto reached out to the Tenth's inner circle but his Right Hand offers no explanation.

"Trust in the Tenth," he tells them.

When dawn arrives, the young boss meets another of his men on the road. Xanxus di Vongola has both guns out, incandescent with rage. The Tenth doesn’t even twitch and stares straight at him. Keeping his brow in the line of fire, he continues forward, one foot in front of another until his skull nearly kisses the gun barrels. But by then, Xanxus must have found whatever answer he was searching for because he sheathes his guns, walking alongside his boss. They walk together for two - three hours in complete silence.

On the fourth hour, Xanxus speaks up, but far too quietly for any of the mics to catch. In response, the Tenth laughs - a heavy, throaty chuckle.

“Let them come,” he says.

At that, Xanxus stops walking. For a full thirty seconds, he watches his boss pass him by, going ever onward. Then he spins on his heels and flies away. The drones were able to capture his expression right before he left. It was a sight that prompted many to panic. Xanxus di Vongola rarely has any cause to smile but when he does, people rarely seek the cause.

Observers tracked Xanxus flying back to the Iron Fort. This destroys any claims of the Vongola launching a ground assault or really, any kind of assault. If they were going to wage a war, they would have summoned their prized warhounds.

By now, it’s been forty hours since the Tenth started walking. He has neither eaten or slept. And, as day becomes night, the assassins attack. To the surprise of most, they were not sent by the Insolenza. The Vongola has earned plenty of grudges in their long and disastrous history. There’s plenty of enemies willing and eager to take potshots at an unprotected boss.

Some send a few freelancers seeking glory. Others spend a small fortune hiring Named hitmen. And the rest are known to the Tenth, throwing hands just to keep him company. Those seem to find this whole endeavor hilarious.

The fights are short and sweet but numerous, enough to continue into the morning and through the afternoon. Not a single one, neither friend nor foe, could break the Tenth’s stride. As a result, he leaves a long trail of bodies behind him, all alive if not awake.

This attracts the attention of civilians. Now despite the notorious corruption of local law enforcement, a pair of polizia pull up to the Tenth. They frown and they yell and they light up their sirens. He smiles at them, speaking softly. Before the last words leave his mouth, they rush back to their car, without a bribe in their pockets and with a hefty shit in their pants. The Tenth never once misses a step.

He reaches the coast around the witching hour of the third night. After all that walking, his hair is wilder than a bird’s nest and his skin is several shades darker. A thick layer of grime and dirt cover his bespoke Armani suit and his polished, leather loafers. Yet the Tenth himself remains fair of face and strong of limb. The Insolenza are no longer laughing.

Taking a deep breath of that salty sea air, the Tenth turns south. He walks at a leisurely pace, even taking the time to wave at a few bystanders. The clueless ones wrinkle their noses, possibly mistaking him for some homeless vagabond. This brings a smile to his face and a spike of adrenaline to everyone else. At this time, no more assassins come for the Tenth as everyone shifts their focus onto the Insolenza.

They have set up a blockade. Concrete barriers sit on the road, in front of armored tanks and enough artillery to pulverize a mountain. The fourth day begins with a firestorm. They aim, and they fire, and they keep firing - bullet after bullet, shell after shell, missile after missile. The Italian countryside is transformed into a warzone within the span of five minutes, as deep craters pockmark the earth and dust blankets the air.

It was by the grace of powerful, powerful Mists that such a ruckus was largely ignored. Of course, a couple stray eyes bore witness but they knew better than to speak of it. Aside from the shroud of secrecy, no one else intervenes on behalf of either party. This was now a battle between the Insolenza and the Tenth. Enemies and allies watch on the edge of their seats as the dust swirls and twists.

The Insolenza run out of ammo and a hush falls over everyone. They don’t blink. They don’t breathe. From the lowest footsoldier to the high-handed capos, they could only watch, with ears ringing and pulse racing, as the dust settles.

The idiots are ready to rejoice, and they could be excused for they just unleashed a payload that could shame the United States. But the smarter ones expected retribution - for a wave of that infamous Vongola fire to sweep through the ranks. They get neither.

Schrnk. Schrnk. Schrnk.

At first, they barely hear it. But steadily, the sound grows louder as the footsteps come closer. Striding forward, as if on a relaxing stroll, is young Sawada Tsunayoshi, Tenth boss of the Vongola famiglia. Except unlike before, his bloodline is now proudly on display. On his thin shoulders rests a heavy mantle - blacker than the purest ash, as a crown of Flame sits thick and hot on his brow. He looks at the gathered men before him with eyes the color of a molten metal. The Insolenza reel back as if burned.

The Tenth does not stop walking.

To their credit, the Insolenza do not back down. The first to gather his wits throws a grenade at the Tenth. He bats it away with an easy backhand, flashing the engine-red of his gauntlet-covered fists. The others are not deterred, grinding down and summoning either stupidity or bravery to face the young boss. The day proceeds accordingly.

They throw everything they had left. There is a mountain of over the top violence, swearing, and unnecessary shouting. They flash him the goods, the greats, and the even betters. The Tenth keeps going, never straying from his chosen path, never changing his placid pace. When he reaches the tanks on the road, he lays his burning hands on the chromium armor and without even hesitating, melts his through.

The tank operators had the wisdom to evacuate before he could reach them but that’s the lone wisdom they had. One runs at the Tenth with a steel knife! Steel! They just watched him disrespect the strongest alloy known to man! The Tenth immediately drops that guy without a thought, his ass making a satisfying crunch.

When the Tenth makes it through the blockade, battalions of footsoldiers await him on the other side. There’s an echoing cry as they all charge in a single, furious mass. Their guns lay on the ground, completely empty clips scattered all over. They only had their fists to rely on. By then, pure desperation fuels them. There’s a primal need to mark the Tenth, to reach him in any way. Or else… Or else…

They don’t know. They don’t know! They don’t want to know! The reality they understood would be forfeited entirely. They would have to live with the knowledge that beings far greater - that power they cannot comprehend - that giants walk the earth. Death would be preferred - an act of mercy - in the face of that.

The Tenth has no mercy.

As the footsoldiers charge, the Tenth takes a step. Where his foot touches the ground, ice sweeps out - encasing everything for acres around him. Men are frozen where they stand, locked in mid-step with fists cocked and mouths half open. They don’t get anywhere near the Tenth. The fourth night passes peacefully.

He crosses into Barletta some time after daybreak, with only a spare hundred kilometers separating him from Monopoli, where the Insolenza are located. His clothes sit beneath a gritty, bitter layer of dirt, soot, and oil. But there’s not a single tear to be found in the fabric. Now his shoes have given up, which makes sense given all the walking. Only strips of barely stitched together leather are left on his feet. The civilian citizens of the city scuttle away from him, as if he was diseased and not like he was a Capo di tutti Capi. Their Flame blind eyes fail to notice the burning glow radiating from him.

It’s nearing 120 hours, a grand total of five days, and the Tenth still has not slept or eaten. Even more incredibly, he has maintained a state of Hyper Dying Will for thirty hours and counting. Any average Joe would have collapsed long before now, and even the above average Moe would have looked tired at least. Not this guy. He’s just going and going, breathing evenly, and moving fluidly.

When he leaves the more urban areas into proper enemy controlled territory, he encounters a couple more Insolenza men. But these were the assholes that ran from the battle once they realized the futility of the fight. They weren’t about to grow a spine now that the enemy was literally at their doorstep. So… They just follow him. They shadow his steps for the last stretch of the road as the unyielding and unstoppable boss heads for their headquarters. By the time Monopoli is in their sights, there’s a good three dozen of them just ambling behind him. He pays them little mind, taking it all in stride.

As the Tenth hits the city limits, an obscenely slick Porsche rolls up at his side. His new groupies back all the way up as a tall man steps out, pristine and sinful in his tailored suit. He doesn’t interrupt the Tenth’s walk, but keeps up as he circles around him. Without even zooming in, those watching know the newcomer as none other than the famed Reborn, former Sun Arcobaleno but still the world’s greatest hitman. He doesn’t say a word to his once student but his hands move quickly over him.

Taking a total of ten seconds, he completely redresses the Tenth in a new suit - white and clean as freshly fallen snow. He manages to tame the Tenth’s hair, removing all the twigs and leaves and trash that got trapped in there. With a wet towel, he wipes off the accumulated filth on the Tenth’s face, snapping his teeth when the Tenth lets out an annoyed whine. Finally, he sets down a pair of steel toed, wing tipped shoes for the Tenth to step into. All this was done as the Tenth continued his walk. It would have put any quick change Vegas act to shame.

The Tenth arrives at the gates of the Insolenza compound, perfectly coiffed and properly looking like a Mafia Boss. For the past five days, the head family’s bodyguards were inundated with news of the Tenth’s easy progress towards them. So when they finally laid their eyes on him… There was little they could do beyond standing aside, parting before him like the Red Sea did for Moses. The Tenth nods agreeably and invites himself right in.

Vittorio Alessandro Romano di Insolenza stood waiting at the steps to his front door. He sees the Tenth coming and he meets him halfway, holding out a sheaf of papers in his trembling hand. It’s the treaty that the Tenth sent to him awhile back, the first Vongola men visited. Of course, the Insolenza had torn up every single one. It was just this morning, when Romano sent a screaming call to his underbosses and demanded they find him a copy, that they got one in tact. (The truth is that a wiser underling sent a sheepish email requesting a copy from a bemused Hana Kurokawa, the head of the Vongola legal department.)

“Here, just take it. Take it already. And leave. Leave, damn you!” The Insolenza boss spits out, pulling in short, shallow breaths.

“Of course, but I should sign the treaty first, right?” The Tenth smiles, smooth and gentle as silk.

His former enemy jerks his head forward in an attempt to nod. It looks more like he’s having a seizure. Not that anything he does really matters at this point. It’s all just formalities. That doesn’t keep the Tenth from relishing every second. He takes his time patting his pockets, looking for a pen, before a bodyguard shyly offers one. Then, he spends even more time reading through the document as if the Insolenza boss had any audacity left to change something on the sly. But once five excruciating minutes pass, the Tenth signs the treaty with fancy flourish added to his name.

“There. That should do it,” he announces.

A veritable tsunami of relief washes over the gathered crowd.

“Please leave,” the Insolenza boss murmurs, just a heartbeat away from collapsing on the ground.

The Tenth gives him an arch look. “You know… Your men are impressive, I’ll grant you that. I look forward to working with you.”

The Insolenza boss straight up stares - jaw hanging loose - at the young boss who single handedly terrorized and demoralized his men. Tsunayoshi Sawada di Vongola had just won a war without shedding a single drop of blood, yet at the same time bleeding his enemies of all resources and any will to fight. He won a war by barely striking back, only lifting his hands to move something physically out of his way. He won a war by letting everyone take a good, long, hard look at what exactly he’s capable of.

To hear a compliment - earnest and sincere - from someone like that, well… Romano thinks it wouldn’t be so hard to work with him.

“But you gotta stop dumping radioactive waste in the water.”

“Right, sure.”

The Tenth chuckles - a raspy, rattling sound. “You should come to dinner. We’ll iron out the details. And you’re welcome to take a car or even fly over. Not everyone loves a good hike like me.”

Romano chokes on his spit as something warm trickles down his legs. It’s piss. He just pissed himself. Merda.

Without waiting for a response, the Tenth spins on his heel, tucking the treaty into his suit jacket, and walks out the front gates. The newly allied Insolenza family can only watch as he makes his way down the path at an even, unhurried pace.

Half an hour later finds Tsuna far from the Insolenza manor, strolling into downtown Monopoli. He swings by a nearby cafe, where a plate of biscotti and a fresh cup of espresso sit on the counter in a takeout bag.

“Oh good, you got my order!” He says brightly.

The barista gives him a funny look. “Zio, the app says that you ordered this from Rieti?”

“Yep, I just came down here to pick it up. Thanks!” With that, Tsuna grabs his food and walks away.

He takes maybe ten steps from the cafe before that same black Porsche parks itself in front of him. The door opens automatically and Tsuna climbs right in, careful not to spill his drink.

Reborn looks him over, lifting a slim, single brow. “Dame-Tsuna, we have espresso at home.”

“Sure. But I heard good things about this place.” Tsuna grins, sharp and cheeky and boundless with joy.

They laugh the whole way home.

[ndostairlyrium]

Blabbering ahead about the game in my usual broken English lol

Warning: General, mildly spoiler-y stuff. But still spoilery. Dead dove, yada yada

I tried to avoid reading opinions as much as possible, so I could share my own without filters <<

...this will be a looooong post so I'm putting everything under the cut :'

I've enjoyed this game greatly.

I loved Rook, each companion, the more synthesized visual style, and the majority of the changes they did to make this game stand out among the others. In some parts, it really reminded me of Mass Effect, and those parts I truly adored in a visceral way.

I get the criticism about Rook's tone, but I didn't mind that they had a specific personality and you could work around it. They're a mess of a person, showing a great deal of immaturity in some parts, forced to call the shots, and to be a compass for others while trying to keep everything from falling from their hands. They're just not as player-nuanced (like, it's not on us?) personality-wise as Hawke, I think? Which is a bummer for some, and I get it, but I didn't mind :'D I'm one that deflects a lot with humor, that's my jam

I think I did good approaching this game blindly, and to keep going despite encountering some major disappointments along the way (y'all saw me complaining, I'm a "yes, but" hoe). In the end, I was enthusiast about playing it, I've been enthusiast while playing it, and I'm enthusiast now that it's over (in a very positive way).

