#i have a hard time staying still it makes me feel insanely unhappy
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i hate that i've been complaining about everything in my life lately but if you're a frequent reader of my personal posts (side note, if you are: why. also i'm sorry) but if you remember earlier this week on tuesday i slipped outside and hurt my knee. i didn't end up seeing a doctor about that bc they literally had no openings when i talked to the secretary she was like i am so sorry sweetie. we can't take you for the rest of the week and i was like oh. and after a couple days it didn't hurt sooooo much although i think the limp ive been walking w has not been doing me any favors. but now today especially (? for some reason) BOTH of my legs were really hurting. i'm wondering if that might somehow be related to me getting my period today bc sometimes. you know how period pain can just end up wherever it wants. but then around 8 o'clock today i stubbed the SHIT out of one of my toes and i think i might have injured it (? i dont think it's broken but i cant stand on it and it's been hours). this is my left foot and the knee i hurt on tuesday was on my right leg. i am literally limping on both sides of my body now and i cant stand or walk.
#shout out to me being irritable with my family. sowwyyyyyy#EVERYTHING HURTS WHEN I TRY TO MOVE FROM PLACE TO PLACE#i dont know if i can handle seeing people tomorrow and it's Literally Christmas#i told kaily i wanted her to carry me to my bed earlier like im a little kid who fell asleep in the car and she said no :(#sisters are USELESS#tales from diana#menstruation cw#injury cw#maybe i shouldve gone to urgent care or the er about my knee earlier this week#i was starting to think i didnt seriously injure it but now im having doubts? or maybe i walked on it too much yesterday#i really was doing WAY too much walking yesterday but i kinda couldnt help it#my adhd body Wants To Move all the time even when i know i should be taking it easy#thats always been a problem w me whenever ive needed to limit my exertion. i just want to wander and fidget#i have a hard time staying still it makes me feel insanely unhappy#theres no better way to describe it#but i cant. move. now. sooooo#i dont know if i mightve broken my toe or not but its kinda swollen#how common is it to break a toe really? theyve got. theyve got a lot of little tiny bones#i dont know id think its more common to break a toe if you crushed it under something#i stubbed it. REALLY hard. like harder than even a normal really bad toe-stubbing.#i dont know. i dont know. i dont know.#can i have a wheelchair for christmas just for like a week at least#and get someone to carry me up and down the stairs?
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okay apocalypse dbf!jake will not let me go again so- I need the confession 🙏 I need the tear-stained first kiss after an attack, with too much adrenaline and too little care for the inappropriate age gap
EEK me either me either me either ! I’m so insane about him rn
And I feel like this particular attack would be a big one. Resources are running low and Jake won’t leave you up on that mountain by yourself, so he has no choice but to bring you with him. He has done what he can, preparing you for this.
It scares you, even when it’s just all pretend with him. He’s not as kind when he’s training you. Even as you’re crying and telling him to stop it, that you don’t want to, he’s yelling and insisting that you aim straight and breathe — that these things won’t stop no matter how much you cry, or scream, or beg.
He doesn’t mean to be cruel. It would be far more cruel to leave you unprepared, to let something happen to you.
This is a low stakes run, but you can feel that he’s unhappy having you here. It’s itching at you that maybe it’s because you couldn’t hit that target last time. He had tied a thick tree branch to a length of rope, pushed hard, and let it swing. Your first moving target. Not so much as a chip in the wood. You’ve got a pretty big knife, one that could tear muscle from bone— he won’t give you a gun.
You know he’s focused on protecting you, it’s an awful feeling to think that you may not be able to do the same for him, especially after all he has done for you so far.
It’s a gas station, back off of the road, early enough on that it hasn’t yet been completely raided. Heavy metal shutters cover the windows, but Jake makes quick work of the padlocks on the back door. The power has all gone out by now, it’s just the light from your flashlights to guide the way. Jake is two paces ahead, close enough to jump back and pull you behind him if he needs.
It’s eerily quiet. You’re stuck to him like a shadow as he surveys for danger, and ultimately decides that it’s okay.
Keep away from the doors and windows, stay where I can see you. Dejected and feeling more uselessly childish than you have in a long time, you sweep the shelves and take what you can while Jake does the same. Continually, he checks over top of the shelves to see if he can see the top of your head.
It’s going too well, it tricks you both into thinking that this is going to be easy. You’re focused, on your knees and rummaging through the medicines to take everything you could need. You don’t even notice the noise that you’re making. Jake doesn’t mind the rummaging sounds, it means he can hear where you are without needing to watch.
But then, so can the employee who took such care to fortify this place before he took swallowed back a cocktail and pills the second that he saw his home in flames and his undead mother staggering around on the news footage. He made himself comfortable before he passed. His shoes and his jacket are in the back room. His socks are almost silent against the linoleum as he staggers around the corner.
He’s tall, and skinny, and hadn’t hurt anyone in his entire life. But he’s close enough by the time you spot him that his height gives you no room to stand up. His eyes are wide and gorging, the sockets sullen and lifeless. You haven’t seen one of them so clean before, part of him still looks human. His lips are pulled back, animal, growling weakly as he reaches for you and tumbles forwards.
Jake hears the scream and he swears that he’s going to be too late. Even just across the floor of the gas station — it takes seconds for one of those things to get their jaws around you. He’s sick to his stomach, his gun pulled and the safety off, uncaring about if the sound draws attention for miles around.
He rounds the corner and spots the puddle of dark, thick blood first. His heart sinks to his stomach, until he realises that it isn’t yours. You push the corpse back, off of you. Your knife is plunged through the socket of its eye, it’s dead. You take one look at Jake, and crumble, tears pouring from your eyes as you stare at your blood soaked hands.
“Shh, I’m here. Shh, shh, shh. You’re okay,” Jake whispers, sinking to his knees and pulling you off of the floor, cradling you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “It’s alright, I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re okay.”
“I didn’t— I didn’t see it— it was —“
“I know, sweet girl,” Jake whispers, rubbing soothingly at your back. He presses his lips together and kisses softly at your temple. “You did so good. You did it. You’re alright now.”
Again, Jake kisses your temple softly, hugging you closer. His weight and his smell, his strong arms wrapped around you. All of it almost makes you forget where you are. Blinking back any more tears, you turn your head as he kisses at your temple again. This time, you’re looking at him as he pulls back.
Tears soaking your lashes and your cheeks, staring up at him. Jake’s throat feels thick, his mouth suddenly dry as your fingers press into his arms. You are okay, you did it. He’s here. You sit forwards first, and Jake’s met with the exact thing that he has been trying to stop himself from thinking about for these past few weeks. Your lips are just as soft as they look, and your hands pawing at his arms make him melt into you.
Before all of this, Jake tried so hard to fight it. You’re so much younger. Your father would have never approved. Now, he supposes — it doesn’t matter. What matters, is keeping you safe, and he’s so glad that you’re safe.
His hand grabs firmly at the nape of your neck as he presses closer, deepening his hold on you, kissing you firmly.
#dbf!jake#apocalypse dilf jake#dads best friend Jake#jake Seresin#jake hangman Seresin#jake Seresin x reader
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Short chunks of observations ˚✧₊⁎≀ˍ̮
- Libra on the sun moon venus jupiter or in the chart prominently + a fire mars can make someone turn into a firecracker seemingly out of nowhere when they’ve been wronged (in their eyes or otherwise) or some thing or person has been mistreated… add another fire placement and it’s an explosion. It’s like they have to balance shit even if it’s ‘irrationally’
- Pisces and aries in a chart can indicate a restless lazy mfer that’s always getting up and going places back and forth and then when they finally sit down they stay sat there for awhile and if they’re comfortable pass out easily and sleep soundly
- Scorpio rising, scorp sun in the 1st, mars in the 1st, pluto in the 1st, and chiron in the 1st are placements drawn to changing themselves or at least attempting to, something about their appearance just HAS to be changed it’s like they don’t even know why they just must change. Rupaul, a scorpio said he didn’t know why but he’s just always loved changing how he looked and transforming… i think you get the idea, they could be insanely attractive but for some reason it’s just not good enough for them. Bit sad actually, if they could find away to blend their expression without erasing themselves i think it’d make for a even more powerful impact. A lot of people unhappy with their assigned gender at birth with scorpio placements/ energy too. (With chiron in the 1st there can be trauma associated with their appearance as well so that can be a factor in wanting to change the self)
- Oppositions in synastry make for a yin yang ping pong effect and when it’s good it’s fun, exciting, rarely boring and it feels like your other half and when it’s bad it’s what’s wrong with you, why are you like that, never talk to me again. If there’s supporting trines/ benefics making good aspects/ 4th, 7th house synastry they become like lock and key and pretty much mates for life. You learn to speak each others language and then it becomes Your language which is why people have such a hard time away from the person they have opposition synastry with 💀. Half a heart by one direction has a great line I’ve always quoted for this ‘Walking around with just one shoe, I’m half a heart without you”
{These are just quick observations, if you have 8th house synastry and an opposition it can still be binding i just stuck to the general outline of it all}
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I got a 9 to 5 (well, 8 to 6 with commute) and I've been struggling with the overall change. It's hard to stay positive in this current climate, and I feel like I am going insane every time I glance at social media or the news. But I guess having a gig means I'm busy, or at least occupied, which is helpful as much as I resent it. Life in Queens is great but everything does still feel a little foreign and far off. The weather being so dramatic has not helped either, I am very unhappy about having to pull out my tights and sift through which pairs have holes or can still be worn (70% had holes and Uniqlo stopped making their heat tech tights in Navy - guess I'll die, etc).
Anyway, I can feel my spirit being worn down by office lighting, small talk, k cups, how absolutely shitty the R train is, and people having speakerphone conversations on the bus and train at 8 a.m. All of it. So I wanted to return to a practice of gratitude to remind me to maybe stave off a little despair. I was really enjoying my tarot pulls when my life had a lot more uncertainty (does he like me? turns out, yes!! Will I ever get a job? Yeah, but now it's my whole life and I am always tired) Anyway in an act of anger at me for being gone from my home for most of the day now, Leelou (one of my cats) threw up on my tarot deck! A card or two is worse for the wear and I haven't decided if I am going to replace it or try to keep working with it just yet.
anyway!
I found a good smash burger in the neighborhood!! Petey's. It's perfect. The relief I feel at having discovered this is immense.
also food (I'm a Taurus?!) but I went to King of Falafel after hopping off the 30th ave stop. Sam had pointed it out to me when we walked to the train and it had a 15-minute wait so we walked a little further and he pointed out some things I hadn't seen since I live off a different stop. The falafel was probably the best I've ever had and it was beautiful to stand in a Palestinian restaurant so proud of its heritage. There was a wait for pita so I waited and was rewarded with a bonus piece, which was so warm and fluffy and heavenly to tear into on my walk back home. I will definitely be going back.
Access Oasis Garden, which my friend Kate founded. Right now we're focused on showing the Parks department and community that we're committed as a group so on Saturday I got to be a part of some bulb planting. To put something in the ground as a gift for future enjoyment is so rewarding, and signifies a deep hope, I feel. I am so astounded by how quickly things have moved and I can't wait to see it grow further. I also got to make some new friends, who ended up coming to the soup event at the beer hall after the planting was done. It was a really beautiful day of community!
Good hugs from friends! getting to share in the joy of a friend's good news.
Sam, who is so understanding and gentle and thoughtful. I'm still like, wait what, is this real? It turns out I am all about clear communication and intent! It's great!
Becoming emboldened re: work snacks, speaking of it is almost time for me to sneak some hummus at my desk. Sometimes on my lunch, I browse the dollar store candy section just to amuse myself, which is how I ended up with a desk drawer full of tootsie rolls.
Radio.Garden. I do sometimes browse the map endlessly, and I love to visit the station websites! I have found a few stations that originated as in-hospital or nursing home stations but graduated to internet broadcasts. Many stations I stumble upon are community-founded, which I love to see because I find the idea of radio of course extremely romantic, but also hopeful. It is also a perfect tool if you're not sure what you want to listen to - which happens to me a lot as someone who experiences intense decision paralysis. There's a station on the west coast of France that plays classical before lunch and jazz after. I began my work morning with AshiyaRadio, a Japanese jazz station.
for some reason, my rosacea goes nuts at work (I turn pink when dehydrated) but I bought this mini Tower 28 rescue spray and it seems to help a little, plus I like how refreshing it feels. Let me just anoint my visage real quick in this office hell space, etc
Tears of the Kingdom - which is soooo immense it's overwhelming but I have been enjoying dropping in and trying to further along my journey with various side quests. It's a perfect game to just meander around in, every last detail is stunning. I should remind myself I can take my switch on my work commute!!
Seemingly breezing through a lot of big changes with minimal anxiety?? I have been complaining a lot about how exhausted I've been but it's my fourth week and I had to learn/memorize A LOT the first two, so now it's slightly more routine and less overwhelming. I had one crying meltdown during the height of my period and missed a group of friends out, but I am pretty sure I needed that cry and it was unavoidable.
I know what's for dinner (the relief!): the half package of pumpkin ravioli I splurged on from the store and half a head of broccoli. I finish both in sage brown butter, toasted breadcrumbs, parmesan, and lemon. Still have to figure out a work lunch, though ):
Sometimes it's really hard to tell if these sorts of things are even worth posting or just too navel-gazy, but I stuck with it and I'm posting and my outlook on life does feel improved, surprisingly. I'm also not in talk therapy because how can that even happen with my new schedule? So writing it out it is.
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You said a prompt not just a ship lmao I suck. Lily pining and Mary unawares. Maybe Hogwarts days? Maybe a Hogsmeade trip drama with a misunderstanding. Is that enough of a prompt? Idk I’m bad at this.
Hogsmeade and Misunderstandings (Marylily)
Being in love with your best friend makes you a little crazy, Lily is sure.
Because she is sure that she has gone insane, otherwise she would never have asked Potter out to Hogsmeade in front of Mary Macdonald.
And if she hadn’t gone absolutely mental, she would not be pulling him out of their common room and inside a broom closet right now.
‘Listen, Potter, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,’ she says immediately, not even waiting for Potter to let a word out. A wildly confused expression on his face. ‘I don’t actually want to go out with you.’
‘Oh, thank Godric,’ he exhales at once and this time it’s Lily’s turn to look confused. Had he not liked her? She was pretty sure it would have been hard to get wrong.
‘Not that—‘ Potter is quick to add, ‘not that you aren’t very pretty and likeable, you are! But, uhm… That ship has sailed long ago.’
Lily blinks at him. ‘Good.’
‘So…’ He tries, ‘why did you ask me to Hogsmeade, then? In front of everyone? And then dragged me here before I could answer?’
‘I…’ she inhales, ‘I panicked, okay?’
‘Panicked?’
‘Yeah, she mentioned that she was going to ask her longtime crush out for the weekend and I just—‘
‘She?’ Potter interrupts her. ‘Who’s she?’
‘Uhm…’ Lily bites her tongue, unsure if she wants to tell him the whole truth.
Potter looks at her for a long moment in which he is apparently able to recall all the people present in the Gryffindor common room at the time, and specifically who Lily was sitting with in front of the fireplace before that whole fiasco went down, because the next thing he says is— ‘Evans do you— do you have a crush on Macdonald?’
Lily can feel her face heat up and she doesn’t answer, but it might as well have been a confirmation because of the way she shoves Potter and whisper-yells ‘not a word!’
‘Yeah! Don’t— you don’t have to worry! It okay, you want me to help you cover it?’
‘You— you would?’ she asks surprised.
‘Of course, I will, I— I uhm, kind of have my eyes on someone else anyways.’
The sad expression on his face is hard to miss.
‘Hopeless for you, too?’ she says, voice suddenly gentle.
