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haliteatiger · 5 days

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Happy Werewolf Wednesday, ya'll! We're serving up a big pot of tea tonight so get those cups ready!

Special thanks to Blackbackedjackal and King for their help in putting this together, editing, and especially to Jackal for being so supportive and encouraging. I'm very much not normally the type to do call-out posts, but people need to be aware of Dogblud, as she has hurt, not only myself, but quite a few others as well, and seems to have somehow gotten away with behaving like this for 20-odd years. I'm of the mind she shouldn't be allowed to do so any more, hence this post.

TL;DR - Beware of Dogblud, aka Ashryn, aka DogofBlud, aka ThatDogMagic. Very, very long post under the cut.

With everything happening with DogBlud and Blackbackedjackal's studio, I felt emboldened to come forward with my own experiences with her. This is something I've been carrying around since it happened roughly 2 years ago. It was one of the main reasons that put me off drawing werewolves, my own characters, or engaging any more in the fandom. I've hinted at it a few times but I've never had the energy to come forward and deal with the fall out. I wanted to move on with the rest of my life because IRL was more important than online drama. And I knew her behavior would come back to bite her sooner or later, regardless of what I did.

It's been very validating to see that I was right.

It was around the time that Blud and I became friends that I was feeling a bit burnt out on werewolves. I'd been trying to pull together my own werewolf-related project for something close to 12 years. The past 4 years had also been pretty draining on me creatively and socially, as it had for a lot of artists with regards to the pandemic. I also had some IRL things I was dealing with: mainly with my marriage and transitioning between medications to manage my anxiety + bipolar.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to screenshot everything at the time. I do have logs from back when we roleplayed together. There are several conversations in them but because they were saved as text documents, they're pretty dubious in terms of solid evidence.

It would have been better if I had taken screenshots as it was happening, rather than just saving the logs. With what I *do* have, however, I feel as though it may be enough to make the point that I'm trying to make, and to exhibit how horrible things got.

I'll provide some context.

I had talked with Blud on and off over the years, and we had always gotten along. We had a lot in common and after we had started talking more, our friendship eventually grew into a collaborative project. We were going to combine our stories and write a comic based on it. We had a lot of discussions on how Blud was reticent to do this in the beginning and how she wanted a contract to be made up so that in the event that something *did* happen, we could both walk away feeling like it was handled fairly.

Honestly, I should have listened to the first alarm that went off in my brain, when, in an act of ominous foreboding she said something along the lines of don't be so sure, it could happen. It was in response to me being like "we're getting along so well and share so much of a bond right now. I can't fathom that being a problem!"

The contract never materialized. It was something we had decided to do *after* we had put together something of a prototype project to see how well we worked together. It made complete sense to me at the time as we were both eager to focus on the fun parts of writing and drawing together.

It was decided that I would be the lead artist (doing coloring and final lines) while Blud would do everything else (which was inking, layouts, and the majority of the writing). The both of us felt that she had more experience in those areas. I also believed that she had a better knack for it as well. I had felt that she had a better understanding of story structure than myself. And I thought that Blud had felt the same way about my art. That I had the experience to take point on that.

Since I had collaborated with other artists and writers before, I attempted to approach the project with the same sort of professionalism I always do. Especially the projects that I genuinely thought stood a chance of being published in the future. We had started out trying to get a feel for each other's flows and rhythms. I had expected Blud to try and meet me in the middle of where our processes would potentially differ from one another, so that we could develop a fairly smooth workflow.

I had also expected, according to our discussions on the matter, that we would value each other's opinions on things and take them into consideration. We had such good synchronicity already.

In the beginning, there wasn't any unusual behavior that caught my attention. Blud was a bit uncomfortable with trying out new things but I did my best to accommodate her so that our project could move forward without too much turbulence. She had also mentioned to me before that she was autistic, and since my husband is also autistic, I knew how difficult it could be when it came to adapting to new routines. But when it was time for her to deliver the first set of layouts, it wasn't at all what I expected.

What I had expected was something with margins, clearly marked boxes, and figures that I could do rough lines over. I also expected notes that confirmed what we had discussed earlier about the project; that way I knew what she wanted or if there would be any changes. She took offense to this, feeling like I was violating our agreement. Though Blud did try to give me space with regards to the actual art, and while she would offer criticisms here and there, I trusted her opinion as an artist and as a friend. But apparently that didn't go both ways. In fact, Blud seemed to be offended that I expected more from her.

Blud agreed to concede. She suddenly seemed fine with the changes that I had asked for after seeing the layouts. I guess she was feeling overstimulated by the change and I might have been applying too much of a critical tone to her responses to begin with. I have had to deal with rejection sensitivity throughout my life and it's certainly prompted me to approach what people say to me online with a bit of scrutiny (sometimes too much).

And while I was mildly annoyed, although admittedly I was more concerned with Blud's overall reaction to my asking for clarification about several things in the layouts, I let it go. But it seemed like there was a problem. The majority of my ideas were either rejected or outright overridden with Blud convincing me that my faulty memory had made me unable to remember what we had agreed upon. Or that I might have been misremembering in my own favor.

There was one time where we were discussing a monster's design. Blud had already decided to settle on one design that she had come up with, even as I continued to offer other suggestions. The story was to take place in my setting, so I was under the impression that I got to decide what kind of creatures should populate it. The conversation ended somewhat ambiguously. I had assumed that we'd come to a solid conclusion later.

I came back the next day and it turned out that we were using her design because that was what we had decided on. "Don't you remember? You really need to do something about that faulty memory of yours, Tek. I can't be doing this for you all the time."

At which point, Blud would go back and meticulously scour the conversation until she managed to find a set of lines that would make it seem as though I had 100% agreed. Even when I tried to explain that I had meant something else, she took it as an affront on her inability to understand nuances due to her autism.