Also, to me the combat system was super fun (I had a blast playing orb+dagger mage with the necromancer spec). I liked that it was more dynamic, that you were in control of your character only, and I adored the cheerleading going on within the team during the fights, also the action scenes were SO EPIC. There are a couple of cutscenes in particular that I watch on a daily and feel the tension on my shoulders as if I didn't know the results already :'D

Hate to bring out Mass Effect again, but... I felt that same kind of powerless urgency throughout Veilguard. Except that you're not Shepard, already a hero, you're a nobody in disgrace, somebody looking for a purpose, for then being hired by someone who has a history of dooming whoever he works with :'D in my head, my Rook has accepted because he needed something to go right. Very lol. Much lmao.

Again, bringing out Mass Effect. I always adored Mass Effect important NPCs outside the party, like Bakara for example. I experienced the same kind of attachment to those here, and I was truly frightened for some of them throughout the game, especially the ones I've known from Tevinter Nights.

...now, to the "Yes, but" that had me so frustrated to the point of wanting to stop playing:

I just wish a little bit more sensitivity by the team when approaching specific cultural references. These, along with stereotypes, have always been blatant throughout the games, and I was hoping that in this one we would move past them rather than the doubling down I saw. I can't talk on others behalf, but I could elaborate for hours on why the whole deal of Treviso and the romanticising of Crows (to the point of painting them as the good guys) are such a point of offense for me, even if I'm tired to explain that there's nothing romantic when organized crime takes control over an entire country and call it "patriotism". Moral code my ass. Glorification of mafia is never okay.

Don't pillage take stuff from real life if you're gonna turn them like living stereotypes and excuse that behavior by calling it "inspiration". It's cheap and disrespectful. Fandom has been repeating this for more than 10 years and nobody corrected this trajectory. That's sad, to say the least.

[mejomonster]

Just watched till the end of the moon ep 9:

I'm so down bad for these 2

I cannot stress enough that skipping them to marriage so no stupid "innocence" or naivety stuff as is the usual situation is here

I cannot stress enough how much I LOVE that li susu seems adult, mature, seasoned in battle love etc, and just generally like a late 20s early 30s adult trying to save the world instead of a young adult Hero and how nice it is. Just for me, I'm happy for the variety

I LOVE tantai jin. He's a fucked up guy. He's the wet skinny pathetic man fangirls always say they want. He's genuinely a pretty cold bitch AND he gets to be lead (in a cdrama!). He is monstrous cause bitches have treated him monstrous so like susu said! He responded to a cruel world with cruelty back. It's not a lead I'm used to but I AM loving it. I also love how for him a kind gesture really is worth it's weight in gold like? For him. As awful as ye xiwu was in marriage pre susu, as much as susu literally said she wants to kill him more than anyone else in the world... she keeps saving him. Giving him food. Risking HER life for his. And for him those specific actions are worth more than anything anyone's ever given him. Maybe even more than what Lan gave him, since at least ye xiwu is upfront about wanting to imprison him and being mad at him so like she probably isn't going to "secretly" betray him since she's fairly honest (now). I love that he is JUST a fucked up guy with a fucked up destiny meant to be devil God, who the universe was probably intentionally shitty to cause its hoping (on like a cosmic scale) he will Suffer and Die and become devil God in revenge. I love that its not trying to make the bitch noble. He is who he is. For whatever that means, it's just a story about 2 people who'd never have met. But susu has changed the trajectory just by being herself around him and it's COMPELLING.

The transformative power of love (or simply being kind to another person) and all that. How the cursed jade said she's mostly just SO SURPRISED someone would help another person. I feel like that's probably the Theme of the show right there. Even susu is probably surprised by herself helping him. And in the jade transfer moment, I think she's surprised she genuinely does NOT think he only is comprised of bad traits. For all the cold bitch that he is, betraying her that he's done, cruel view he has of the world... actions speak louder than words to susu too. And for all the bad he's done... he has also done some good things. And she finds herself seeing him in shades of grey instead of a monster like she expected to.

I just love their bickering lets be real. Susu just SAYS shit on the top of her mind (to be fair tantai jin is a bitch and deserves to be bitched at). But she's like "from now on let's have NO CONNECTION" to 6 hours later being like "your life is in my hands and I say when you can die I'm imprisoning you forever ill see you nonstop bitch." And it's like... susu honey, that was LITERALLY tantai jins plan to do to you like 6 hours ago. Yall have the same plan. Just who's the prisoner is switched lmao. No wonder he's oddly attracted to you. You see him being a big manipulative bitch and like you're not stealthy, but you ARE like "WELL FINE ill say some SHIT and BREAK YOUR HEART then. Cry me a river! Oh you thought I was dead? You cried? GOOD. Now anyway fight is over as long as I'm winning!"

Their emotional fights are both ridiculously huge (like rumor of the Kingdoms wild) but also so shallow cause these bitches will be like "I DECIDE when you DIE" then you find them clutching each other in the woods BOTH unwilling to abandon the other and BOTH taking life threatening damage trying to protect the other and BOTH trying to then heal said damage of each others! Like. That's just so fucking funny??!! And fun. Xiao Lin is going to be like "what in the world??" But move on

Anyway speaking of Xiao Lin: I love how he genuinely seems to care for tantai jin! Probably only person in the world who does! I hope one day tantai jin finds out its genuine heartfelt care for him. Buy knowing tantai jins life... he's going to do some awful shit to Xiao lin that ruins his life or kills his wife or kills thousands of innocents in front of him, THEN Xiao lin will be breaking down crying how he never thought tantai jin would do this and he thought tantai jin was a good person who wanted to avoid seeing the ppl in harm and he always wished tantai jin could have a better life. And then tantai jin, probably newly learning compassion from enough bullshit attempts with susu, that his own heart will be breaking BECAUSE of the consequences of his own actions. So. Thrilled to cry later I guess

Speaking of susu and tantai jin. tantai jin LAYING ON HER SHOULDER THINKING ABOUT WHAT SHE BULLSHITTINGLY SAID LOVE WAS AND HOW HE THINKS SHE LOVES HIM AND HOW HE THINKS HE MIGHT LOVE HER AND CUDDLING

that is what watchers want!! (At least me!!) Men lying heads on their lovers shoulders and thinking dreamy about them

Bai Lu gives off such bisexual lead energy tho even without a woman to flirt with I'm sure thats part of the appeal for me. Bottom line is I like in my b/g romances on occasion (who am I kidding more of the time than not) to have a dominant kind of woman. And bai lu delivers. Her man leans on HER shoulder. Is carried around her shoulder with HER arms.

Speaking of, people who cast this were 1. Fulfilling so many wishes letting Luo yunxi just play PURE FUCKED UP and I love it. 2. By casting him as this suffering Weak physically nearly always dying willfully little skinny twink of a man, who's also God tier powerful especially with rage, who's costume entails constant bloody whump, collars, choking and ropes, like. There's a HELLA SPECIFIC NICHE Luo yunxis character resides inside this show and it sure is feeding That Demographic. I'm up for it. It's like if mo ran and chu wanning had a fucked up mashup

I'm fearing the jade maker witch was somehow susu in a past life and now I'm wondering if time travel is gonna be in this bitch

If there IS time travel? I really like the idea of tantai jin specifically time traveling the 2nd time around, once he and susu fell in love, once he knows what susu knew from the beginning. I think that could open a lot of new avenues that he is not currently able to go into given his current personality and knowledge

It's still funny as hell to me tantai jin is kind of angling for death cause he KNOWS he gets super-powered once he dies. But his wife keeps being like NO BITCH YOU GOTTA LIVE WELL. And I'm hoping eventually he's like: maybe she's right... maybe the revenge means more if I'm alive for it and not dissassociated. Maybe I SHOULD try to become a God tier monster without dying. Which would still lead to oh no devil tantai jin lol, but a version of it that is fully Himself which I would like

You know I'm liking a show when I'm contemplating binging beyond what's on youtube rn

[its-desca]

People post their fics on tumblr sometimes. Right.

Uhhh anyways Engiespy fic below the cut where they are both aspec. 3.5k words.

Link to Ao3 version in reblogs because I don’t trust tumblr not to hide the post if I add a link. I’m gonna write one more short chapter so you can go bookmark it there if u wanna see that 👍

Late nights in Dell’s workshop weren’t supposed to go like this.

He and Spy had been sitting on opposite ends of his old, worn couch. Spy always insisted on taking the more intact side of the cushion, waxing on about Dell’s poor choice of interior decor, but it only ever made the shorter man laugh, as he knew Spy would always show for their Friday movie nights. They’d settle in, sometimes Dell would crack open a couple beers (for himself of course, Spy hated the stuff), and the two would relentlessly criticize each and every aspect of whatever they were watching, laughing all the while. It was the perfect way to end off a usually stressful week, and with Dell’s insistence to take as many late nights as possible working, it was also the only time he’d get anywhere near eight hours of sleep. Mostly.

This was one of those nights. The film had ended a few moments before, the credits beginning to silently slide by.

“Well, that was stupid,” Dell started, stretching his arms back and yawning. “I mean, seriously, when they blew that guy up the trajectory of his limbs was completely wrong. And did you even see that effect for the shotgun blast? Ridiculous! It’s like he got shot with twelve lil’ pistols, that ain’t what shells look like in the slightest, right?”

His short ramble was returned with silence, and after a moment Dell furrowed his brow, turning to look at his friend. Spy loved accosting the poor special effects directors, it wasn’t like him to spare even an inch of criticism at any chance he got. But when Dell looked over, he was surprised to find Spy staring straight back at him, his dull blue eyes locked onto him with a strange look.

“Spy?” Dell asked, concern edging into his tone. “You alright there, partner?”

Spy took a deep breath and reached over, gently taking the engineer’s hand. It was such a soft, intimate motion, that Dell immediately froze up, a faint blush starting to creep over his features. Oh no.

“Dell,” Spy said softly. “You’re… a very wonderful man.”

Dell hadn’t known there was a good kind of blush back when he was young, flitting from girl to girl at his fathers insistence, desperately trying to cling to the vestiges of every relationship he could manage to find. “You’re just flustered,” he’d been told when he brought this up. He’d convinced himself yes, that’s what it was. It was not an easy feat.

“We have been convening for quite some time now and… well… I have recently begun to see something different in you,” Spy continued. He seemed intent on maintaining eye contact through what he was saying, but Dell could tell he was struggling.

“And that is…?” Dell laughed nervously. Please. Please no.

“I… I believe I am in love with you Dell. I would like to know if you feel the same.”

Dell opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find the words, panic welling in his chest. It was over. Every good thing he and Spy had, every conversation, every joke, every cheap beer and fancy glass of wine, every long night in his workshop, every early morning chatting on the balcony, had all amounted to nothing. Again. It always ended this way.

Spy let out a breath after a moment, seeming to take his hesitance as an answer. The look in his eyes hurt more than anything he could have said. He leaned back, withdrawing his hand from the Engineer’s grasp, and Dell had to stop himself from reaching out again. The distance apart was unbearable, the air suddenly feeling so much colder against his empty hand.

Dell wouldn’t cry, not now. He shouldn’t have even been able to cry, because something was wrong with him, something was broken. He’d been to doctors. He’d been to therapists. Hell, he’d even tried talking to Medic. But nothing came up on tests, the psychologists would say he just hadn’t met the right person, and Medic had given him such a puzzled look he gave up immediately. Well, by all means, the right person was right in front of him. The right person should have been in front of him. But he felt nothing in the hollow hole of his heart but shame.

“I’m sorry- I just-“ Dell found the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them, the sound of his voice much shakier than he would have liked.

“No, no, it is alright. I understand if men are… ah… not your taste-“ Spy cut in.

“That’s- not- Women ain’t either,” Dell blurted out. He immediately regretted his outburst, embarrassment crawling in his stomach with the strange look Spy gave him.

“Then…” Spy spoke slowly, as if every word might scare his coworker away. “What… if you don’t mind me asking… is your taste?”

Dell’s throat felt tight as he searched for an answer to the question he’d asked himself over and over again. “I… don’t know.”

He leaned over and put his face in his hands, taking a deep, shuddering breath. As the fingers in his still-flesh hand met his cheek, he drew them back to find them wet. He had sworn he wouldn’t cry.

“I’m sorry.” Dell muttered. “You’re a fine man and I don’t… I just… I’m awfully sorry. You… you can go.”

Dell stared at the ground, trying to take deep breaths. He waited for the telltale sign of footsteps, the sound of a cloak, something. What he wasn’t expecting was for a gloved hand to gently meet his back. The engineer looked up.

Spy’s face was unreadable, not an unusual appearance for the man, but this time he looked more lost. The man opened his mouth and closed it, trying to parse some kind of response.

He finally spoke, “Dell, really, it is alright. Please do not worry about me-“

“-I do worry about you though!” Dell interrupted. “I think about you all the damn time! You’re always hiding yourself away in that fancy old room of yours, never showing up to nights out on the town, answering every question with a question. Do you ever hang out with anyone other than me? Ever?”

Spy’s eyes widened at his outburst, but he didn’t say anything.

“That ain’t good for you, Spy. You can’t just close yourself off to the world and be a one man show.”

Spy scoffed at this, turning away, “Says who?”

Dell grabbed Spy’s shoulder and turned him around to look him in the eye. “Says me. Because I care about you. I care about you… a whole damn lot. And I don’t…” he felt his eyes sting with tears again. “Something’s busted up in my head, I’m sure of it. Because you’re great. You’re smart as a whip, and- and funny, and caring, and handsome, and… a whole buncha other stuff I can’t think of right now because I’m upset.”

Spy’s eyes widened and he stuttered, the blush under his mask creeping up to the bridge of his nose. “Q-Quoi?”