Potter smiles at her weakly. ‘Lonely hearts should help each other out, shouldn’t they?’
She reciprocates the smile. ‘Yeah… I guess you’re alright, Potter.’
‘James,’ he encourages.
‘I guess you’re alright, James.’
He grins.
***
The day at Hogsmeade is nice and chilly and Lily thinks that maybe James Potter is not that bad.
They stroll through the village at a comfortable distance, he doesn’t try to grab her hand and at this point Lily is sure he didn’t lie about fancying someone else. It is nice, being friends with James Potter.
‘Fancy a butterbeer?’ He asks as they approach the Three Broomsticks. ‘They say it does wonders to heal broken hearts.’
‘Only if you’re paying,’ Lily jokes and James offers a smile.
‘Of course, what kind of awful fake date would I be otherwise?’
‘Well, to be fair, I was the one to ask you out…’
Their exchange goes on as they take a table, laughing at each other as James orders for both of them.
Lily’s smile is quickly wiped from her face when she spots Mary sitting at a different table, alone and scowling. James notices.
‘Anything wrong?’ He asks. Lily just nods to Mary’s direction.
‘You think she asked her crush out?’ She says nervously.
‘She looks unhappy,’ he says simply, ‘you think she got stood up?’
‘As if anybody would stood her up! Have you seen her?’
‘Well, my point still stands, she looks unhappy. Although…’ A quick glint passes through James’ eyes. ‘She looks pretty unhappy at us. You sure her crush…’
‘If you suggest you are her crush, I will hit you with this pint.’
‘No! I’m suggesting you are her crush!’ He says frustratedly.
Lily stays silent for a long minute.
‘There’s no way.’ She concludes at last.
‘I’m telling you,’ James insists, ‘I just have a sixth sense for these things. Go talk to her! Go, go!’
He urges her to stand and Lily does, if only to get him to shut up. When she throws a quick glance at Mary she notices her scowling is indeed directed at them.
‘Alright… But I won’t… You won’t be right.’ She breathes.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Lily. Don’t make me regret this, because I’ll be the only member of the lonely hearts club now. Go!’
And so, Lily goes. She is in front of Mary in seconds.
‘Hi,’ she says shyly.
Mary’s scowl doesn’t ease. ‘Your date with Potter going that bad?’
Lily’s eyes widen. ‘What?’
‘Why are you here? Not happy with your choice? After leaving me on my own?’ venom drips from her tone and Lily’s mouth goes dry.
‘What are you saying, Mary? You told me you were going to ask your crush out this weekend! Did he reject you?’ Her voice is desperate.
‘You’re so bloody stupid!’ Mary exclaims and a few people have turned to look at them. ‘No, I didn’t bloody ask my crush out because she got herself a date before I could.’
Lily is sure her face is burning up. She grips her jeans.
‘You— you like me?’ She asks, speechless.
‘Of course I like you, you arsehole.’ Mary looks so angry, Lily would like nothing more to hold her face with both her hands and calm her down. Or disappear, it’s a tie between the two. ‘But that doesn’t bloody matter, does it? Did you come here to humiliate me? Just go back to your date with Potter and leave me alone.’
She stands up and Lily bites her tongue, trying to think of a way to make her stay.
‘Mary, wait! I— I didn’t know—‘
‘Of course you bloody knew!’ She has been saying the word bloody way too much. That is not a good sign. ‘We spend all our time together, I let you hold my hand, you read me Muggle books to sleep! And you asked Potter out right after I told you I had just worked up the courage to ask you out—‘
‘You didn’t say you wanted to ask me out!’
‘Wasn’t it obvious?!’ Mary throws her coat on the table. ‘We were sitting together, I was holding your hand!’
‘I—‘ something clicks in Lily’s brain. ‘I am so stupid.’
The rage on Mary’s face seems to be exchanged for surprise. ‘What?’
‘I…’ She takes a deep breath, looking over at James to will herself to tell the truth. She finds him looking back with two of his thumbs raised. ‘I only asked Potter out because of you.’
‘Huh?’
‘When you… When you said you were going to confess to your crush, I panicked because I like you so much and I thought you’d find out, I— I dunno why I thought this was a good idea. I panicked.’
‘You like me?’ It’s Mary’s turn to look surprised now. Almost hopeful.
‘Of course I like you, what’s not to like?’ Lily says weakly, offering her a smile.
Mary makes her way around the table and seconds later her lips are pressed hard against Lily’s in a quick kiss and her arms find a new home around Lily’s waist. Lily throws her arms around Mary’s neck and kisses back, but it ends fast because they are both smiling way too much.
When the kiss breaks, Mary rests her head against Lily’s shoulder, her lips pressed against her neck. It fits perfectly.
‘You’re such an idiot.’ She mutters and Lily shudders.
‘I thought I was an arsehole?’
‘That, too.’
Lily can hear James cheer from their table. She rolls her eyes and tugs Mary tighter.
#you can choose who james is pining for#i had so much fun writing this#me giggling and kicking my feet writing about two girls kissing#lesbians#yes#harry potter#lily evans#mary macdonald#marylily#james potter#james potter the best bff a lesbian could ask for#soo writes#drabble#ficlet#marauders#wlw#misunderstandings#mutual pining#idiots in love#marauders era
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TCL 2x01 recap
So I have many (many) thoughts about this show, and this season @enigmaticfox convinced me that instead of just bombarding her with them, I should post them here lol. So I hope that you guys enjoy my insane TCL spiralling, and feel free to respond to any of it if that takes your fancy lol
Firstly I loved that we got our usual cool cleaning montage set to badass music (aka the thing that is frequently used to represent Thony) and it turned out to be Arman instead?? I mean, he's cleaning, she's breaking the law-- what's that they say about couples who take part in each other's interests?? Lol. Though tbh I should have immediately guessed it was him in the montage bc the music was Spanish, duh
Hayak's comment about laundry was interesting, and given how he repairs all their trucks too I want to know more about his backstory. Why doesn't he respect Arman when it seems he also came from a working class background? Maybe because he feels he pulled himself up and yet Arman only rose with his help?
I feel it’s necessary to mention that Arman IS SO FUCKING PRETTY.
But maybe not super smart rn?? "I'll be running things in no time", like careful with your words there Arman, geez. Also him calling her The Cleaning Lady was kind of hot lol. It's like her superhero secret identity, or assassin name or something
(Okay where is this goddamn house???? Give me more landmarks, show!! I need to find this filming location dammit)
As much as I love Armony, Thony and Fi are the real central relationship of this show imo. Their scenes in this ep were hard to watch but so good ugh. And ugh Thony saying she and Luca belong with Fi and the kids makes me so happy (though lbr there's also someone else on her mind as well as she says this....)
It drives me nuts that I know exactly where this FBI building filming location is but I couldn't take photos in these spots lol
(Skips past garrett whining about his mistress)
"Nothing's going to happen to Marco" the moment I figured he was probably gonna die lol
Ok I'm used to Nadia and Arman arguing in Spanish but holy shit them talking all low and tenderly is actually really hot lol
Arman immediately defending Thony and making it clear that he trusts her is what I live for ugh. (Also, Nadia telling him he trusts people too much could be clever foreshadowing of her eventually betraying him late in the season, but I really hope not). But ugh his unhappy little face when she says Thony could be going to the airport-- reminds me of his wounded look in 1x03 :P
Also the cut between that line and Thony actually being at the airport was hilarious lol. Plus I love that I know exactly the spot they filmed the airport stuff in, I went into that hallway to go to the bathroom haha
Sigh Bash and Tino are growing too fast :(
God this was such inefficient searching by Thony and Garrett. He was RIGHT THERE
Lol very awkward to try to explain to Garrett why she doesn't want to leave the country where she’s an illegal immigrant.... also lol at her answering his statement that she’s still involved with Arman with "Arman's in jail". That means literally nothing Thony and you both know it?? Honestly her and Arman tying themselves in knots trying to find a believable explanation to give others about their connection is one of my favourite recurring themes in the show lol
I oddly loved hearing Nadia say "dammit, Thony"-- it gives the sense that they are getting closer in a weird way lol
Good job Chris dropping some truth bombs about marco being shit haha
Dude this Armony phone conversation is actually kind of hilarious when you realise that their whole "I guess I'm going to have to stay" hand-holding eye-lovemaking moment was literally yesterday, but her ignoring Nadia's calls has got him so freaked out that she's somehow changed her mind that he's now like 100x more desperate to get out of prison than he was just the day before haha
But oh god this phone call. Like seriously I'm forever in love with the pause and the shift of tone/sincere appeal in his "what's going on?", and then her trying to dismiss it with a sigh and a "nothing" bc she doesn't want to add to his burdens/ is so used to dealing with stuff on her own, but when he gives her even just one nudge to open up to him, she immediately tells him the truth. And ugh the clear agitation in his voice when he prompts "but what??" when she says Marco tried to take Luca on the plane. He needs to know if Thony really is about to get on a plane to chase after Luca. And then when he tells her he wishes he could be there to help her, it has that same rasp of emotion to it that was there in the 1x09 call, clearly responding to the fact she herself sounds close to tears. And THEN she says "I know you do" all gently like that???? Help???? And he asks her what she'll do now, almost like a do-over of yesterday, because he needs to know if her answer-- her plan to stay-- has changed. It's only after she mentions Garrett that he hardens again, clearly feeling jealous and replaceable (hence his commence about her not needing his help anymore), and then he orders her to call Nadia because "I need to get the hell out of here". Very telling that he's suddenly so desperate to be out, especially considering that at this point he thinks he's safe from Hayak for now, so it's clear that his desperation (whether consciously or not) has more to do with needing to be back on the playing board where he can be of worth to Thony again. And ugh Thony looks so sad when they hang up and I choose to interpret that as her wishing he was there with her rather than them being forcibly separated to both deal with things alone ugghhhh
(Super curious to know what, if anything, she said in response to him saying she didn't need his help anymore. Maybe nothing, or maybe she started to say something but he unintentionally cut her off when he spoke again, but ugh I bet she was definitely at least thinking how wrong he was)
Anyhow lollll at Arman's face when he discovers that the visitor that caused his call with Thony to get cut short and end on a tense note was Garrett. He really hates this guy and it's not just because he double-crossed him and put him in prison. Of course it's partly that-- mainly because prison is keeping him from thony-- but he really hates that Garrett now gets to be the one she turns to when she needs help, the one who is there for her and there with her. But oh my precious boy you are so blind if you think that Thony would ever willingly go to Garrett if she had any other choice lol
I feel like Fi saying Marco took Luca because of something going on between Thony and Arman– while not necessarily wrong– was pretty damn unfair? Like way to victim-blame there Fi (and lol I already posted a whole meta about this so I’ll leave it at that)
Honestly I expected Marco to call her out on the fact that she took Luca from him (and away to a foreign country) first
I'm so pleased the illegal divorce thing finally got mentioned! And it's probably nothing but I really like the way that the two times we've heard her vehemently say 'I won't!' were about 1) her refusal to betray Arman, and 2) her refusal to leave Arman the US :P
So when she says the key to everything is getting Arman out of prison, she basically means the key is her and Arman being together as a partnership again, right? We're all hearing that, right???
Ugh my poor boy knows he's fucked. I bet he wishes his phone conversation with Thony had gone differently now
At first I was confused when they didn't attack him when he was with Hayak but of course hayak needs to keep separate from it to keep his hands clean
I love Nadia for not selling out Thony to Garrett. Obviously it wasn't just for Thony's sake but I still appreciate it
Hey, it's the alley! I have a lot of pics of this spot bc I had no idea which parts would actually be in the shot lol
And aaaahh Fi goes back to the same cash place they used in 1x10! I walked right by there!
God I love this soundtrack. Also this montage of terrible disguises is great lol. And I think they actually even used one shot that is legit just Martha and Elodie laughing and I love it
It's funny that even when Garrett isn't being a direct antagonist against Thony and Arman, he's still fucking stuff up for them lol. But okay I assume when they say 'contact the exchange to freeze the account' they mean the site that hosts the online account, right? Because if they meant the physical place, then why wouldn't they have gone there to catch the person getting the money out?
I have decided that even though inmates get assigned their duties, Arman swapped whatever more desirable duty he got with someone else so he could mop instead, purely because it reminded him of Thony. (Shhh just let me have this.) And in which case that would mean that she indirectly saves his life because he then has the mop as a weapon when he's attacked lolll
I honestly yelped when the guy stabbed him. A beating I was prepared for, but not that! I literally yelled YOU FUCKING STABBED MY BOY! out loud and scared my dog lol
Also, this may earn me some judgement, but a bleeding Arman beating the shit out of two men?? That's hotttt lol
It's weird but cool to hear Fi say Nadia's name. The lines between Thony's worlds are blurring, indeed.
Fi and Chris insisting on coming with Thony is like that dude in Romeo and Juliet that doesn't get the message to Romeo in time. Just one of those small events that, if different, could have averted tragedy (though lbr I’m glad this particular ‘tragedy’ wasn’t averted haha). Also at first when Thony and Marco started arguing right outside the door I was like "why are you doing this right here, you'll wake Luca and probably other guests as well!" And then Chris came up the stairs and the shoving started and I was like "Oh that's why" lol
"It's him. Your gangster" I mean, gotta give Marco credit here bc he's kind of right?? Like lbr there's blind, baseless jealousy (like Arman towards Garrett, who is literally zero threat romantically) and then there's well-founded jealousy, and we all know Marco’s is the latter. It would be impossible to see Thony and Arman interact and not know there was some form of connection there; Marco's earlier mistake was in assuming it was just sexual in nature, but I think when he saw the way Thony pushed back against him (and against leaving the US) he started to realise it was more than that. God I wish we'd gotten to hear what she said in response to that accusation instead of having the camera switch to Fi, but from his comment about her twisting reality I assume she found a way to deflect yet again. (And in her defence, she IS also wanting to stay for Fi and the kids, and because going back to the philippines to be trapped in an unhappy marriage would be a nightmare. But still. That doesn’t negate the fact that there’s also Arman. lol)
I yelled "BYEEEEEE!" at Marco's death and my dog wagged her tail really hard lol. She knows what side to be on haha
God this cleaning job is NOT up to Thony's usual standard and it makes me so stressed lol. Almost as stressed as her literally going right up to the guy in the office and showing her face aaaaaahhhh
Also Thony seriously you need to go somewhere further away and at least change clothes and put up your hair if you're going to go back to the place where you just had a face to face conversation with a guy who would still be there! C'mon where's my brilliant doctor-slash-mob-wife lol??? (too traumatised to be thinking clearly, obviously). Also Garrett if you can't put this one together you're a terrible agent lol
Ugh obviously Arman will be fine but I still hate seeing him all stabbed lol. Still, getting Thony's reaction when she finds out will be worth it haha
Ugh I am living for these mama bears protecting their family <33333
Okay so surely the first question the cops asked at the motel was 'is there camera footage' and yet they don't appear to have it (which if they did, would close the storyline very fast)-- which means Mr Motel Moustache apparently lied to police and kept it to himself??? Why???? What does he gain from taking that risk??? He doesn't know Thony is rich and basically a mob boss, so it's probably not about blackmail, and he doesn't seem the type to go that far to protect a stranger. So why??? Is he doing sketchy stuff at the motel that he doesn’t want the cops finding out about if they get his footage?? I need answersssss lol
(Okay that’s all for week 1 haha, congrats if you made it this far lol)
#The Cleaning Lady#Armony#TCL recap#TCL 2x01#yes I know I am DEEP down this rabbit hole lol#I have accepted my fate#TCL is life haha
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I see a lot of people talking about dsmp fanfics and the lore today. Discourse, what they like, of both, and I wanted to add a few of my own thoughts and advice when it comes to fics going forwards.
