#will post an official fic update later this evening

[akemisalem]

big day today, and on top of that, i think im finally well enough to start back writing!

[rubra-wav]

I had this interesting scenario where Vox one day becomes exhausted from his rivalry with Alastor after realizing that the one-sided interactions were becoming old. He later meets the reader (who can also be a part of the hotel) who starts hacking into Voxtech's database to troll the company for shits and giggles. This catches Vox's attention and he's pissed about it. You can do what you want for the rest but they continue to have this rivalry to the point where it's very well known around hell. From an outside perspective, there is just back-and-forth angry banter but there are moments where they're just;

Reader: *appears on screen* Hey Box head, guess who found some good blackmail with your name on it- Vox: *Is so close to having a breakdown, he had a bad week.* Reader: Oh shit- did something happen, are you okay? 😰

They hate each other but they don't hate hate each other. This can be taken as platonic or romantic. I sent this request to someone else but I wanted to share anyway.

Vox x troll/hacker reader: Why So Blue? (Oneshot/concept version)

Why So Blue fic Masterlist

A/N me when I get to write Vox getting utterly humiliated by a troll-y hacker demon 🫶

I changed about the order of stuff as things happen a bit and took creative liberties with this one - sorry if it's really different then the thought you originally had.

(REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, THIS WAS FROM THE LAST TIME THEY WERE OPEN)

Update: This was really well-received, and several people have requested a part 2. I've decided that I will be writing it properly from the start in a proper chapter kind of way rather than in this format so it makes continuity kind of work better rather then the drabbl-y format used here.

Cw: SFW, romantic, enemy's to lovers type beat, references to one-sided radiostatic, also references to staticmoth, mildly suggestive in one part 💀, gn reader, mostly light-hearted - idk if it qualifies as quite hurt/comfort lmao

- It was just a normal morning for Vox when you first showed up.

- As usual, he booted up for the day, got changed out of his casual clothes, and made his morning coffee.

- As he walked into his computer room, absentmindedly sipping his coffee while looking at his phone, he sits down in his desk.

- Then promptly spits out his mouthful.

- When he finally looks up at the screens around him, he's mortified to see a muted video of himself passionately (and very drunkly) singing and dancing horribly from last night while he was out with Valentino and Velvette.

- Posted on Sinstagram from his own account.

- Hundreds of comments flooded in underneath it; laughing, saying it's cute, complimenting his singing, and talking about the caption underneath with curiosity.

- The caption reads; 'For someone who talks so big about being ahead technologically, it was awfully easy to hack old Boxy here LMAO'

- Vox flips out instantly.

- It doesn't take long to take down the post, change all of his details, and post an official apology for his lack of professionalism with a hypnotising message to forget the whole incident occurred at all. He also does a massive comb over for any other breaches and changes all of his systems to be even more impenetrable to a potional attack.

- He calms down, and the incident fades away to the back of his mind.

- But then it happens again.

- Another morning, an employee is rushing into his studio as he wakes up properly, telling him this time that someone is somehow broadcasting Rick Astley's 'Never Gonna Give You Up' to the entirety of hell at 6 am, interrupting every one of the scheduled programs.

- There's a message in big letters on the bottom of every screen in hell, under the god forsaken video and song playing, saying, "What is love~? - U" Underneath them.

- And that's how it starts, the infuriating thorn in Vox's side that is 'U'. No matter how hard he tries, you're constantly undermining his efforts to keep you out of the system and tormenting him in ways that aren't necessarily malignant but are extremely damaging to his image as the overlord of technology.

- For some reason, he's the only Vee you seem hellbent on coming after as well. Vel finds your pranks funny or cute when they don't inconvenience her, and Valentino just likes to prod Vox into getting angrier further.

- He just cannot work out what your motivations are at all. Is it truly that you just want to piss him off? He doesn't understand why someone with such clear skills would simply use them to taunt him and leave him messages to unveil as he undoes whatever you do.

- It vexes him even farther when these messages from you that you leave for him to decode start to sound borderline flirtatious, which makes him feel all the more humiliated.

- He is a grown demon, skilled businessman and entrepreneur, an overlord, and yet you insist upon calling him things like Box, Boxbabe, Boxbitch, and even babygirl of all things for some goddamn reason.

- The back and forth goes on for months, and 'U' quickly becomes a long lasting meme, several people, much to Vox's horror, shipping you two together and even partaking in ship wars as to whether Vox x 'U' is better then Vox x Val.

- Theres one day where Vox quickly puts his phone down after reading a rather concerning expert from what is certainly explicit fanfiction between the two of you, even him deciding that that's enough internet for today while just sitting staring off into space silently for a solid 10 seconds.

- Vox's sleepless nights pouring over his code to try and keep out your attacks, him glitching out whenever he finds infuriating messages left by you, etc. Begin to become routine and he just anticipates the consistent blows to his pride you give him at every turn.

- A weird, unconscious part of him deep down begins to enjoy your rivalry, almost wanting to see what punches you pull out next to disarm his constant losing battle to keep you out, but it gets squashed down the second he becomes aware of it.

- The rivalry is always at arms length, but sometimes he has to stop himself from replying with the same vaguely flirtatious tone you take on whenever he experiences a small win against you.

- He fights to make sure he doesn't have any potential of getting too into it.

- Things take a different turn, though, with the double blow of Alastor coming back and his on-off relationship with Valentino once again going up in flames.

- After stopping his usual monitoring of all things going on in hell online and in real life as picked up by his cameras, he presses his face into his hands with a long, exhausted groan as he fights crying.

- All the people he was actually interested in were as unrequited as per usual. He always tried so hard with Alastor, but as always, he never got anything but met with the clear reminder they would never be anything more.

- And, of course, any potential of anything more happening with Val was completely off the table. It would be stupid to even think about anything real with him.

- He shut his eyes, putting his screen on the desk in front of him.

- Was he just not worth it? Was that it?

- He startled when he heard the familiar crackle of the speakers coming to life around him. It was rare he ever heard your voice coming through his speakers, you usually preferring to just leave messages, however you decided to surprise him tonight apparently.

- Your blurred out face appears on the screens, only showing the lower half of your grinning face.

- "Oh Boooooxybooooy! I found some world-shattering cringey shit you did 2 months back, i-" You begin singing out, before stopping, seeing by his expression.

- Vox was trembling, looking as if he was about fall apart at any second. His monitor was dulled, red eyes half lidded with pixelated bags forming under them, his bottom lip slightly quivering around his sharp teeth.

- "What the- fuck- ....are you alright?" You asked unsurely.

- Vox finally snapped out of it, realising that you were here witnessing him in a way that was very much not something he wanted you of all people to see him in. His mask slid back on, but it was hardly convincing.

- "Of course it is. What the fuck do you wa-ant. I've got shit to do." He inwardly cursed as his voice glitched slightly. God fucking dammit why did you have to show up.

- He watched your lips on your mostly blurred out face slightly curl as you hummed, clearly not buying it.

- "You wanna stop with the lying bullshit and tell me the truth, Boxhead?" You somewhat chided him, your hand coming into sight as you leaned your cheek onto it. Vox let out a growling sound, going to spit some vitriol at you, but was cut off as you absentmindedly made your next comment.

"Felt you once again have a fit about the radio demon going online. Lights in my house and the houses out my windows started flashing and shit. Is it hi-" your brows shot up and eyes widened, this hidden behind the censorship as you watched Vox, leader of the Vees, your rival, let out a shuddering breath and actually start crying comically pixilated tears right before your eyes.

- Vox's claws gripped into his desk as he grit his teeth as he let out a gasping breath he fought to stifle. He was so goddamn exhausted that he just couldn't be assed to keep it all up anymore. It wasn't like you hadn't seen rather unsavoury things he'd been trying to hide anyways.

- "No shit it's about Alastor. It's always about him. Does it get you off knowing I can't get with the guy I have always wanted no matter how hard I try? There. Are you fucking happy now?" His voice cracks as he snarls the words out at you.

- You let out a long humming sound, as if thinking. "I mean, not really. I'd only be happy if you were this upset over me, not some old hazbin radio announcer who fell off years ago." You shrug with a slightly sad smile.

- Vox squinted at you, confused.

- "I mean, come on, I'm your rival too. Why neglect me so much in all this?" You press your bottom lip out in mock sadness, tone mocking again. Your words are true despite the joking tone however, it did bother you that he always seemed so much more ready to go running after the most obviously aroace man you think you had seen in your entire fucking life.