Dell took a deep breath, leaning back. “I mean it. I don’t… I’m awfully sorry, Spy, I just…” He trailed off awkwardly, leaving the two of them in silence for a moment.

Spy had diverted his eyes to the floor, his lips pressed together in concentration. Dell could practically hear the gears turning in his head, but couldn’t possibly fathom what there was to be processing.

After a long pause, Spy looked up again. Dell nervously shifted as the man spoke, “Monsieur Conagher… what you are describing… sounds like love to me.”

Dell sighed and shook his head, having gotten all too familiar with this reaction at this point in his life He usually didn’t try to explain himself further, but something was different about Spy. As he stared back at him, he could see something lurking beneath the surface of those murky blue eyes. Something he couldn’t quite place, but compelled him to keep talking.

“It’s like… you know how you love a friend differently than a partner?” Dell tried. Spy stared at him blankly, and the engineer sighed, rubbing his temples. “No, that’s not right, lemme start over.”

“Way I see it, there are three ways to love someone. You can love them as a friend, where you’re fine just sittin around and shooting the breeze, maybe throwing back a couple of beers. You can love them the way you’d love a partner, where you wanna go on dates and the like,” Dell scratched the back of his neck. “That one flies over my head a bit. Like, I’d be fine going on a date with someone. Just not… in a romantic sort of fashion. All friend-like would be fine.”

Spy raised an eyebrow, speaking again, “You said there were three kinds of attraction?”

“Well, yeah… I suppose you can go and figure out what the third one is.”

“I presume it is of a sexual nature?”

Dell’s face reddened, “Well you don’t have to just go and say it!”

“Hm.” Spy pulled out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long drag before looking back over. “Why the refusal to speak about it?”

The shorter man crossed his arms, huffing, “I ain’t refusing nothing! It just ain’t proper, is all.”

Spy chuckled, throwing Dell a look. “Well, in that case, where do you fall on the matter?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As you appear to not experience this attraction of the ‘romantic’ sort, do you experience any sexual attraction?”

The blush on Dell’s face deepened, and he looked away. “Well, that’s a tricky question. I do experience… well… some kinda… that.” He gestured vaguely. “But it ain’t exactly to other people. Like I wouldn’t say no necessarily if it was offered, but… you know… not something I’m looking for.”

The smirk on Spy’s face melted into a more neutral expression as he hummed thoughtfully, shifting his gaze back to the T.V. The credits to the movie were over at this point, static casting a faint glow over the man’s masked features. Dell couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like behind the disguise. A few defining features crept through the fabric, high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, a strong chin, but not enough so that Dell felt he could identify the man without it.

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes before Spy broke it again. “This… romantic… type of attraction you speak of. Would you mind describing what it… feels like?”

“Well, I’ve only had it described to me through others, so can’t say for certain I’m the best source. But from what I’ve heard, you start thinking about that person all the time. When you’re around them your knees get kinda weak and your head all fuzzy. You get hit with overwhelming urges to do stuff like kiss em or hold their hand.” Dell shrugged. “Stuff like that I reckon.”

Spy’s lip curled with disgust. “Sounds like a disease. Are you sure?”

The engineer laughed, grinning back. “I know, right! People describe their partners same way I talk about my blueprints!”

“You are the only one who feels this way about math.”

Dell’s smile widened and he clapped his hand on Spy’s shoulder playfully, “And that’s why I’m the best goddamn engineer this side of the Mississippi!”

Spy chuckled in response, taking another drag of his cigarette. Dell looked at him thoughtfully, the gears beginning to turn in his head while he evaluated the man before him.

“Spy?” Dell started, trying to sound casual. “Are you saying that you reckon you might… feel the same?”

Spy huffed, furrowing his brow. “The way you are describing romance is not the way I perceive it.”

“How’s that, then?”

Spy thought for a moment, his eyes searching the floor for something that didn’t seem to be there. “I am… uncertain. But I have treated romance as a natural progression of friendship. A strong sense of camaraderie with another, where you take additional actions such as ‘dates’ or ‘kissing’ to express the nature of this relationship. Although, this does not appear to be… the ‘correct’ way. As you’ve described.”

Dell wondered, for a brief moment, if he’s dreaming. If this was just some horrible trick his brain was playing on him to make him think he’s finally not alone. “So… you said you loved me? You still… think that?”

“Well… there are multiple ways, yes? I am… beginning to believe it was in the way of a friend as opposed to a lover,” Spy responded slowly.

“Well…” Dell thought for a second. “I know a way we could test it.”

“And that is?”

Dell took a deep breath, wondering if what he’s about to say is stupid. “Kiss me.”

Spy’s face immediately reddened. “What?!” he spluttered incredulously. “I thought you said-“

“It wouldn’t be in a ‘lovers’- or, whatever you called it- kind of way. We could do a… a friends… kiss?”

Spy scoffed, “There is no such thing.”

“Why not?” Dell gently reached over, taking Spy’s hand. The man looked back at him like a deer caught in headlights, and Dell almost laughed. So much for that suave Frenchman he so adamantly claimed to be. “If you don’t wanna, that’s fine. But I think-“

Dell was interrupted by Spy’s lips crashing against his, the man pulling at his overalls to bring him forward in an almost desperate motion. He squeaked in surprise, trying to orient himself better on the couch into a more comfortable position before starting to kiss back, although he’d admit that he did so with much less finesse than the Frenchman.

It was strange to kiss Spy in this way, something in the way that they met feeling different than the other times Dell had kissed someone. His face was hot, sure, and he felt a little bit like he might keel over at any moment. But there was so much less intention behind every movement, something more playful and relaxed about the way Spy’s hands curled around his back. It was… nice. That was, until Spy started trying to get tongue involved, and Dell pulled away, laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Spy asked after a moment, looking a little bit dazed.

“You taste like cigarettes!” Dell laughed.

Spy’s offended look made the engineer laugh even harder. “I do not!” the Frenchman snapped in indignation.

“You sure as the devil do! It’s like kissing a hooker!”

Spy scoffed. “Well, you kiss comme un adolescent.”

“I assume that’s not a good thing?” Dell smiled.

Spy returned the look with a smirk of his own. “Non.”

The two looked at each other like that for a moment and then broke out into laughter, unable to keep a straight face. When they stopped, Dell noticed that he and Spy were still very close, and his heart skipped a beat for a moment.

He began to move away, stuttering, “Ah, well, that was… sorry if that was weird I just…”

Spy reached out for him, speaking softly. “No, no, it wasn’t… strange. It was…” he glanced away, “I am not sure I know the correct term. But I would not be opposed to doing it again.”

Something warm rushed through Dell’s chest, and he struggled to identify it. Was this love? No, that wasn’t it. Or maybe it was. Not romantic love, but something softer, yet equally as strong.

“Me neither,” Dell chuckled. He stood up, sidling over to the TV and starting to fiddle with the VCR, rewinding the tape inside before popping it out and tossing it haphazardly to the side. His eyes caught on the box of movies they still had yet to watch, eyeing a tape sitting at the top and grabbing it. He flashed it at Spy, smiling.

“I know we got a ‘one movie a night rule’ but… you up for one more, partner?”

Spy let out a sigh, nodding. “Fine. But choose a short one.”

Dell’s grin grew and he grabbed a random tape from the box, jamming it into the VCR before flopping back down onto his end of the couch. The film began to play, the screen once again casting a faint glow over the two men.

They watched it for a couple minutes, neither of them speaking much. Dell’s mind was still racing, and as he glanced over at his friend, Spy seemed to be the same. The man looked up and they met eyes for a moment. Spy opened his mouth as if he were going to speak and then closed it again, turning back to look at the TV.

Dell tilted his head, his voice breaking the silence, “Somethin’ wrong?”

Spy shook his head no, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to parse a response. “I was… well… I was wondering if we could sit… closer…” he said tentatively.

Dell let out a laugh at that. “Awwww, you wanna cuddle~?”

“Not like that!” Spy huffed, his face reddening. “Just… well…” He trailed off, looking away. “It has been… some time.”

The engineer softened at that, the sadness in Spy’s voice tugging at his heart. He tried to remember the last time he’d held someone himself. He couldn’t recall.

He scooted over, reaching out and gently pulling Spy into his arms. The Frenchman leaned into Dell’s touch in return, snaking his arms around the engineer’s back and letting out a near imperceptible sigh.

Despite his considerable height advantage, Spy felt so small in Dell’s grasp. He had never thought about how boney the man was until holding him, feeling like any wrong move could snap him in half. His muscles were tense, his entire body coiled tight like a spring as he pressed his forehead into the southerner’s chest. Dell smiled a bit at that, resting his chin on Spy’s head. Spy still smelled like cigarettes, but there was something softer underneath it, hints of wine and cologne clinging to his suit. It was nice.

“You ain’t really watchin’ the movie from that angle, ya know,” he joked.

“It is probably stupid anyways,” Spy mumbled, his voice muffled.

Dell looked up at the TV and watched a character's head get blown off by a rocket. “‘Fraid so,” he laughed.

Spy chuckled softly in return, relaxing slightly in Dell’s grasp. Dell sighed, wondering if the man ever really relaxed all the way. He was so uptight all the time, constantly looking as if he was ready to flee from any situation. Dell supposed that was part of the job, not getting caught unaware, but it saddened him to see Spy still so wound up even in the solitude of the engineer’s workshop.

Time passed and the movie went on, but Dell wasn’t paying much attention anymore. His thoughts were occupied by Spy, and the almost desperate way he clung to him. Dell had heard someone use the term “touch starved” once, and he couldn’t help that it sprang to the front of his mind. Was Spy touch starved? He glanced down and realized how tightly he was holding the man in return. Was he touch starved too?

He slowly ran his hand up and down Spy’s back, turning his head so his cheek pressed against the top of his balaclava. Dell couldn’t help but close his eyes at the sensation, the warmth surrounding him nearly intoxicating, the simple feeling of holding someone and being held in return better than anything he’d experienced before. Is this what sex was supposed to be like? He couldn’t blame people for chasing it if that was the case.

Logically, Dell knew that he wasn’t safe. His brain reminded him of the window on the east side of his workshop that he hadn’t fitted with bulletproof glass, the flimsy security checkpoints outside the base, the magnetic locks on the doors never quite closing them tight enough, the alarm on the wall that threatened to ring at any point. His heart, however, had a different idea, slowing to a calm rhythm in his chest as Spy leaned his head against it. He was shot at for a living. He closed his eyes, drinking in the feeling of it all. This was a nice change of pace.

When he tried to open his eyes again, he felt himself struggling to do so. A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed down upon him, and he shifted, intending to get up and plod off to bed. As he did, he was reminded of Spy pressing down on him, acting almost like a blanket. There was no way in hell he was going to ask the Frenchman to move. Accepting his fate, he let his eyes close again, sighing a little. He relaxed, quietly letting sleep overtake him.

[thotsforvillainrights]

~Some Sick Fluff~

(because I'm inching back into writing once again. Also box is open)

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

"Words cannot express just how much I despise you in this moment." He groans as he carefully rolls from his side to his back. Tired golden eyes stare miserably at the ceiling while you work diligently beside him. "You're just as dramatic as always. Besides, you know this wasn't on purpose." He scoffs raggedly at you words. "Not on purpose? Oh I wouldn't be so sure about that. Usually normal people tend to tell their significant others they're under the weather. However, in this case I suppose you proved my point that you are far from normal. Exhibit A." He points at himself and scrunches his nose in disdain when you giggle at him. "I didn't know I was contagious. I thought it was a little light headcold and I didn't want to tell you because of the way you'd overeact. Exhibit B!" You point at him and he rolls his eyes. "Wish I'd never met you." He grumbles and you sigh. By now you're used to his ways and you know not to let his words hurt you in the moment. He'd be back to normal in a few hours...

As normal as he usually was at least.

"It was just the other day you were telling me the complete opposite, not hold still." I finish soaking the towel you held beside the bed in a cold pan of water before squeezing the excess water out and placing it upon his forehead. "Still hate me?" You smile softly at him. "...slightly less so. However, I'm still fairly annoyed at your negligent behavior towards your own health and the health of those around you. Who knows how many of the men won't be able to work due to your sickness." You laugh lightly and shake your head. "With the way you work them into the ground, I'm sure they're enjoying the day off regardless of the circumstances. Now be quiet and take a nap, will you?"

"I respectfully refuse. Get out. I can't sleep with you so close. You're germs are lingering as we speak. How can you expect me to heal from this if you sit there and continuously re-infect me?"

"That's absolutely absurd!" You laugh and he glares. "Out...NOW." Once you gather yourself, you shrug and do as he wishes by leaving the room. It'll be later on when he starts to seek you out as he always does when you're not in the room with him. And just as predicted, he did. You say nothing as you let him lead you back to the bedroom with a weak, sweaty, sickly grip on your hand. He also remains silent, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching you disappear into the bathroom to take a quick shower. When you return, he's in the same spot as before, this time his head leaning against the headboard. His eyes screwed tightly shut while he snore lightly, mouth agape. You smile and quietly snap a picture on your phone for safe keeping before carefully shoving him over. He grumbled tiredly and readjusts himself to burrow beneath the covers. First he nuzzles his head into the plush pillows, but when you get into bed beside him he changed trajectory to rest his head in the crook of your neck. His arms weakly grip around you as he winds down once again for the night.

Surely tomorrow he would give you a longer lecture about sickness but for now he's focus on your comfort beside him...regardless of who's sneezing or who isn't.