The first matter is of course are you trying to stick near dsmp cannon, or is this an au? If its an au and canon divergence than I give you a slide for doing a lot of things. Its just a matter of staying in character and how you interpret a character and their actions. Like I see people saying they don’t like insane wilbur, and I agree that people often over villainize him, but he did go off his rails a bit in pogtopia and I feel cc!Wilbur did try to write him as turning into a villain but not an evil guy. So I don’t really mind villainized wilbur as long as its well written and explained. Then there is c!sbi, again, don’t really mind it as long as its done well and in character and the story that we know.
My main complaint and advice is just don’t over villainize any character. I’ve said before that one of my favorite things about the dsmp is how they are all morally grey and have flaws. Nobody is perfect, and nobody is a complete villain. c!Dream is most defiantly a villain, but I don’t like when he is written straight-up evil, make sure to write them all as having some humanity, no matter how messed up and flawed they are.
This also goes for don’t baby a character or make them out to be all pure and innocent. They have all made mistakes, and all these characters have been through so much, they aren't weak and babies.
It is important to try to understand the character you are writing, their motivations, and their flaws. The path and journey their character has been on. When you’ve read a lot of fanfic, its sometimes hard to remember what was real/cannon and what the fans made up or exaggerated. Such as Wilbur is not a mastermind manipulator, and Schlatt wasn’t actually that bad of a guy. And I at least say, Dream wasn’t always evil, it was a spiral/decline over time. That also goes for Quackity, his character also spiraled, but is far more redeemable because of the circumstances. Same for Wilbur. Wilbur spiraled downwards, and since coming back as been slowly realizing his flaws and trying to improve himself.
_______________________________________________
Main things I think fic writes should be aware of:
- cc!Schlatt is uncomfortable with dadschlatt. So I know people like to use it, but we have to/ you should stop, its against his boundaries.
- cc!Puffy has said she is unhappy that her character has turned into the ‘mom’ and the ‘adult’ in the stories. She says her character is still young, can give good advice, but is still a trouble maker who makes mistakes. So we should write less mom puffy, and not only have her there as the responsible or adult figure in your fic. Maybe some more ‘older sister puffy’ if you want her to have a relationship with other characters.
This goes for every character, try not to have them just be there to be the wise parent. Especially the few females we have on the server, don’t let their only role be to be the parent.
Don’t make c!Techno all serious, he’s a joking guy. He’s sarcastic, it might be hard to replicate, but still try to not just make him a cold warrior.
- The family dynamics are confusing, and I understand if you can’t make sense and stick to them
- In cannon dsmp, Tubbo is adopted by Phil, so I think people should remember and try to include him more, not leave him out.
- I think cc!Wilbur said somewhere that c!Wilbur gave c!Tommy his name, if someone could help me find the source that would be helpful. So I don’t know when Wil found/stubbled upon Tommy, but he apparently named him.
- C!Phil is not Tommy’s dad. cc!Phil said that he doesn’t know c!Tommy, Tommy is just some kid who was friends with Wil to c!Phil.
c!Phil and c!Techno are old friends, not father and son, and they don’t need to be. You don’t need to be family to be a family to each other. You can have fine sbi with Techno just being a friend. SBI don’t need to be literal family.
- going with the last point, characters can just be friends, they don’t need to be family, brothers. I think characters saying “we’re like brothers” is fine, but you don’t have to be like brothers for them to be close.
c!Puffy and c!Dream are not related, Dream and Foolish have no connection. Dream followed Puffy the one time, and she said he was like a duckling, this doesn’t make her his mom. This is something the fans made up, and I see the creators being confused with it, Like cc!Follish saying “apparently Dream is my brother.” Lets be carful to not push non-cannon family dynamics that then the creators think is or needs to be cannon.
These are the main things I can think of at the moment, what are some that you guys can think of?
#dream smp#dream smp thoughts#c!puffy#c!schlatt#dsmp characters#dsmp fanfiction#dsmp sbi#dsmp ensamble#c!wilbur#c!dream#advice#nitpicks
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Wednesday & Thursday NR, E, & M reading
The usual
Finished
Not Rated:
A Boy and his Cat, by Kakushigo (3rd in a series)
Baishen chose her master when he was still a small, starving child. She has stood by him while he has grown into a teenager and she will stay beside him until his heart stops.
(Written for The Untamed Winter Fest 2019, Prompt: Promise)
When Broken Ties Renew, by ElissaOfVere
Jiang Yanli is unable to push Wei Wuxian out of the way in time and he gets stabbed. As he lays there dying he says all he needs to say to ensure the survival of the Wens, the safety of his son, and reveals the truths he kept hidden. We also see from multiple perspectives how everyone feels about the matter. The sorrow of siblings. The guilt of a partial perpetrator. The love of a soulmate.
But as you know, soulmates belong together in any lifetime. They don't stay separated for long, and neither does family.
Explicit:
worship in your touch, by Anonymous
“Hey, if we’re like this,” Wei Ying murmurs in his ear, breath fanning against Wangji’s skin, “why don’t we do a little more than hugging?”
Wangji’s eyes snap to meet Wei Ying’s.
“You—“ He can’t speak. Is his mouth dry or flooding? Did Wei Ying just— Was he… was he asking? Wangji had never… he’d-
Wei Ying’s eyes are locked with Wangji’s own.
“I know your family doesn’t approve of this before marriage, but I’m asking anyway.”
“I would break any rule for you,” Wangji dismisses. “And Wei Ying is the only one for me.”
He feels so young and old when he says that, but it’s true. Nobody has ever made Wangji feel this way, nobody ever could. But he sees the way a small smile forms on Wei Ying’s face. It’s not the bright one that glimmers with mischief that never fails to brighten a room. This one is Wangji’s favorite smile, the small, flower-like in its slow unfurling. His whole face softens with it, and Wangji knows that smile is only for the people Wei Ying loves.
“Make love to me,” Wei Ying whispers, “I need to feel you in me or I may go insane.”
Or: WangXian modern au first time. That’s literally it.
Unfinished
Explicit:
old loves die hard (old lies die harder), by yuer (vintageblueskies)
Three years ago, Lotus Pier burned and Wei Wuxian disappeared. Lan Wangji spent months searching desperately with Jiang Wanyin, only to be called back to the Sunshot Campaign without finding Wei Wuxian. Officially, Wei Wuxian is missing, not dead, but the unspoken truth is that only death would keep Wei Wuxian from the Jiang sect for so long.
The Sunshot Campaign creeps along arduously. They’re able to sabotage Wen Ruohan incrementally thanks to their spies in Nightless City, but it’s not enough. Wen Ruohan’s corpse puppets are tireless and endless—there are always more bodies to be found.
Then, Wei Wuxian walks out of the Burial Mounds with resentful energy trailing off his body like smoke.
--
or, lwj marries the yiling patriarch in exchange for victory in the sunshot campaign.
Mature:
We Get It, You're In Love, by SimpleSoupsandAppleTarts
It is pointed out to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, that they are, in fact, in love with each other.
Naturally, they make up for lost time. This has a wide variety of reactions from those around them.
Time, by WithBroomBefore
Time travel fix-it AU, diverging from after Wei Wuxian's death and before Lan Wangji's punishment.
One: Perhaps the not-voice is a spirit, wailing its own grief. Two: Perhaps it is Wei Wuxian. There is no shortage of unhappy spirits in the world, now, so there is no certainty of that, but Lan Wangji must find out if there is any chance at all. Three: They have not taken his guqin, but the guards will hear it if he plays, and they may stop him. Four: He must then leave Cloud Recesses.
Addicted to a Certain Kind of Sadness, by CynicalMistrust
Wei Ying learns many difficult lessons before he is ten years old.
First - if a body stops moving and begins to grow cold, they will not get up again. Death is a permanent thing.
His parents are dead.
Second - hunger pains grow less severe after the third day.
Third - the line separating "human" from "animal" is fluid as a river.
These, among other lessons needed for survival - failure to take shelter from the rain can lead to weakness and illness, hungry dogs can be far more vicious than angry humans, and men will never offer anything for free - Wei Ying learns, because he refuses to die.
~on hiatus or discontinued, haven't decided yet~
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Maxwell, I'm sorry if you are feeling sad and insane right now. I don't want you to feel that way but I understand. I feel the same way. I wish I could fix everything right now. I hope that I can make things better next week. I am not going to leave in tears again. I don't think I can make it through another winter without you. It gets harder every year and I can't do it anymore. We NEED to talk. I'm scared I'm not going to get another chance to talk to you. I just want to give you a hug because that would make me feel a lot better. I don't want you to give up on me. I really would like to spend time with you during the holidays. I NEED YOU.
I'm so tired of people on the internet thinking I'm crazy and I still would like to prove them wrong. I guess I am a little crazy in some ways but this is real. I am not talking to myself. I have been writing to someone I know in real life and he has been reading my blog for years. He's not the only person that looks at it either. He won't admit it to my face but I know he's lying. I also look at his tumblr regularly that he denies having. We have been stalking each other on the internet for a long time because we both just want to be together. He is not allowed to contact me currently but I hope that changes soon.
It's a complicated situation and I know it is probably confusing to people that don't actually know me in real life. I appreciate my mutuals that read my posts even though they might not always make sense. I also appreciate the people who have sent me messages lately to check on me because that means a lot.
I'm just not ok right now and I am very unhappy. I know I will get better in the future. I am desperate for something to change and I'm going to make it happen. I can't keep living this way and things are continuing to get worse. I have no quality of life at the moment. I'm struggling a lot both mentally and physically. It's difficult for me to find joy in anything even though I have been trying so hard to be happy.
I honestly don't know how I made it through today considering how bad I have been feeling. I felt like I needed a wheelchair this morning and the walk from the parking lot across the street was a challenge. I don't even want to talk about my day that much because it's always the same old bullshit. I spend a lot of time daydreaming about escaping and going on adventures. I'm just glad I didn't have to stay late. I'm tired of talking about it.
I know that everything will get better soon and I need to keep reminding myself that. I know I won't always be a depressing mess. I am looking forward to the future. I am not going to give up. I need to keep pushing myself and think positively.
I'm not sure what else to say right now because I'm tired. My brain feels overloaded at the moment and I think I need to decompress for a while. I need to rest while I can because tomorrow is going to be a long day. I'm hoping that it will be better than I think.
I hope everyone else has a good night and a good day tomorrow. Thank you all for listening to me. I really appreciate the people who take time out of their day to listen to what I have to say. :) 💖💖💖
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super super super long rambling like way more than essay length like actually insane shit like I'm crawling inside the sewers and there was a depressed boy's emo poetry scattered around
it's hard to see a future where anything gets better, how can I believe that when my life has been this repeated? it's been drilled into me that I have to be useful to have worth, even if I have worth besides that people get unhappy and attempt suicide, I am in a ballroom dancing with my responsibilities and if they let go I and everyone else die
it's hypocritical to try and prevent the suicide of others when I'm like this, after how many times I've tried I'm convinced I just couldn't possibly make it work, instead I cover myself in wounds and pity, as if this time it will be different, and somehow my pain will be acknowledged and everything will be heavenly, what is a plea for attention versus a mental health crisis, I get enough attention as is
I have to do things to make myself worthy of the attention I receive, right now even being awake is being ungrateful because I'm disobeying expectation, I can't have boundaries because then I can't be good, no one can offer what I want but I can receive the praise of doing a good job, obviously I love helping independently of that
all I ever do is waste my time, I don't want responsibility, I'm scared of dependency, I crave time for me and acknowledgment but these fears can't be voiced because they're disappointing, I have to be a perfect image or else I will be looked at with the knowledge I can never be what someone wants because my own feelings get in the way, it doesn't matter if no one holds themselves to that standard, I am always the exception, people do not force themselves to do something because they know it would make someone else happy, it's the nature of the world versus the nature of me
I think this is all strong evidence for me being an angel, I don't die when I bleed out, I am entirely alien to the rest of the world, the way I act is unnatural, I am too self sacrificing, anyone who comes across me feels as if I'm owned a debt from them even if they have no intentions of rectifying that feeling
am I the only person that notices the repetition? is every person the same? why do I stand out? I wish I could get into the head of the people I've know to hear what they really think about me, I can't imagine it'd sound good, I wish I could go back to heaven and never have a worry again
I am like a badly taken care of family heirloom, passed from person to person and treasured dearly, people think about repairing or fixing the damage time has done but they don't act on it, my colors are faded and I'm riddled with holes, badly sewn on patches from futile attempts to change anything, falling off because they never stayed to finish the job
I'm a passenger in my own life and a tool for someone else's, I've resigned myself to this and have built a reputation of being a responsible and reliable person, people do not expect disappoint from me, follow through is the norm, I envy people who are the opposite despite still managing to experience the bad parts of both
I'm lazy and irresponsible, I never work hard enough, but I'm too self sacrificing, I never talk about how I feel but I'm too sad all of the time, I ignore feelings that crush me just so I don't have to reexplain myself
it's been funny watching every person I've known be forced into some sort of hospitalization while I have never even spoken to a professional about my mental health past the one time my doctor was vaguely concerned about my cutting at age 11 or 12, it feels like I don't even exist outside the people I associate with, like I'm more of a side character that supports the protagonist, I am the character that encourages them to better themselves but is then forgotten about, or as kitty would say to me, I am a backup option, I am a safe person to fall back on because my loyalty is endless, I do not set boundaries, I do not complain, and when I do, I go back on it in favor of normalcy
and no matter what I do, I am in a cycle of hell, 7 years of my life I have been a servant and not a person, it's hard to feel like a person, I don't know what standards to hold myself to, I don't know how to be nice to myself or how to ask for anything good, I have been literally trained to expect nothing
I always tell myself that everyone I've known has had it worse than me, I was never abused enough, I was never groomed enough, I was never hated enough, I was never enough at all to compare myself to these other people and even acknowledging how bad things were I still can't see myself being a priority, I don't know how to be fixed
the fact I'm expected to know what to say to make someone feel better but no one has anything to say to me is soul crushing, I feel like I cannot be heard no matter what I say, this isn't even going to be read or acknowledged, I've spent 20 minutes writing about how miserable I am but what is this going to do? what will this change? I do this every few months, I beg for help but it doesn't work, it doesn't change, I am a rock for anyone that needs me but I fall through the hands of others like sand
when I am sad I make others sad, that is always a first priority, my feelings have to be hidden in a way they cannot be acknowledged, that's why I write here instead of being upfront about anything, because then there is no expectation for someone to respond, there's no quiet acknowledgment that I'm hopeless because someone doesn't know what to say again, my problems are drama for people to get off on, I'd beg at someone's feet just to feel seen
I have to hurt myself to get the toxic feelings out, if not they build up inside me and I become poisonous to those around me, I stop being what I show to others, I stop being nice and cute and friendly and I lose my energy and willingness to sacrifice my wellbeing for others, I make people feel guilty for struggling just by helping, what is the correct amount of help, when do people become dependent on my help to succeed, I have been doing highschool to college level work since 6th grade because of the people I have surrounded myself with
I want to feel wanted so much, I want to lay my head down for hours knowing I can stay that way safely without anyone coming to hurt me or scold me or think I'm dead I want peace and I want disgusting shameful things that I've told myself to see as horrible so I can never hope I get it again as if it was a test from god to see if I know shame to which I've failed more times than I can count
I noticed I always come back later to make sure nothing I say can be taken as a threat to daily life, nothing too out there that can shake things up too much, there are hands around my throat controlling my actions, there is a person inside what I present, he's not hardworking, he's not smart, charming, or suave, he is scared and naked and beaten, he is covered in more scars than there are stars in the sky
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How have I not gone insane?