- Vox couldn't believe what he was hearing, hot embarrassment caused his monitor to start heating up a bit, painting animated flush over his cheeks. "Oh, stop taking the piss, U. Fuck off." He scoffed, rolling his eyes, looking to the side in irritation.

- You chuckle at him, shaking your head and causing the thing blurring your face to shake with it. "Is it really that hard to believe I'm into what we have going on here?" Your voice is still lined with the usual tone you take on with him, but much less so.

- Vox looks back at your blurred, smiling face incredulously. "Yes." He growled, blinking his tears away as he regained his composure a bit.

- You sigh heavily, rolling your eyes. "Ooookay, well, once you're done riding the coattails of a man who will never want you, come hit me up, Boxhead." You say through smiling lips, before abruptly pressing 'hang up' on the call so he didn't have time to actually respond.

- Vox sat in bewildered silence, not able to react properly as his brain felt as if it was working on low resolution comprehending what you just said.

- His face heated up the more he thought about it, heart beginning to hammer in his chest as he laughed in disbelief. No way. No fucking way.

- But you had said it.

- Despite his usual pessimistic nature, he allowed himself to actually believe it, chuckling.

- He looked over to his phone as a notification sound rang out to see a photo of himself presumably just now; flustered, eyes wide in disbelief and unfocused while staring off into space, a crooked grin on his face.

- It was captioned as follows; 'POV: local pathetic radio simp finds out other rival actually wants him'

- "FUCK." He yelled out in embarrassment, knocking out several of his monitors with a surge of electricity.

I loved writing this sm omfggg.

There's definitely part 2 potential to this one, but it would have to be in a while w all the other stuff I'm gonna get to first.

Masterlist

[whumptober]

FAQ

Please read this post before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Prompts cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? No. We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

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

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

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

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

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

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

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

They’re… awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

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

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

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

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

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

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

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

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

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make the decision immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

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

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

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

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

Din needs to go.

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

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

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He also spoke of a girl.”

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

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

“A girl?”

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

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

Except, then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

You’re right on time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A star destroyer.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

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

“No,” you eventually whisper.

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

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a Mandalorian.

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

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

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

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

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

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

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

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

And that covers everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[911buddieweek]

Buddie Week 2024

Buddie Week 2024 is a week-long event to celebrate our two favorite firefighters. WIth the use of forms, the fandom could choose several things like the prompts and when the week takes place. All forms are now closed and everything is official!

April 8th - April 14th is Buddie Week!

Each day has two normal prompts and a quote prompt. To join, you only have to choose one of these (of course you can do more!). If there isn't a prompt you like, you can choose one of the alternate prompts to write for instead.

And here are the prompts (nominated and then voted by you). The order of prompts is from the most voted for to less voted for.

Monday April 8th: Borrowing/stealing/sharing Clothes - Secretly Married - "I'm right here, I always have been."

Tuesday April 9th: Protective Eddie - Co-Parenting - "I can tell you're not fine"

Wednesday April 10th: Clipboard Buck - Tattoos - "Is that my shirt?"

Thursday, April 11th:- Eddie calling Buck 'Evan' - falling asleep on each other - "Because I fucking love you!"

Friday April 12th:- didn't know they were dating - demisexual Eddie - "I swear it wasn't my fault this time."

Saturday April 13th: hugging from behind - Buck speaks Spanish - "I'm not letting you go."

Sunday April 14th: first kiss - hurt/comfort - "Please don't leave."

Alternate prompts:

stuck together

special rescue/heavy rescue Buck

amnesia

"I'm sorry, you want us to do what?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

"This made me think of you."

More information about the collection on AO3 will be posted later! But for now, you can start making things for this event! You can write a fic, make art, create a playlist, or do anything that you want with these prompts. You don't even need to post it on ao3 if you want it to. You can post anywhere.

During the week and the period after, I will try to reblog everything on Tumblr that has this account tagged in the post, or 'Buddie Week 2024' in the tags. You don't HAVE to tag me. I understand if that makes you uncomfortable - I was the same with my first Whumptober year and didn't tag the official Whumptober account or tags.

Everyone can participate! Maybe you can post fic recs with these themes. Post little snippets or drabbles. Do whatever you want. Maybe you've got your own idea how to participate.

The ONLY rule is that the use of AI is not allowed. And, of course be nice to each other! If something isn't your thing, exit the page, don't be mean.

I'm excited to see what you all come up with! I will be writing fics as well for this event. If you have any questions, don't be afraid to send a message or an ask!

To stay updated, you can follow this blog (@911buddieweek )

(Sharing/boosting on tumblr and other sites is appreciated. I do not have (or want) a Twitter account so I don't know if they're even aware of this)

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x La Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 3 ✦ 」

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5 [Part 3] Part 3.5

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

A/N ~ hey there, if you're following this story but haven't yet seen my pinned post, you should go and read it since it's where I'll update general stuff regarding the fic~

---

Featured in this chapter, we have... a certain dubious duo?

Warnings: half-intentional ooc moments

Word count: 2.3k

---

A week or so had passed.

It's not that you were complaining about this endless 'trial period', per se. Still, just going through piles of boring documents, day after day - any immortal being would've lost their mind sooner or later.

Half a millennium dulled all shine there was to a mundane life, so seeking out a bit of excitement was crucial for maintaining sanity. But even making bets with Childe wasn't thrilling enough (though it did come close!)

Without a drastic change of pace soon, you might have just gone feral.

And your colleagues were quite aware of it~ In time, you better believe they would've even stolen the Moon from the sky for you if you only asked for it, but nevertheless, first, you needed to prove that they could trust you.

The Fatui took immense pride in loyalty - yet yours was very fickle, and they knew it. But rather than allegiance, what your Harbingers seeked for was sign of your devotion toward them, something that exceeded the boundaries of professionalism and demonstrated... a much deeper level of trust.

"Was revealing the secret of this stupid Vision a mistake, after all?" a thought that had plagued your mind.

Well, who could say... but apparently, it had been worth it!

No one could really fathom Pierro's decisions, but it seems that after hearing you'd confided a part of your past to some of them, the Director had thought you'd proved yourself enough. And maybe it was because he knew you just a bit too well, having been there all those centuries ago.

But did this mean that all of them now knew of your little conversation with Scaramouche, Columbina and Childe?

Well, such a thought hardly occupied you.

Because more importantly, you were finally about to get (*insert an ominous fanfare*)...

Your very first field mission!

Good riddance, eternal paperwork~

---

A sign of their trust, or... just another test?

You didn't care either way.

"Lady Harbinger," a Cicin Mage had bowed her head after entering your office. "The Jester has assigned you to an official errand with Lords Ninth and Second. You are to rendezvous with them at the gates. Effective immediately."

And girl, you couldn't have bolted out of that room faster! It made the poor Cicins squeak in alarm. The mage only sighed while shaking her head, not sure that you'd come out of this one with your sanity still intact.

So, your bored prayers had been heard. But by the gods, or a devil? A field assignment with this specific pair of Harbingers had the potential to turn out chaotic beyond belief...

and you were all for it!

It was daybreak in Snezhnaya.

The early morning air was even more frigid than usual, making your grip the coat on around you tighter as you waltzed through the snowy yard. From a distance, you could make out two shadowy figures next to the gates of Zapolyarny Palace, their menacing auras unmistakable.

When Regrator and Il Dottore were working together, anyone even remotely involved had better be on their guard...

Lest they wanted to end up in horrible debt.

Or as a part of human experiments.

But the shady banker and the heretic researcher had failed to intimidate you, and they found such fearlessness quite... captivating.

As you got closer, Pantalone offered you a warm smile.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

"Hello... and no, *yawn*... it's impossible to get decent rest with these working hours. But," a smile made its way onto your lips, "I'm pleased to finally get to work outside of the palace~"

And with the two of you, it might just be twice as fun, a totally weird thought that you didn't voice out, and instead sighed:

"Though, at the cost of skipping my yummy breakfast pancakes..."

You took a bite from the frostbitten, red fruit in your hand. This earned a chuckle from Dottore.

"No, no, you won't get sufficient vitamins from that. How about trying the special pills I gave you? You'd help me with my research while you're at it, too..."

"I'm afraid your experimental supplements might end up turning me into a slime."

An apple a day hardly kept this doctor away. But much to everyone's surprise, you seemed to know how to handle his eccentric personality and... the segments. Even Scaramouche was impressed by this.

"Don't you look rather young today, Zandik?" you questioned with a hint of playfulness; a habit you'd picked up from Damselette.