I admit that my memory isn't that greatest at times, but I've never had anyone complain about it before. And none of my friends have ever minded providing reminders to me if I did misremember something incorrectly. We all forget stuff at times, right? It's *still* something that I'm self-conscious about because (like a lot of people with ADHD) my memory seems selective at times. This was, apparently, a problem that I needed to manage.

And even as I'm remembering these incidents to the best of my ability, I've already spent so much time recounting all of this to friends. I feel confident in my recollection. There are some details that may overlap or become entwined with other things, but it all basically tells the same story. Especially in conjunction with what's been said by others. You're free to take it as hearsay since I do not have screenshots to back this up.

I will mention (since I've been told it's something that Blud has taken particular interest in) that at one point, I did have a crush on her. I was having some problems IRL, and it was nice to have someone whom I felt actually understood me. I also felt like I saw a lot of myself in her. I think that, at one point, I did describe her as the kind of "girlfriend" I would want. Blud seemed to indicate the feeling was mutual.

Between our collaborative partnership and all of the details we shared about our lives, it did feel like an intimate relationship at times. I had no intentions of pursuing it. We were not compatible in our romantic and sexual identities, and I had no intention of leaving my current partner for her.

I had begun to notice red flags, even if I wasn't ready to accept them yet.

I've had experience with abusive relationships in the past but they were in person, and not online. I knew what to look out for and yet I was being willfully ignorant about our friendship. I wanted to give Blud the benefit of the doubt. I wanted the project to work *so* badly that I was willing to work with her increasing demands as the months went by.

I had no idea that those demands would change into, quite literal, temper tantrums. It would then trigger my fawning response which was due to an abusive family situation that I had dealt with before I moved to Canada. The tactic was this: concede to someone until there was a time that they either understood reason or I had the chance to use it against them if necessary.

I started to take screenshots. I wish that I had taken a lot more of them so that everyone could get a better idea of what was happening. I did go back and manage to record the majority of the first outburst. It was the first inkling I had that Blud wasn't playing with a full deck of cards. I knew that that would be one of the first conversations that she would promptly delete. And consequently, I was right.

This assortment of screenshots will exhibit the first serious confrontation that Blud had with me. I am absolutely *not* proud of how I handled this. I was literally panicking at the time and doing whatever I could to get her to calm down. Because I have a temper that can look similar to this in person, I knew that I had to wait until the post-tantrum clarity would hit Blud. I tried my best to not lose my own temper in turn but looking back, I feel that I came off as sounding too timid.

I didn't want to ruin this project.

I wanted to make a comic with an individual that I admired and respected as a fellow artist. And, with me not knowing how to respond, my main priority was to not make things any worse than they already were.

Below is the conversation in its entirety:

I had taken this screenshot on my phone after I had stepped away to compose myself. Blud had handled the confrontation and criticism with a reasonable amount of apprehension. But what had not occurred to me was that I could have said something that would remind her of past experiences with a roleplaying group.

It was something that had evidently scarred Blud for life.

I took away the wrong things from what she had told me, choosing to focus on the aspects of the "betrayal" that had appeared to bother her the most. And in hindsight, I did not see the correlation. I was genuinely apologetic that I had hurt her feelings.

But I *will* critique Blud for her poor handling of the situation. Whether or not I had hurt her feelings, no one is entitled to act like this or claim that this is what attempting to resolve a problem should look like.

I wasn't sure on how to initially respond to Blud. It had been ages since I'd had to deal with someone flying off the handle like that.

The following screenshots are where the conversation picked up, after she had already deleted the above message:

We had weathered the "storm" and after Blud calmed down, she was ready to communicate. There was a part of me that was genuinely sincere when I apologized to her. I did mean it when I said that I had no intentions of hurting her and that I hadn't considered how my statement would sound to her.

I had hoped that this had been a stress response due to factors outside of our collaboration. And especially when I took into account how she had interacted with me in the past. I knew that Blud had a lot going on IRL, and that she had already put a considerable amount of energy into this project.

I had taken her meltdown more personally than she could perceive that I would, because this was something that was acceptable to her. She had a "condition" that would absolve her of these abhorrent meltdowns and I needed to get used to them if we were going to continue working on that project together.

I was shaking the entire time we were typing in the chat.

I was sincere in my responses. I really did want to work things out with Blud and give her the benefit of the doubt. I could have been taking the things that she said too personally or maybe I had been reading too much into the situation. Was there a chance that I could have been misreading her outburst? I tried my best to keep an open mind though I was still somewhat baffled by the fact that she would have meltdowns as often as she did.

I confided in my husband and some other friends about the situation. They were also bewildered by Blud's actions.

By this point, I was struggling with the reality that this collaboration was most likely *not* going to work out but I still wanted to try. I still cared about Blud. We would still hang out together and talk about things like music, our characters, or our stories.

While I did have the foresight to go back and screenshot this section, I wasn't fast enough to get screenshots of everything else that I will be going over. Blud *did* admit to going back and deleting certain exchanges due to a mixture of shame; not wanting to look at them when she would scroll through our conversations.

In retrospect, it was very telling.

And even after that meltdown, I still enjoyed the friendship that I had with her. I kept my guard up but I was willing to make compromises on her behalf if it resulted in better communication between the two of us. Blud made me promise to immediately tell her if I had a problem with something. I also agreed to keep notes of our conversations.

It worked for the most part.

In the end though, it became apparent that Blud wasn't willing to do the same for me (even after we had an extended conversation about it). I then realized that I had been tasked with basically *managing* her autism for her. I was already busy with my supposedly "bad memory" at the time; and Blud was more than ready to scroll back up through our conversations to cherry-pick a line or two of text to remind me of what was said earlier.

Because, for her, circumstances couldn't ever change. If they did, it would mean that Blud had lost control of the situation and that she was in the wrong. She could *not* be in the wrong.

And if she was in the wrong? It would take solid evidence, three witnesses, and a court of law to prove it.