My boyfriend's parents have been living with us for months, and they’ve been doing this for the past two years or so. They come here from up north to avoid being snowed in and stay for about 8 months out of the year. They also have a property they fixed up and are selling near us, but they are incredibly aimless and have no timeline for when and what to do next. So they keep coming back, but I get the impression they will keep doing this every year regardless if they actually have a reason to.
Living with his parents has been my absolute personal hell. As some of y’all know, I have always been introverted, and I need time to myself. I am also a very clean, tidy, and hyper-considerate person. His parents are the exact opposite of this.
The worst part is that his parents never leave the house, literally, never. They just sit in the living room and watch TV all day. His parents leave messes throughout the house, leave laundry in the washer or dryer, the sink is constantly filled with their dirty dishes, and the list goes on. Of course, I also have to use the kitchen and the appliances. So before I can do anything I need to do, I have to clean their mess. I have tried to suggest ways to keep the house more organized, like getting those magnets that say clean/dirty on the dishwasher, only to be laughed at and called snotty.
Going into the kitchen is like an open invitation for them to talk to me about anything and everything. It’s gotten to the point where I have to wear earphones to prevent them from talking to me every time I go into the kitchen or living areas. All his mom ever talks about is the end of the world and wanting grandkids. Also, she constantly lies about things and places the blame on others, which is not fun to deal with daily. His dad only talks about politics and how I am wrong for having a different view. He’s one of those, ”it’s communist, fascist, socialist because I don’t like it.”. It feels like they are constantly trying to start shit with me.
There is a stray mom cat I am also trying to gain the trust of so I can get her spayed to prevent her from having more kittens. His parents are massively against me feeding her and feel it is better if she gets put down. They refer to her as MY cat, which is fine because she is a friend. They constantly give me shit for feeding this cat and trying to gain her trust. I also believe they might have “inadvertently” poisoned one of the outdoor cats I cared for a few years ago.
His parents have also gone into our room multiple times uninvited. I only know this because there were instances they thought I wasn’t in the house, so they would just walk into our room. They also have accused us of taking their things if they can’t find whatever in their mess heaps throughout the house.
My boyfriend is so sick of the complaining, but I have no other outlet. I can’t talk to him about them because he starts to break down. So now I have this resentment towards him and his parents because I feel like a punching bag. It feels like there is no room for compromise and that I just need to deal with it. I’m trying hard to get through school, but I keep getting burnt out from dealing with everything. I feel like all I do is complain and clean up after everyone in the house. I can tell it's starting to affect my ability to communicate with other people outside of the house.
I am surrounded by everyone else’s things, and it is like I live in a storage unit. I have been living in the smallest space possible for years. I even had to put up my rock collection and Macy’s urn to make more room for everyone else in the house. I still have boxes gone unpacked since I first moved here. I have had to fight for every inch I occupy in this house.
Needless to say, I have not known peace for what feels like years now.
Looking at all this, It’s not a wonder that I am so unhappy.
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Feelings about 9/11 and wars
Its hard to explain. I’m from the East Coast and 30 some odd people died in 9/11 from my home town, including my neighbor. I spent my entire childhood and youth afraid I’d miss the war. I wanted to do my part.
I enlisted when I was 17 with my parents’ consent. I graduated high school on a Friday and shipped to Parris Island the following Monday. By December I was in Afghanistan. My unit had around 14 guys KIAd and 100+ wounded, mostly amputees. I got my purple heart when I was shot in the shoulder and the round came through my neck and came out of my cheek.
I came home and nobody seemed to really give a shit I went to war. I got a ton of thank you for your services, but I think most Americans say it because it makes them feel better. Anyone from my hometown just knows me as that guy who got shot in Iraq, or maybe Afghanistan (I was shot in Afghanistan, never been to Iraq, completely different war). Most Americans couldn’t really name a single battle or town we fought in. I was in the Sangin River Valley and it was probably more comparable to Vietnam than the typical desert the average American pictures. We didn’t drive around in vehicles, we walked for kilometers everyday seeking the Taliban or stepping on IEDs, mostly IEDs. When we did engage the Taliban, they usually DD’d before we could kill them. It felt like insanity losing a guy to an IED, but not being able to engage the enemy that planted it.
I gave my youth to that country, lost friends, bled for it. My high school girlfriend broke my heart when I went to war and she went to college and broke up with me. When I got out of the Marines and moved back home, my only friend was my dog. Thankfully hes still around, but hes 14 now. I couldn’t really relate to my friends who had just graduated college and moved home because to them, the war was not important or really any aspect of their lives. I didn’t like bars or clubs because the crowds would make me feel uneasy, so I slowly stopped being invited out because I’d never go. I felt really lost leaving the service. Over a decade later I realize that was a war we’d never win, 1000 years or 1 year, as soon as we left it was going to go to shit.
I don’t talk about Afghanistan because a lot of people don’t even realize some guys actually fought a war there. I was in over 50 firefights, some within 50 meters, most 500+ meters. Some lasted minutes, others lasted hours. All of them felt like a life time. Nobody can really relate. Its a part of my life that will always stay vivid to me, but also feels like a dream that never happened.
Watching those poor kids die last summer made me sick to my stomach. All for nothing. I feel pride in having served, done my part, etc, but in hindsight I went there for my country, but only fought for my friends.
I don’t have PTSD or anything. I don’t have nightmares. I just feel like I gave my youth for nothing.
I ended up going to college on my gi bill and coming back into the Marines as an officer. I had a hard time being a civilian and readjusting to real life. I worked a job in a fortune 100 company for a year after college and was very unhappy. In a way, the military is now my safety bubble because I can be with friends who get me.
Sorry for such a long reply, venting on an anonymous account feels somewhat therapeutic for me.
Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/xbtpzq/comment/io373bk/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
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Kar’taylir
gif credit @sersi
Part Thirteen of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 11.8K
Warnings: language, angst and fluff, descriptions of a dead body, no real smut in this one but there is some nudity and touching, uhhh i think thats it tbh
A/N: Omg hi hi hello this was written in a week and a half so please be gentle, also I’m back on my linguistics bullshit and I can absolutely guarantee a vast majority of it is inaccurate
***
Everybody is asleep and you’re just a complete mess.
Truly. And it fucking sucks, because this should be enjoyable. This is home. You’re in hyperspace, the hull is pitch black, the baby is asleep, and Din’s breathing is slow and quiet through the darkness. Your cheek presses to his chest as it rises and falls hypnotically, you’re comfortable and safe and this would normally be a dream. But your eyes are wide open right now and you are just going through it. Spiraling in the midst of the most stable surroundings you could possibly conceive.
You suppose that this is partially your fault. You don’t know why literally any part of you expected Din would explain himself without prompting from you, but you still couldn’t work up nearly the nerve necessary to ask. Every potential question you came up with contradicted your intent, every way you tried to mentally phrase it gave off the wrong impression. How do you ask somebody if they were being serious about something without revealing anything about your own intentions? You can’t—that’s a downside of staying silent.
Din hasn’t said a single word since he urged you to leave the shooting range earlier, and he didn’t really seem like the quiet didn’t suit him, if that makes sense. Yours was awkward, it fit you wrong. You struggled for words while he easily ignored their existence altogether, able to navigate the Crest into hyperspace and exist comfortably around you without ever addressing the giant bantha in the room. Maybe that’s part of the reason you floundered so hard—he didn’t avoid you, he held the kid while you took a shower in the small fresher, and even though he was quieter around you than he’d been in awhile, he gave no indication that anything was wrong at all.
You spent that time getting clean but also formulating some sort of plan. As you bathed in actual water for the first time in a week and scrubbed your body clean, you tried to figure out at least why you were having so much trouble coming up with something to say, but even then, words evaded you. You spent the entire time staring blankly at the metal wall, at a complete fucking loss.
When you came out of the fresher with wet hair and comfortable clothing to sleep in, Din was armorless and resting in your makeshift bed on the floor, the baby tucked soundly in his crib next to him. You turned off the lights and carefully found your way under the blankets next to him in the pitch blackness, feeling him lazily reach around you and pull you to rest against his chest. His fingers gently drew circles along your arm for maybe the first few minutes while you worked up the nerve to speak. You needed to say something, this was your chance—
But then his hand soon fell to rest in one place on your shoulder and he passed out. Helmet on, not even a few minutes of your quiet breathing next to him.
So now, you’re here, just… a little ball of stress in the middle of paradise. Hours have passed, you need sleep after such a physically exhausting week but it’s like you haven’t even processed the fucking proposition he presented to you yet. You’re having trouble even thinking the words, that’s how much he’s got you fucked up.
He said… hit the target and I’ll ma…. hit the target and I’ll marrrrr…
Fuck. You stay on that loop for ages until your eyes begin to grow heavy, until you just settle on thinking about it with them closed. Slow breaths from Din under one ear, the silence of hyperspace all around you—how are you supposed to contemplate when his body is so warm? No, you can ask tomorrow, you’ll ask him tomorrow.
Eventually, you’re able to drift off into a troubled slumber, dreaming of bells made of beskar that deafen anyone who rings them.
***
You wake up what feels like two minutes later.
It’s not, but you don’t know that. You’re so warm and the second your eyes open, they start stinging and burning and tearing up like your body just wants to cry for even being awake right now. You finally got to sleep—you moan pitifully and start to turn your head further into the warm blankets, but then a gloved hand smooths your hair back and a voice whispers quiet through the darkness.
“I have to go.”
And oh, his touch is just the gentlest thing, but what he says makes your already fragile mental state want to shatter. The first words he gives you in hours and they’re the ones you loathe to hear the most.
“W-Wha? No,” you whimper and automatically reach for him, your throat starting to close up. Maker, you’re so tired, you’re so tired, you feel so fucking emotional and vulnerable right now and you’re not even awake enough to realize it. “Why?”
Din just catches your hands and brings both of them together in front of him, slowly pressing your knuckles to the cold beskar on the face of his helmet.
“I meet with Karga in three days,” he murmurs back, voice pillow-soft and barely loud enough to come through the steel under your fingers. It’s gentle and lulling and it makes you want to sleep again, but you can’t and you feel like you could burst into tears for that reason alone. “He gave me four pucks, I need four bodies.”
You can’t argue with it, the logic is perfectly sound. But you still want to, and everything inside you revolts at the thought of allowing him leave like this without fighting for more. Which means you have absolutely nothing reasonable or compelling to say to appeal to him; all you’re left with the glaring truth.
“But I don’t want you to leave,” you whisper, tightening your fingers.
And, perhaps if you were even half-conscious, you’d wince. You’d cringe at the shake in your voice, you’d remind yourself that he has to make a living, he’s said it over and over again. If you were completely awake, you’d scold yourself for being such a needy mess, but right now, all you can think about is how much you want him to stay, just this once.
After a moment, you feel the gloves carefully collect both of your hands into just one of his, and then he slowly reaches out with his free hand to cradle your jaw.
“I won’t be gone long,” Din murmurs. “I can’t be.”
Your head turns slowly in his palm, and you’re just so, so sleepy. Your voice is small and your words slur. “Stay with me.”
Quiet, and though you can’t see him, the leather continues to press so warm to your cheek. Your eyes slowly drift shut, needing him to stay exactly like this, stay right here just like this. Karga can wait, the quarry can wait, the galaxy can wait—everything else can wait when things are like this, when he’s looking down at you breathing slow into his palm.
You’re almost asleep again when you hear him say something.
But… you have no idea what he says. You hear it. You hear his voice come through the pitch black, quiet enough to sit just on top of the silence and let the mysterious words simply become a part of it, but it’s strange. Like his cadence lilts in a different way, the vowels are longer than what you’re used to, and your comprehension abruptly falters like it would if he was speaking another language altogether.
Maybe it’s just because it’s the first thing to pull you back from the edges of sleep, that has to be right. It doesn’t sound like Basic because your mind is stupid and slow right now. You need to ask him to repeat himself, but all that you can muster is the soft sound of confusion, not even able to open your eyes anymore.
His hands pull away from you and once again, you suddenly can’t decide between sleep and crying, quickly lifting and trying to reach out for him in the darkness. You can’t feel anything, it’s like he’s completely disappeared from where you assumed he’d be, except then something tiny is placed into your hands instead and it makes an unhappy little sound at being disturbed. You automatically hold the baby close to your chest and strong hands touch your shoulders, urging you to lay back down again.
“Leave the engine running, you’ll freeze if you don’t,” he mutters, quickly tucking the blankets up under your body while you close your eyes and feel the tears wet your lashes. Fuck, you’re so exhausted, you just need to sleep. “If I’m not back in sixteen hours, I’ll use my e-comm and you’ll have to fly out to me.”
He steps away from you, walks quickly and with purpose to the side of the hull, and a blast of frigid air fills the room before the door is slammed shut behind him.
***
Your head hurts.
Sparks and wires give your fingers mean, zapping reminders to pay attention every time your focus slips, but you still feel like you’re in a daze.
“Come on,” you drone, trying to use your voice to snap yourself back into the present, but the sound of it isn’t even interesting enough to pull you away. “Come on.”
Maker, you’re going fucking crazy. Is this just all an elaborate scheme to make you experience the same kind of insanity he told you he struggles with in your absence? Because you don’t like this—you hate feeling like this, you can’t concentrate on anything and even if he hadn’t instructed you to do so, you’d likely still be counting the hours of his absence.
Fourteen have passed so far, not the sixteen you’re waiting for but getting close. It’s one thing you’ve been able to accomplish. Counting. You can still count right now, so at least there’s that.
Oh, and another hoop you’ve jumped through. Understanding words. You can listen and repeat, even if you still can’t fully comprehend, but you’re getting there.
Din said… hit the target and I’ll marry you.
He said that. Yep. You’ve accepted it, you’ve accepted the words that were said. Indeed.
Okay, but now… like…
What did he mean by that? Why did he say that?
No matter how much you tell yourself he was just messing around—no matter how many times you offer up that perfectly logical answer to the burning question you’ve been sitting on, you still aren’t satisfied with it. Something keeps tugging your mind back to it, a tether constantly pulling you away from the work that’s designed to be your distraction.
You frown down at the box of machinery. Whelp, if he was serious, he’d probably immediately take the offer back after witnessing your behavior this morning. You embarrassed yourself terribly, you acted like a clingy baby in the looming shadow of unconsciousness and what’s worse, you can’t even remember what he said after you begged him to stay. It could’ve been a quiet, “Stars, pull yourself together,” for all you know.
And honestly, just… fuck these electronics. You’re at the point where you’d probably cheer on whatever brutal impact damaged them so atrociously if you weren’t also well aware that this box was very likely attached to Din’s chest when it was crushed. The magnetics are a complete mess, and you’re mostly just attempting to see how the individual components of each piece are supposed to communicate. Turning the switch on doesn’t do much at all besides make the capacitors put out heat. Not enough to shut it down or be a hazard to the housing when you close it, but enough to know that it’s going to present a problem for you at some point.
What’s more, you’re so lost in your own thoughts and busywork that you don’t see two green ears poking out over the top of the pile of armor on your temporary workstation (literally just the floor) until one of the thigh braces comes clattering down and the whole thing collapses with a ruckus.
You suddenly shove the metal box away from you in frustration and you reach for the little troublemaker with a sigh, scooping him up and getting to your feet.
“This isn’t going to work,” you grunt to him, hearing your words better for some reason when you direct them at the baby instead of talking to yourself, and his eh? allows the thoughts to come clearer and easier. No, you can’t be distracted when your distraction is just another part of your status quo, you can’t use fixing mechanics to occupy yourself because it’s what you’ve done to occupy yourself your entire life, it’s worn off at this point. You need something newer. Something that takes your entire focus to do.
Eventually, your eyes drift over to the one metal panel on the wall that you’ve rarely ever opened. One that takes up a comparatively enormous amount of space in the hull considering what you know it holds. You eye the kid in your arm, who suddenly has sneaky painted all over his expression. “You thinking what I’m thinking, demon?”