[paimonial-rage]

false beginnings - venti

ship: venti & unknown!reader synopsis: when you awoke, the only thing you knew was that you needed to finish it. the song, your song. notes: takes place before the main story; i may make this into a series depending on the trajectory of the moon and the angle of the wind

“Who do you think you are? Even if the God of Ballad and Song were brought back from death and the Dragon of the East awoke from his slumber, I wouldn’t be caught dead playing something composed by a filthy child like you,” the man spat as he threw the papers back into your face.

You were quick to catch your sheet music before the wind caught hold of them. Though stained by the dirt that coated your fingers and bleached unevenly by the sun, they were precious. They were your life. And yet every bard you met so far treated them the same. As if in fear they would be tainted by the filth upon your skin, they turned their backs on your song. 

You wouldn’t normally have taken the route you have chosen. Even if you had a lyre no more, the voice was an instrument on its own. But you singing was not an ability you possessed anymore. Whenever you tried, terrible pain coarse through you. It felt as if a dragon was tearing the vocal cords from their very seat in your throat. And yet, you needed to hear your song. It was crucial. It was essential. It begged you to finish it. 

Were the bards in Mondstadt always this unkind, you wondered as you made your way down the cobbled streets in search of someone new. You must have looked like quite the sight, with your childish stature and filthy appearance, almost seeming as if you belonged in the aftermath of the cataclysm fifty years past. Some kind souls tried pointing you in the direction of the church at the northernmost point of the city. ‘They take care of orphans there,’ they said. But that’s not where you belonged. You had something to do. 

Eventually, you lost track of the amount of time you spent searching for someone to play your song. Was it a few hours? Days? Weeks? But with each rejection, you found yourself becoming weaker and weaker. Were you never going to hear your precious song ever again? 

And that’s when you heard it. It danced like wisps upon a breeze. A lovely song.

Your song.

So you chased it. With a sudden burst of energy, you raced down the cobbled streets, up each flight of stairs, to the melody that called you, oh, so sweetly. 

There he stood in front of the winged statue with its arms outstretched. His fingers plucked at a lovely lyre as a soft smile graced his cherubic face. And when his eyes opened and fell upon you, they were filled with a warmth that words could not possibly describe. 

“There you are,” he finally said, his words wrapping themselves around you like a loving embrace. 

But you were confused, almost turning to see if it was someone else to which he spoke. But the full moon was high in the sky. Only drunkards were found on the streets this late at night, but even they had enough sense to conceal the sins of their indulgence from the Anemo Archon’s sanctuary. That could only mean he was talking to you, but have you met before? 

“Would you like me to play that for you?” He asked, his eyes falling upon the sheet music which you held. 

Perhaps you should have felt apprehensive. No other bard offered their services in your tune. But he felt familiar, as if drifting on a comfortable breeze you felt many times before. So you held your heart out to him. If anyone could play your song, it would be him. 

It seemed as if his body were frozen still as he scanned your notes once, then twice. But with the third time, his shoulders relaxed and his lips raised into a lovely smile. He then turned his gaze to you, delight evident within his emerald eyes. 

“Last time I checked, you were only a verse in! When did you get this far?” He mused cheerily before clearing his throat. “I think I got it. Listen carefully now. I don’t usually play for an audience of one, hehe.”

The tune he played before began to fill the air, this time with the changes you thoughtfully penned in. And when it reached the end of the first verse, instead of repeating, it flowed into the second. Yes, this was it. This was the song that you wanted to dedicate to your home, the one you were never able to finish. 

But as relief filled your chest and exhaustion began to weigh upon your eyelids, you couldn’t ignore the fact that the song was not done. Not yet. It still had a few more revisions to go. You still had to–

“Gods, you were always a fighter, weren’t you?” Came the exasperated voice of your companion.

As you fought the alluring call of sleep, he pouted disapprovingly at you. But when it became clear you would not give in, he sighed and brushed his hand gently against your cheek. It almost felt familiar, inviting you to lean into his warmth.

“Rest. Don’t worry, it’ll still be here when you wake up. And when you do, I’ll be here at your side. I promise.”

And as you decided to trust his promise, you felt your eyes flutter shut, and once more, your song danced into the air from his lyre. And as darkness began to take once more, you wondered to yourself. 

“What shall I write next?”

[ross1fum1]

#drives me crazy how apparently he's justified only because he' known for committing war crime on track

As a marc supporter, I would like to try to make you understand my point of view.

Personally I don't justify marc because he is used to commit crimes on the track, but because imo there is always a tendency to judge very negatively actions that done by others instead go unnoticed.

The first example that comes to mind is the incident between marini and bastianini in portugal last season. Marini made enea skip the whole season and may have ruined his career but the criticism of him was minimal and today no one remembers that incident anymore. At silverstone 2021 marc had a similar accident with martin (who was not hurt) and in that case instead the criticism was fierce, with marc as usual being accused of being an aggresive driver who ALWAYS causes accidents. In reality, the last accident he caused was in Argentina 2018. This year Bagnaia pulled marc down in portugal and tried to pull him down in jerez, but there was no criticism of him.

Then there is the whole issue of slipstreams that are only noticed when marc has taken them.

Marc is not a saint, but neither is he a criminal who goes down the track to k1ll his opponents. He has taken aggressive actions like all riders, in fact in my opinion even less than others, but because of what happened in 2015 a lot of people fail to judge what he does on track in a rational and lucid way.

P.S. Marc did wrong today and I don't justify him, but the incident is only relevant because he is involved, and the very heavy insults he is receiving in these hours would not be written if someone else had caused the crash

I'll start by saying that I really like Marquez as a rider. Because if you're a MotoGP enthusiast you can't help but like a champion like Marquez. Marc Marquez is a record-breaking rider, records that are both positive and negative. I don't think there is any need to list the positive records because they have become history. He’s a rider who always rides to the limit, beyond which either glory or tragedy exists. His 85 victories prove it, but so does the fact that since the beginning of his career he has collected over a hundred falls. Now, if we want to quickly go over all the times that Marquez has been at the center of controversies due to unfair moves, quite a few situations come to mind. Starting from Moto2 when in 2011 he hit Wilarot at the end of the first free practice session, or in 2012 when in Catalunya he hit Pol or in Valencia when he made Corsi fall. Moving on to MotoGP, the trend has not changed. Already in 2013 in Aragon he hit Pedrosa who fell and caused Marc to receive a penalty. Again in 2013 in Great Britain he ignored the yellow flags caused by Crutchlow's fall, falling in the same trajectory and risking taking out the stewards. In Argentina in 2018 he received three penalties in one race, which had never happened before. In 2021 his duel with Martin ended with a questionable overtaking attempt that made them both fall. In Portimao in 2023 he received two long lap penalties after colliding with and injuring Miguel Oliveira, the home rider. And I purposely left out all the events of 2015 between him and Rossi because we could discuss this for ages and still not get to the bottom of the situation. Let’s just say it was certainly not a moment of great sportsmanship on either side. There’s no doubt that situations like those Marquez has found himself in over the years can happen to anyone. The point is that they don't happen to everyone. You took Marini injuring Bastianini as an example, very true, there are certainly other riders who have done the same, but these events are not remembered because they happened once, twice at most. As long as we're talking about once or twice I think everyone can agree that it's an unpleasant incident, but if you do it multiple times throughout your career it becomes a pattern.So without taking into account racing contacts that, although questionable, are part of the sport, it’s clear that there’s a reason why people are not surprised when Marc commits one of his usual war crimes. Because it’s a part of him. Which in my opinion, however, should not be a justification. It’s true that MotoGP is a dangerous sport, but it should be dangerous because they race at 300km/h not because it becomes a contact sport. When Marc and Nicolò got so close yesterday on the last lap I already knew it would end badly, because that's what you expect, and if you expect it it's obviously because you've been given reason to expect it. I hoped it wouldn't happen because it was a friendly race that didn't count for anything at all, and yet if you're Marc Marquez it apparently does matter, because the moment you find an obstacle between you and the podium either it moves of its own accord or you find a way to make it move. Which is a reasoning that I could perhaps understand if you were fighting to win the world championship in the last race of the year but not if you're doing 10 laps to promote a bike. I won't deny that opening Tumblr and seeing people saying "Oh it’s the Marc Marquez experience🤭” really bothered me. Especially because I follow the WSBK championship seeing one of my favorites down with a potential injury because someone is not able to control himself was not very pleasant. Now what I say is irrelevant because his behavior will never change and that's how he is. This doesn't mean I have to accept it. I’ll be here applauding him when he has battles like the one in Jerez this year. Where there were contacts but it was pure racing and there was no unfairness. Trust me. But at the same time I’ll be here holding him and any other rider accountable when they pull some unfair move.

[gina103]

Girl From The Belly Ch 6

Ch 6 - word count: 3480 Previous - Next

The atmosphere at home was awkward for a while.

Following the argument with Idris, Lina would alternate between feeling racked with guilt to passionately defensive. It didn’t help that her mother was giving her the silent treatment, still angry at her for what she said, even after she apologized. Lina could only hope her mother would come around soon, but until then, life had to go on.

It had been a long day once again. Lina and Eunice had been helping their neighbor, Mrs. Kettle, with her rambunctious children. Busy taking care of her newborn son, Mrs. Kettle had tasked the girls with looking after her two toddlers, a pair of twin girls, Rosie and Petunia. Lina was exhausted, she jealously watched Eunice bouncing the calm and docile Petunia on her lap, laughing and giggling, while she once again had to pry another object out of Rosie’s mouth.

“It’s not fair,” Lina whined, “why did you get the nice one?”

“Hey! They are both lovely children!” Eunice retorted.

“OUCH!”

Rosie had bitten Lina’s finger, wiggled out of her arms, and run off into another room.

Lina turned to give her sister a look of disbelief and frustration. Children were impossible.

“Aww, Petunia’s having so much fun with you, Eunice!” Mrs. Kettle walked over to where the girls were sitting. Rosie was clinging to her mother’s legs as she walked over. “This is great practice for you girls, right? After all, it won’t be long before you have your own children to look after.”

Lina felt herself twitch in annoyance, she forced herself to agree politely along with her sister.

Mrs. Kettle thanked them for their help and took her children to put them all down for a nap.

“I swear, if one more person brings up either marriage or kids, I’ll run away and go live with the rats,” Lina said as soon as Mrs. Kettle left the room.

Eunice laughed, “It only gets worse until you get married. Then after that, it’ll be all about when you’re having kids.”

Lina slumped down dramatically in her chair, “At least you’re good with kids, you’re a natural with them.”

“Because I don’t throw a fit every time I have to babysit.”

Lina shot her an offended glare. “I do not throw a fit!”

“Yes, you do!” Eunice retorted.

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not!”

The girls kept up this debate all the way back home, and even though the past weeks had been hard at home for Lina, she felt so grateful for her sister, gaining a new level of appreciation for her and for those little moments where she could feel a true bond between them.

-

The wedding was only a week away.

Cassian didn’t understand. How could time move so quickly? Fortunately, he didn’t feel nearly as sick to his stomach about it as he used to when he pondered his approaching marriage. He supposed this was due to his efforts in building a friendship with his fiancée. Over the past two weeks, he had made an effort to speak to her more. Instead of sitting in silence at every meal like they usually did, Cassian would attempt to make polite conversation. He was still very poor at conversing with others, but he was on an upward trajectory in both his attitude and demeanor lately.

And there was a special reason for that.

Lina.

She was the true friend he’d always wanted. Her visits were the best part of his day, only appearing to him in the dead of night like a little angel, always in his study where they would spend the majority of their time just talking. For hours, they would talk about anything under the sun, causing the time to simply fly by. Since he had begun reading books aloud to her, Cassian learned that Lina had the same insatiable hunger for knowledge that he did. She would ask him questions about everything, about new words he would read, what the world outside was like, how their nation worked, and Cassian was very happy to teach her. Lina was fascinated by everything he told her about, whether he was explaining how the clock told the time, or how the quill he wrote with was made, her face lit up at the prospect of acquiring new knowledge. It filled Cassian with a warmth he couldn’t explain. Lina made him feel like he was worthy of listening to.

He just felt lighter with her in his life. Cassian used to feel heavy with the burden of loneliness that he had carried ever since his mother’s death. Lina truly was a little bright spot in his gloomy world. He was now motivated to accept his upcoming marriage, he felt ready to step up as the heir to the Silvenian throne, to step up and be someone his mother would be proud of. He felt ready to be a husband, even though it was with someone he didn’t love, he accepted the fact that he had a duty to his kingdom and the legacy before him.

He was ready, and he never would have felt this way if it wasn’t for Lina.

Hopefully she would come and visit soon, he already had a stack of books in his study that he specifically wanted to read to her. Cassian could imagine her expression, lit up like a Christmas tree, hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He was already smiling at just the thought. He’d actually been smiling quite a lot recently, partly because of Lina and also because spring had sprung. Cassian had been spending quite a lot of time in the palace gardens which were filled with beautiful blooming flowers. There was a particularly secluded spot in the middle of a hedge maze that he loved to sit and read at. He could spend hours lying on the grass, absorbing the pleasant rays of the sun. He hoped to one day bring Lina with him to share in all of its peace and tranquility.

He could imagine her now, sitting in the grass, eyes closed, hair blowing in the breeze, soaking up the moment with him.

One day… he thought wistfully.

-

Lina found herself traversing the dark and dank tunnels once again.

She needed Cassian.