The Doctor only replied with a smile, gently sweeping away a few snowflakes from your hair as if admiring a most precious specimen (no objectifying here, Dottore's just being Dottore~)

This one seemed to be of the more reasonable segments, if such a concept even existed - though regardless of the form, you were really quite fond of their antics.

Pantalone, too, was a difficult person in his own way, knowing how to both frustrate you to no ends, and yet make you feel so endeared.

As usual, the banker seemed just a bit too amused by everything.

That, and he found you adorable.

"Hehe, I must admit that dealing with the two of you off-duty is always rather delightful~ but we ought to leave duly," he stepped forward and offered you his hand. "After all, we wouldn't want to be late on Y/N's first mission, now would we?"

Dottore mimicked his gesture. "Indeed, off we go."

These two....

But on that note?

"Dare I ask," you raised an eyebrow, "what the mission might be?"

They only smiled at you - Pantalone while adjusting his glasses, Dottore with his expression half hidden by that asymmetrical mask, and both in a suspiciously mellow way.

You frowned. Pierro had definitely been up to something when sending you on a nameless errand, and with this dubious duo, no less...

and you were quite enjoying the suspense!

---

Three Harbingers waltzing through the snowy streets, a dozen of Fatui agents following close behind, was a slightly unnerving sight; one could only wonder who had wronged the infamous organization this time, and pray the lot wouldn't fall on them.

Someone sure was out of their luck today.

You tried to ignore the not so subtle gazes the citizens threw you as you walked past them, though understanding their curiosity.

It was the first public appearance of the rumoured 12th Harbinger, after all.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, you tried to distract yourself by focusing on the scenery. It had been over a month since you'd last set foot outside the palace grounds, but Snezhnaya's beauty never faltered...

At some point, you got a bit lost in thought.

Dottore's lazy comment, however, caught your attention.

"Now then, I've heard some interesting things about that Pyro Vision of yours…"

Pantalone smiled, as if oblivious.

You sighed. "Well, that's unsurprising. From Scaramouche, I reckon."

"Tsk, you have so little imagination." The Doctor clicked his tongue. "Then, allow me to ask you... How long do you think the oldest one of my segments has been around? Or, how efficiently all these clones are capable of gathering information? Or, how much more I can figure out just by knowing a few things about you?"

"Such roundabout hints, Doctor."

"What he's trying to say, of course," Pantalone chimed in, "is that the Second of the Harbingers has many... unconventional ways of finding out what his curiosity desires."

You sighed, "and he shares everything with you, because why not?"

Not very surprising.

It was granted that your secrets were never going to remain hidden from them forever, and frankly speaking, you didn't care. Pierro was already aware of every scandalous detail there was to your past anyway, so was there a reason for you to be so reticent about it?

Well, certainly not anymore...

but it was still a tad too early to completely let your guard down either!

A weird silence filled the air for a while, probably making the lower ranks behind you a bit uncomfortable.

But since Pantalone and Dottore didn't pursue on the topic, you thought, 'why should I either?'

Yet they obviously expected you to.

"Then," you sighed, giving in, "I assume you want to ask me about something? My Visions, no doubt."

Pantalone patted your head, "Only if our little Harbinger wouldn't deem it prying."

"I do, but go ahead."

Knowing them to be exceedingly shrewd characters, manipulating others so effortlessly, you realized these two could have easily lead you into a trap here. But somehow, this subtle controlling was always done gently enough not to hurt you.

And they never would, surely.

One way or another, though, they always found out what they wanted...

Pantalone gestured the Fatui agents to put some distance between them and the three of you - was it courtesy, or maybe... protectiveness? Either way, it would prevent bothersome rumours about your past from spreading any further, so you gave him an appreciative smile.

Dottore was walking leisurely with his hands behind his back, giving you sidelong glances.

"Then, tell me, Y/N - why do you think Celestia grants Visions so heedlessly? Why is it that even some of the strongest individuals never receive one?"

The vapor from your breath formed clouds in the cold air as you took a few deep breaths before answering.

"Well, I can only speak for myself. I've always been ambitionless and ran away from all my problems rather than facing them. So, thinking back, I never should've received a Vision in the first place, fake or not."

You sighed, "Rosalyne, on the other hand... I think she had every right to get a blessing from those crafty deities. She was assertive, gifted - a bit of a diva at times - but somewhere beneath lied a gentle soul."

And here you were again, talking about her; she haunted you when she was alive, and haunted you as dead.

Pantalone raised an eyebrow. "My, I've never heard anyone say such things about the Fair Lady?"

Dottore, too, seemed reluctant to accept these praises you directed at your sister, as he'd only seen her as a shallow, crude woman.

"Don't get me wrong, though," you commented, "she was no saint..."

"But?"

You shrugged, "...nor was I."

The two Harbingers had quietly moved closer to you, now walking on your both sides. You only noticed this when their arms slightly brushed against yours.

"After my father created this... thing and gave it to me, and how I greedily accepted it, I always wondered if we had angered the gods so thoroughly that they didn't grant my sister a Vision out of pure spite."

Pantalone brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

"Perhaps... you shouldn't be so merciless toward yourself."

"I'm not. Rosalyne and I were very similar, after all."

Dottore raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We both wanted what we felt we deserved - power, attention... acceptance. I don't know whose yearning was greater, but neither one of us settled for any less. So, I tied a manmade Vision on my hips, and Rosalyne left to study the art of liquid fire in the Akademiya; the divine refused to acknowledge us, so we searched for our due elsewhere."

Pantalone stroked his chin, seemingly amused. "Well, what a pair of blasphemous sisters?"

"However," the Doctor chuckled, "what you did surely made those self-important gods grit their teeth in frustration. I find such heresy quite commendable. Bravo, truly~"

"And then you went and became a Fatui Harbinger," Pantalone sighed. "Poor Celestia, they couldn't shackle you..."

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at their comments.

"Though, I am curious about one thing," Pantalone continued. "You said Celestia 'rejected' you, yet here you are, with a bona fide Cryo Vision? Isn't that a sign that the gods did, in fact, accept you?"

It was something you'd been wondering ever since that day as well...

And the lamentable conclusion was this:

"Perhaps Celestia just took pity on me. Or, perhaps the Vision was intended as a warning."

"A warning?" Pantalone smiled eerily. "For what reason exactly, my dear?"

To keep your mouth shut?

To not cross such lines ever again?

And yet... "That's a story for a later time," you told them as well, smiling.

Dottore and Pantalone were adept at concealing how they really thought and felt about things, so you couldn't quite decipher their reactions to your cryptic words.

Still, a fleeting sentiment had flashed across their faces - resentment, perhaps. Not toward you, though.

Suddenly, they both stopped walking.

You took a few steps more before noticing and stopping as well, glancing at them over your shoulder.

"Well, would you look that? Time flies so pleasantly with Y/N around." Pantalone checked his pocket watch. "It seems we're here a bit early."

...and where was 'here', exactly?

It looked like a small, secluded village, somewhat. There were no proper houses, just some dilapidated cottages and cabins, and only a few of them. The people outside, wearing clothes way too ragged and light for this type of weather, had quickly fled inside once seeing the Fatui had arrived.

You knew there was a lot of poverty in rural Snezhnaya, but this was... well, it reminded you of the times when you'd struggled to get by as well - memories you'd rather never have had brought up again.

Dottore mumbled something about "these ones" being "too malnourished for test subjects" as he walked past you.

Pantalone had also went ahead with his subordinates, discussing some questionable economics that apparently concerned this place.

But you lingered behind them for a moment, lost in thought.

The people here have surely lost enough, so why choose to bring themselves even more misfortune by getting involved with the Fatui? I understand the way humans think less and less with every decade that passes...

Just now noticing that you hadn't followed them, the two Harbingers strode back to your side.

You quickly hid any remnant of hesitance from your face, giving them a smile.

"Time to prove myself, no?"

Dottore chuckled, "You don't seem too anxious about your first field mission, my little Harbinger, even though you don't know what's waiting up ahead..."

"Well," you sighed. "For the Tsaritsa, and all that... you know? And I reckon I've faced worse anyway."

"I'll ask you to elaborate on that some other time~ On a similar note," Pantalone mused, playing with your hair softly, "we all saw something in you that day, at the funeral, and it seems... you really won't disappoint us?"

You shrugged, "We should hope so."

And with their arms loosely linked around yours, the two Harbingers started leading you toward a particular cabin...