She had two other major meltdowns after this. I managed to step away from communicating with her through one of them and I don't remember the other meltdown lasting very long. She immediately deleted the texts of both of those instances before I could take screenshots of them.

It seemed like I could do nothing right when it came to Blud, no matter the lengths I would go to accommodate her. I knew that it was a common tactic used by abusers. I finally accepted that our partnership wasn't going to work out and I began thinking about an exit strategy. The final straw was when she began to expect me to be at her beck and call.

I had promised that I would be there for her, within reason, and I was willing to offer reassurances whenever she would ask me for them. The promise had been made back when we had first started to talk to one another with more frequency, before Blud had shown me her true colors. I would end up completely underestimating just how badly she would need reassurance.

To be frank, I underestimated a lot about Blud in the beginning.

I would end up mentioning that I enjoyed my space in several different conversations with her. That there was a chance that I might be offline for several days so I could take care of things IRL and recharge my social batteries. I'm somewhat of a recluse. And an adult who enjoys things that aren't online.

She said that it was fine.

I became incredibly anxious when I would talk to Blud, especially after her somewhat abrupt change in personality.

I then attempted to put my foot down about boundaries and this is what she had to say:

I decided to walk away for a bit and I came back after I had had some time to think things over. This wasn't healthy for either of us. I wrote a couple of sentences to say goodbye to Blud before I blocked her. I knew that my actions would probably infuriate her. She had told me in the past that she *hated* not being able to have the final word... which she was able to do through email:

“And I'm not letting you pretend you have control over the situation, or the high ground. You distinctly have neither. But since you're determined to stick to your 'principles' on this, I've decided to make it easier for you.”

She thought that she was absolved of all sins just because I had said that I would stand by her at her worst. And at the time that I said that, I had no idea that her worst would be her trying everything possible to protect her boundaries while stomping all over mine. It didn't matter what she said or how often she would apologize when I would confront her. She kept doing it.

I admit that I wasn't perfect in this situation either.

There were times when I was condescending, critical, or downright mean when I talked to Blud because that was the way I had felt when she was talking to me. I soon realized that it didn't matter either way. I could have been using the friendliest tone imaginable and she still would have perceived it as either mocking or dismissive on my end. There were even a few times where I would preface my explanations with an advisory “please know that I am not attacking you and try to read this in an understanding tone,”etc. I would then post an explanation I had spent hours picking at to ensure that there was no way she could misinterpret the intent. Even so, she still read the majority of what I said as criticism and would take it to heart.

I never expected Blud to do something that made her uncomfortable; nor did I expect her to overextend herself when it came to our project. I would go out of my way to make sure everything was fine when we would talk about it. I only expected mutual respect in return.

When we would get into discussions (arguments), she would never attempt to understand my point of view or let me explain myself. It would have made it about me when it should have been about Blud and her needs. She sometimes would agree to come to a compromise about something, but only if I would admit that I was in the wrong.

I know that if Blud was to look at these screenshots, she'd be incredulous that I'm trying to distract from the horrible things that *I* did. And those horrible things that I did? I tried my best to work with her.

It wasn't just her poor teamwork that bothered me. It was her attitude and the lack of respect that she showed me. She would never ask me to clarify something that I said; always assuming that it was a criticism against her. I can only speculate that Blud did not want to hear about how any of this was her fault, like in the email she sent me.

I don't know if I was actually her friend at any point. Friends make efforts to understand one another. Ideally, they’d want their friendships to continue, and they would want everyone to be getting along and having fun. She seemed to actively defy that.

I would argue that things like this don't just happen in a vacuum. There's almost always a reason for such things, but it's honestly a mystery to me as to where this vitriol comes from. I don't know why Blud sees monsters in every word, especially if they come from a "friend".

I've seen her viscously mock herself during meltdowns; it seems like she hates herself and expects everyone else to hate her too. I think that she wants it to be the truth, so that it validates the feelings she has about herself. The behavior patterns that I'd been exposed to are consistent with the idea that Blud is seeking confirmation about the personal assumptions she has about herself. It's what makes her so volatile to those around her. Yet, she refuses to break the cycle.

I hope that she can make that choice in the future but at this point, I'm not holding my breath.

#dogblud #it feels a bit dirty doing a call out post #but people need to know #she's gotten away with this for far too long #i generally tend to give people the benefit of a doubt #clearly too much #but you can only make up so many excuses before you begin to realize that #at the end of the day #people still have the ability to make a choice #“everyone always leaves me”#well maybe you should really consider what the common variable is #just sayin

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wosowrites · 11 months

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Kids and Katie (Katie Mccabe x Reader)

warnings: mentions of su1c1de, slight smut

a/n: longest fic i’ve written in a while and it’s based off this request here

prompt: Katie’s and you are out on short term injury so you bring Katie’s godchildren to watch the game together.

When katie twisted her ankle, she got ruled out for a month. She was pissed, but secretly a little grateful. In all honesty, she needed the break. Her friends and her godchildren were set to be in town for a week and she had been worried about not spending enough time with them due to training and games. As her best friend, you had been in charge of telling her she was a great god parent and that her friends and their kids would come to the arsenal games and that she would spend the perfect amount of time with them. But then she got injured and she was off the hook. For you though, playing without Katie felt weird. You would scan the field for her because you knew she was somehow always open and then you would remember that she was injured. That didn’t last long though, as in a game vs Reading where you were winning 5-0, their keeper got angry and scared as you started sprinting towards her with the ball on a breakaway. Katie, of course, was sitting in the stands and saw the whole thing go down. She saw their keeper run out of her box and body slam you, sending you flying backwards, body crashing into the turf and head smacking against the ground. You didn’t move for a solid ten minutes, your head throbbing horrifically and realizing that you had been knocked out.