She quickly wiped away the remaining remnants of her tears. Her attempts to patch things up with her mother were once again, ignored in favor of the silent treatment. Lina had absolutely broken down, begging her mother to speak to her, pulling on her skirt, apologizing over and over again to no avail. All Mrs. Brook did was pry her daughter’s hands off her skirt and exit the room, leaving Lina all alone to sob on the kitchen floor. Her father having heard everything, made no effort to comfort her, deciding to lock himself in his workshop instead. Eunice had been helping out Mrs. Kettle again, so she wasn’t even home when the incident happened, and Lina knew she wouldn’t have been much help anyway. She probably would’ve said “I’m sorry about Mama, you know how she feels about Idris, I’m sure she’ll come around soon.”

She needed Cassian’s overwhelming presence, his gentle touch, his smooth rumbling voice, his kind eyes, everything. When he’s around, Lina could forget about everything, he was her escape. No mother could snub her, no brother could berate her, no father could neglect her, no sister could she disappoint, there was only him.

Lina arrived at his study to see him looking out the window at the night sky. He loved the stars. He’d gone on and on about the con-stel-la-tions, as he’d called them. She could remember him holding her, standing in the same spot he was now, and pointing out all the various formations in the sky, all while Lina listened to him in raptures, noticing the way his fingers curled securely around her back and how she’d felt so safe and protected in that moment.

She needed that feeling now.

“Cassian!” Lina yelled from the floor, her voice cracking, “Cas…”

His colossal form turned around to search for her, a grin forming on his handsome face. “Lina? Is that you?”

“Down here!”

He looked down and locked eyes with her, “There you are! Why are you on the floor?” He slowly knelt down and reached out a hand towards her, slipping his fingers around her waist and gently lifting her up.

As soon as he brought her up to meet his gaze, his expression changed to concern. Lina tried to smile weakly at him, but it was quite obvious in her appearance that she had been crying. Her usually lively expression seemed tired, her eyes red and swollen.

“What happened?” Cassian whispered, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

Lina had no answer for him, where could she even begin? She looped her arm around the thumb that brushed her cheek and held it tightly, lip quivering.

Cassian’s eyes softened, he slowly brought her towards his chest and pressed her against it in an odd kind of hug. Lina closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, feeling the steady and rhythmic beat of his heart, it was so warm. In that moment, all her worries and concerns were far away, all she could concentrate on was him and his enormous presence. Nothing else mattered.

“Would you like to go on an adventure?” Cassian’s voice rumbled through her whole body like thunder.

Lina lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Adventure?” she asked quietly.

“We won’t go far, of course,” he clarified, “I have something to show you.”

Now she was curious, nodding to give him permission.

Cassian took that as his cue to start walking. He maneuvered her away from his expansive chest, forming his hand protectively around her. Making sure to grab a lit candle in his other hand, he opened the door to his private study which led out into a quiet and dark hallway. It was late at night, the palace corridors were quiet, dark, and undisturbed, not even the servants were awake at this hour. Cassian turned the corner into another dark hallway, walking carefully as to not jolt his little passenger. Finally, he came to a door.

Opening the door into another pitch-black space, Cassian walked forward into the abyss, setting his candle down on what Lina recognized as a grand pianoforte.

“I would set you down, but I believe I can do this with one hand,” Cassian whispered.

Lina’s heart fluttered. He’d inconvenience himself just to hold her a little bit longer.

She felt herself being pressed against his chest once more, his thumb brushing up and down her arm as he searched the dark room for more candles to light.

Soon, there was a good number of lit candles that provided the adequate amount of light needed to see the pianoforte and both of their faces. Cassian lowered his hand to a spot on top of the piano, letting Lina disembark and sit down. From her place, she had a great view of Cassian and all of the keys.

“Are you going to serenade me?” she asked teasingly.

He looked up in surprise. “Feeling better already?” he asked softly, “You teasing me again is a good sign.”

He reached up and gently poked her torso, earning a giggle from her.

“Whenever I happen to feel sad or upset, music always revives me. I’ve been practicing this piece quite often as of late, and now, you’ll be the first outside ears to bear witness to it.”

Lina let out a small oooh before straightening up in anticipation.

Cassian fixed his posture, placed his fingers on the keys, and began playing what Lina could only describe as the most beautiful music she’d ever heard.

It started off slow, almost melancholy before speeding up into a higher intensity. All Lina could do was listen, spellbound by the sweet sounds of the keys echoing throughout the room. The piece was picking up speed. Cassian’s fingers flew across the keys with expert precision and grace. As the piece found its crescendo, his eyes were closed, he was totally engrossed. Finally, the music slowed once again, finding that slow but melancholy tune.

“You’re crying.” Cassian had stopped playing.

Lina then realized that he was right, she quickly wiped the fresh tears that were streaming down her face. When she looked up at Cassian again, he was just staring at her, his beautiful blue eyes flooded with concern. He looked slightly lost, like he didn’t know quite what to say to her, but Lina knew what his eyes told her. It pains me to see sadness in you, I wish I knew what was causing you such pain.

Lina gathered her thoughts and started talking.

“My brother hates me.” She began, “He’s hated me for a very long time and the other day, I said something to him that I shouldn’t have and now, my mother hasn’t spoken to me since and- Lina’s voice broke.

“I don’t even know what I did to make him hate me, and I feel like my parents don’t even care,” Tears streamed down her face as her voice trembled. “I just feel as though all I do is disappoint people.”

For the second time, she was now sobbing before the prince. Except he wasn’t just “the prince” to her anymore, he was Cassian, someone who was on her side. He gently scooped her up off the piano to hold against his chest. Lina gripped the fabric of his waistcoat, burying her head further into him. She did her best to concentrate on the sound of his heartbeat.

“Lina,” his voice rumbled, “look at me, love.”

She slowly gazed upward towards his face. He had a new kind of conviction in his eyes. He raised her up to meet his gaze, delicately brushing away her tears with his fingers.

“You are, without a doubt, the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.”

A blush appeared on her cheeks.

“Why? Because I’m tiny to you?” She asked.

“No, that’s not it at all,” Cassian said sincerely, “I can very well think of hundreds of things besides your size that make you remarkable.”

“Such as?”

“Well, you’re charming, you’re curious, you’re intelligent, you’re honest, you’re beautiful…I could go on. “

A shy smile bloomed on Lina’s face.

“Thereee’s a smile,” Cassian said softly.

“What was that last one?” Lina asked cheekily.

Cassian leaned in, heating up the air around her and filling her vision like the night sky.

“I said, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Oh.

Oh.

Cassian pulled away, leaving Lina to remember how to breathe. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, he had such an effect on her, it was hypnotizing and annoying at the same time.

“Y-your highness…” she trailed off, in a rare moment, Lina couldn’t find the words.

“My apologies, have I made things awkward?” Cassian asked nervously, studying her expression which, to her embarrassment, seemed to be growing more tomato-like by the second.

A high-pitched “No!” squeezed its way out of her. Why did she have to lose her cool right now? Cassian was now openly flirting with her, there was no way she could let this opportunity go to waste.

Lina cleared her throat before continuing. “I was just surprised by your boldness, your highness. I didn’t know you were capable of complimenting women.”

Cassian threw his head back in laughter. “You are the bold one now! Calling me your highness and disrespecting me in the next sentence! I never know what to anticipate from you.”

“I’m not sure I would call it disrespect, I’m merely inspiring humility.”

“Oh yes, of course you are,” Cassian smiled fondly at her, once again brushing up and down her arms with his thumbs. He had a wistful look in his eyes, as if he was remembering something happy.

“I wish you could’ve met my mother, I’m certain she would’ve loved you.”

Lina looked at him curiously. “How so?”

This was the first time Cassian had ever mentioned his mother to her. She’d of course, heard about her death when it had taken place all those years ago. She’d heard about how hard it had been for him at the time, and how different relations within the royal family changed because of it. Lina was only a young girl at the time, but she remembered feeling a lot of sympathy for the prince who was just as young as she was when it happened. She couldn’t imagine the pain he must have experienced at an age where the extent of one’s loss should be limited to losing a favorite quill.

“Well…” He thought for a moment, “She loved all people, all animals, all creatures of any kind. I know she would’ve treated you with respect and kindness, maybe even a little more, just because of how happy you make me.”

“I make you happy?” Lina asked quietly.

Cassian looked her in the eyes, “Yes, very happy. Was it not obvious enough?”

Lina laughed. “Oh Cas, you make me happy too!” She turned her head and kissed the closest digit she could reach, “Very happy.”

They both gazed at each other, simply enjoying the moment. Lina heard the sound of birds chirping outside. They both turned to look out the window, the sky was brightening. Sunrise was approaching.

“I really should be getting home now, before anyone notices I’m gone,” Lina said, she wished she could stay with him forever. It would be a lot better than going back to her family now.

Cassian looked sad to see her go. “If you must…I won’t keep you.”

He rose from the piano bench, once again bringing her close to his chest to make his way back to his study. Lina did her best to savor the closeness, listening to his heartbeat thud in his chest with eyes closed in bliss. She had no idea how long she’d be able to keep seeing him. All she knew was that she didn’t want to lose this, the feeling of his touch, his genuine care for her, she didn’t know what she’d do without it, without him.

Before she knew it, they’d made it to the study, and it was time for her to leave. However, instead of lowering Lina to the ground, Cassian brought her to his face once again.

Before she could even wonder what he was doing, his enormous, beautiful face closed in. She felt the heat of his breath, his scent, and the warm press of his lips against the side of her face.

He’d just kissed her.

“Goodnight,” He whispered. He lowered her to the ground and let her disembark his hands, which she had been held in almost the entire time they were together.

“Goodnight,” Lina replied. She’d barely processed the fact that Cassian had just kissed her. She felt cold without the warmth of his touch.

She turned to walk away from him, but quickly whirled back around. “I think you meant good morning!”

“Ah of course, my mistake,” Cassian replied amusedly, “good morning, Lina.”

She smiled and waved goodbye at him before finally disappearing into the walls.

It was a good morning indeed.

-

 Cassian had a hard time watching her go.

As her little shape disappeared into the walls, he couldn’t help but wish she would stay forever.

When he first saw her face, red and stained with tears, he just wanted to hold her close and never let her go. He’d never seen her cry before, and it almost caused him physical pain to see her so sad, so worn down. Her family sounded toxic and draining from the information she had disclosed. How could her own brother hate her so much? How could anyone hate someone like Lina? She was such a joy to be around, such a lively countenance with so much love to give. How could someone want to destroy that?

Cassian was sure that if he ever got the chance to meet her brother in person, he would have some choice words for the nasty fellow. In no world did Lina deserve that kind of treatment. She deserved to be treated with the utmost respect, kindness, honesty, and integrity. She deserved all of that and more. All Cassian wanted was to see her shine like the bright ray of sunlight she was.

His mother surely would’ve loved her.

Cassian walked over to the side table and poured himself a glass of brandy. As he took a small sip, the realization hit him squarely in the chest.

He was in love with Lina.

How had it taken him this long to realize it? Cassian didn’t know.

All he knew was that the 5-inch-tall mystery woman he’d saved during his engagement ball had now made a permanent mark on his heart.

[brooklintfwrites]

I Wish People Watched TV Like Me

I wish people watched TV like me.

As I age, I realize that people don’t see the messages taught in film unless it’s smacked in their face. I realized that they don’t get out of their seat a temporary new person and sometimes permanently a new person.

TV and Film was something embedded in me since I can remember.

I was seven watching Moulin Rouge (2001) and crying at the unfortunate end of a love that didn’t get to blossom all the way.

Now, when I show people the same movie hoping for the same reaction, instead I’m usually met with a shrug and a “it was fine.” Or “Did it have to be a musical?”

They didn’t see the beauty of the musical storytelling between Christian and Satine.

They didn’t leave the movie a hopeless romantic. Like I did at 7. they didn’t let it define their being, even for a moment. They just saw it as a 2 hour gap of their day.

I realize that people mindlessly watch tv and film and take nothing from it. Of course I’m not saying that one should take something other than entertainment with every single thing they watch, however, I do feel that more people would love what they watch even more if they read in-between lines of what their watching.

I wish people watched TV like me.

Not take any of the “movie logic” too seriously, and maybe become Christian or Satine, depending on the current trajectory of in life.

Leave the theater or room with rose colored lenses, just for a moment.

Realistically, life sucks, the world is burning. But because of a little silly Y2K musical about an love with a untimely demise, the world momentarily looks bright, hopeful, and warm.

I wish people watched TV like me.

[sacredshadow]

👃👈

So, this is Old School timeline, which I'd understand if you're not doing, but I'd simply love Sliske booping Azzanadra's nose directly after smashing the Frostenhorn and the Barrows Icon and ruining Azzy's day/century

👃👈 for Sliske to boop Azzanadra’s nose

So, I don’t play OSRS, but I did a little research. Am I right in understanding that the destruction of these artefacts happened ‘off-screen’ and the player was not present for it? That gives me a bit of room to play around with. I’ll try my best but there’s a high likelihood that I get something wrong. (I can’t be bothered to check that all the lore about the Zarosian empire is the same but I assume it is)

The nagging sensation that Sliske was up to no good had been bothering Azzanadra for almost half an hour. What was he planning? Well, there was only one way to know if this was one of his ‘do a mean prank on someone who had bothered him recently’ or a more concerning ‘completely mess up everything’. Where was he, though? Azzanadra sat down and reached out his senses, extending his awareness of other Mahjarrat as far as it would go. Was that him there, high up on a mountain? Odd place for him to be.