He squeaks his affirmative and you move over to the armory, pressing a few buttons before the doors slide open by themselves. Because of course Mando invested in hydraulics for the gun closet but not for the hidden cot he used to sleep on, of course.
“Maker above,” you groan as the metal slides open, needing to lift your chin to eye the enormous collection. How many fucking…? All this for just one person? What does that big one in the middle do that the others stacked strategically around it don’t? They all kill whatever you point and shoot at, you’re assuming? Are you missing something?
The baby makes a tiny sound of awe as you carefully look over your choices, not expecting nearly this many to be offered, before settling on one that looks the simplest. A sleek silver one that’s still too big for your hand but smaller than anything else on the rack.
Grabby fingers reach out for the shiny metal as soon as you remove it from the shelf and you very purposefully set it down out of his pitiful wingspan. “Nope. Now come on, gotta bundle up.”
You make your way back over to the bed and pull one of the thickest blankets up, settling it over the open shield and then situating your partner in crime in his usual spot inside. You strategically stuff and stack the fabric around him to make sure he’ll be warm enough in what you know has to be far below freezing temperatures, lifting it up over his ears and wrapping it around his neck in a loose hood. He blinks up at you with gigantic eyes and an open mouth, clearly thrilled about your willingness to go on an adventure with him this time instead of being the tall nuisance that consistently holds him back from one, and you scoff down at him as you partially close the lid on his levitating nest of blankets for extra protection. He should be warm enough, you’re not going to be outside long.
And then you pull out nearly half the amount of clothes you own and suit up in what feels like ten layers before grabbing the blaster. The swirling wind nearly shoves the heavy hull door into you as soon as you open it and—Maker.
You look back at the kid behind you for a second, wondering if it’s too late to change your mind. His expression narrows and he makes a triumphant ha! while pointing three fingers at the grey blizzard through the small open space in his crib. Try as you might, you can’t ignore a call to arms when delivered with such ferocity.
Both of you step outside and take in the view after you wrestle with the door to haul it shut. You don’t know the name of this planet but from what you can see, it’s one giant ice ball, mountainous and cold as fuck. Though, to be honest, your only indication that it’s truly cold as fuck is the continuously accumulating snow blanketing the landscape and the flurries dancing in the whipping wind. You’re too warm-blooded for climates like these—anything below room temperature and you’re freezing, you have absolutely no tolerance for cold whatsoever.
Keeping that in mind, you don’t travel far at all. Just a few steps beyond the entrance to your shelter before eyeing what appears to be a large white boulder in the distance. There’s a solid target, you figure—you’ll be able to see chunks splintering off when you hit it and the ice isn’t strong enough to bounce plasma back, you won’t have any ricochets.
Okay. Okay—safety, where’s the safety on this one? Ah, yes, okay—safety, off. Stance, find your stance. There it is. Alright, now lift. Lift, get that stupid frozen ball right in your sights, line it up. Hold. Hold. Hold.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale—
Fire.
You watch with bated breath as the bright red bolt launches from the end of the barrel and travels across the distance before melting a hole in the snow just to the right of your target.
“Mother fucker!” You yell into the frigid landscape without warning, suddenly infuriated. What’s the point of even having a sight if every gun is just gonna say fuck you no matter what? Could there be some sort of mathematical reason why you seem to be fucking atrocious at this, you wonder? Are you fucking up the angle somehow while trying to read the scope? Should you just ignore it and try to aim without thinking too hard?
Admittedly, you spend the next five minutes shooting at that stupid fucking thing, not making a single shot. It’s not been long at all, but your entire body is already trembling uncontrollably and it is just too fucking cold out here. Freezing your fucking ass off isn’t going to help your aim of course, but it’s almost just tragic at this point. Either you’ve got to accept that you’re just absolutely hopeless at this, or you’ve got to… blame the little womprat behind you for messing up your shots, yeah. It wouldn't surprise you.
As a last ditch effort, you consider trying something a bit ridiculous to see if he really is fucking with you.
“I’m firing one last shot,” you call out loudly over the sound of the bristling wind and flurries, making sure he can hear your narration from his little blanket cave behind you. “If I hit the target… I will present our demon overlord with a chunk of raw meat later for dinner.”
You give the offer a moment to sink in before raising the blaster, and then you jerk it up at the very last second while pulling the trigger. The arc of plasma quickly disappears into the gloomy skies over the top of the ice boulder, completely straight.
You switch the safety on and turn around to say something smart to him, but… well. Uh. That’s an empty crib.
Sudden panic rips through you at the sight of the wide open shield, the blanket left abandoned inside. Your head whips around in horror, wondering where the fuck he could’ve gone—but then you’re able to spot tiny footprints in the snow. Your eyes quickly follow them up and see the baby wading his way up a large hill, slow against the terrain and trying in vain to get to something at the very top.
You drop the blaster and bolt through the blizzard to get to him while calling out through the freezing air and wishing, not for the first time, that you had a name to roar and strike fear into his tiny little heart. In this case, you prefer a middle name as well.
Finally reaching him and yanking him up from the snow, you tuck him under the warmest part of your arm and open your mouth to start venting the terror from your body, but he makes a distressed noise and starts climbing. You fumble with him on your way back down, not expecting that response, but he’s so distraught and preoccupied that he’s unable to stay still, trying to find different ways of escaping your grasp and making more and more sounds to indicate something is wrong.
“What the fuck are you—” you stuff him into the shield and at least get the blankets wrapped around him before looking back and trying to spot whatever he’s still wiggling and attempting to get to. Frustrated cries start filling the icy air and… okay. “Okay,” you tell him, your breath puffing like smoke in front of you, “okay okay, we can go look, but you need to stay warm.”
You clutch the edge of his metal shield and urge it to follow you back up the snowy hill, feeling the crunch of your feet disappear further and further into it as you climb. Your outer two layers are probably soaked by now—stars, it’s so fucking cold. You know you’re not exactly the best judge, but you’ve been outside less than five minutes and you’re already worried about getting sick or frostbite, already jumpy and wanting to go back to the warmth of the hull.
But as you reach the top and look out in the distance, you can just barely make out a familiar metallic glint on the horizon.
Your heart picks up, but the baby makes another distressed sound. Not… happy, not thrilled that his dad is coming back. Some strange sort of dread begins to fill you, carefully holding the kid in his shield with one hand and looking at the bright reflection of light a little ways away just to make sure it’s…
No, it’s not moving. Not disappearing and reappearing, not catching the sunlight differently. Completely stationary in this absolutely horrendous weather.
You immediately make your way in that direction, your body deciding to outright abandon its trembling in the wake of this newfound worry. You’re suddenly sweating, way too warm. That’s Din, you recognize the glint of his armor anywhere, but why isn’t he moving?
The closer you get, the faster you move and the more you’re able to see. He’s laying facedown in the snow. There’s quite a bit of it covering the back of his cape, maybe a few inches, and… there’s also someone laying equally as lifeless behind him. Your heart is slamming now, you’re doing your best to run in the unforgiving terrain, and you finally see that it’s… a corpse, a frozen corpse is behind him with a rope tied around its ankles, clutched tight in Din’s unmoving fist as it lays against the pure white backdrop.
“Mando?” You call out, dropping to your knees as soon as you reach him. “Hey—hey, can you hear me?”
The beskar strapped to him is frozen over and feels colder than ice when you try to shake him. He doesn’t respond. He’s dead weight; you do your best to turn him over on his back, but you still get nothing from him. You shove your trembling fingers up under the helmet, and the only reassurance you have that he’s even alive comes from the petrifyingly slow pulse beating underneath. His skin is ice cold.
Shit, he’s still breathing but he’s hypothermic, you have to get him back to the Crest right fucking now.
You fumble to get in position above his head while hooking both your arms under his, before leaning everything you have into it—but fuck, he’s so heavy. You can barely lift him even just a few inches off the ground—the snow is deep, his armor makes him weigh a ton and the fabric wrapped around him is sopping wet. You try again, making a tight sound in your throat while you haul, but it’s no use.
“Fuck,” you curse, starting to panic even fucking harder. You’re gasping and breathless and getting dizzy and scared, continuing to try and find different angles to heave—
—until suddenly the burden is lifted.
You nearly fall backwards on your ass at the abrupt removal of tension, playing tug-of-war with a team that decided to give up with no warning. But it’s like it almost doesn’t even phase you; you don’t even look behind you to see the baby’s eyes closed tight in concentration, you just recover and pull with both arms, feeling Din’s body gliding easily along the snow now and leading him all the way back down the hill.
Once you get inside the Crest and shut the door to the raging blizzard behind the three of you, there’s an extended moment where you just… you don’t know what to do. You know all about how to deal with heatstroke, but this is the opposite—he either spent too long in the cold, or he exhausted himself trying to get back too quickly and then spent too long in the cold. He said he’d use his e-comm if he wasn’t back in sixteen hours—was that the cutoff? The point where the temperature outside would shut his body down and he’d need you to come get him?
Regardless, you need to warm him up. Yes, that’s your priority, and you figure the quickest and safest way to accomplish it has to be the shower in slow increments. The kid helps you move Din into the tiny fresher in the hull and then you sit on the floor with him, holding his limp body to your chest while reaching up to turn the faucet on.
Cold water sprays down and then suddenly—oof, he’s heavier than fuck again. Air leaves your lungs and your neck cranes back under the unexpected increase in pressure on top of you to see the kid climbing down from his shield, no longer focused on mentally bearing most of his father’s weight or directing his own hovering form of transportation along behind you. The baby disappears out of sight and you huff, completely trapped under Din as freezing water rains down on you.
Fuck, it’s so cold. It’s way too fucking cold for you, but your core body temperature is also mostly normal right now. Din’s isn’t, you’ll probably shock his system if you try to warm him up too quickly. So you reach up and twist the knob, keeping it at a temperature he’d probably find just the slightest bit warm while inspiring violent shudders from you.
“H-Hey, I’m gonna t-t-take this off, o-okay—” you stutter down at him, knowing damn well he isn’t conscious to hear you but giving him that reassurance on the small chance he is, and then reach with trembling fingers to work at his armor. You worry that the beskar is keeping the cold trapped the same way his clothes are, like having solid pieces of ice strapped to his body and nothing to protect him besides a few layers of soaking wet fabric.
The chestpiece comes off and you throw it blindly over your shoulder into the hull with a clang—admittedly, without thinking about where the baby is at all anymore. The pauldrons come off next, but not before you reach up and turn the heat up just the slightest bit. Your jerky limbs just want to blast it and remove the rest of his clothes in steamy hot water, but you can’t. Even though your mind is hurtling at a thousand lightyears an hour, whatever reason you have left reminds you that you have to be patient or risk losing him entirely.
Eventually you’re able to get all the armor off but you hate the way he’s breathing right now. Slow and shallow, like he just doesn’t really need the air at all but his body is still fighting for it on instinct. His chest barely moves with it even when it’s got nothing weighing it down.
“You’ll b-be okay,” you say aloud, talking to the both of you even though only one is capable of responding. “Y-Y-You’ll be o-okay—”
You reach up to inch the temperature a little higher, shivering terribly now. His body feels slightly warmer under the shower than it did with the beskar, but you know you need to keep going and take the fabric off now. Maker, it’s nearly impossible—the black clothing clings to his skin and its such a small space to maneuver, but it gives your mind and hands a clear goal to focus on while the water incrementally heats up.
Strangely, your adrenaline has been rocketing for so long that you almost lose track of time. You just keep deadly focused on your task of undressing him and slowly heating the shower, trying not to think, trying not to get in your head and bring about disaster in such a crucial set of moments.
At some point, the water is warm. Comfortably warm, and Din’s body isn’t ice cold anymore. It’s warm, too, laying back into your chest and naked besides the helmet, but he’s still not moving. No response, no matter how much mindless drabble you supply, no matter how steamy and hot the shower has become, no matter how much your own body has heated up. Your fingers have found their home under his jaw, pressed right to his pulse point and feeling it continue to beat slow and faint, but you’re starting to feel the terror set in. Real terror, the kind that makes you stupid and emotional, the kind that turns you back into a child again.
“I don’t know if it’s working,” you suddenly choke out, close to tears. He’s warm, what else can you do for him? Why is he not waking up? “I-I don’t know what to do, Din, I…”
No—no, you cannot lose your shit, not yet. You will exhaust every fucking option before you let that fear set in. He’s not waking up because he needs to recover, his body needs time to work things out in a warm, comfortable environment. He’s breathing, his heart is beating, he’s warm, and he’s still with you, so… you need to still be with him.
You turn the water off and clumsily get up, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him back into the hull. He’s still heavy but it’s so much easier than before to move him; there’s no armor weighing him down anymore besides the helmet, no cape or snow or friction to catch him, no cold to lock your muscles up. It’s slow going but you’re finally able to settle him in the warmth of your shared bed and then cover his body in the collection of blankets you’ve amassed. You stand up and peel off all your wet layers of clothing, letting them plop to the metal floor while glancing around for the kid—
—who is currently swinging from the ladder to the cockpit with one hand.
It startles you for just a moment, just long enough for you to wonder what the fuck he thinks he’s doing up there, but then you figure that if he found some way to get up there then he can surely find his way back down again.
As you quickly drop to the bed and scoot up next to Din’s limp body under the blankets, the Crest’s engine suddenly gives a low rumble below the floor and heat starts blowing through the hull vents. Again, you’re too preoccupied to even notice the gift much. You’re tugging and tucking blankets around him and up under the metallic edge of his helmet when...
Maker, you need to take this off. If the inside is wet, it’s probably keeping his head cold while the rest of him is warm from the shower. You know it’s not a light thing—you know… you know at least a fraction of what this means. You won’t look, you won’t look unless something absolutely drastic happens and it’s completely unavoidable, but you need to take his helmet off.
You catch the shoulder furthest from you and tug at his heavy body until he’s on his side, facing you on the bed.
“Din, I have to take your helmet off,” you warn him, saying it slowly and clearly. Again, just in case. “I’m not gonna look. Nobody is gonna look—” your gaze flicks behind him to eye the baby, who is now somehow on the metal ground and waddling up to you both. He blinks enormous black eyes at you, looking between you and his father huddled together under the blankets.
“Close your eyes,” you tell him very seriously, no room for negotiating. “I know you understand me.”
It takes just a few seconds before he lifts his hands up and does exactly what you say, placing his fingers over his closed eyelids and then even so much as toddling around to face the wall. You gasp in relief, clenching your eyes firmly shut and then pulling the helmet up, making sure you catch his head before it falls with one hand while tossing the beskar somewhere in the hull with the other.
Cold. His hair is soaking wet and so cold, and his head rolls slightly as you guide it to rest in the warmest part of your neck. Your hand stays attached to the back of it, wanting to transfer every single bit of warmth from your palm to him, and your eyes open to the kid’s back as your other arm wraps around Din’s bare spine.
And then all at once, you just feel… helpless. He’s in your arms but Maker, you don’t know what else you can do. The heat is blasting, you’re warm and pressed against him under multiple blankets, the engine is slowly heating the metal floor, but his breathing. Slow. Shallow. Barely able to be felt against your neck. He’s here but he’s not. And you have no way of knowing if he’s getting closer or further away from you.
Tears start coming before you even realize. But you have nothing to say. After spending the entire time talking out loud, providing reassurances, narrating, distracting yourself—you don’t have anything anymore. The silence twists you tighter, the nothing becomes inescapable, and the sudden sob that leaves you echoes hauntingly throughout the hull. You pull his limp body as close to you as possible for comfort. Wake up. Wake up.