But eventually you got up and got stretched off the field. It was nothing but a nasty concussion but that did lead you to be sitting in the stands watching Arsenal take on another opponent. Only this time, you had two boys and a girl with you. You had told Katie’s friends that they should walk around the city without their kids for a bit, and had taken the responsibility to babysit Katie’s godchildren for the day.

So, you entered the stadium through the players entrance, Katie holding the hands of the two older boys, and you carrying ten month old Aya in your arms. You specifically made it clear to the Arsenal media and photographers to not take any pictures of the kids faces, and they of course, agreed. Although you and the kids parents knew that bringing them to the stadium meant that pictures of you and their kids would be taken, they didn't seem to mind, but you did.

"Who are these little munchkins?" Leah said as she walked up to you and Katie, smiling at the two boys and the heading over to the little baby girl you were holding. "That's Aya and this is Liam and Will," Katie said, pointing to each of the kids, "they're my godchildren," she added. "Someone trusted you with their kids if they-" Viv made a quick signal of slitting her throat with her thumb, "-D-I-E" she added. "Oh shut up Vivianne!" Beth said, shoving her and smiling at Katie. "Katie would be a great mother," she said, trying to reassure the Irishwoman. "You know who else would be a great mother? Y/n." Viv added, winking before walking away. You were left blushing furiously. trying to hide your face with Aya as Beth apologized for her girlfriends behaviour. "She's not wrong though," Katie said as you made your way up the stairs of the stadium to sit at the top, hopefully away from watchful eyes. "Not wrong about what?" you asked, looking at Katie as she stopped walking up the stairs.

"You would be a good mum."

She left it there, the boys tugging on her arm and rushing her to hurry up the stairs.

You sat in your seat beside Katie, your heart pounding.

Maybe a little context was necessary.

Three months ago, you did something you never ever did, you got blackout drunk. Your sister had just committed after fighting a silent battle with mental health for years. It took you about three days to fully process that your sister was gone. She had attempted when you were 13, and again when you were 17, but you had always found her and always watched out for her. You felt as though you had failed her.

So you got drunk, super drunk. So drunk that Viv and Beth, who lived in the apartment down the hall from you got woken up by the sound of an extremely loud crashing sound. The sound in question was you breaking your glass coffee table. They had rushed over, found you lying on the couch, sobbing and bloody from the cuts the glass had given you. And in the fit of mumbling and crying, you said something about Katie. They told you the next morning that your exact words had been. "How is she so blind. I've liked Katie for two years. You guys see that, right?"

So now they knew your secret, they knew about your soft, very soft spot for the Irishwoman, and you didn't know what to do about it. And maybe it shouldn't have, but seeing how well she sealed with kids turned you on more than you could ever have admitted.

But you focused on the game. No way you could sit there, thinking things about Katie with her godchildren around. You weren't that delusional... right? Right.

Aya had soundproof headphones over her ears and she was an all around angel. The twins, however, were a bit much. Will wanted to run around and Liam just wanted to do whatever Will was doing, so the mix was not good.

In the 20th minute, Arsenal scored and the stadium went insane, which made the twins freak out. "Beth! Can you please take Aya till we get the twins to calm down because they're driving Katie insane and-" you started saying, turning to Beth who was beside you. "Yeah, yeah hand her over," Beth said quickly as she took Aya who was just chilling. You thanked her and rushed over to Will who had escaped Katie. Liam was tucked away soundly under Katie's arm, the woman unbothered by the boys kicking.

You were quick, and smart, it was a combination Katie liked about you. So it wasn't hard for you to hop over the last row of chairs and snatch Will.

"William O'Sullivan. If you calm down right now I'll give you ten bucks, a freezie and I'll let you play punching bag with Katie," you whispered in his ear, all while Katie watched you. You moved to look into his eyes. "Okay. Deal. But first you gotta kiss Katie first because mum and dad say that you two are lovers who don't know it yet and mum and dad kiss all the time and they love each other so..."

You almost choked at the little boy's words, shock growing on your face. It took you a hot second to recover from the ambush, a second in witch you looked over at the Irishwoman, who gave you a raised eyebrow before looking back at the boy. "Freezie, 10 bucks, Katie punching bag or time out," you repeated, adding the threat of a punishment. "Fine!" You grabbed his hand gently and walked him over to your seats. "Okay, we're good." you told Katie. "She wants to kiss you," Will said.

"WILLIAM!" you screeched. "Sit down right now," you said, your heart pounding.

You didn’t feel well. You were getting major flashbacks of getting outed in tenth grade. You felt sick to the stomach and when William sat down, you pushed your way passed Katie and down the stairs, away from them.

Katie watched you rush off, concern on her face, and although she was annoyed with William, he was just a kid, he didn’t know any better. "William, you can’t do that. You can’t say things like that," Katie said, disciplining him lightly. "Did I make her mad?" he said quietly. Katie smiled at him softly, brining out a side of herself she never showed. "A bit. I’ll go talk to her. Stay with Beth and Viv?" she said, addressing the ACL duo. "How did supporting our club turn into a babysitting gig?" Viv groaned as Will and Liam got settled in Viviannes lap. "I’m sorry i’ll be right back," Katie said, rushing after you.

You had a key card to the door leading to a hall leading to stairs leading to the locker rooms, so that’s where you went. You knew Katie had one too, but what you didn’t know is that she watched you. She noticed that every time you felt nervous before a game, Leah would let you sit at her cubby. You were always at Leah’s cubby, maybe because she radiated comfort. Not as much comfort as Katie did but you were scared of letting drop any indicator about your feelings for the irishwoman.

To be completely honest, there were at least thirty people who watched Katie rush after you, but for once, she didn’t care about who watched her. She just cared about getting to you. And she did.

The irishwoman opened the door leading to the changing rooms with her key card and slipped into the tunnels, making sure the door was well and locked behind her. When she was convinced it was, she turned and started hurrying towards the Arsenal changing room.