“Sliske! What are you doing?!?” The wind carried away the words Azzanadra was yelling at the Mahjarrat climbing a few meters ahead him. Magical energies radiated from a large sack slung over his shoulder, clunking around with each step Sliske took. This could not be good. Azzanadra managed to catch up to him on a small rocky ledge. The sack lay resting against a boulder while Sliske searched for something in a nearby pile of rocks. Through the slight opening in the fabric, Azzanadra could make out an object that looked hauntingly familiar. “Sliske? Is that the-”

“You’re not meant to be here. Leave now.” Sliske hissed, picking up a large, rough boulder. Before Azzanadra could even think, Sliske was at the sack, bringing the stone down on it with a sickening crunch. Azzanadra heard himself yelling out as he leapt to rescue the precious contents, feeling the rock come down on his fingers as he tried to pull it away.

Unfortunately his suspicions had been correct. The frostenhorn - how had Sliske even gotten that? - was there, cracked and collapsed alongside the icon Sliske had entrusted to his wights. “What have you done?” Azzanadra had to bite back a sob as he looked at the artefacts that could have helped him re-establish contact with his lord, now almost completely shattered, beyond repair. “Why would you do this?” He pulled out a few shards, feeling the power fade from them.

Sliske was standing over him, leaning down to look at the destruction he had caused. “Oops. Looks like I accidentally dropped a rock on the precious artefacts that you’ve been trying to find for years. My bad.” Sliske was giving Azzanadra his ‘why don’t we just forget this happened’ look. Azzanadra came back with an expression that clearly read ‘if so someone offered me five bucks to kill you right now, I would do it’. “That looked very intentional to me, Sliske.” Azzanadra didn’t bother trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Before he knew it, Sliske was holding the rock over the sack again. “You see, I was just holding this rock like this and then- oops, I dropped it.” The rock crashed down again before Azzanadra could react, fragments flying out everywhere.

“That’s not what I saw. Usually when trying not to drop something, I don’t swing it above my head and bring it down with considerable force, only letting go when it’s on the trajectory to break something valuable.” Sliske crouched down in front of Azzanadra, making sure to be a bit above his level. His hands started gathering up the shards, sweeping them back into the bag. “What’s done is done, my dear,” He gently pressed his finger to Azzanadra’s nose, pulling it away before Azzanadra could take the opportunity to bite him. “Boop!” Azzanadra let out a low growl as Sliske straightened up his hat, gently kissing him on the forehead before standing, carrying the sack filled with Azzanadra’s shattered hopes.

“Well, I’m sure there’s no need to tell anyone else about the tragic accident that occurred here today,” Sliske purred as he walked towards the cliff edge, looking back at Azzanadra and not showing any guilt for what he had just done, “Well, I’ll be seeing you around, I suppose.” He teleported just as he stepped off the cliff, leaving Azzanadra sitting and rubbing away the sensation of Sliske’s touch from his nose.

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part iv: hooked on a feeling

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 5.7k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

this chapter officially marks the beginning of the *main* plot arc. if you’ve stuck with me this far, please accept my endless gratitude and know that things are about to get exponentially more interesting ;)

p.s. if you want faster updates, my ao3 readers usually get new chapters a week earlier than the tumblrinas <3

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

Weeks passed, and you settled into a routine on the Crest with unexpected ease. You split your days between caring for Grogu—which consisted mostly of cooing enthusiastically at his crayon scribbles and soothing his tired cries until he fell asleep—and testing out which recipes garnered the best reactions from his stoic father. On a particularly busy morning, you’d left a tray of rolls in the oven for too long and didn’t notice the smoke until Mando burst through the doorway in a panic. That was definitely a reaction, though not quite the one you’d been hoping for. And a rather expensive one, too, since he’d broken the automatic closing mechanism with the force of his entry. 

But your nights… the best of your nights were spent in the passenger seat of the cockpit, eyes tracing an endless path through hyperspace until you drifted off to the sound of breaths under beskar. You’d bought enough blankets in Nevarro to stay comfortable in the leather seat, although you still woke up to find Mando’s cloak draped over you when the icy chill of deep space permeated the ship. On a good night, one where he’d returned quickly from a hunt and had energy to spare on conversation, you’d punctuate the quiet with the occasional question. They ranged from serious—whether he’d been born Mandalorian (no), why his beskar was so important (forging and wearing the sacred metal was an essential part of the Mandalorian Creed)— to absurd. 

He’d been rather bemused when you asked him what his favorite flavor of sprinkles was, but you remained stubbornly tethered to your position that questions like those were quite important when judging someone’s character. That was, as long as the interviewee had an actual answer. Apparently, growing up in a hidden Mandalorian covert limited one’s interaction with dessert toppings.

And to your surprise, he returned the gesture. You’d stumbled into the cockpit late one night, wide–eyed and restless. Grogu had been particularly fussy that day, and you’d assumed that the exhausting effort you put in would shuttle you straight to dreamland. Instead, you found yourself tossing and turning for hours in the soft nest of blankets Mando had previously arranged into a makeshift bed for you. So you’d quietly climbed out of the hull, hoping to find some rest under the stars—or at least allow their muted glow to numb your racing thoughts. 

He’d silently acknowledged your arrival by unclasping his cloak and tossing it onto your lap. You’d mumbled a soft “thank you,” simultaneously embarrassed that he knew you preferred it to a blanket and pleased at the attentive gesture. At least he didn’t know why you liked the charcoal fabric so much, you reasoned. Your hand found the button that released the backrest, and you exhaled softly as your torso dipped backwards with the seat. You curled up underneath the cloak, letting its heavy weight slowly subdue your tense muscles into a more comfortable position. 

“I never thanked you for what you did at the cantina.” Mando’s baritone broke through the quiet, low and soothing.

You blinked, gaze traveling from the shooting stars above you to his silver outline in the pilot’s seat. “You don’t need to,” you insisted, but his posture remained stiffly tense.

“I was out of vambrace fuel that day,” he admitted. “Without the alcohol, I wouldn’t have been able to use the flamethrower. And my blaster charges were… limited.” He was silent for several long moments, then spoke roughly. “Without you, I—wouldn’t have made it back to the kid for a while.”

Your heart softened at the way he clearly struggled to get out the words. “You would have figured it out,” you murmured, the sides of your mouth curving up into a small smile. “I mean, my next step was to start chucking spotchka bottles at their scaly faces. I’m sure Mandalorians are trained to use more complex fighting moves.”

At that, he released a wry, surprised huff of a laugh that warmed the atmosphere of the small cockpit and set butterflies alight in your stomach. You scrunched your face up and yawned, choosing to ignore that particular feeling. Slowly, the comfortable silence relaxed you into a peaceful, half–drowsy state. Minutes ticked by in the blur of hyperspace, and then—

“Have you always lived on Nath?”

You glanced over, surprised that he was still initiating conversation. “No, I’m from Odala,” you spoke softly, the word dropping off your tongue like a bittersweet hymn. You watched his gloved hands pause their track across the control panel, his silver helmet tilting ever–so–slightly towards you. 

“Odala,” he repeated. “Isn’t that planet—”

“Destroyed?” You sucked in a breath, wincing as memories rushing through your brain in a flood of sudden pain. “Yeah. By the glory of Imperial superlasers, as if the plague the soldiers brought wasn’t devastating enough.” You looked down at your hands, embarrassed by the sarcastic outburst.

“I just miss it. So much,” you spoke, half–whispering the words. “My family had a workshop there—we crafted music boxes, radios, metal instruments. Four generations of art, wiped out in an instant.”

Mando remained silent, but his posture was attentive—a quiet invitation to continue. 

“I tried to help as much as I could when it all fell apart. Working in the med tents, sending tools from our shop to the rebels. None of it was enough. My mother sold her wedding ring to get me passage on the last cargo freighter to Corellia, a day before the bombing started.” 

You sniffed, trying desperately to regain control of the floodgates that threatened to spill over from behind your eyelids. “I had cousins, as close as siblings, and I just—left them all behind. Didn’t even make it to Corellia before the pilot kicked me off the ship.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His tone was gentle, but the words were firm. You started to shake your head, but he stopped you, turning fully to face you. 

“You did everything you could. Your family would be proud that you survived.”

At that, your face crumpled. You pressed it into the cloak to hide the silent tears that streaked down your cheeks at his words, saltwater soured by years of pent–up feeling. You never thought you’d reveal those parts of your past to anyone, let alone a man whose face you’d never seen. Somehow, though, his quiet presence grounded you, allowing the waves of your grief to wash over you and slowly recede with your pain. 

You finally looked up to see Mando’s head bowed, his deep baritone echoing an unfamiliar language. “O’r ibic aay’han, ni partaylir gar.”

“What does that mean?” You asked softly, hands twisting the cloak in your lap. 

He straightened, helmet tilting towards you. “In this time of mourning, I remember you,” he repeated, voice stronger but still reverent. “It is how Mandalorians honor the warriors who have gone before us.”

“This is the Way,” you whispered, and he made a small noise of surprise in the back of throat before affirming your statement. 

“This is the Way.”

***

You touched down on Vati in the early hours of the morning, stirred from dreamless sleep by the gentle thump of the Crest hitting the terrain. When you opened your eyes, Mando was gone, but the unmistakable sound of the boarding ramp unlatching echoed up to the cockpit. Curiosity fueled your careful movements as you climbed down into the hull. When you finally stepped out of the ship onto unfamiliar, bluish dirt, your eyes widened with dazed surprise at the sight before you. 

Giant, puffy clouds hovered low in the purple–tinged sky, low enough that it felt like you could touch them if you stood on top of the Crest. The land that stretched out before you was barren of trees, dotted instead with thick bushes and tall grasses that waved in the cool morning wind. And to your right—twin suns peeked out from the horizon, piercing the clouds with dazzling beams of pink and orange. 

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured with awe, head tipping back as you took in the wide, brilliant expanse of the sky. 

“Mesh’la.” You whirled around to see Mando standing behind you, helmet turning from the majestic landscape towards you. Your confusion at the unfamiliar phrase must have been painted across your face, as plain as the wisteria stripes on the bush next to you. He coughed self-consciously, then muttered, “That’s—it means beautiful, in Mando’a.” 

Your face lit up with understanding, and you slowly repeated the word. Your pronunciation was nowhere near the way it’d rolled off his tongue, somehow sounding both fierce and tender, but he nodded. 

“Quick learner,” he hummed approvingly, and stars, now was absolutely not the time for that feeling curling up in your belly to appear at his praise. 

You placed your hands on your hips, turning around before your flushed face could betray you. An idea sparked to life in your mind as you surveyed the majestic landscape. You bent down and snapped a twig off of a bush near your feet, bringing it up to your face. You rolled it around in your palm for a moment, testing for moisture. When none revealed itself, you shot a bright grin at Mando over your shoulder. 

“Want to try something fun?”

Twenty minutes later, you had a fire crackling and a scuffed pan suspended over it on a makeshift tripod. You handed Grogu a pile of branches, showing him how to select the ones that would make the best fuel and carefully toss them into the fire. It was a work in progress; he wasn’t as interested in the twigs as he was the ruby flames, and you had to keep snatching him back before his tiny green hands could get burned. You’d assigned Mando the job of stirring the batter—a surprise, you’d told him. You weren’t sure whether he was the sort of man who’d be too macho to eat something you’d named Pancake Sprinklesplosion as a child, so you figured the mystery might be a good idea. 

When you’d finished flipping the blue bantha–milk pancakes over the fire, you set a towering stack next to the three precious sprinkle jars you’d bought in Nevarro. You fixed the beskar–clad warrior with an expectant beam, pointing to each of the containers in quick succession. 

“Chocolate. Caramel. Rainbow. The three pillars of dessert decoration,” you explained, clasping your hands together with a determined gleam in your eyes. “Prepare for your shiny mind to be blown, metal man.” 

Mando’s helmet tilted slowly towards the jars, then back up at you. “Am I… supposed to eat them?” 

You gaped at him, seriously considering whether you needed to check him for a concussion. The armored man seemed to pick up on your train of thought and cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“It’s just the, uh,” he gestured to his helmet. Your eyes widened again, this time in embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry, I forgot! I can…go inside, if you want? With the kid?”

Mando hesitated for a few long moments, then shook his head. “No, just—turn around. I’ll do the same.” 

You bit your lip nervously, thinking of all the ways you could mess this up. Kriff, what if the kid twisted around before you could stop him—

“I trust you,” he added, interrupting your panicked train of thought. The sincerity of his tone was enough to settle your nerves into firm determination. Not on your life would you do anything to break his Creed. 

You sighed. “Alright, then.”

You turned around, bending down to strap the kid into his floating crib and sit down on a nearby log with your own plate. You heard shuffling, the melodic clinking of beskar on beskar, and then—a pressurized hiss that made your heart skip a beat. You kept your eyes trained on your pancakes, only glancing to the side to make sure that Grogu hadn’t climbed out of his pod to go looking for amphibious snacks. You didn’t plan on moving from his view for a moment. If the green child thought he had a chance to waddle away on a frog hunt, he’d take it, consequences be damned.

A few minutes passed, and the silence became suffocating. You cleared your throat nervously. 

“Mando? Are you… okay back there?”

“It’s been a while since I saw the sky like this.” He confessed, and stars. Without his modulator, his baritone was richer, deeper—somehow more warm than you’d imagined. You choked on a bite of your pancake. Apparently, your body was either going to make you acknowledge your not–so–little crush or asphyxiate trying. 

“Take your time,” you gasped out, trying not to alert him to the fact that you were currently losing oxygen from the effect he had on you. Kriff, this was embarrassing.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You thought you’d get over your initial attraction once you became more familiar with him, once you’d knocked him off that shiny silver pedestal in your mind. Yet somehow, the closer you grew to the man, the more you felt a breathless tug in your stomach at his presence. You watched him: interacting gently with Grogu, piloting the ship with an air of assured control, even sacrificing a much–needed storage closet so you’d have a place to rest outside of the cockpit. 