(to be continued)

[cepalliumtm]

Glow in the Ocean 0

CW for entire fic: yandere tendencies, thalassophobia (fic takes place underwater), claustrophobia (fic takes place in a submarine), cannibalism, blood, obsessive tendencies, no use of y/n

Other info: fic is mostly written in diary style/script style, with bits of prose in between.

This will be an interesting experiment. I’ve been thinking about CC posting more longform shtuff here since I don’t know what else to post here. If anyone likes more of this, I’d be happy to post more of it.

This in particular will be the expanded version of a oneshot that I did for a collab on Quotev. Check it out, you’ll probably find some other creators that you’ll enjoy! Unfortunately I haven’t had all the parts done, so updates will be pretty slow. Hopefully I’ll be finished with it sooner than later but don’t expect much from me.

Prologue

Monday, 3:20p.m.

Dear Diary,

Despite being an official employee at Miralabs, I sure as hell don't feel like one.

How long has it been now? I'm still pretty green, and it still feels like I have yet to adjust to some of the employees. Yes, Boss is still a bitch, and once again I got blamed for something I didn't do (it's not my fault Clumsy accidentally spilled some of the samples RIGHT as I'm going by).

Why am I worried about this on my break? I don't know. I guess hiding in the storage room really helps with clearing my head. Sad how it happens.

I think I'll be fine, if I just breathe and take it in.

Oh, right, today the list will finally be announced! Just to recap: Every now and again there are team assignments that get to visit the underwater labs for their more… secretive experiments. Now most of the time the same people get announced due to experience and honestly I'm not really expecting much. However, during the last meeting Boss said that if we were lucky enough, we could get the chance to shadow one of the less classified projects to get a bit of experience under our belt.

Now, whether or not I'll be picked is a different story… again, Boss is still a bitch. I swear to god she has some kind of vendetta against me or something, I didn't even DO anything to her. It's not my fault she has a stick up her bu-

…

Okay, Imma go now. I'll be back. Standby.

-.-

Putting away your little notebook back into your bag, you stand outside in embarrassment after getting caught by one of the janitors. They stare at you, possibly with confusion and definitely with disappointment. You bow your head, squeaking an "I'm sorry!" before scattering back to your workstation. You're hoping that no one would take notice of your little stunt, or that he wouldn't say anything to your managers.

If you're being honest with yourself, you're starting to regret your life choices. You know that you're supposed to act more professional, but sometimes it feels like you're just going through the motions. The point of this job is to get a handle of lab work, form connections, get better projects, something about making the system work for you or whatnot. But well, so far within these past few months, it feels like no progress has been made. So far the only thing you've seemed to accomplish is giving your boss another reason to scrutinize you. (Thank goodness it wasn't on grounds to fire you; you'd be devastated and out of work for a long time.)

It's not all that bad. Despite the running around and menial tasks; message taking and cleaning up equipment, you still find some value in it. It's not a lot, but you've managed to talk to some of the researchers about their projects and get insight on their thought processes. It's something you take with you everywhere you go. It's why you have that little notebook with you in the first place.

As you head to your next station, you overhear some of the other people talking about the list. Right. The list that's supposed to go out tonight, after the end of today's work meeting. It's something you're mildly curious about, considering that only a handful of people get selected at all. Albeit you're heavily aware of the last attempt a trip to one of these underwater labs ended up online as a tragedy. You can still remember the headline in your head.

So, it's surprising that after just a couple of months they would try again. But you understand why. There are some staff that stay behind inside those labs; maintaining the facilities, focusing on their research. There's bound to have a shortage in supplies soon, so someone would have to go down there and deliver.

But now, after a couple of months of supply only trips with no casualties, Miralabs decided that it would be safe for an expanded crew as well as a research team to once again take one week excursions to their underwater lab. And most of the newcomers are definitely excited to take a part in one of them. Most, including you.

Now is it likely you'll actually be picked? With how you've been treated and how your supervisor thinks of you? Not a chance. But either way, it’s the one thing that you're looking forward to by the end of the day.

"Hey Greenie!"

That and actually ending your day.

-.-

6:02p.m.

Speaker: Okay, everyone settle down! We're going to be starting this meeting quickly. I know that you're all tired, but this is important if you want to end the day as soon as possible. So, let's begin, shall we?

Now first things first, some things that we all have to take note:

…

I know that I should be paying attention to whatever announcements are going on, but honestly it's really just a couple of housekeeping things that I'm used to. You know, making sure the labs are clean and that we're actually working. I don't think they'll be picking on us yet, but you never know.

Boss: If I may speak on the issue please?

And… here we go.

Honestly I can see her eyeing me as she gives out her stupid speech. What's her problem with me, seriously? If she could just get off my back, maybe she could sleep better at night or something. Listen, I'm not the one slacking off here… if she could just look at herself in the mirror then I would have more respect for her. But you know how it is.

It's so obvious she's calling me out. She's literally coughing for my attention. I'm not gonna hear the end of it when we're left alone.

After that most of meeting was pretty banal. I could tell that some of the others are checking out as much as I am, some are even dozing off as we speak. There are a couple of new projects here and there, and they're pretty interesting if you're into, you know, studying plant biology for the millionth time, or playing with chemicals for the billionth time. Obviously I know why only the boring projects get introduced in the general meeting and the cooler stuff is just codenames for something else, but I mean, it's not like I'm going to get assigned to any of them yet.

Speaking of, it makes no sense that I'm technically a lab assistant but I feel like I'm just a glorified coffee maker. Makes no sense, huh? You'd think a dignified institution that also has a lot of well… biology projects would mean that you shouldn't introduce the chance of unexpected variables like coffee spills, but I guess that's what happens when you forget about the non-lab people that walk around.

Oh! We're finally on to the topic of the day.

Speaker: And last but not least… we have one final announcement. I know that you all are excited about the reopening of the underwater lab off the coast of the city. Now, it has come to my attention from last meeting about the worry of any… incident that could happen on the way there. However, I assure you that after a couple of tests here and there, that we have worked out the kinks and that it's perfectly safe to go.

[Whispers louden among the crowd.]

Speaker: (clears throat). Settle down, settle down! Okay, so as it stands, I will call out the names that will be a part of the new research team. Since Aeviin is the one that submitted the research topic and chose the team, he will be the one in charge. Now, here are the names he has chosen for this project…

Ah, here we go. There is no way in hell that-

…

…

…

I think I just heard my name.

…

…

Speaker: If your name has been called, please stand up!

[The chosen stand up, albeit a bit slowly.]

Speaker: Now, a round of applause for our underwater research team!

[Someone starts clapping slowly, followed by several others that begin to morph into a tremendous applause, for well, a group of around forty people]

Speaker: For those that are still standing, I will be sending you an email regarding your tasks and equipment that you will need. Since this excursion will last a week, I suggest you pack accordingly. Thank you very much, and I hope to see you all at launch! And that concludes this month's meeting! Thank you all for attending.

-.-

9:03p.m.

Subj: Acceptance

Congratulations! You've been selected for our underwater program! You and a select group of candidates have been chosen to monitor our underwater site for one week.

As a reminder, your responsibility as a Recorder and Data Analyst is as follows:

Collect observations, records, and other data from various sources for analysis

Conduct data analysis to identify patterns, anomalies, etc.

Interpret data and make predictions

The Employee Rules and Guidelines for the main site will also apply here, so do your best to work as if it's another day on your site. You will be responsible for turning in your reports at the end of the week when you return. Failure to do so will result in consequences, including but not limited to termination.

Make sure to prepare for what is needed for a one week trip. We advise to bring extra clothing. If you have any other questions, feel free to contact your supervisor for further information.

Thank you! The Sub-Miracle Team

-.-

Wednesday, 3:00p.m.

Dear Diary,

I honestly can't believe that I was actually chosen for this assignment. Tbh I didn't expect my bitchy boss to bring up my name for the list of recommendations. I mean, yeah I kinda have a lame job (I wish I was doing the more TECHNICAL stuff, but I guess that's what happens when you don't pay much attention to the lab classes at school) but it's still amazing that I get to go to one of the offshore sites this early in the game.

I talked to one of my coworkers about it and he said that not a lot of people (at least on our site) actually gets access to go there. Since we're the more surface level stuff I guess it means our projects tend to be the more boring ones, but I mean I'm not really complaining much about it (I just wish I didn't feel like I have eyes hovering over me whenever I record my data)

Honestly though I think I really got the job because I'm the only one that actually gets the reports in on time. Who knows though.