Katie opened the door swiftly and as expected, you were sitting at Leah’s cubby. You lifted your head to look at her briefly before looking back down to the floor. "Katie…" you said, exhaling in slight annoyance.

"No, please don’t Katie me. Just- what did he mean?" Katie asked, sitting across from you.

You took it as a sign that she was annoyed with you, in reality it was simply because if she sat too close, god knows where her hands would go. Under your shirt was the most likely scenario.

"You mean what did the unhinged 6 year old who I love very much but let’s be honest, causes nothing but trouble, mean when he said that I wanted to kiss you?" you asked, sitting up straight and then leaning back against the wall. "That’s exactly what I mean," Katie said softly, looking at you through her eyelashes.

You held her look for a while. You didn’t recognize Katie right now. Katie was fierce. She took things into her own hands, always. If she wanted to kiss you as well, she would be straddling you in the changing room right now.

Katie didn’t recognize you at all. You were being directed, holding eye contact and speaking clearly instead of your usual nervous reck and blushed sentences. But she wanted to respect you. If she could take her things into her own hands, she would be on top of you right then and there.

"What did he mean, y/n?" Katie asked again.

"I don’t even know! I don’t know where he got that from but- but he’s not wrong, Katie. He’s not wrong," you let out.

Katie had never been frozen before. No one had ever said something to her that took her so off guard that she just… stopped.

"Jesus just say you don’t like me back instead of watching me like a deer in front of headlights it’s humiliating," you groaned, standing up and heading towards the door.

You weren’t able to take five steps before hands wandered your waist, first softly and then harshly.

Katie pushed you up against the wall, only slightly taller than you, and attacked your lips almost violently.

It was all you had ever wanted. You let your hands roam her toned stomach as she did the same to you, your lips a tangled mess, your teeth clashing and your tongues fighting for who would come out on top.

You moaned into her mouth when her hand cupped your pussy but you quickly had to push her off.

"The kids. Emilie and Clark would murder us we need to get back to them. Like right now," you said, grabbing her hand and opening the door. She groaned almost hungrily but obeyed and followed you out.

You rushed back up to the spot the kids, Viv and Beth were sitting at, feeling guilty for leaving them.

Once you got up there, you smiled at Viv and Beth who looked a little all too knowing and took back Aya as Katie handled Will and Liam who had calmed down significantly.

Arsenal won 4-1 versus Everton, and then you all went down to the pitch. You handed Aya over to Viv who had funnily taken a liking for the dutch, and then picked up Liam and placed him on the field. He quickly went running around and you smiled, watching him run after his brother.

Katie stood beside you, only inches between you both. She was trying hard not to lace her hand around your waist and you could see that so you gently stepped to the side, trying to make her life easier.

After congratulating the team on the win and a lot of feelings of fomo from not being on the pitch, you gathered up the twins and Aya and headed out to your car. The kids were tired and slept the whole ride back to Katie’s apartment, and you and the irishwoman didn’t talk much either. You didn’t know what to say.

So, you pulled up to the apartment complex where Emilie and Clark were waiting for you guys and let them take their kids.

"Thank you so much, you have no clue how nice it was to just be alone for a bit," Emilie said, hugging you and then Katie. "Nah we get it. No worries. The offer is still up if you want to ditch the hotel and stay at the apartment," Katie said.

Emilie looked between both of you and smiled slightly. "Thank you… but you two clearly have something to talk about," the mother said.

You blushed and said goodbye to her before heading up to Katie’s apparement.

She unlocked the door and you sat on the marble counter. Katie gently came towards you, placing her hands on your knees and spreading your legs apart to stand between them.

"Can I be your girlfriend? I want to be yours," Katie said.

You smiled widely, looking down at her and cupping her face. You placed a soft kiss on her forehead and then her nose. "Yes, you can be my girlfriend."

#katie mccabe #arsenal fcw #vivianne miedema #beth mead #woso couples #this is woso #woso fic #woso x reader

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mono-dot-jpeg · 8 months

Text

listening - stellaron hunters

summary; you cannot see the reality in front of you but you can hear it. and yet it sounds so painful.

genre/extra tags; headcanons, angst ig?, hurt/comfort (questionably executed), reader has torchwick's (rwby) cane weapon thing but not really, reader has the hunt path and lighting as combat type, i'm seeing in 4d right now with how im setting this specific reader up rn, actual lore executed badly

[platonic] [teen reader] [gender neutral]

[warnings; mentions of eye injuries, insecurities/doubts about one's self, weapons mentioned quite a bit]

[buy me a kofi]

a/n; sorry this took me almost a month (maybe longer depending on when i finish this work). got distracted very quickly by other things and then i got writer's block for a while. whatever so. i'll describe reader's weapon in the headcanons, don't worry. hope you enjoy.

you were an unexpected addition to the hunters. i mean you're so young compared to everyone else, what makes you so adamant on joining this group

i guess we'll never know /ref

but like all the hunters, you hold power just as heavy as the rest.

of course it wasn't for free. you worked hard in your homeland and you earned your path and power.

but you wanted to find something. something was missing.

you didn't know what.

but then you found the stellaron hunters.

you heard about the stellaron and you wanted to know more. you wanted to see it.

and somehow, elio had accepted you.

and you were now a hunter.

before you lost your sight, you were very skilled with tech like silver wolf. you loved making weapons or machinery

you worked behind the scenes and on the stage, so to speak

your preferred weapon was a sniper. and occasionally if you felt lazy, you would have a small turret by your side that would do the work for you

but imagine the absolute devastation you felt when you lost your eyesight in the middle of a mission. or more like during the mission

with your power, it was powerful but unstable

you could kill one enemy with ease but that would require high control with your lightning and careful aim with your sniper

unfortunately you have to control the lightning through your hands on onto the sniper so when you aim down the sights (i dont know how to describe it other than in gamer terms) that lightning has a chance to backfire and hit your eye

through that you managed to lose your sight overtime but this mission accelerated it

and you never felt so devastated

your power betrayed you and on top of that, it was in the middle of a battle and the enemies took an opportunity to take you down quickly.