Your vision is watery—you don’t see it. You don’t see the kid slowly turn around and take a few steps forward. You only notice he’s there when green catches in the abstract blur, but you sniff and blink quickly to clear it. It only takes a second to see the baby’s hand, extending and pressing against the blanket covering Din’s back, and you watch with wide eyes as he closes his.
And then there’s a second. A second where you dare to hope. Where you wonder if it’s even something that can be done.
The kid lowers his hand just a moment later and stumbles back a few steps, before plopping down on the ground and slowly falling backwards. You have just enough time to see his little body inhale and exhale a few times as he sleeps, and then—
—and then Din suddenly jolts in your arms, bursting with too much life after spending too many heart wrenching moments without it.
“Shhh,” you breathe, instantly tightening your grip on the back of his head so he doesn’t pull away from you in a panic and keeping it tucked into the warmest part of your neck, right where your pulse thrums fast and present. Your eyes clench tightly shut just in case and your heart bursts with pure, blinding, heavenly relief. “Shhh sh sh, stay right here, just stay right here…”
As soon as he seems to recognize your voice and figure out that he’s not dead, his body immediately starts wreaking with shivers. You squeeze him tight to you, feeling his large, quaking frame curl inwards into you for warmth, burying his own face into your neck even further and breathing shallow but quickly now, like his body actually wants the air again. You do your best to will your blood to pump faster and provide him that relief, stretching and opening your body as much as possible to give him warmth.
And then you spend the next few hours like that. Holding him, murmuring gently to him, providing him with your body heat and stars, he fucking clings to you. He presses tight to you and trembles, and you don’t even know if he’s listening, but you keep talking. Finding words for hours, and while some of them are just different ways of saying the same thing, you say them anyway.
He’s okay. The kid is okay. Everyone is okay.
Eventually, the shivering dies down until it stops altogether. Din stays in one place and goes completely limp again, but this time he continues to breathe you in, slow and deep into the crook of your neck. Fast asleep in your arms, and you thank the good fucking Maker above for the little angel passed out on the floor behind him.
***
He has to meet with Karga in two days.
After a few more hours of holding him and making absolutely sure he’s going to be alright, that’s all you can stupidly think about.
A deadline. A very quickly approaching one.
You don’t know why. But it might have something to do with the fact that you want nothing more than to climb up into the cockpit and navigate the ship off this horrid planet, and you can’t. You’re confident that the hull and blankets are warm enough by themselves to keep Din comfortable as he recovers, and you’ve also had quite a while to regroup and get your mind thinking logically again, so you’re not worried about getting up and leaving him right now, no. That’s not the problem.
The problem is that there’s a corpse outside. You know this. You know it’s there, and you know he needs it. Nobody’s gonna take his word for just saying they’re dead, much less pay him for his services; no body, no bounty. You also know it’s probably being covered with fresh snow right now, or maybe some sort of wild animal has already gotten their teeth into it, if anything can even survive out there. And you’re the only one awake. The only one capable of going to get it.
You’ve been arguing with yourself. For about an hour, you’ve been struggling with the thought. Din is soft and warm and every breath makes you focus less on the terrifying moments that occurred and more on the need to step up once again.
In the end, it’s the kid who gives you the final push. You’re not going to leave him laying on the floor like that for any longer. Not after what he did.
You take a second, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up all the way over Din’s head as it rests warm and comfortable in your neck. You’re incredibly careful to cover his face, and even while climbing out of the warm cocoon of the bed, you keep your eyes firmly shut and continue to pull the fabric even higher, making absolutely sure you’re not going to see his face on accident. You shouldn’t, you don’t think, as long as he doesn’t jerk awake and pull it down himself, but you want to take extra precaution regardless.
After quickly yanking on some clothes, you immediately make your way over to the kid and pick him up, seeing his little mouth open as he snores—and oh, you just have to. You pull him to your chest and give him the most heartfelt, thankful embrace you can while not squishing him, before setting him down in his much more comfortable hovering blanket palace and closing the lid on it.
You know you have a very clear task now, but for just a few moments longer, you do your best to stall despite the ticking clock. You start to pick up the mess in the hull—you close the fresher door, pick up Din’s discarded armor and set it in a neat pile close to the bed, place the helmet under the vent to encourage the padding inside to dry faster, and then you collect his old armor and stuff it back into one of the storage cubbies with your toolbox.
Only, an idea suddenly occurs to you as you’re putting away the chestpiece. When you open the door to the hull, you know that a blast of cold air is going to flood the ship. The engine is still heating everything inside and making sure you don’t get trapped in the snow by continuously melting it on the outside, but you don’t want Din to start shivering again.
So you grab the dented piece of electronics you were working on and flip the power switch, feeling the capacitors slowly start to heat up inside the housing. You go back over and lift the blanket near his feet just enough to tuck the metal under it, close enough to Din that he’ll feel the same amount of warmth your body was providing him but not enough to overheat.
And then you make your way over to your bag and pull on the rest of your clothes, now exhausting almost every single clean thing you own just to make another trek through the snow. You’re in the middle of pulling on your fifth pair of pants when the thought truly sinks in.
A corpse. A dead body. That you’re actually considering going out into the worst fucking weather in the galaxy to search for, haul back to the ship, and put into carbonite. Because of a fucking deadline for an occupation very much not your own, very much not chosen by you.
You quickly walk over and leave through the door on the side of the hull before you can change your mind, slamming it shut behind you.
***
Well, it’s… It’s not too terrible, you guess.
It’s been frozen out here for hours, that’s why. It’s not bloody, not gory, not demented or malformed in any way. Tranquil almost, like the creature died in its sleep in this nightmarish landscape, perfectly at peace.
You still don’t want to get anywhere close to it, but you have to. You pull a face and slowly reach out, absolutely not thinking about the literal impossibility of it playing dead and just waiting for the moment to strike, but even still… Even if there was nothing more sinister hiding underneath the surface of this scene, it’s still… existentially fucked up. The last time you were confronted with a dead body, Din had to be the one to dispose of it—you couldn’t even think about it without threatening another wave of shock to your system.
And now you’re voluntarily grabbing the rope around one’s ankles and dragging it back down the pure white slope to the Razor Crest.
It doesn’t weigh that much and its icy exterior seems to work in your favor; it slides easily along the snow as soon as you get it moving. As the ship comes back into view, you hurry to the door and you’re just about to open it when you suddenly get the feeling that you’re forgetting something…
Oh—
It takes a few moments of searching around in the freshly fallen snow, but eventually your fingers brush metal underneath and you stand, reaching behind you to tuck the blaster into your waistband. When you’re positive you’re not going to accidentally shoot a chunk of your ass off on accident, you shove open the door and pull the body inside, before locking it tight behind you and keeping the frigid winter from touching this warm, quiet safe-haven.
There. Halfway done. You almost don’t want to look in case he wakes up unexpectedly, but then you find yourself peeking over your shoulder at the silhouette of Din’s body still passed out under the blankets and you’re thankful the squeaks and slams didn’t disturb him.
And then you take just a second to wonder if this is what it must be like for him. Minus your obvious discomfort and ickiness at beginning to haul the corpse over to the carbonite chamber, it seems like it’d be reminiscent of any other time he’s brought back a dead quarry while you and the baby slept soundly. Trying to be quiet, wanting it done and over with just to get back in bed that much faster, doing everything you can to prevent anything out there from so much as breathing on anything in here.
You do your best to hold on to the loveliness of the thought, because this part is the part you’re most anxious about.
The body needs to go into this slanted upright space so you can freeze it in carbonite. And in order to do that, you have to grab it and put it there. With your hands, you have to grab it. With your hands.
You look down at its face, calm and at peace, frozen and forever etched into that expression, and something twists in your heart. If it weren’t for the kid, that could’ve been Din. If it weren’t for the kid walking barefoot through snow, fighting an uphill battle to make sure you get to him, helping you drag him back here and then overexerting himself to make sure he’d be okay, that could’ve been Din. He drives you crazy on a consistent basis, but he came through today.
Know what? If that little squirt can save a grown man’s life twice in a few hours, then the least you can do is finish this job for all three of you and fly your asses out of here.
Weirdly enough, being frozen solid allows for way better handling than the alternative. It means you don’t actually have to touch it too much; you don’t have to deal with the limpness of death, it doesn’t seem as much like a person as it does a rigid board you’re simply moving from one place to another. You can just grab the shoulders and yank and the entire fucking thing goes with it, solid and upright, naturally wanting to lean back into the chamber so you don’t even have to hold it in place. The perfect quarry for you basically, day one stuff, as easy as it could get.
Almost done, almost done—you study the key panel on the upper-right frame before eventually pressing a few buttons, and then you step back as gas freezes and solidifies the corpse in its carbonite prison.
Yes. You’re done. You already want to take another shower just from touching it for a few seconds, but that can wait. Quickly making your way up the ladder and into the cockpit, you fire up the thrusters and then navigate the ship through and beyond the swirling white atmosphere of this dreadful fucking planet, before punching in familiar coordinates to Nevarro.
***
“Din,” you murmur, making sure you have your eyes completely covered with one hand before gently easing the blanket down from his face with the other. “Din, I want you to drink some wat—”
He jerks awake so suddenly that you hear the metal canteen fall over on the floor next to you, thank the Maker its lid is on tight. You automatically reach out to steady him, pressing your free hand to his bare chest and continuing to speak calmly and gently to reassure him, but he still scrambles to take in his surroundings after sleeping longer than he probably has in weeks.
You know what he’s seeing, even though you’re blind right now. You took time to make sure everything was settled before waking him. The hull is clean with only a single light to illuminate it, the baby is still snoozing in his closed crib, his armor is stacked in a neat pile, the blaster is put away, and you retired your makeshift blanket heater box so the only thing left is you. Freshly showered, hair dripping, offering him water, and dressed in just a thin shirt with nothing else (you ran out of things to wear).
“Wh-Where’s my h-h-helmet—” is the first thing he asks, voice broken and raspy. Stars, he needs water.
“The padding inside is wet,” you quickly supply, keeping your hand tight over the bridge of your eyes to make sure his freshly conscious mind immediately understands that you have no bad intentions. “I swear I didn’t look, and I made sure the kid didn’t either. He’s sleeping now, it’s just me—I swear nobody looked, I swear.”
You might just be saying the exact same thing over and over again and admittedly, that might be putting some weird kind of suspicion on you, but you just want to make sure he knows. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. It’s important that he knows he’s safe and that everything is okay now, even if he collapsed and spent an unknown amount of time in a purgatory where nothing was.
His body trembles under your palm, waves of shudders attacking him even after hours of keeping him as warm as possible. “Are—Are we st-still on H-Ho—H-Hoth—”
“No,” you answer. “We’re in hyperspace. Everything’s okay now, I took care of it. We’ll get to Nevarro on time.”
It’s like he takes just a few extra moments, as if he’s trying extra hard to remember before responding. “But—I d-didn’t—”
“You have four bodies for Karga,” you tell him, not letting him get too lost trying to recall something that no longer poses an issue. “I took care of it. You need rest, I only woke you up to make sure you drink some water, so please—” you blindly reach your hand out for the canteen you know has to be around here somewhere, but all you feel is…
His. Catching yours.
“Y-You took c-c-care of…” His hands are trembling harder than his voice. “Sh-shit, I’m freezing, I—”
“Drink some water,” you tell him, squeezing his fingers. “I’ll go turn off the light so you can sleep more, but you need water.”
His hand feels like it doesn’t quite want to let go of yours yet, but eventually it does and you hear the sloshing of water as the metal flask is picked up with an unsteady grip. Purposefully turning your back to him and making sure he’s not in your line of sight whatsoever, you finally let your hand drop and blink your eyes open at the wall across the hull. You hear Din shakily unscrew the lid while you stand up and find the light switch, before turning around in the pitch blackness and using his loud gulps as your guide back.
Your hands and knees are barely on the blanket when you hear him toss the empty canteen to the side and grab you, pulling you down to him.
Fuck, you’re not expecting it. You fumble in the dark but he doesn’t really give your clumsiness much of a choice—Din pulls you under the blankets like he needs you, his body craving that warmth even though his skin doesn’t feel cold at all. He hooks a strong forearm around your tummy, keeping your back pressed tight to his chest while the rest of him curls to fit every part of you, and you have to adjust the blankets yourself.
It’s not even a few seconds after you settle into position when his trembling hands jerk down to grab your shirt and yank it up. You quickly scramble to help him get you as naked as he is, feeling his palms drag greedily across the heat of your tummy and breasts before you’ve even finished wiggling the fabric over your head. The shirt lands somewhere in the darkness and you’re squeezed back against him, your hands landing on his forearms as they wrap around your waist and he clings shamelessly to you.
“You…” Din’s body still shivers every once in a while but the heat and closeness allows his voice to even out just a bit. He clears his throat and swallows, tucking his head and burying his face in your hair before trying again. “You brought back the qu-quarry?”
“Yes,” you confirm, confident in your reassurance but gentle at the same time. “It’s in carbonite.”
All you can feel or hear in response is his breathing. His heart beating steady and strong against your back.
And then Din’s arms suddenly squeeze you tight—tight. He lets out a low shaky exhale against the back of your shoulder and presses his lips to your skin. “Sweet girl.”
And he says just… so much with those two words. Slow and purposeful, the steadiest thing you’ve heard from him in hours. But the two biggest competing emotions you hear tugging at his vocal cords are gratitude and apprehension. Like he already knows that it couldn’t have been easy for you. Like he’s not taking it lightly.
You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to talk about anything that happened in the past few hours, not right now. “It’s okay. Please.”
This time his silence seems to be on the brink, as if he wants to say more but the extra plea you put on the end makes him hold onto his words, at least for now.
“How d-did you find me?” He asks instead, scooting his legs up enough that yours actually go with him. Cradled in his naked body, radiating heat so he can recover, pressed so close to him that you feel like gravity itself would be pushing you into his lap if the world weren’t sideways.
“The kid,” you tell him. “We were goofing around outside and he dragged me ov—”
It’s like he’s still so cold that even just the surprise of hearing you say that makes his whole body lock down and convulse a few times against your back. “You were wh-what?”
“I was practicing,” you openly admit to him, feeling like the earlier events already occurred a lifetime ago and you have no reason for being shy about it anymore. In fact, you’re glad you were there, being terrible at shooting. The alternative is unthinkable. Though, something tells you also improbable, having a little supernatural sidekick who cares so deeply for him. “I raided your armory. We weren’t outside for more than five minutes before I wanted to go back in, but then he found you.”
And you think he’s going to get after you, for some reason. Seems about on par, you figure—going outside for even just a few minutes on a planet whose name you now remember is colloquial slang for hell, even if it’s the only reason he’s not an icicle right now.
But he’s just quiet. Breathing. So you just relax into him, thinking that’s the end of it. You take a few deep breaths in through your nose and just… rest. In the near perfect silence of hyperspace you used to find haunting, but now only find comfort in. It reminds you of him.
“Did you hit the target?” He asks you quietly, and at first you scoff, about to ask if he’s kidding. No, of course you didn’t hit the…
Only, after a remarkable delay, hearing him phrase it that way suddenly makes your stomach decide to drop and do a fucking somersault on the ground out of absolutely nowhere.
Everything comes flooding back. The conflict you used to think was the most pressing thing, the one that kept you awake and your thoughts scrambled for hours. It feels like it was ages ago. An entire lifetime has passed since that happened, you might’ve forgotten it altogether if he didn’t decide to ask that very simple question in a very specific way.
“I…” you mumble in response, your heart suddenly pounding. “Not… not yet.”
Okay, that’s a good answer. It’s the truth and you’re giving nothing away by saying that. So now what is he going to say? What is he going to say? You spoke your piece, it’s his turn now, that’s how conversations work. Well typically, that’s how conversations work—but with Din… you probably should’ve known.