I don't even know if I want to go now that I got some time to think about about it. I know, I packed all my things and all, but it's pretty nerve-wracking to say the least. I mean, I'm going on board on a Mirasub. A Mirasub! What people would say is one of the sturdiest vehicles in the world (which is funny to say, considering that no one would really say that about a SUBMARINE of all things). Not to mention, somehow I got picked to be a part of Aeviin Typhoon's team. Which, I may not know a lot about, but what I DO know that he is a big deal in the company AND the biology world.

Really feeling a little nervous, because I'm pretty sure I KNOW who's coming with me. Like, since this is kind of a prestigious thing because it's not just Mr. Typhoon that'll be there, the other people are practically the big hotshots of the company. And I have a chance to actually WORK with them?

Just… don't mess up. The biggest thing is to NOT mess up. Make sure everything is all in place, and make sure you actually do your reports without procrastinating and making up data on the spot (did I really just say that I swear I don't do that all the time). I think I can handle it. Maybe. I don't know. I'm not even sure that I'm ready for this-

Okay, it looks like my roommate caught me up again. They have a good point. Fine, I'll get some sleep. I just feel a bit worked up and a bit worried.

I did look up the article once again, and ngl I think I'm creeping myself out about something that they said would never happen. It's not gonna do me any good to keep that in my head. Look, I'll be fine. I'll be fine.

I'll be fine… right?

-.-

Breaking news! Miralabs Finally Opens up Underwater Lab after Last Year's Tragedy

An unexpected turn of events after what could be considered one of the most mysterious tragedies that have happened over the past decade of underwater exploration, Miralabs have officially confirmed their reopening up of their offshore underwater lab happening this week on Friday.

We have talked to both the CEO as well as the main researcher, Aeviin Typhoon for their take on this endeavor to reassure the public that this would be a perfectly safe venture.

"We're still trying to recover from last year's unfortunate events," remarks the CEO. "It was tragic what happened to Laeva and I wish her family well for this news. However, we must move beyond this tragedy, and the fear of the unknown. For that will hinder us from truly advancing in this society."

Typhoon adds in, "I want to be a part of something special. This has been a dream come true for me, to finally be one of the greats that ventured into the unknown and discovered something new. And nothing will stop me from achieving that greatness. I believe that my research will be something revolutionary, and if it means that I have to leave the safety of my own home and down into the deep sea, I will nobly pursue it."

Aeviin Typhoon has been a part of many projects that some may have heard of before, such as the discovery of new life that has never been considered even possible. Mythical beings that are now in our aquariums for the public to view. Creatures that have properties that could help in curing ailments in diseases, chemicals that can fight certain alien bacteria, and the like. You can find out more on the website Miralabs.com/aeviin-typhoon for more.

[ohwormwood]

random thoughts i have while playing isat pt. 7

[woe, spoilers be upon ye!]

opened the game and immediately went "im gonna make odile question my sanity!!!" but of course when i enter the house Siffrin decides to turn the scripted tutorial enemy into bean paste and ruins the run--

anyways. this panel will haunt me

i. i dont even know how but. I beat the king without him ever getting a chance to make his first attack. i just kept spamming slow and two jackpots later he was dead. i didn't even knoiw that was possible.

after a bit of fucking around i decided that i was gonna move on to act 5 and promptly burst into tears

update: i accidentally posted this too early dont look at me

sat and cried through the entirety of the party's interactions in act 5

screaming crying throwing up

even the king took one look at this dude and was like "are you good man like, you can take a rest before we do this you're literally about to topple over"

that post where odile says the oven copypasta during the mal du pays scene has permanently altered my brain and i literally laughed out loud when this line appeared

i haven't talked about it before but. a while ago i made a concept for a game based off the backrooms and omori, and odile talking about someone who is forgotten may not exist is the basis for the entire game's plot, it makes me want to go back and flesh it out a bit more!!!

i am deadset on the idea of making an edit with mirabelle's reflection craft but it's an uno reverse card

simultaneously in my brain: an edit where the sound mirabelle's reflection craft makes is the metal pipe meme

i am. such a fucking sucker for sickfics. i cannot get enough of them. act 5 has enough sickfic tropes to make a million spinoff fics on its own, it brings me life and i love it dearly

wailing

this line sends me into orbit every time i see it

odile attacking siffrin. hurts so, so so badly on an emotional level for me. Because like??? i get it. i get it and it sucks and she obviously doesn't want to, but she's scared. But siffrin is even more scared in that moment, and the immediate association of that pain with being hated by odile hurts me so much.

YEAHHHH ODILE GIRLBOSS SUPREME

they're so soft and squishy and cute in this image i c a n t

incoherent WAILING. this. this image. this image just about broke me. THEYRE SO HAPPY and RELIEVED, IT HURTS,,,

the tone shift to talking to the party afterwords is still so funny to me HJBDFBSBFH like lookit him. hes so smol. so silly.

we're kidnapping bonnie guys it's official

my honest reaction to this line: LESBIANS??????

and then she hits me with:

AND I LOST IT

more silly guy siffrin,,,,, my favorite

aaaa aAAAAAAAAAAA

ISABEAU'S SPRITE CHANGING TO BE DOING A HAPPY DANCE AFTER THE CONFESSION IS SOOOOO CUTE WAAA

bonnie and odile clapping for isabeau confessing will never not be funny but ALSO it implies the bonnie knew about Isa's crush. and i for one personally believe that they picked up on it from Odile's relentless teasing of Isabeau as the #1 Isafrin shipper

mirabelle: wait you had a crush on sif?????? and i didn't know????

my roommate, who is ace: this is the aroace experience for real,,,

literally all of the second interactions with Isabeau had me and my roommate SCREAMING

HOWLING LAUGHING

OK I NEVER KNEW???? THAT SIFFRIN TOLD ISABEAU ABOUT THE BAD TOUCH EVENT?????? IN CANON???? I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT WAS A FANON THING BUT THEY ACTUALLY ADDRESS IT IN GAME AND???? ISA'S REACTION HAD ME ON THE FLOOR

siffrin: i kissed you once,,,,

isa:

the words "im being perfectly normal about this" is something i say on a daily basis so i relate to this wholeheartedly

AYO???????? ISA WHEN DID YOU BECOME SO SMOOTH????

this. this image. made my jaw hit the GODDAMN FLOOR. I WAS NOT MENTALLY PREPARED FOR IT AT ALL AND BOTH ME AND MY ROOMMATE S C R E A M E D WHEN WE SAW IT

LIKE???? HOLY FUCK SIF JESUSSSSSSSSSSS CHRIST???? how did isabeau not implode on the spot from that look bro howwwwwwwwwww

AND THEN. AS IF THAT WASN'T ENOUGH TO MAKE MY HEART START SOBBING. ISA BLOWS YOU A KISS???? AAAA???

annnnd scene!

i will continue playing to get some of the different loop endings and i totally plan on doing two hats in the future!!! so im not quite done with this game yet i just got impatient in act 4 and i needed the Emotional Catharsis of Act 5

[eelviraly]

The Hidden Pages - Gravity Falls Fanfiction by me!!! (eelviralyyy)

Summary:

WARNING: There will be spoilers in the recap description for Gravity Falls. A small, sleepy and seemingly boring town in the middle of Oregon called Gravity Falls, where two preteen twins Mabel and Dipper from the Pines family spend their summer before technically turning into official teens. Throughout their summer spent there that year, they encountered many mysteries unlike anything they had ever experienced in California. They also made friends, foes, and unraveled secrets of Gravity Falls, the infamous Bill Cipher, even their own family. When returning back to their home, Dipper opens a letter from everyone in Gravity Falls. "See you next summer". 𖠰 Almost a whole year later, the now-officially-teen twins return to the town up north and reside with their great-uncles, Stanley and Stanford, who had returned from a long trip. Reuniting with their family and friends, everything seems to have gone back to normal just as it was the previous year. Same creatures, same people, same weird old mailman. That is, until a knock at the door disrupts the family on a Friday morning.

Notes:

This fanfiction will be a fan-made prequel & sequel to the show, also including different point of views. Credit to Alex Hirsch for making this story! I am not in affiliation with Alex or anyone else who worked on Gravity Falls. This is simply a fanfic with new fan-made characters (some not mine, credits will be given at the end of whatever chapter's they are used in!), designs, stories, and lore (with connections + references to canon). Updates may be slow! I will be working on this continuously. If anything happens, I will be writing an author's note and deleting it once I continue working on the series again. Story will be including codes and shifts from past to present. Enjoy!!! Also, don't print my fanfiction(s) out. I don't like when people do that with anyone, it makes me uncomfortable and I'm pretty sure it's illegal. Don't use my works, art, or story without permission please. Thank you. ◬

chapters 1-3 are posted already !!! here's some teasers if ur interested ^_^ each chapter is about 1k-2k words, usually depending on how important the chapter is (or if i just got carried away LMAO). also the fic is on ao3 or wattpad just so its more accessible to anyone who wants to read it.