You felt... Safe. Protected, for the first time in your life. It made your heart ache with a strange mix of yearning and contentment, as if having everything you’d ever dreamed of had only encouraged you to search for more.

To your relief, he didn’t seem to notice your internal distress, and you heard the familiar scrape of cutlery against his plate after a few minutes. You settled into a more comfortable position against the log, your head tipping back to watch strange, elongated birds swirl against the painted canvas of the sky. You were lucky to have landed on Vati at the break of dawn—its twin suns would produce an almost unbearable heat during the peak of the afternoon, but the way their soft warmth kissed your skin right now was exactly what you needed. You closed your eyes, letting your chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the wind that ruffled the tall grasses. How long had it been since you’d had the chance to just breathe? Life on Nath had been cold and chaotic, but now you felt at peace—ready for whatever adventure the ship might take you to next.

Grogu’s stomach suddenly gurgled loudly. You glanced over to see that he had somehow gotten ahold of your remaining pancakes, those big, dark eyes staring guiltily at you as he gulped down the last of your breakfast. You sighed as he suddenly looked uncomfortable, his wrinkled face scrunching up in an expression you’d seen very, very often in the last few weeks. Apparently, that next adventure would be changing diapers.

“Not to rush you, metal man, but I think the kid’s going to need the ‘fresher soon,” you called out behind you. 

Your armored companion grunted in acknowledgement, and you heard him stand up behind you. You waited patiently, covering your vision with both hands until you felt him gently tap your shoulder. Your eyes flew open at the touch, and you found the Mandalorian standing in front of you—helmet back in place, as if it had never been moved. You wondered if it was hard for him to put it back on. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, since he’d been wearing it for most of his life. But something about the way the beskar settled on his shoulders now just seemed… heavier. 

Your gaze trailed down to where his empty plate and the sprinkle jars sat, the latter looking significantly lighter than they were when you’d handed them to him. You gave a delighted wolf–whistle when you noticed how the container with chocolate sprinkles was barely half full.

“Who would’ve guessed that the big, scary Mandalorian has a sweet tooth,” you teased, grinning up at his broad figure. “Stars, at this rate you might get a stomach ache worse than the kid’s!” 

He shrugged in a cocky motion that had no right to be as endearing as it was. You wiped your hands on the faded overalls you’d bought in Nevarro, bending to pick up Grogu before he could make himself sick with more food. You wrinkled your nose when the mischievous green child burped—how the kriff did he make those so nostril–burning? Clearly, his cuteness was a necessary evolutionary mechanism, because no one in their right mind would volunteer to wipe his wrinkly butt for fifty years straight otherwise. 

“Okay, that’s my cue to take this guy inside.” You sighed, surveying the messy remains of your picnic. “Sorry, I’ll be right back to get this packed up—”

Mando interrupted you, shaking his head. “I’ll take care of it. You have enough to handle already,” he insisted, gesturing at the squirming child in your arms. 

He gently nudged you aside and began picking up the dishware that had somehow gotten scattered across the sandy terrain. Your heart warmed at the sweet, unexpectedly domestic action, and you shot him a grateful smile. As you made your way up the boarding ramp, you heard Mando swear under his breath. Then, louder, he called out your name.

“Don’t let him near the cockpit—he puked blue cookies all over it last time, made a hell of a mess to clean up—”

You looked down at the pouty child in your arms suspiciously. “Bantha milk doesn’t go down too well for you, huh?” You turned back to his armored father, an angelic expression on your face as you shifted the kid to your other hip. “Sorry, I can't hear you!” You sang out, sweet as a sprinkle. “Leave him in the pilot’s seat unattended? Sounds great to me,” you beamed, whirling on your heel.

The sound of Mando’s exasperated groan of laughter echoed your steps all the way back into the hull.

***

Somehow, without realizing it, you’d started singing again. 

The girl you’d been before the war—the one who’d so loved the ballads the elders cried out during festivals, each note a fragmented burst of joy—she was slowly thawing, emerging from the icy burial you’d unceremoniously given her on Nath. A soft melody while you showered, an old Odalian lullaby when you tucked Grogu into his hammock… your whirlwind infatuation with music was beginning to sweep you off your feet once again, almost frightening you with how intensely it begged to be acknowledged. 

Like all good things in your life these days, it was Mando’s fault.

You’d been laying on the floor, Grogu blowing raspberries at a nearby sparking wire for your entertainment, when he descended from the cockpit with a mysterious bag in hand. You watched him unfold a panel from the ship’s wall to reveal a surprisingly well–crafted workbench. When he’d started to peel off his beskar chestplate, your hands flew to cover your eyes in a panic. You tried to reach out blindly to cover Grogu’s vision, too, but yelped when your hand hit a sharp corner of the hull instead.

“Son of a porg–kissing nerf herder,” you groaned, rubbing the sore spot. You kept your eyes scrunched tightly shut as heavy boots stepped closer to you, then paused.   

“What are you doing?” Your shiny companion sounded completely baffled by your antics. You winced, wishing that you had a Mandalorian etiquette book handy—a thought that had recurred in your thoughts more frequently as of late. 

“Am I… allowed to look? When you take off your armor?” 

You couldn’t see his expression, but you would bet good credits that his eyebrows were raised behind that silver helmet. “Yes. It is the revealing of our faces that goes against the Creed.” 

“Oh,” you muttered, face red as a Tatooine sunset. You dusted yourself off and stood up awkwardly, trying to regain a bit of dignity as Mando resumed his careful disrobing of the beskar. 

After a few moments, he added, “It’ll be your fault if his first word is ‘kriff’, you know.” His tone was deceptively even, but you sensed the undercurrent of amusement that ran through it.

You shot him a look. “Says you, Mister ‘Dank Ferrik’. At least if this career path doesn’t work out, I can always go be a pirate,” you sniffed. You picked up a fine red cloth that he’d set on the edge of the workbench, curiosity overtaking your embarrassment. “What’s this used for?”

He wordlessly motioned for you to place the unusual fabric in his hand, and you obeyed. You watched as he spun the cloth in an unfamiliar, geometric pattern across the metal of his chestplate, leaving a polished silver trail in its wake. The side of your mouth curved up. “So that’s why you never looked scuffed up when you came into the cantina.” 

He nodded, then walked over to the other end of the hull. You watched his retreating form begin to sort through the supplies in the armory for a moment before your attention was drawn back to the beskar. It shimmered a strange color in the light, like the reflection of the fuel puddles that dripped beneath the Crest. You extended a tentative fingertip and gently flicked the silvery metal, eyes widening when it vibrated with a melodic echo. You hummed softly, trying to replicate its pitch. 

Suddenly, an idea struck you. You glanced over at Mando—he was still working, seemingly consumed by the arduous task of reloading his ammo. You carefully picked up his pauldron and tapped it against the side of the chestplate. A clear, proud note rang out, albeit much louder than you’d expected. Your face broke into a delighted smile at the sound, reminded of the wind chimes your mother had hung above your cottage door.

“Having fun?”

You startled, turning around to see the tall man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, observing your little experiment. Your face heated as he pushed off the hull and walked towards you. He nodded at the glimmering plate in your hands. 

“You are not the first to appreciate the sound of beskar. It is traditional for each Mandalorian clan to have a warrior who plays the bes’bev, the sacred war–flute.”

You peered up at him curiously. “I thought beskar was only to be forged into weapons or armor.”

He tilted his helmet in acknowledgement. “Yes. The end of the bes’bev is sharpened to double as a long knife.”

You carefully set his pauldron down on the cloth with a thoughtful hum. Stars, your grandfather would have been instantly inspired by the musical weapon. The workshop would’ve been full of prototypes within a few days at most, a meticulously crafted instrument in your hands within the week. It had been too long since you’d so much as whispered a tune, you realized with a start. Perhaps it was time to start reconnecting with your once–beloved hobby.

Suddenly, your ears perked up with apprehension. The ship was quiet. Too quiet. You scanned the area, a feeling of dread creeping up on you as you realized what was missing—

The room suddenly lurched, sending you flying into the side of the hull. Your hands grasped for purchase on the edge of the workbench, but just as you were about to pull yourself up, the ship spun again and your ankle twisted beneath you with a violent snap. You gritted your teeth, trying your best to ignore the sudden shoot of pain up your leg. 

“The kid,” you breathed, Mando seemingly coming to the same realization. He swore loudly and fumbled his way to the ladder, narrowly avoiding slamming into the workbench. You slid across the floor, hoisting yourself up onto the ladder after him with a wince. When you finally entered the cockpit, he’d already crossed the room in two quick strides, snatching Grogu up from the control panel. But the damage had already been done—the ship shuddered once, twice, then abruptly dropped out of hyperspace with a dull roar. Mando tossed the misbehaving green child to you, and you quickly buckled him into his seat with a stern look. 

“What’d he do?” You called out from the back of the cockpit, frantically trying to make sense of the flashing lights near the door.

“Don’t know,” he yelled back, voice barely audible over the sound of the sputtering engine. “Damn it—asteroid field coming up, get ready—”

You paled, whipping around so fast you might have broken something in your neck. “Did you just say asteroid field?”

But it was too late for him to respond, as the intimidatingly large space rocks spun closer and closer to the Crest’s glass panelling. You scrambled to strap yourself into the second passenger seat as Mando skillfully piloted the ship through the dangerous patch of space. You didn’t understand how he did it—it was like he knew where an asteroid would appear before it even flickered on the radar screen. He’d grown quiet, gloved hands moving smoothly across the controls like he was locked in a dance with the machinery. 

Yet despite his best efforts, he couldn’t predict every meteorite. You breathed a sigh of relief when a burnt–sienna planet came into view, signaling what you assumed was the end of the asteroid field. But right when you had started to relax back into your seat, a fragment of rock broke off from a passing meteorite and slammed into the side of the Crest, sending it spinning on its side through the field. A gasp escaped your mouth at the impact, your arm reaching out to hold onto Grogu as the ship hung upside–down. 

“New plan,” Mando muttered, flicking a series of switches on the transmitter. A squeaky voice crackled to life over the comm. “You have entered airspace under control of the Mos Eisley Spaceport. Please state your reason for—”

“Engine failure, requesting immediate emergency landing,” he interrupted, doing his best to balance the ship as it hurtled towards the surface of the planet. 

The voice paused, then continued, sounding more annoyed this time. “Request denied until further information has been given—” 

Mando scoffed in frustration, punching the button to end the transmission. He guided the shaking ship through Tatooine’s heated atmosphere, just barely regaining control of it before it crashed into the open hangar. You waited for him to carefully stand up before rushing over to Grogu, checking the small green baby for any injuries. Seeing none, you gathered him up into your arms with relief, but not before sending him a look that promised a very serious scolding in the near future. 

You followed Mando down the ladder, but you couldn’t contain a tiny whimper of pain when your injured ankle hit the rungs. You closed your eyes, steeling yourself against the throbbing feeling, and slowly continued your downward climb. When you reached the ground, you found Mando staring at you. Oops.

You shot him a bright smile, praying that he’d buy your cheerful act until you had time to fix your injury on your own. You thought he might have been about to say something—but the moment was interrupted by the sound of the boarding ramp hissing open, clouds of steam obscuring the entrance to the hull. He immediately stepped in front of you and the kid, hand poised on his blaster. When the dust settled, a short figure with wild, curly hair appeared, soot-covered hands reaching up to pop off dusty welding goggles. The woman gave an impressed whistle at the sight of Mando, spreading her hands wide.

“Phew, what an entrance!”

***

Peli Motto was not someone who lacked personality. She kept up an incessant stream of chatter as you subtly limped into the hangar, commenting on everything from the smoke pouring out of the Crest’s left engine to the ineffectiveness of her droids. She’d eagerly stretched out her hands to hold Grogu when you first stepped off the ship—a request that made you nervously look to Mando for approval before granting it. She was certainly one of the odder characters you’d met so far in your travels, but she seemed to hold genuine care for the kid beneath all that boisterous energy, and that was good enough for you. 

“I gotta say, Mando, when I saw your ship crash into my hangar, I thought there was a good chance you’d died trying to pilot the damn thing.” She shook her head incredulously. “Musta been quite the asteroid field,” she muttered as she surveyed the damage to the ship. 

“How much will the repairs cost?”

She made an exaggerated walk around the outside of the ship’s hull. “Hmm.. the wiring here’s toast, the engine repair’ll cost me a few good tools, and—kriff, it’s not even legal to fly with a stabilizer this outdated!” She paused, giving the Crest a final once-over. “Seven hundred credits.”

Mando scoffed. “Seven hundred? Even a Jawa wouldn’t charge that much.”

Peli shrugged, unbothered. “Take it or leave it. No discounts, even for cute little womp rats like this one,” she spoke, ruffling the wiry hairs on the kid’s head. 

Mando grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly dropped the money into Peli’s eager hands. He turned to head back up the boarding ramp, but she stopped him. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going? My droids need to work on that overnight, unless you wanna pay for an extended stay,” she exclaimed. 

Mando crossed his arms. “And we need to sleep overnight. I’m not making them—” he jerked a gloved hand towards you and the kid—“stay outside in the hangar.”

Peli brushed aside his annoyed tone with a wave of her hand. “Ah, I have a spare room in the back. A bit dusty, but I suppose you can use it.” She shrugged. 

“There’s only one bed, but I assume that won’t be a problem, considering…” she waggled her eyebrows at the two of you, and your face heated at the assumption. 

“We’re not—” you started, unintentionally speaking in unison with Mando. You glanced over to the tall man, making awkward eye contact for several long seconds before he sighed and turned back to Peli. 