blade and kafka were there to help clean up at least

but they couldn't handle the lost mess you were

"why can't i see anymore? why?" was the only mutters they heard from you

when you were taken back to base, you were attended to, much to your dismay and fear.

your usually hard headed behavior crumbled within 10 mins after you lost your vision

you felt weak

you felt helpless

you didn't feel strong anymore

your eyes were no longer functional, there's an irregular pattern that traces over your eyes and there's faint marks over the eye area you used the most for sniping.

blade describes the pattern as an angry lightning storm that doesn't end

and when you're done being cared for, you don't leave your room

when you do, you're dragged by kafka or silverwolf (occasionally blade but he just carries you roughly)

you feel like a burden every time you sit at the meeting table

you can hear everything with your vision gone

and you hate it

you want to see again but you know you won't

eventually you find your courage to start to navigate the base on your own

you find yourself in your abandoned lab with blade by your side

"stop frowning like that"

"that's a lot coming from you"

"you're really going to let this eye sight stop you?"

"well i can't exactly wield metal anymore. and i can't use my sniper rifle cane, what do you think i should do, boy genius?"

you feel him open your hand to show your palm and you feel a cold metal touch your hand. you start feeling it properly.

"this is my sniper rifle, blade."

"well, maybe it doesn't have to serve as a sniper. you don't need to take the first shot to kill."

and with that in mind, you become like a follow-up attacker

you train endlessly to improve yourself as much as possible.

you ask silver wolf to help you modify your weapon to work for you (you kind of backseated her about it despite being unable to see what she was doing)

and you now have a multi-functioning cane.

it functions as a gun, a mobility cane to help you walk and "see", and a melee weapon if you hit someone hard enough (which isn't really hard since it's made of a lightweight metal)

and of course if worse comes to worse and you need to deal with a bunch of enemies at once, it can release a powerful strike of lightning (similar to jingyuan ult). you have to let go of your cane so you don't get hurt but ehh small price to pay to save your ass, you know?

i think that since you're a teen in this, the hunters don't really pay attention to your feelings as well as they should

none of them really know how to comfort a teen. which makes sense.

blade and silver wolf are blunt in their own ways

kafka is very avoidant or she speaks so confusingly that you dont even bother

but when they really see you visit your unused lab everyday, they slowly start to understand that you had a part of you taken and you won't ever live your life the way you want to

but surely this is the work of elio. elio knew this was coming, and he knew you would be fine.

it takes a while for the others to tell you that you're not the burden you think you are. they try their best to comfort you even if it's really awkward bc they don't know how to comfort you properly yet

but you appreciated it.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai blade x reader #honkai star rail blade x reader #honkai star rail blade #hsr blade #honkai kafka #kafka x reader #hsr kafka #kafka honkai star rail #hsr silver wolf #silver wolf x reader #silver wolf

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the-final-sif · 1 year

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Thinking about c!Drunz in the convict childcare au again.

Because like, from c!Punz's perspective everything goes terrible. He was waiting for c!Dream to get out of the prison, and they had a plan, and then all of the sudden, c!Ranboo is dead and Dream is gone and he doesn't know what to do anymore.

What's worse is Punz knows that Dream isn't dead. If Dream was dead, this would be easy. Punz could bring him back, and then they'd go get their revenge! Dream being dead would be preferable to this.

The rest of the server (minus the syndicate and Badlands) is convinced that Dream has somehow taken Sam hostage, but Punz knows that can't be true, because Dream would've told him. So Punz is uniquely aware that Dream is absolutely alive and that Sam is keeping him hostage in secret for an unknown reason.

Punz doesn't know what's happened to Dream, and he's worried about the worst. He's searching obsessively but it's really hard given that he's still pretending to not be on Dream's side. So he's also trying to throw Quackity's group off the scent and trying to decide if he can trust the Syndicate or not.

In the end, the Syndicate finds Dream first. They don't tell anyone. Punz finds out after the rest of the server manages to catch up and find where Dream escaped from. And then Punz has to wait again. Because he can't going after the syndicate. He just has to hope that Techno will honor the favor in a meaningful way. He's stuck fearing the worst.

Eventually, Dream's awake and aware enough to get a message across. He's able to sweet talk one of Philza's crows into bringing Punz a short letter,

'alive, with syndicate, can't come meet up yet'

That's all it says, but Punz ends up sobbing in something between relief and exhaustion. The crow sticks around, a bit put off by the reaction to it's letter, but also feeling kinda nosy and wanting a response to carry back (and some peanuts. Dream promised Punz had peanuts and would share >:[ where are the peanuts Punz). Punz needs a hot minute to recover, but eventually manages to scrawl back a quick 'okay' and then find some treats to repay the bird for carrying the message.

It takes time before the two of them can meet up. Messages are dangerous, so they speak in vague terms. Punz knows Dream is injured, but there's something else keeping him with the Syndicate. Punz is wracking his brain trying to figure out what it could be. Is it Ranboo? Does Techno want Ranboo revived before he'll let Dream leave? Punz doesn't like to think that Techno would hold Dream hostage like that, but people change in grief.

When Punz can finally go see Dream, he travels light but he carries an End Chest with full equipment for both of them. His shulker is stacked with potions. He's ready for the worst.

In a sense, he finds it. Even with all the time to heal, Dream has obviously been tortured. Scars litter his body, and his hands shake. He struggles to stand on his own, and he's only just barely started putting on weight. Dream's been getting help, Punz can see that much. It's enough that he doesn't draw a sword against Techno. But it's still hard to see.

On some level, Punz was ready for that. The sight hits him full force, but he was ready for that.