Chapter 1 - A Project

Chapter 2 - An Uneventful Morning

Chapter 3 - It's Been a Long, Long Time

okayyy thank you for reading! have a great day/night !!! ٩(＾◡＾)۶

[leafostuff]

An Announcement regarding my activities on Tumblr

first of all: thank you to everyone who supported my two recent fics (Welcome to the CATS club And Insecurities), I have really enjoyed making both of them,

however lately I have been thinking about how I was being active as a writer since I wasn't posting many fics for the time I was here (even less than the average writer), and so after thinking about it for a while, I have come to a decision

I am switching to a Monthly Upload schedule

As stated, I will start to upload one-shots (Smut or Fluff) once per month, making it 12 Oneshots a year, headcanons like Insecurities and Adjectives Thrown Around will have a more random upload schedule and won't count as one one-shot per month, This Upload schedule will start on from July

I really want to become more active on the platform and post more stuff here, and I believe this approach will help me strike a balance between writing fics and maintaining my full-time job and my life outside of Tumblr.

Now for some other updates regarding my blog:

I will revamp my Masterlist - pretty self-explanatory as I believe it is quite messy in its current state, the only thing that really changes mechanically is that Headcanons, What ifs and Idols as Pokemon Trainers will now be categorized under Other [O], besides that its mostly just making it look better

I am updating my group's list - New groups debuted, old groups left, and some I just started to like more so it makes sense that my taste in groups will change and therefore my list should change, expect to see this posted in the weekend

As of now: ASKS REGARDING REQUEST FOR ONESHOTS ARE OFFICIALLY CLOSED,

And I saved the best for last:

1.4K followers isn't much to scoff about, I really want to thank each and every one of you who supported me up until today, I hope our forest will grow larger each day and new leaves will be added to our branches

So as of today, i am really happy to step toward on this new path on Tumblr with you all, and as Always

See you later leafies ^^

[noxi3xe]

Sepperate post for this

Dangerous Entanglement

Chapters & their synopsis

I decided to lay out all of the chapters in this post to make it more.. clean? If that makes sense

Otherwise my other post’s gonna get too long. I’ll keep updating this one with each new chapter I release. Might do the same for any future works (:

Current chapters:

-Fateful revelations: Introduction and world development, we find out basic information.

-Secret and Allies: we make friends with Hu Tao, who holds our secret and helps us find out more about our soulmates.

-A Perilous Celebration: Our 22nd birthday! It’s all going well and smooth till we notice a little something in the distance.

-Hilltop Hazard: What’s a celebration without sneaking into a fatui camp and almost getting caught?

-Caught and Almost Cornered: But of course how can you end a birthday party without getting chased?

-A Fateful Encounter: The bank’s always busy, you never know who you’ll meet there. Could be one of your soulmates.

-Mountain Mysteries and New Friends: A little scare in the mail to start out your day strong, but new friends fix all worries.

-Heartfelt Goodbyes: saying goodbye to our new friends to head back to the city and continue our *boring* life (which is about to get interesting)

-Ball Gown Secrets: What’s better than waking up to your best friend arguing with your father, winning the argument then taking you shopping? Nothing!

-Voyage to Snezhnaya: The trip to Snezhnaya finally arrives! I wonder whatever we might talk about on the trip, hopefully not something that’ll change our entire life!

-City Sights and Palace Nights: We had arrived to Snezhnaya! Time to look around and get used to the place, the sights are lovely and the people even lovelier.

-Draped in Pearls: Finally the night we’ve been awaiting, and how else could it start off other than with a staring match?

-Snatched by the 9th: Perhaps coming to Snezhnaya wasn't such a good Idea after all. If only we could clear our mind witnout a certain somebody chasing us down..

-First Official Meeting: Face to face finally with those we're supposed to spend our life with, at least that's what the universe has planned for us. They don't seem that bad after all, perhaps we were over exaggerating

-Enforcing Rules: It's time to sit down for a talk and end the evening with what else than being forced into a bath, there's nothing better!

-Getting Comfortable: A chill day, nothing on our mind other than laying back a little.

-Office Works: Well running errands for Pantalone sure did not end as one would expect, thankfully nothing worse than a bit of bullying happened, right?

-Errand Runs: Gone Wrong: Yesterday was confusing and exhausting, but today was something different. Why was luck not on our side and why did it seem as if the whole region had something against us? TW: Minor Violence and Angst (A little bit of it, at least).

-Laboratory shenanigans: We've had enough of everybody, enough of getting pushed around and perhaps we took it out on the right person!

-Promotions and Experimentation: First official day at the lab, I wonder what The Doctor has planned as our first experiment! TW: NSFW

-Stormy nights: Passing out randomly lead to waking up hours later and that lead to bonding.. if you could call it bonding even, more like eventual bickering!

-'First' official day off: Looks like a certain somebody has fallen sick! And what's a better way to rest and take the day slow than to read a book and cuddle under the blankets? TW: Gore and horror aspects (We Read a book)

-Promises: It sure is sweet when a story ends happily, isn't it? That's what we had always thought but never really knew we would once experience our happy ending as well. TW: NSFW

+ bonus chapter [sheep] There's a lil secret I gotta tell you that I definitely haven't told anybody (Author's note and a thank you)

__________

DottoreEnjoyer69 on AO3

Link to the fic here

[andthenshesaid-write]

Fathers and Sons Fic #3: Update 3

Today is a good day to do another update, but not because of The Jonah Fic, although I do have some progress to report there too.

If you read my last update, you'll know that I had a revelation about the climax of the story and I wrote a 1600-word scene in one hit and things were feeling good. Well, about a week later, I was lying in bed waiting to fall asleep and I thought, "I should have used TK instead of Carlos for that scene." And I was reluctant to admit that this was true, because I first imagined that scene in early September and I've had snippets of dialogue waiting for it since then. I wrote it the way I always imagined it so realising that I needed to scrap it and write the whole thing again was a hard pill to swallow, especially because I'd continued writing and everything that followed would also probably need to change. But I knew it was the right thing to do so I did it. The new version of the scene is a lot more emotionally raw because the relationship between Jonah and TK is very different from the relationship between Jonah and Carlos, and I think that makes the scene better. I think I only wrote it with Carlos in the first place because I thought I needed to draw it out more, but I don't think that's where Jonah's headspace is.

All that being said, I haven't done much work on The Jonah Fic over the last week because I've been hard at work on the other Tarlos writing project I've been doing. And this is why today is a good day for this update, because as of this evening I'm officially halfway through the writing. I was pretty vague in the previous update so I'll tell you now that this other project will be a collection of 26 short stories. I'm going to post the first one on 26 December (AEDT) and I'll post one every day in the lead up to the Lone Star 5x10 premiere. I've got 13 finished now and they range in length from 1400 to 4600 words. I don't anticipate they'll be longer than that, but I also went into this thinking each piece would only be between 1000 and 1500 words long and look how well that turned out. I'm really happy with how all these stories are coming together. The one I wrote tonight broke my heart but in the best way, and I'm really excited to share them with you when the time comes.

[sundrop-writes]

Update for January 17th, 2025:

Hey everyone!

I did take a bit of a break at the beginning of January, mostly for my physical health, but right now, I would say that I am officially back. and according to my schedule, barring any physical flare-ups, I am gonna have more than one full month of interrupted time to write. Which is gonna be amazing

If you saw this poll (which, oop, it's not even technically finished yet, but it's 75/25, which is pretty definitive, so...) then you would know that I am gonna be working on a longer Daryl fic.

It's gonna be a long fic posted in a series of oneshots, so that each part really focuses on that singular part of the story and so that there's no filler. The series is going to be called Paradise Lost, and the first part is going to be called You Want Me? I am gonna start working on the first official part later tonight or tomorrow.

The first part is Strangers to 'Friends' With Benefits with Daryl and Fem!Reader, and it covers Season 1. It has a lot of angst, whump, and some smut.