He falls back into silence almost immediately, appearing to accept your answer just the way it is without anything else to add. You feel his heart continue to beat strong against your back, but there’s something too tense about his stillness that doesn’t imply he’s relaxing anymore. His body goes slightly taut, but not from the lingering chill in his bones.
He’s going to make you ask him, you realize. He’s waiting until you confront him about his choice in words at the shooting range. Which means he wasn’t just joking around. He wasn’t just messing with you.
“Din…” you whisper uncertainly, and his face suddenly finds its way into the crook of your neck as soon as the word leaves your mouth, arms tightening up around you. You spent forever trying to find the words to even bring this up, and here he is, already knowing exactly what you’re asking just by the tone of your voice. Still, you ask anyway, sounding small and so unsure of yourself in the darkness. “Why did you say that? On Tatooine, why did you…”
Din’s chest expands against your back with a long, slow breath, and then he lets it out against your neck, hot enough to raise goosebumps all over your body.
“I… don’t know,” he admits, voice muffled and quiet, but it’s not… casual. Not like he’s brushing you off or indicating he doesn’t want to talk about it, but like it’s actually a complete fucking mystery to him, just as much as it is to you. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know…” you repeat slowly.
“You had said something,” he mutters, shifting just a bit behind you. His palm slides up your bare tummy, stopping in the warm spot just under the swell of your breast. “Earlier that day. I thought about it, and then I just… s-said it.”
You? Said something that made him ask that?
“What?” You blurt out, genuinely startled and having no fucking clue. “What did I say?”
“Something about…” He gives the smallest shudder from behind you, and you don’t actually know if this one is from the cold. “Not wanting anyone else to know me the way you do.”
Your heart rapidly kicks up and you flush, hating how unbelievably possessive your own words sound coming out of his mouth. “Oh shit, I… I didn’t mean for that to be… that sounds so bad, Din, I swear I didn’t mean for it to—”
He cuts you off by clutching you tighter, burying his face deeper into your neck and breathing out shakily. “Tell me you meant every word.”
You blink a couple of times in the pitch black before sighing, letting go of any charade or front you think about putting up for him to save some dignity. “I meant it.”
Because it’s the truth. You said it when you were caught off guard, throwing it out to him along with other mindless drabble that came from a place that was very real. You don’t like the way you phrased it, but you meant it. You do mean it. Every word.
If there weren't so many things still left unsaid right now, you might actually worry he fell asleep on you. Din loosens up considerably after you admit it, letting go of more tightness you didn’t even know was inside him. His head slowly drops from the crook of your neck to the back of it and he breathes hot air on your nape, quiet for a long time.
And, you suppose you’d actually be okay with it if that was the end of the conversation. There are, of course, millions of things left to ask. But he doesn’t know the answers, just as much as you’re left clueless about the questions. You’re not expecting him to elaborate anymore, and if he’s waiting for you to ask, he’ll be waiting a long time. Soon your eyes close and you almost feel yourself beginning to drift. It’s been such a rough day today and to just be here in his arms, it’s more than enough for you.
But then his low baritone comes through the darkness.
“In Mando’a,” Din’s voice suddenly whispers against your skin, “the verb, kar’taylir… it means to know. Su kar’tayli, you know, kaysh kar’tayli, they know. Ni ke kar’tayl nu… I don’t know.”
Your eyes pop open and you immediately forget all about sleep, wide awake and suddenly hanging onto every word as it rolls so gently off his tongue. You’ve never heard the language spoken aloud, you’ve never heard anything about the Mandalorians directly from one before. All of the stories seem sensationalized, passed down by word of mouth and chipping away at the kernel of truth until it disappears completely.
“The language is dying,” Din continues, murmuring soft and gentle along your nape. “By the time I learned it, too many words had been lost. The ones left were the ones that were needed.”
“What do you mean?” You whisper, almost afraid of breaking the quiet. Not wanting him to feel distracted or pressed, but needing to express your curiosity lest you somehow overflow with it.
“There are only three pronouns,” he answers slowly, and you’re already fucking fascinated. “Ni, for I or we. Su is you or you all, and kaysh is third person. Subjective, objective, possessive, singular, plural—doesn’t matter. Three words, for every individual or collective in the entire galaxy.”
You blink in the darkness, your logic telling you that it sounds so simple it’d become confusing and then your logic also telling you that doesn’t actually make any fucking sense at all. If that’s true, it’s unbelievable. How do they differentiate? Just context?
“How do you distinguish?” You ask him. Admittedly, you don’t know much about linguistics—not anywhere near the extent he does, but it seems so counterintuitive. I can’t be the same word for we, the amount of misunderstandings would be a nightmare.
“We… don’t need to,” he explains to you, slowly, like nobody has ever asked him these things before and so he’s unsure how to phrase it. “Individuality isn’t valued, it’s not a concept.”
And… you almost can’t wrap your head around it. “What do you mean?” You ask again, knowing you’re sounding like a broken record without specifying more, but trying with your whole heart to understand.
“I mean… we swear oaths to never reveal our faces,” Din tells you, something you shouldn’t need to be reminded of. “We abandon our names. We become… whispers, of the same voice. There’s not many words in Mando’a with a unique meaning, almost all of them are homonyms. Interchangeable. Transient.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, suddenly blown away by the implication. Almost all of them are homonyms? How in Maker’s name are you even supposed to communicate at that point? That’s… unthinkable.
“Most words have two meanings?” You clarify, wanting to be absolutely sure you’re getting it right.
“Most have five or six,” he returns, and you’re downright shocked now. “Everything just depends.”
“Stars…” You breathe, moving a palm up the length of his forearm and holding the back of his hand with it. Fuck, you hope this is the direction he’s intending instead of veering him off course, but you’re incredibly invested. “What else does, uh… kay—er, kar… kar’taylir mean?”
Din lets out a slow breath from behind you, and you can… you can feel his own heart beating faster when it presses up against your spine at the apex of his inhale. “It’s… a rare word, it only has two meanings.”
You bite your lip and start to feel butterflies in your stomach for some reason. Slowly, his hand begins to travel up your breast and then to your sternum before heading just the slightest bit left, and your own hand moves with him.
“To know,” Din says quietly, “but also… to care very deeply for.” He doesn’t stop until his palm presses right above the rapidly pounding organ in your chest. “To hold in the heart.”
“To know,” you swallow thickly, curling your fingers around his hand and praying he’s saying what you think he is, “or… to love?”
“When Mandalorian’s take vows, there’s no ceremony,” he whispers into the back of your neck. “No witnesses, no celebrations. We just take our helmets off in front of the other and look. It doesn’t sound like much, but… our secrecy is our survival. Letting someone see our face and swearing lifelong devotion to them, it’s the same thing. To know is to love.”
Your eyes close tight and your lungs empty themselves, too full of emotion to even fit oxygen inside you anymore. Din’s lips press feather soft behind your neck, and now you’re the one shivering uncontrollably. The move up and trail along your neck in the darkness.
“Ni kar'tayl su,” he murmurs, shifting back just slightly and pulling at your shoulder. “I know you.”
You go with him, facing the ceiling as he fits his head under your throat and places slow, open mouth kisses down the curve of it.
“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he goes on quietly, his voice starting to sound raspy again, dragging his hand down your torso while his lips brush your collarbone. “For an eternity, I’ll know you.”
Water wets the corners of your lashes and you inhale three or four times before exhaling, shallow hiccups and desperate for air.
“Ni ke vaabi nu kaysh ke kar’taylir su te ni kar’tayl su.” Din says, slowly moving his mouth back up when your fingers tangle in his hair and beg him to come that way. The words dance along your skin as he whispers them, forever searing themselves into your memory. You can’t see them, you’ll never have a visual to reminisce upon, but you’ll know how they felt. Right under your ear, brimming with quiet devotion. “I don’t want anyone else to know you… the way I know you.”
Your face goes blazing hot at the sound of him translating your own rushed and half-assed sentence into something gorgeous and flowing, something that sounds so much more beautiful than when you blurted it out earlier. You told him you loved him in that hangar, right to his face. Unashamed and stupid about it, but meaning it with every part of your body.
“I knew you’d say no,” he finally admits, staying in this one spot. Unmoving. Telling you the truth, allowing you to know it. “I just wanted to… say it.”
That… that makes sense to you. The last part does, at least, it makes so much sense to you. The first time you said you loved him, you said it just to say it. You wanted to feel the words, sound them out even if neither one of you could hear them. It felt freeing, like coming to accept a universal truth.
The first part, though. You’re still behind. “You knew I’d say no?” You ask him, feeling him ease back just slightly. Staring down at you through the pitch black, even if he can’t see either. Keeping his palm over your heart as the ship hurdles through nowhere and everywhere at once.
“You wouldn’t take my first name without convincing,” he reasons quietly, and then moves back to lay in the blankets once more, leaving the rest unspoken.
But he’s… oh stars, he’s so right. If he’s going to take his helmet off and let you see his face—if he’s going to commit to you that way, it is not going to be because you shoot a blaster correctly. Not after today, not after what he’s told you.
So you move up to your elbow and turn to face him, trying to let him know why even if he’s already guessed the what correctly.
“I want it to mean something,” you say after a moment. “I want it to… have the meaning it’s supposed to have.”
Your palm finds its way to his chest in the silence following. Right over the beating of his heart, feeling it thrum hard and rhythmic while he considers his response.
“This is The Way,” Din finally murmurs, settling his hand over yours, and you repeat the words back to him. Respecting them. Feeling like, for the very first time, they now apply to you in some way instead of belonging to some mysterious creed you’ll never know anything about.
But when a shudder subtly rockets up and down his body, you realize the blankets have been pulled down with the changing positions and his whole torso is bare and exposed to the hull. So you pull them up until you’re both covered again, before you lean down and press a soft kiss to his shoulder.
Din shudders again when your mouth opens and the hot glide of your tongue catches his skin, but you know it’s not from the cold this time. His breathing deepens while you slowly move over him. You ease him further on his back and let him keep feeling the warmth of your mouth on his body, alleviate the lingering chill by sucking gentle hickeys into his skin and feeling the goosebumps raise under your tongue. He moves with you; he stretches his neck when you want to nibble his collarbone, arches when you mouth down his chest, shifts his elbow to let you drag your tongue along his ribcage.
And… and it’s as if all the stars and systems hold even more still for you than the relative physics of faster-than-light travel can explain away by themselves. You’ve always felt timeless in here, living from one fleeting eternity to the next, suspended in perpetuity while the rest of the galaxy ages without you. But when you’re with him and it’s pitch black and there’s no light to streak across your vision, no evidence that time and space have all but disconnected from each other just to let your insignificant little bodies through… it’s like you’re meant to be here. In some strange, unexplainable way, you feel like you could’ve died out there with him in the frozen wasteland today and this is exactly where you’d still end up, no matter what.
To know is to love.
“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself whisper under his jaw, and you feel Din’s fingers thread in your hair and ease you up enough to brush his lips against your chin.
“Yes,” he whispers back, and then his mouth is on yours.
#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#fanfic#star wars fanfic#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin#no-droids#reader insert
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Okay but what about Orc!bucky and Goddess!reader ..😳🤭 Shes an Aphrodite, I can imagine her looking down and seeing orc!bucky and just craving him. They be a great power couple ...
Hi hun! I'm sorry it took me so much time to write this fic, and, well, since most of us already have some depiction of Aphrodite in mind, I decided to make the reader her daughter. Guess the story turned out something very different from what you wanted, but I still hope you will enjoy it!
Somebody to Die For
Pairing: orc!Bucky x goddess!Reader
Warnings: violence, injuries, angst, hurt/comfort.
Words: 2385.
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"I will fight for you till they cut off my arms, my legs, and my head."
You looked at the warrior in front of you, his heavy body clad in armor, his arms holding a spear and a shield you brought to him yourself, earning a slap from your mother, the goddess of beauty who forbid you to help humans so shamelessly, and yet, you always did.
The man standing in front of you was neither orc nor human but the descendant of the both of them, the only hero who could possibly defeat the evil forces when every other man had failed. He's rough; he's rude; he knew little of honor, but he's the one who still fought when the ones before him had long given up. Despite the prejudice against orcs, now even humans understood he was their only salvation.
You hoped he would survive the last battle. Not just because you needed the human kind to have a savior, a leader, the one who would aid them when nobody else would, but because you had grown found of him, the man you had been guiding for years, helping him to protect those who detested him, bringing him hope when he was ready to give up, embracing him when he no longer had the power to hold his spear. A daughter of the goddess of beauty, you were to bring this beauty to the parts of the world where your tired mother could not, but you brought hope instead.
"Fight for me, and if you win, I will fulfill your wish, soldier." You whispered through your golden mask that covered your face entirely, only your eyes visible to the orc standing on his knees.
Your mother never approved of it, but you had seen people going mad from having just one glance at you, your immense beauty blinding them, driving them insane, making them forgot who they were. It was a curse, not a blessing. It was the reason you wore your mask at all times, only showing your face to those your deemed worthy, strong enough to withstand the charms you had no control over.
You knew your hero wanted to see your face more than anything else in the world.
"I will bring you the demon's head on a golden plate, my goddess."
You'd chuckle at his attempt to please you, but you were scared, you feared he would fail, fall, die in the hands of evil forces feasting upon human kind and threatening to destroy all the gods had created. You could not fight along him, possessing no skills to win that battle; moreover, your mother would most certainly kill you if you intervened, breaking the oath you had given to her. You could only help the hero you had chosen while staying in the shadow.
"Stay alive, Bucky." Those were your last words when you pressed the cold lips of your mask to the orc's forehead, giving him your blessing and hiding the tears behind the cold metal.
If only you could fight, but your hands grew cold every time you touched the hero's spear, unable to wield a sword or a mace. The war was not your domain, all the gods kept telling you when you plead them to gift you enough strength and courage to engage in battle. No, your fate was to shine like a golden statue, blinding all those who dared to look at you, bending them to your will like you mother had always done. They couldn't understand your ardent desire to watch over the humankind and all those who needed your help, spending your time healing soldiers, aiding orphans and the elderly, bringing food and water to all those in need. The gods cared little for mortals. Even when the Great Evil appeared out of nowhere, wreaking havoc on the lands belonging to people constantly praying for gods mercy, the immortals were too busy with their own affairs, realizing how serious the matter was when it had been too late.
When the orc you clad in charmed armor stood in front of the army of the undead, the diabolical creatures with horns and gaunt wings growling behind them, ready to strike, you prayed for him to come out of the battle alive. It was his fate to be the last hero standing between the chaos and all what was dear to the living, yet he bore no responsibility for it - he didn't ask to be the hero, to fight when his spear was long broken, go forward while the undead broke his bones and demons feasted upon his flesh, ripping pieces of meat before the orc could crush their heads with his mere hands. You kept casting spells to aid him, knowing your mother would whip you, but you didn't care, healing your hero's wounds so he could fight until he would cut off the head of the Demon King with his own sword.
Your hero was laying on top of demon's dead body, still holding the head even while unconscious as you sneaked into the field full of corpses, bodies of demons and bones of the undead rotting under the blazing sun. Your hero was dying from his wounds, bleeding so much his skin was loosing its color, and now it was your time to bring him back to the living before it was too late.
Oh, you knew your mother could kill you for stealing the salve meant only for gods to heal their wounds, but you no longer cared. What did it matter if the one who saved you all was to pay with his life for everything he had done to protect the living? No, it was unfair. The orc stood to gain nothing from his heroic deeds, gods being too arrogant to acknowledge him properly, but he had the right to keep his life.