He wasn't ready for the little scarred piglin toddler curled up next to Dream on the couch. Eyeing him with great suspicion.

Punz is cautious as he's introduced to Michael and Dream gives him a simplified explanation of what happened. From how the toddler is staying very firmly pressed up against Dream, one little hand clutched on his shirt, it's pretty obvious what's keeping Dream here. This is a harder problem to resolve.

Still, Punz makes the most of it. Once he's got an understand of the situation he gives Michael a grin and offers to tell him stories about Dream from when they were kids. Dream groans, but he's got a smile under there, and Michael is delighted to learn Caretaker Secrets (Techno won't admit to it, but he was 100% eavesdropping to also get the Dream Secrets).

#sif speaks #drunz #c!drunz #staged duo #c!punz #c!dream #convict childcare au #c!technoblade #dreblr #michael_beloved

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nanomooselet · 4 months

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Episode Eight: Our Home

When this episode was first airing I saw someone describe it as "com[ing] for your feels with a rusty shiv" and it sure does! It sure does. It'll only get worse from here on out. :D

Little sprouts in their little hats! This scene is so friggin' cute and the show ruins it by cutting straight to the aftermath of the crash. Unfair.

The first time I watched this, I realised that Nai wasn't "evil" from the start. That is, he wasn't always... like he is now. I think he truly loved Rem and Vash, though he might have only realised how much later on. But on rewatch, I also don't think Vash's memories of his childhood with Nai carry the same level of nostalgic longing that Knives does for his memories. In the few short minutes he's being recorded, here are three things that Nai does.

Upset Vash by acting as though food - judging by Vash's reaction - makes Vash less of a Plant.

Play a prank by convincing Rem of something that isn't true.

Show affection to his brother... after Vash goes along with it and Rem falls for it.

I think, for Vash, the discovery they eventually made wasn't so violently unlike what he'd come to expect that he couldn't handle it. Vash believed he could rely on Rem to accept him and that was all he really needed. But what did Nai believe he had? His brother. He could rely on Vash to back him up, to play along, to understand. Vash seemingly being lesser, being other (like Rem) made Nai feel lonely. And though this touches on the manga* more than what we've so far seen in Stampede, I think Knives is far more of an idealist than Vash has ever been, even now.

Vash wants a better world, and he's willing to work for it, to fail, and to try again. He knows what it's like to fall short.

Knives wants a perfect world, and perfection admits no mistakes.

I just damn near made myself cry thinking about Rem and what she considers her mistakes MOVING ON.

THIS ISN'T AN IMPROVEMENT although it is a lovely colour scheme.

When Nai reveals the truth about the crash (or what he believes to be the truth; Knives cannot be relied upon as a source of information even a little bit), Vash flees. He continues to flee; even lying in the sand, it's to seek some kind of escape - not a good kind, but that's what it is. "I want this all to end./I don't want to be here." He can't, of course. Not before humans find him. We're survivors. For all our many faults, evolution didn't select for us giving up or failing to help each other, especially in the wake of such a disaster.

It's true that Brad and Luida aren't initially accepting of Vash, but it's Vash who frames himself in terms of usefulness, echoing Nai. It's Vash who seems to believe he shouldn't live unless he can... somehow make up for what "he" did. Luida doesn't know that. She sees another survivor, wrestling with the same guilt. I think the way she speaks with him may have been how she coped herself - and perhaps the way for Brad too, come to think of it. He acts like a paranoid dick, but when given a lead to pursue, he runs right off to dig through wreckage and bodies for some sign of Rem and finds the only shreds of comfort Vash was likely to get. They both have something to do. While I do wish Vash had chosen to live for the sake of living, I think what's keeping him in that bare little room isn't that he's an unproductive Plant or the hatred of humans (at least not just that). It's a trap he built for himself. As long as he does nothing, he's doing nothing wrong and he's not adding to the burden he already bears. They shouldn't trust him, not after what he did.

So when Luida trusts him to help the dying Plant as Rem's blank ticket story plays, she's making a choice. And that's to allow Vash to make his own choice: to live, even with his guilt.

The montage of him travelling around helping Plants! He teaches people how to take care of them properly! It makes him so happy!

So I really, really hope the speculation is wrong and Vash isn't burning himself out doing that. It seems paranoid, and it doesn't feel intuitively true the way some of my other speculation has, but that might just be wishful thinking. I definitely can't rely on Vash admitting it if it is true. I really hope he has at least one nice thing he doesn't pay for with his blood. :(

When Nai's influence re-emerges, so to does the burden of guilt, death and destruction he represents. It's funny that Brad's impulsive anger and mistrust is what drives Vash to seek his brother out - where Vash is going, he'll find plenty more of that.

One more thing. In the shot where Vash enters the Plant carrier (the city of July, or at least, the site where it'll be built in future), it zooms in to show Nai, standing. But if you look very closely as it does? He's rising to his feet from a kneeling position. I wonder what would have happened if Vash had entered a little earlier?

*Reading Maximum in like two days and then watching the final three/four episodes of Stampede was a terrible idea.

#tristampparty #trigun stampede #i love that orange came up with a reason vash and luida have similar haircuts #the wall of photos has so many adorable pictures #it also has one that did me psychic damage. try and guess which one!#tw sui ideation #trigun meta #meta: tristampparty episodes

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amethystina · 2 months

Note

Hello, I hope you're doing better.

I just wanted to tell you that since I read the latest chapter of Who Holds The Devil you have revived in me some ideas and scenarios I had in mind about the show.

Like what if everything worked out for Yohan's plans after episode 12 (when Gaon left Yohan and Elijah) without K or Soohyun dying? What would happen then?

Yohan will definitely leave after some point to Switzerland with Elijah because he already planned it for her treatment, even if he is not a criminal in Korea or presumed dead. But how long will it take him to leave?