But right now, right at this moment, I am working on a currently untitled Gleggie x Fem!Reader smut. It is the one from my WIP list - it's a PWP, and it involves the characters having a threesome in Gregory's bed because Maggie is pissed off at Gregory and wants to get back at him. Technically, it's a Glenn Lives AU, because it takes place more into Season 7/Season 8, where Maggie is the leader of the Hilltop, but in this version, Glenn is there with her (and so is the reader, who is their poly partner). But the plot is background, and it's mostly just smut. I think I am gonna have it finished tonight and it might be edited and posted tomorrow. I am really excited about it. I think it's gonna be between 5k and 7k when it's finished

[xoxiu]

twinkle - ot7 x reader

chapter 01 table of contents masterlist

summary: she had just wanted attention, that’s why she kept texting the strange number, updating him on everything in her life. little did she know how dangerous this relationship actually was. it had been jimin’s idea to kidnap the girl, but the ability to travel across the world to actually do it had been all hoseok’s doing. convenient how some things work, right? they knew that they were destined to have their baby with them, whether she wanted it or not.

tags/warnings: kidnapping, forced age regression, spanking, noncon, mafia au, drug use, stockholm syndrome, caregiver!bts, little!reader, nonsexual, diapers, panic attacks, fluff and angst, sickfic, referenced child abuse, unrequited love

a/n: i wrote this fic in 2018 on ao3 and wattpad, but im putting it here for archival reasons ♡

They had used a burner phone to talk to the girl, not wanting to risk her tracing the number back to one of them. It had been Jungkook's idea; he found the girl's Instagram page, where she frequently posted pictures of herself, her dogs, and her friends. A quick DM and an hour later, Jungkook got her phone number and the two were texting daily.

He found out so much about the girl: her name was Ophelia, she lived in a small town in America, her dogs were named Gengi and Jingob, she had a younger brother named Henry and a 6-month-old sister named Rose, her father was Korean and her mother was Israeli. She had naturally dark, curly hair, but she frequently bleached and straightened it (right now it was an adorable baby pink). When she was born, her mother wasn't together with her father, so she was named Ophelia Felicite Potter, but her father forced her mother to change her name to Ophelia Lynn Park once they had officially started dating three months later. Henry, her little brother, was in Junior High, and Ophelia always drove him to school, since their town was so small that their Middle School, High School, and Community College were all in one building. 

Eventually, the rest of the boys began talking to her. All seven of them were pretending to be one person, a 19-year-old named Ian. Of course, Ophelia believed everything 'Ian' said. She had told them that she never had a boyfriend before, and absolutely loved the attention she was receiving for the first time. Even though she was still young, naive, and too trusting, she was still smart- both academically and morally. Whenever 'Ian' asked for nudes, she refused, which both pissed off and pleased the boys.

It was important that Ophelia never found out who they truly were. At least, not yet. The boys were heirs of one of the biggest mafia rings in South Korea, and they all knew that if the girl found out, the fake number would be blocked immediately. Even though the seven of them weren't important members in the business- their fathers and older brothers were more active than them, they were more of the poster kids- they were still expected to keep certain things private in order to keep them safe and their fathers in power. 

They decided that Ophelia would be one of the things they kept private.

'i have a surprise for you in an hour!! :D'

God, the kid was so cute. Seokjin looked down at the phone as the text alert caused the coffee table to gently vibrate. He smiled as he sent his reply.

'Why can't I have the surprise now?'

A moment later Ophelia's reply pinged.

'i'm in class right now and im fairly certain you dont want calculus as your surprise'

'Alright, I'll wait. Do your schoolwork.'

'dont tell me what to do love u xxx'

Seokjin smiled again and put the phone in his pocket. It was currently three in the morning in Seoul, so two in the afternoon Ophelia's time. She gets out of school at 2:25, so it wouldn't be long before Jin received the 'surprise' Ophelia was talking about. 

Jin idly played on his own phone, waiting for another text from the girl, when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned his head towards the noise to find Namjoon approaching him.

"Hyung, what are you doing up?" Namjoon asked, voice deep and rough with sleep. In the back of his mind, he knew he was texting Ophelia, but if something important had happened he wanted to know. 

"Ophelia's getting out of school soon and she has a surprise for us." Namjoon hummed in response. He never was as obsessed with Ophelia as the other boys, but he had talked to her quite a few times. 

Jin grabbed Namjoon's hand and guided him to lay on the couch with him. Namjoon immediately curled into his boyfriend, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne. One of Jin's hands began stroking the younger's hair while the other continued aimlessly scrolling through his emails. 

Namjoon quickly fell asleep again, and the burner phone pinged soon after that. Jin carefully took the phone out of his back pocket, trying not to wake his sleeping beauty, and became excited as he saw Ophelia had sent a picture message. He quickly opened the messaging app and cooed at what the girl had sent. 

She had sent a mirror picture of her in a dress. The dress was a flowing red ball gown with gold accents on the waist. Ophelia looked absolutely beautiful in it, and Jin quickly saved the picture to send to his real phone. 

'prom is in a month and i really wish i could go with you. what do you think of this dress? someone told me this shade of red suits me but idk'

Prom. Ophelia would be going to prom with someone other than Jin or one of the other boys. While one of them taking her was unrealistic and impossible, it still pained him to think that it wouldn't be him. 

'You look stunning. I wish I could see it in person.'

'<;3 :)'

Jin put the phone back on the table, smiled, and closed his eyes. He was absolutely whipped.

Once the rest of the boys woke up, the dress was the main discussion at breakfast.

"I think she looks adorable in it," Taehyung said, "Just look at her face in the picture- it's obvious she's in love with it, too."

"But its too mature for her! It shows off too much!" Jimin said, his voice distressed. 

"Jimin, she's not our baby yet. Once we have her then you can decide what is and isn't too big for her," said Namjoon. 

For the past month, they had been preparing a plan to bring Ophelia to Korea with them. They wanted her to be their Little, and them be her Daddies. Some of them were more excited than others (Jin and Jimin were both ecstatic about this), but all of them had warmed up to the idea. Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung had gone crazy over putting together a nursery and clothes shopping. It had been easy to find childlike clothes in Ophelia's size, including a car seat, since Ophelia was rather small for her age. 

They had decided what they would be called almost as soon as they got the idea of Ophelia being a Little. Namjoon and Jin would be the main caregivers, with Namjoon being Appa and Jin being Eomma. Yoongi and Jimin would also be her caretakers, Yoongi being Daddy and Jimin being Mommy. Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook would be less of caretakers and more of playmates, but they still wanted to spend time with Ophelia. 

Luckily, they had a business meeting in America in two weeks, which would be relatively close to where Ophelia lives (thanks to careful mapping done by Jungkook), so they could take her and bring her home with them with ease. The boys knew Ophelia would have a much better life with them.

[3mcwriting]

Any Fan's Dream, Part 22

Taglist: @secretly-sirens, @zeeader, @imdoingathingmom, @x-theolivia, @ainsley-official, @huntress-artemiss, @hoohoohope, @ourgoddessathena, @wiintaersoldier, @vine-enthusiast, @afraidofshrimp, @myfturn, @im-better-than-your-newborn, , @mjaudrey, @igotthisasajokeyetimstillhere, @starr60, @coldmermaidhologram, @daenerysluvrr, @viperchick47, @marvelwomen-arehot, @mynightandstars

So, recently this fic hasn't had much interaction, and I'm not sure why. One of you told me that it can be buggy and hard to reach, so I'm sorry abt that but if you ever wonder abt updates, I'm gonna start up dating every saturday. Just go to my masterlist, then to the afd masterlist and to the new chapter. Hopefully you're all able to find it now. This will be the last time I post the taglist because it hasn't been working well.

Any Fan's Dream Masterlist

Synopsis:

When you look around and see Avengers Tower in front of you and Peter Parker beside you, you wonder how the hell you managed to get into the MCU.

Thor exited the Bifrost, carrying you in his arms. He nodded a quick thank you to Heimdall before swinging his hammer. He held you tightly as he flew toward the palace, mind only focused on one thing: getting you help. 

Back on Earth, there hadn't been a chance for your survival; not with the amount of blood that had escaped you already. Steve had said it himself that there was nobody close enough to help you, not in the amount of time you had left. So Thor had grabbed you up in his arms, hardly caring if the rest of them wanted an explanation because it was getting increasingly obvious that you didn't have time for that and he'd left the quinjet, calling out for Heimdall. 

As he arrived at the palace, he called out for help, setting you down in the infirmary and watching as the medical attendants glanced at him wide-eyed before focusing on the young woman bleeding out on the cot. 

"Is she human?" One of the healers asked him.

"Yes." Thor nodded. "You must help her."