And so you carried his heavy body to the springs, washing his wounds, applying the salve generously and casting as much healing spells as you did in your entire life to keep him alive, praying and hoping the gods would take mercy on him. Yes, he was three quarters an orc; he was barbaric, savage, ferocious, but he had kindness in his heart like no other, agreeing to fight for humans who had always utterly despised him. Despite being a brute, he was kind to children, women and elderly people. He had never lay his hand on those weaker than him, except when they attacked him on their own. In the end, he was the only hero who answered your call when all those you had asked for help died on the battlefield, unable to fight the demons and their army of corpses.
It had been three days and three nights you spent tending to his wounds until his heart started beating like of a living being. You cried your eyes out when you heard it. The salve had finally worked, and the open wounds closed, leaving his body scarred but healed; his breath steadied, and soon your hero would come back to you, you knew. Gods had answered your prayers for the first time.
"Am I dead?" Bucky asked you when he opened his eyes on the fourth day as he saw you tired face, your mask long abandoned the moment you brought him to the springs.
You smiled at him and held him close, his head laying on your lap while you witnessed his awakening, his body covered in salve, making his skin shine like pure gold.
"You are alive and well." leaning to him, you left a kiss on his forehead, brushing his dark disheveled hair out of his face, and the orc made an odd sound as if he were purring like a giant cat. "You will live a long life, cherished and honored by those you protected, I promise you."
"Will you keep that one promise you gave me, my goddess?"
He's impatient, he had always been, and you laughed at his eagerness, knowing his body still hurt, but the orc didn't seem to mind it. Was he unhappy with seeing your face? You didn't think so, and yet, apparently, he wanted something else. Gold? Women? Immortality? The last one would be quite hard, that is if gods wouldn't struck you with a lightning or something just to teach you a lesson to be more pliant and respectful.
"What it is that you want, my warrior? I will do whatever you ask me to if it is within my powers, just like I promised."
"It's within your powers, I'm sure." He grumbled, making you laugh even harder at his unusual grumpiness, touching the tips of his tusks, and the orc laughed at you, too.
"What is it, then? Don't keep me waiting, mortal, for even I grew tired of tending to you over four days." Winking at him in the most frivolous manner just like your mother had taught you, you giggled then, and the hero's face lightened up.
"This is not how I imagined it to be, but who cares, anyway." he muttered to himself and sat up, turning to you and hurriedly searching the pockets of his torn pants, obviously empty after his long, intense battle. "Shit! I've brought you golden rings and necklaces and bracelets, but those flying bitches made holes in my clothes. I should have hidden my gifts under some rock before the battle."
"Oh, you should have!"
He's impossible, you thought as you both snickered, his huge, calloused hands touching gentle yours. He brought you gold? What for?
"Well, whatever, I'll find more for you later if you don't mind, goddess. Will you give me the honor of becoming my wife even if I didn't bring you the gifts?" The orc tilted his head to the side, looking at you as if it were just a mere matter of something minor, unimportant, but soon, as he watched you openly gape at him for his audacity, he quickly bowed his head, kneeling in front of you.
You were speechless. For once, you had never for once suspected of the hero having these feelings for you. Surely, he prayed to you, he respected you as a mortal should respect their deity, he was intrigued by your true appearance you had concealed from him, but his spoke of marriage seemed preposterous. Was it your face again, your mother's charms? No, no, it couldn’t have been it for the hero intended to bring you gifts, wedding gifts, that is. He had come prepared.
Unbelievable. Did his feelings grow while he didn't even know how you looked?
"Forgive me my insolence, goddess." he mumbled, realizing his offer could be a grave offense to you, a being standing way higher than him. "But I can serve you till the end of my days, do whatever you tell me to. If I have survived the last battle and brought people salvation they wanted, I must be good enough, right?"
"Will you serve me even if I am not your wife?" You asked him quietly, looking at your hands covered in the balm you stole from the gods just to heal his wounds, knowing you were attracted to him despite your feelings never being voiced.
For a couple of seconds the orc grew silent, watching the carpet you put him on to tend to his wounds: it had been soaked in his blood that now dried out.
"I will serve you even then." He uttered grimly, refusing to look you in the eyes, his gaze on your hands as he kept sitting in front of you.
Afraid to speak, you fell silent too, wishing to touch him, brush your hand against his disheveled hair. Oh, didn't you want him? Didn't you wish to be embraced by the very hero you spent years guiding and healing so he would continue his journey? Didn't you deserve to be loved, the daughter of the goddess of that very same love you'd been craving for so long?
But your hero was a mortal. You were frightened to even think what gods would do to him for his impertinence.
Oh, evil gods. You spent years to teach and guide the mortal hero they despised who brought the salvation to the lands they were so afraid to lose, and yet neither him nor you were given anything in return. Instead, they were granting you a torture of refusing advances of the only one dear to you.
Please, darling.
Your mother's irritated voice cut through the silence like a knife, and you froze, knowing she was rolling her eyes at you, watching you secretly like she often did.
You have a heart of stone if you reject the man who is standing on his knees in front of you. I grant you my permission if you so need it.
As her mighty voice rang in the complete silence of a cave, Bucky shivered, immediately getting on his feet. Of course, he knew nothing of your mother except that she was a goddess, and he had never heard her voice. It didn't matter to you, though, as you stared at him, dumbfounded.
Permission. She granted you her permission to marry him. You were free to act as you like, knowing the gods wouldn't bring their wrath upon your hero.
"I will have you if you promise to love and cherish me like no other, protect me, and be loyal to me until your last breath." You whispered, your eyes full of tears as you watched him from below while he towered above you, and the next second he was on his knees again, taking your arms in his and kissing your tears away.
"Even if my face will be disfigured, my tongue cut off, and my body dismembered, I will love you till my last breath." his voice was so quiet, yet you heard him as if he were screaming at the top of his voice. "I promise to worship you and come to you aid whenever you need me."
Hurriedly ripping a piece of his ragged, soaked in blood clothes, he wrapped it around your finger like it was a ring he had lost.
"My soul, my heart, and my sword - everything I possess I give to you."
___________
Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @iheartsebandchris
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#dark bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes x reader#orc!bucky#winter soldier#mcu#mcu fanfiction#requests
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Elllow! Today’s bookcomb consists of Peeta being protective of Katniss. Could have been much more implied moments but here’s some explicit ones 🤗
-
But it’s too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
I’m helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta’s face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side.
“What are you still doing here?” he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he’s been dipped in dew. “Are you mad?” He’s prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. “Get up! Get up!” I rise, but he’s still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. “Run!” he screams. “Run!”
-
I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death.
Sick and disoriented, I’m able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.
-
I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. “No,” he says. “You’re not risking your life for me.”
“Who said I was?” I say.
“So, you’re not going?” he asks.
“Of course, I’m not going. Give me some credit.”
-
Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!”
“I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says.
“You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg,” I say.
“Then I’ll drag myself,” says Peeta. “You go and I’m going, too.”
-
“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.
-
Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence.
“What?” I say, trying to force my way back up.
“Go home, Katniss! I’ll be there in a minute, I swear!” he says.
-
“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.
“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”
-
When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says.
“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.
“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob . . . that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.
-
“Peeta’s argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you,” says Haymitch.
I knew it. In this way, Peeta’s not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel.
“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know,” Haymitch says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say brusquely. “No question, he’s the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Haymitch sighs. “Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name’s drawn at the reaping, it won’t matter. He’ll just volunteer to take my place.”
-
The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.
-
“And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it. . .”
“If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say.
“It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta.
-
I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me seem more in control. “I’ll take the lead,” I announce.
Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. “No, let her do it.”
-
No one’s thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us.
“Don’t worry, I won’t go far,” I promise Peeta.
“I’ll go, too,” he says.
“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can,” I tell him. I don’t add, “And you can’t come because you’re too loud.” But it’s implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. “I won’t be long.”
-
Nothing. I find nothing. Not so much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever.
-
I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently.
-
While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta’s arms, still too shaken to move.
-
This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o’clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.
“I want to go with them as a guard,” Peeta says immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I know he’s less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.
-
I’m so light-headed I’ll black out in a matter of minutes. I’ve got to get away from this tree and —
“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”
-
Caesar leans in to him a little. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive.”
“That was it. Clear and simple.” Peeta’s fingers trace the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair.
-
A hush has fallen over the room, and I can feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it’s really like in the arena before.
Peeta goes on. “So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss.”
-
“When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena . . . blew out.”
“Katniss blew it out, Peeta,” says Caesar. “You’ve seen the footage.”
“She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire,” Peeta snaps back.
-
Peeta’s on his feet, leaning in to Caesar’s face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer’s chair. “Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?” He’s yelling now. “She didn’t know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!”
Caesar places his hand on Peeta’s chest in a gesture that’s both self-protective and conciliatory. “Okay, Peeta, I believe you.”
-
Gale’s expression darkens. “Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire’s clearly President Snow’s idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta’s mouth.”
I’m afraid of Gale’s answer, but I ask anyway. “Why do you think he said it?”
“He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He’d put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there’s still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right.” I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. “Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.”
To keep me alive? And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren’t killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we’ll both be allowed to live — if I play it right — to watch the Games go on. . . .
-
Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that I’m taping propos for the districts.
“They’re using her, obviously,” says Peeta. “To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what’s going on in the war. What’s at stake.”
-
He asks Peeta if, given tonight’s demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.
At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”
-
“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”
I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”
“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”
-
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Why Holding On To Past Relationships Is The Worst Thing You Can Do For Yourself, Period
by Daniel Dowling via MindBodyGreen
Three years ago I was a 24-year-old failure-to-launch who lived on his mom’s couch and shared a bathroom with two teenage sisters. My friends had their own houses, degrees, and independence. And there I was, broke and depressed, totally reliant on my parents. It hadn't ever not been that way.
But in 2014 I made one small decision, which led to results I still sometimes can’t believe.
Today, I’m leading writers in a national campaign to rebrand my hometown, and I write for the best entrepreneurial and self-improvement sites in the world (mbg being my favorite; no lie). I make a great living coaching others to become the happiest and most successful versions of themselves. That’s a lot of change in just three years, from any perspective. And I can trace the transformation of my life back to one single thing: letting go of my exes—completely.
Breaking free from serial monogamy.
For most of my adult life I’d been a serial monogamist. I thought I just really loved love, but it turns out I was just really, really afraid of responsibility. So, for my personal dissatisfaction and unhappiness, self-improvement wasn’t the cure—it was a new girlfriend! And when that one didn’t work out, I'd find another. Yay for love!
Except it wasn’t love because I wasn’t becoming the best version of myself through these relationships. So after the last one ended ignominiously, I quit the love game—just not quite all the way.
I still kept in contact with my exes. And Jen—my former fiancee—was a particular crutch. We still visited each other even though we lived in different states. We kept in regular contact through texts and phone calls, especially during crises. I was still depending on her to make me happy.
Every time we talked, I renewed the connection to my former ways of thinking and behaving. It strengthened the conviction that, deep down, I could only be happy with Jen. She was my way out. If things got too tough, I could always come to her, and she could come to me. We even promised that if we weren’t married by 30, we’d get hitched. Talk about a safety net… (and, yes, also the plot of My Best Friend's Wedding).
Unfortunately, that safety net was keeping me from being the bold, successful, independent man I wanted to become. I just couldn’t seem to cut the cord on my own.
Flying without a net.
Then one day I was listening to an audio course from my favorite self-improvement mentor, Zig Ziglar. He was talking about how to right our wrongs and forgive ourselves. He advised writing apologies down and sending them to the appropriate people. But he had a special step for exes.
"When it comes to the forgiveness you want from your exes [Zig has a drawling Southern accent], I want you to follow all the steps I just gave you. But instead of sending off the letter, I want you to fold it up, light a fire, and burn the damn thing. Cuz there’s no point in renewing emotional connections with people who aren’t good for you. That’s why they're your exes! It’s time to move on from them and fully embrace your own life."
When one is slapped by truth, one’s jaw has a tendency of dropping, and the eyes have a tendency to glaze over, lost in a thousand-yard stare. That was the picture of my face. Might’ve even drooled a little.
I thought about Jen, and Em, and Katie. I thought about how important they’d been for me and how much security they’d brought me. And I knew I had to let them go for good. For good.
No more texts or calls. No more being Facebook friends. No email updates. No nothing.
I had anxiety about the decision, naturally—severing ties with my past and obliterating a huge comfort zone. But I had a future to step into. I had to do that on my own.
Dealing with the emptiness.
I missed my former girlfriends like crazy. But instead of feeling sorry for myself and longing for them, I prayed for them. I asked God for the same things I was asking for my own self-improvement journey—courage, faith, hope, positivity, inspiration, grace, and so on. I prayed for them to meet amazing and inspiring friends who could help them become their best selves. I prayed for my future wife. And I prayed that I would become the fully independent man capable of supporting her.
In all this praying, I completely changed my focus. Instead of relying on my girlfriends for faith and reassurance, I relied on God and my own ability to handle my problems. I took back the misplaced faith in my girlfriends and put it squarely in my own hands.
That’s when I finally launched.
Do you believe in life after love?
Just like Cher, I found my power only after letting go of my past relationships.
Without my exes as safety nets, it was just me. Nobody else was going to make me happy. So I did what I needed to do to make me successful—all the writing, studying, practicing, pitching, researching, and self-improvement. I actually become part of a community and made new friends. I fully embraced my own damn life.
Three months passed and I still missed my exes. But I was making money through my writing and making new connections.
Six months passed and I still missed my exes. But I’d started earning a full-time living through my writing. And I was growing more confident by the day, especially in my community.
A year passed and I still missed my exes. But I was fully independent through my passion. And I’d outgrown the anxiety and depression that had haunted me since I was a teenager—a by-product of my newfound faith in me.
It’s been three full years since I cut out my exes. I’m 100 percent over each one, but I’m human—I still miss them! Who wouldn’t? They were brilliant and beautiful women who were insanely fun to be with. I made thousands of joyful memories with each one.
Sometimes I’m reminded of them by hearing a certain song or watching a movie. But that’s just another opportunity for me to thank God for them and to pray for them. It’s another opportunity for me to be the independent and faithful man I know I can be for myself, for my wife, for my clients, and for my audience. It’s another opportunity to find security in myself and in a higher power. And through these opportunities, I’ve found the happiness and fulfillment I always wanted.
I advise all of my clients to go on a yearlong relationship fast, which most of them do. But the real growth comes when they fully let go of their exes and stop using them as crutches. It’s hard, hard, hard to do but absolutely essential if you want to grow.
Here are five tips to help you let go of your exes for good:
1. Start a self-improvement routine, complete with daily, weekly, and monthly goal setting.
Read this article as a primer.
2. Meet with someone weekly to discuss your personal growth and your journey.
This person will help keep you accountable to your goals and lifestyle choices. Can be a friend or an amazing coach.
3. Stay single for a year—totally single.
If you can’t be happy with you, you won’t be happy—truly happy—with anyone else. Love that you! Commit to being successfully single for a year. That means happy, connected in your community, fulfilled in your work, and in a state of continuous personal growth. (Your daily routines and long-term goals will be critical to this step.)
4. Surround yourself with positive, uplifting people.
Join a faith community where people strive to live out the values you identify with. This is where you’ll find the deep connections that you can grow with—and that will prevent you from leaning on your exes as crutches.
5. Pray or meditate often.
Use your emotions as mindfulness cues. When you miss someone, pray for them. When you’re lonely, pray for the courage, positivity, and fortitude to make good decisions. When you think you can’t go on—that happens to everyone—pray for what you need. This will help you grow faith in a higher power and yourself, which is an absolute must if you want to be happy alone.
And being happy alone? That’s an absolute must for loving someone unconditionally in a relationship that can last a lifetime.
Link to article on Mind Body Green
Author: Daniel Dowling
#Daniel Dowling#mindbodygreen#article#relationship#love#breakup#heartbreak#moving on#strength#recovery#healing#self respect#personal development#quotes
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