“Fine. But I’m not handing over another bag of credits,” he warned. The smaller woman rolled her eyes, but acquiesced.

You made your way to the tiny room, slumping against the speckled wall with exhaustion. You bent down and inspected your ankle, wincing, as you tried to remember where you’d stored the last of the bacta spray. First the scrape on your cheek from the Tradoshan’s claws, and now this—apparently, you really couldn’t catch a break when it came to needing medical attention.

You heard a sudden noise and turned, only to see Mando paused in the doorway—his gaze trained on the bruise already forming on your ankle. Kriff.

“You’re injured,” he stated, his deep baritone sounding strangely frustrated. 

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle (a lie—it hurt worse than the time you’d accidentally pressed your palm onto the hot cantina stove), but he’d already left. He returned before you had the chance to question his disappearance, carrying a scratched black case under one beskar-clad arm. 

“Sit on the bed.” His tone brokered no room for argument. You gingerly limped over to the old mattress, fighting back a sneeze when dust puffed up from the sheets. Mando clicked open the medkit and began sorting through the supplies. 

“I can do it,” you spoke softly, but he tugged the case away from your outstretched hand.

“I know.” He found a small packet of bacta gel and motioned for you to hold out your ankle, carefully dabbing the tincture onto your aching skin with a cotton pad. 

Minutes passed as you waited for the cool gel to dry. The silence became suffocating—the armored man seemed angry about something, and you hoped to Maker that it wasn’t you. 

“I’m sorry,” he spoke suddenly. Your eyes widened. Of all the things you were expecting him to say, that wasn’t anywhere on the list. You had a feeling that his apologies were rarer than the beskar he wore, especially when they were spoken with this much sincerity.

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt—at the cantina, or back on the ship. I… understand, if you feel that this is too much to handle.” He crouched down, wrapping a rolled-up bandage around your ankle.

You shook your head incredulously. “It was my fault that Grogu was left unsupervised,” you began. “It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. If anything, you’d have every right to kick me out after today,” you muttered. 

At that, his helmet snapped up to meet your gaze. He sounded almost offended. “I wouldn’t just drop you off at the nearest outpost,” he scoffed. 

You blinked, feeling rather exposed. Somehow, he’d guessed the thing you were most terrified of happening on the first try. “Well, then I’m not leaving,” you replied. Your mouth curved up in a tiny smile, and you tried for some humor. “The kid’ll have to work harder if he wants to get rid of me, anyway.”

Just then, the door swung open. Peli stepped inside, cooing at a drowsy Grogu in her arms. 

“Hey, the little womp rat looks ready to go nighty–night!”

She paused, taking in your position—Mando’s hand on your ankle, you smiling down at him from your seat on the bed. You flushed bright red as you realized exactly what it looked like. 

Peli’s eyebrows raised as she eyed the two of you. “On second thought, he and I will just spend some bonding time together instead.” 

Mando shot to his feet. “That won’t be necessary,” he began, but Peli was already halfway out of the room. 

“Don’t forget to name the next one after me!” She called out, shooting you a wink over her shoulder as she slammed the door shut.

You both stayed frozen in place for a moment after the curly–haired woman’s departure. Eventually, Mando cleared his throat. 

“You take the bed. I’ll, ah…” he gestured awkwardly to the pile of throw pillows and scratchy blankets on the floor. You didn’t have it in you to argue, nodding mutely and desperately trying to avoid eye contact. He walked stiffly across the room to the light switch, cloaking the room in a blissful darkness that hid the crimson splotches of embarrassment on your cheeks.

You buried your face in your hands, praying that whatever deity was listening would take you now before you had to face Peli again in the morning.

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read on: part v coming soon!

p.s. @djarins-cyare thanks for the extra motivation to build on my sprinkles idea!! your 'sweet' comment totally made my day and inspired a couple hundred extra words about the Pancake Sprinklesplosion TM <333

[talesofsonicasura]

A King's Musings

A warrior king thinks about his peculiar guests and the face of the person who brought them.

Part of the Past/Present/Future Trio! Best to check that out first, especially the comments and reblogs, or else you'll just be super confused.

Damas would admit that Jak will never fail to surprise and worry him. The young man alongside his smaller companion had been gone for two weeks ever since they snuck into the Monk's Temple. It wasn't no lie that a good chunk of his Spargus citizens than just their king were a bit worried.

Jak and Daxter peculiar dynamic helped ease the tension from the serious matters outside the walls. It's hard to not be amused by youths getting into ridiculous but mostly harmless antics. Something that felt needed when the problems at hand aren't the usually ones for his people. These were much larger and dangerous matters that even his unaware citizens can sense.

Then not even an hour into the night did the Spargan King received a message from his most trusted friend, Sig. Jak and Daxter had been found but they weren't alone. Two other boys were with them, one who had a lethal allergic reaction to sunlight. It was enough extra motivation for Damas to come over alongside an escort and get the four youths back to Spargus before sunrise.

The King was about to arrange separate rooms for the other two boys but they all insisted on staying with the "Demolition Duo". It wasn't hard to notice the kindredship between them. One of sworn brothers ready to burn the world to ashes for each other.

"I figured I would find you wandering the halls again." Damas turned away from his thoughts to look at an approaching Sig. Although he couldn't help but raise a brow at the bits of feathers stuck haphazardly on the man's armor. "Old habits die hard my friend. Let me guess, a pillow fight?"

The man playfully rolled his only organic eye at his king's query. "Blue Cherry has one hell of a swing. Knocked the air outta me real good than just make a pillow explode. I can only imagine taking a hit from him as a full grown adult." James Lake Jr or "Jim" being the young man's preference.

A half human/half 'troll' who shared a very similar situation to Jak. Sadly he couldn't change back to what he once was from how it been phrased. The boy could easily be mistaken for being part Lurker if he didn't have that smooth stone hide and horns. Maybe a subspecies?

Jim was sixteen but dwarfed Damas by a foot if you weren't counting the horns. It isn't hard to see what his sworn brother meant as the boy still had some growing to do. They were lucky Kleiver hadn't thrown out his old PJs when he was a teenager. Between the four, Jim is more outspoken and approachable.

"An agreed sentiment as the young man has no doubt seen his fair share of the battlefield if he shares Jak's predicament. Though I bet it was Link who started their little fight." Damas' smile could barely conceal the heartache that stung his soul.

The world of a warrior wasn't a kind one. Every man and woman will face their own unspeakable horrors as war is bound to find them at some point. The eyes that a 10 year child should never be cursed to have. Link was painfully close in personality to his lost son, Mar.

An innocent youth with a knack for getting into mischief and prefers to use sign language than his voice. Sadly Link's innocence had also been robbed in the same way his fellow brothers lost theirs. By men like the Green Eco Sage who believes children should hold the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"Little Cherry is as clever as his aim. He already knew the right trajectory and timing to throw so he could hit my face before I even opened the door. Jak got himself some competition when the boy's old enough to pick up a gun."

Damas snorted at the image of his friend being met with a pillow to the face. There were already some rumors about Link being the King's secret love child amongst his guards. "I'm glad to know they're making themselves comfortable already. Hopefully the boys don't decide to throw another pillow fight in their new room."

"So when you are going to start working on those adoption papers? Just know that you have to do shared custody for Jim cause his mother might beat you with a broom if otherwise." Sig chuckles at the pointed look from Damas.

He knew his sworn brother's fatherly instincts when it came to lost children like the four boys. Damas is family man at heart and he always wanted to give Mar siblings. When his son disappeared, it wasn't hard to notice the sorrow in the man's eyes.

It hurt to find Damas sitting on Mar's bed with his son's favorite Crocadog plush in hand. No updates on the lost boy for over a year just made it worse. There been a few leads but they were muddle before absolute silence once Kor was dead. Although some reports were linked to two particular boys who slowly been healing Damas' heartache.

There was something about the Demolition Duo, especially Jak, that resonated with the King of Spargus. A very familiar bond that neither parties could identify but can definitely feel. Kinda like... Both men hadn't noticed they had stop in front of Jak's room. Unlike 20 minutes ago, it was quite silent.

Damas and Sig looked at each before the latter silently open the door. The room had been overtaken by feathers that once made their home in the pile of torn pillow cases at the farthest corner. Jak and Link's items were closer to the bed especially the youngest peculiar "Fierce Deity" mask which sat on an intact pillow.

It wasn't difficult to find the room's occupants. All four boys were all fast asleep, huddled together in a slightly awkward cuddle pile. Jim was behind everyone as his head rested on Jak's chest alongside Link and arms held the two smaller blondes. The youngest boy nestled himself against the oldest with a firm grip almost if to make sure he won't disappear.

Jak was in the center of the two whilst Daxter laid behind his head, curled up like a feline. A very rare sight to behold as the duo still had issues when it came to sleeping. Haven City hadn't been so kind to their health from the constant mission reports Sig gotten ahold of during his stay.

The heartwarming scene felt very familiar to Damas, too familiar. Soft peaceful expression on Jak's face as his body was held in the safety of his brothers. Just like...

Realization hit Damas harder than a gun handle to the teeth. "Sig, get me every report involving Jak's stay in Haven. I'll be in my private studies as there's something I need to check. The answers we been seeking about Mar's disappearance is much closer than we thought."

Sig quietly headed off while the king look back at the sleeping youth, specifically Jak. The image of a little greenish blonde child surrounded by blankets as he held a plush crocadog to his chest paint the king's mind. "Please let me be right."

The door closed without a sound as darkness gently blanket the room once more.

And that's it. I'm a sucker for Dadmas just like Fierce Dadity so I couldn't resist. Figured I give Jim a break from the madness he's been subjected to on my main blog. Still on a Trollhunters kick so it'll taking longer to get other stuff done.

Life has also been insane as curveballs keep coming. I'm currently working on the next chapter for Of Bug Cults and Living Stone while proofreading my older works. Until next time folks, I'll see you back at the crossroads between Spargus, Arcadia and Hyrule!

@radioactivepeasant @hermitdrabbles56

[legaciestold]

@writelikeyouarerunningoutof for becker

alarm switches on, the sounds of morning talk radio emitting though the darkened room. for all jessica’s love of technology, her and becker’s nightstand clock radio was ancient– it was his. slight groan is offered in response, hold on the captain tightening before he gets up and begins to get ready for his shift. they had a staggered shift that day and jess still had a good two hours before she had to actually be functional. there’s a mumbled goodbye and a quick kiss offered before she rolls back over. two hours later and her phone’s alarm goes off with an animated pop song and jess begins to get ready though not before taking a test she’s fairly certain of the result of. when she sets the electric kettle for her tea, she notices a report on the television about military operations having had to block off a mall with one of the usual excuses. the camera had flashed over some of the black vehicles and she’d recognize that impact dent from a triceratops in the black of mac’s suv from the mission two days ago anywhere– there hadn’t been time to get it fixed yet. it causes jess to check her phone, connected to the add system at the arc, finding her suspicion is confirmed, becker’s team was on mission. 

when she gets to the arc an hour later, she’s briefed that becker’s team entered the anomaly after one of the members had been drug through. unfortunately it was something that happened more than any of them cared to admit– trained or not. a few years ago that concept would have frightened her a lot more than it did now, back when she was first starting out on this journey during her internship with evan in canada. and then he’d made the deal with the arc, merging their endeavors and resources, the only vital requirement of lester’s having been that if civilian’s were going to be part of arc operations, they’d need to go through a training routine with the military staff. the next hour goes by slowly, knowledge gained that morning weighing on her as she waits for news on becker’s mission. she knows afterword he’d have to have a debrief but she needs to see him. wants to tell him as soon as possible even if she knows they weren’t entirely prepared for what would come next. funny how two people so good at planning and preparing for all eventualities could find themselves in the middle of something the opposite. 

twenty minutes tick by before alarms begin blaring. a second anomaly’s opened at the mall, connor seeming concerned about something he fails to voice before darting back to his lab. jessica and a small team, in uniform, begin to move toward the garage, her beginning to coordinate with one of the soldiers who remained behind at the mall via comms. apparently, things on-site have become more complicated when a news crew had snuck into the mall and encountered an ankylosaurus and jess harbors the stray thought that it was odd to have so many anomalies connected to the same prehistoric era back to back– matt might not always think she pays attention when he talks about dinosaurs but she does. once they get there, her team joins with those waiting by the anomaly and is told the press liaison had taken the reporters into one of the storefronts to sign the usual paperwork. she’s not really sure how she always works her magic to get them to agree to the government’s terms but jess doesn’t linger on it as she directs four arc members to begin herding the dinosaur back toward them. 

it’s when the crashing begins with the ankylosaurus’ tail smashing store windows and charging toward arc members in spirts that someone is pushed through the first anomaly, skidding across the floor and forcing jess and another to move toward them just in time to get them out of the way of the dinosaur’s trajectory. the dinosaur begins moving in the wrong direction, jess using one of the non-emd weapons they’d brought with them to aim at a window in front of the animal to smash it and scare it back toward them just as becker runs through. it’s chaos, really. jess only having enough time to switch to her emd and toss becker one just as the animal begins charging toward them. she signals to her team and everything in the moment transpires fairly normally given the present threat. once the animal is finally herded through the anomaly jess moves toward becker and despite the presence of other personnel around, goes right up to him places a kiss to his lips before pulling away and using the devise to close the anomaly by them and instructing someone else to close the other one. “let’s not do that again for at least another wee—” jess begins before pausing in confusion when she sees the expression on the captain’s face. she moves forward, placing her hand on his arm. “are you alright? what’s wrong? are you hurt?” concern laces her tone, gaze washing over his body to look for injuries.