Normally, they'd ask questions about why the human was even there, but they'd all heard about how the thunder god fondly looked upon the mortals. They got to work with new fervor, knowing of the fragility of humans. 

On of the healers looked at Thor. "We need to focus. Take your leave."

Thor didn't want to leave, but he didn't want to be the reason you ended up dying even more so he left the room, pacing the hallway outside. He didn't understand the quarrel between the Man of Iron and the Captain, but he didn't like it. Normally he could get behind a healthy brawl between friends, but he didn't like that you'd been caught in between and ended up hurt. 

No, he didn't like it all.

He cared about you, after all, and because of that, he paced that hallway until the medical attendants told him it was okay to come in three hours later.

When he entered the room, the medical attendants were still bustling around but seemed much less apprehensive than before. Everything seemed much less frantic, none of the healers looking especially worried, most seeming faintly relieved.

Thor looked at you.

You were still unconscious, tired body recovering from the ordeal it had been through. Your injuries had been closed and the healers assured Thor that you were going to be fine. You looked peaceful, face not scrunched up in stress or pain for the first time since he’d gone back to Earth. 

Your stress…it was all because the Captain and the Man of Iron were fighting. 

You had gotten caught in between them and almost killed…but he knew that both of the men cared for you. He saw the way the Metal Man acted as a father to you and how panicked the Captain had been when you were  hurt.

They both deserved to know that you were alright.

With that thought, he left the room, squeezing your hand softly before he’d gone on his way back to Earth.

~~

There they were; Loki dead on the floor, face blue; Gamora, body broken and disfigured; and Tony, face scabbed and bloody, his body absorbing too much power.

You fell to your knees, trying to scream at them to wake up, to be okay, but no sound escaped your raw lips. 

"This is your fault." Peter appeared, a scowl so angry on his face, you had a hard time believing it was the same person as before.

No...no, this wasn't your fault...

But you knew.

You didn't change the future.

They all died because you were too weak.

~~

Your eyes snapped open, a sharp gasp escaping your parted lips while you bolted up, your body aching. Your eyes felt crusty and you could feel the way the dried tear streaks left your cheeks. You rubbed your eyes, trying to make yourself feel better. You felt a slight sting at the movements of your arms and looked down.

What were you wearing?

If you didn't know any better, you'd think it was a hospital gown, but there was no way in hell that hospital gowns were this comfy. You were left perplexed as you looked around, before your eyes landed on the only other person in the room. 

"Thor?" you asked. "Where are we?..." 

Even as you asked the question, you began to realize exactly where you were. 

The comfy clothes, golden walls, and the god sitting in the room....you were on-

"Asgard." Thor's deep voice broke you out of your thoughts, only confirming what you suspected. "You were talking in your sleep."

You missed his word, too incredulous at the situation, thoughts scrambled, mind blown, and feeling a slight itch on your nose.

The calmness of your demeanor was due to the fact that you were in disbelief at your circumstances. First, you'd got transported into the MCU, then you'd met all your heroes, then you'd been in an explosion, then you flew on Mjolnir, then you got stabbed-

Ohhhhh, that's right. 

You got stabbed.

You scratched your nose. "Why am I here?"

That question seemed to set Thor off. "Because you are an idiot! An absolute imbecile!" You blinked, he continued. "Do humans have no sense of self-preservation?! Do all of you simply run around getting stabbed for your acquaintances?! Is there not a speck of intelligence in that dull mind?!"

"Huh," you muttered, the situation finally making sense. A grin grew on your face. "Were you worried about me, Loki?"

~~

“Where is she?” Tony demanded, storming up to the super-soldier who he used to respect—albeit reluctantly—but still, there was no speck of the former good feelings toward one another.

Steve set foot on the Tarmac, exiting the quinjet with the rest of the individuals who had accompanied him to the Hydra base. His face didn’t hold the same anger as Tony’s; instead, he was downtrodden—face twisted in guilt.

Steve may not have had the same anger as Tony, but Natasha certainly did. Of course, she remained nonchalant on the outside, but her eyes blazed with enough burning fury that anyone unlucky enough to be caught under the full force of her gaze would’ve immediately been incinerated. 

A different voice cut through the air—much younger, but no less demanding.

”Where is (y/n)?” Peter’s voice was far more forceful than his usual happiness.

”Thor has her,” Steve answered. “He took her to Asgard to get treated. It was the only way she had a chance.”

”How could you let this happen to her? She’s not an Avenger—she didn’t sign up for the danger of being one.”  Peter knew how much you adored everyone on the team and he knew that you would be over the moon if they offered you a spot as an Avenger, but you weren’t an Avenger—not right now, and not ever if you ended up getting killed. 

“Because he’s reckless,” Tony said with a scoff. He approached the light haired super soldier. “This is on you. If she dies, it’s on you.”

Steve wanted to retort but what would he say? That you had joined them of your own free will and you made the decisions that led you here? If it was almost anybody else, maybe he could believe that, but with you, he knew he should’ve sent you back again. You weren’t trained. You didn’t have the same experience as everyone else on the team. He shouldn’t have let you accompany them to a place he knew had a high chance of danger and confrontation.

A beam of many-colored lights interrupted the tense interaction, a familiar god appearing.

”Lady (y/n) has been treated, she is okay.”

~~

"As if! I could not be concerned about-" Loki stopped, realizing his mistake. "How'd you know?"

"Well, to put it frankly, you suck at acting."

He looked affronted, shifting back to his normal self. "I will have you know I am extraordinary at acting! I've faked my death multiple times!"

You just blinked, unimpressed. "Okay, whatever you need to tell yourself. Speaking of faking your death, Thor doesn't know you're alive, does he?"

Loki sputtered. "As if I'd let that oaf know-"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I know you're in denial about pretty much all your feelings but like- stop insulting your brother. He genuinely loves and admires you despite your tendency to act like a drama-kid in sixth grade. Not many people have that kind of devotion."

"What do you know?" Loki hissed, making it obvious you hit a sore point. "You're just another one of his little fans who doesn't have the capacity to look any deeper than his appearance."

Your entire body ached and you'd dealt with constant stress for the last couple weeks. Who cared if this was one of the many characters you'd simped for over the years, you were tired and fed up with watching your words.

"Of course I'm a fan of his!" You threw your arms up. "But it's not because he's muscular or good-looking or any shit like that; it's because of how much he cares about the people around him and how no matter what horrible shit happens, he still remains all sunny and has faith in people." Too tired of always watching your words, you made a mistake. "Hell, he even admitted to you that he looks up to you!"

"When?! That fool is too caught up in his empty head to think of anyone else-"

You were too caught up in the argument to restrain yourself from saying the words that would reveal too much. "When you're on Sakaar! How do you not remember?"

Loki looked at you, green eyes more intense than you'd ever seen before. "Neither I or my brother have ever been on that garbage of a planet."

Every muscle in your body tensed. 

There was no way to cover what you'd just said.

He already had his suspicions, there was no way in hell that he'd believe any lie you told him and to be frank, you couldn't think of a single lie that would cover your slip-up. You'd been playing with fire since the moment you arrived here when you decided not to tell anyone about what had happened and you'd gotten a little too careless being that close to the flame.

“Lady (y/n), you are awake!” A joyful voice thundered, making you and Loki look to the open doorway. 

Thor was grinning—well, until he saw Loki.

[mvshr00m-1]

'finding von ryan' fic sorta update:

hiya Tumblr ppl- and few fans of this fic. its officially been over-ish TEN WHOLE MONTHS since the last update. I recall having a few asks regarding the fic where I would explain that its still ongoing but I'm just struggling with getting more chapters out-

just to state: I did start the next chapter ages back, but just never got to getting past the beginning of it. only later did I try to get more content out both for yalls sake and mine.

which is being this timeline post.

but after 10 months, despite outside of posts having so many ideas and plans for the fic, even having a whole ending planned and everything! but I wont be kidding myself...

I doubt ill be coming out with another chapter, maybe ONE DAY I might. but that would probably also include me redoing the prior ones since my writing style has sorta changed- and there were a lot of flaws in the og fic that did play a part in my lack of motivation.

on that same bar, I know there were people who wanted it to continue, to read more of it... as surprising as that is to me. so if yall had any questions regarding it, maybe a specific part of the fic, maybe a plot whole, a character, or just something that was on your mind or you wanted to hear more about... pls do ask! my asks are open, and you can ask as an anon if that's more comfortable :D

I do apologise for leaving yall hanging for so long, but I hope this will be able to be good compensation