And what will Gaon do? Will he start dating Soohyun or keep whatever they have between them as it is? If he dates her, will they work out or realise they were better together as friends and family but nothing more? ( I personally believe that when they start dating at the beginning, everything will seem perfect. But as time goes on, they will realise that it won't work out between them as they took a very long time to get to this point, and that it was too late.)

Will Gaon stay in contact with Elijah? (Maybe.) Or Yohan? ( I doubt it.)

Will Gaon miss them? Will he ever realise that Yohan loved him or that he had some kind of feelings for Yohan?

Basically, what would've happened if all the baggage from the last episodes never occurred. After the rejection on Gaon's part in episode 12, I believe Yohan will want to stay away from Gaon but I could be wrong.

The latest chapter reminded me of all these ideas and questions I had, but now we have a lot more baggage and issues to work through which makes me even more excited to explore what will happen next.

I trust your storytelling abilities as they have not once failed me for all this time I was following this fic.

Take care of your self, and when you feel better come back with a new amazing chapter as always.

I'm doing better, thank you 💜

Wow. Yeah, that's a lot of thoughts! And very interesting ones! And I think some of it depends on exactly how Yo Han decides to finish his plans. Like, killing people on national television would still make him a criminal, so I'm guessing that's not what he does? But he still gets his revenge somehow?

But yeah, he'd definitely still go to Switzerland since that has clearly been a part of his plan for years. And I think he'd actually go as soon as possible. Maybe he'd give Elijah time to say goodbye to Ga On, but that depends on what terms he and Ga On are, I'd say. If we assume that none of the baggage happened (including Soo Hyun dying, Ga On attempting to murder Yo Han, etc.) I think that Yo Han would keep his distance from Ga On, yes. Out of sheer pride and self-preservation, if nothing else. And Ga On has Soo Hyun so he wouldn't seek Yo Han out, since he knows that Soo Hyun doesn't like Yo Han and he wouldn't want to upset her.

So, sadly enough, I think Yo Han and Ga On would drift apart. Maybe they'd still cooperate somehow to take down the baddies, but, as horrible as it may sound, Soo Hyun's death actually brought them closer together. Even Ga On trying to kill Yo Han did in some ways since, from that point on, they're forever tied together what with Yo Han carrying the scar Ga On gave him. And without that? With Soo Hyun there to plead with Ga On not to do something dangerous? Ga On wouldn't chase after Yo Han. And Yo Han wouldn't chase after Ga On since he's already been rejected and is too prideful.

So I think that Yo Han would leave for Switzerland with Elijah and Ga On would stay in touch with her, yes, but not Yo Han. Maybe he'd try a couple of times, but Yo Han wouldn't respond. And, eventually, Ga On will stop trying because who is Yo Han to him anyway? Just his weird boss who he lived with for a while — and kind of wanted to take care of because he seemed so lonely — who was also a terrible influence on him. So, clearly, it might be for the better that they don't talk anymore.

(You keep telling yourself that, Ga On)

As for Ga On and Soo Hyun, I think they would start dating, yes, and I think they'd be pretty happy there at the beginning. If in a pretty boring and uneventful way. Like, there's not really much passion between them, is there? But they'd be content. It'd be safe and sweet.

I'm not sure if they'd notice that there's something wrong, though. I think that both of them have been waiting for this for so long that they'd be determined to make it work, even if that means ignoring the warning signs. I honestly think they'd both pretend everything was fine long after the point where it's not. And that both of them would silence the niggling doubts by saying that this is just how all relationships are — there will be dips. Nothing is perfect all the time. And it's not like they're arguing or anything.

It's just a little dull, that's all.

In short, I think they'd be stuck. Not in a way that makes them genuinely unhappy, but they certainly wouldn't be honest with themselves or each other, either. Which isn't the worst way to live, but it's also not the best one.

And I think that Ga On would miss Elijah and Yo Han, yes, though he wouldn't be honest about why he does. He'd just say it's because he cares about them and it's sad that he can't talk to them as often — or at all, in Yo Han's case. And, in a similar vein, I don't think Ga On would try to explore his feelings for Yo Han, or Yo Han's feelings for him. Because Ga On would be able to tell that danger lies in that direction and he'd rather remain in denial.

But he would think about Yo Han a lot. And probably do a doubletake every time they mention Yo Han or show his picture in the media. And he'd ask Elijah about how Yo Han is doing. He'd find himself cooking Yo Han's favourite food, even if he's not there to eat it. He'd miss the house. He'd miss the quiet nights reading.

He'd still wear the watch.

And all that longing would only make Ga On double down and be even more determined to make things work with Soo Hyun. Because the alternative is just too scary. He doesn't want there to be another explanation as to why he misses Yo Han. He wants his safe and happy life with Soo Hyun.

Everything else is shoved aside, pushed down, and ignored.

And, eventually, I think Soo Hyun would notice that something is wrong. But she doesn't know what and, even if she kind of hates herself for it, she's too afraid of the answer to ask. Because she doesn't want to lose Ga On and, deep down, she can tell that he is slipping away from her, slowly but surely. Just from the fact that his smiles are a little too hollow sometimes, and he's often staring off into space, lost in thought. So she tries her best to help him, as always, but, for some reason, it doesn't seem to work as well as it usually would.

But of course it'd eventually come crumbling down. And — since I'm a dramatic bitch — I suggest it'll do so when Yo Han and Elijah eventually drop by for a visit (mostly Elijah's doing, of course, with Yo Han reluctantly agreeing). More specifically the moment when Ga On comes face to face with Yo Han again for the first time in months — maybe even a year? — and everything he's been trying to suppress rushes to the surface and hits him like a freight train.

Because he's been living comfortably with Soo Hyun, sure, and he loves her dearly, but there's not much of a spark. But the one he had with Yo Han? That's been just a softly glowing ember since they parted ways?

Turns out that seeing Yo Han again — and being faced with all that intensity and enticing hint of danger once more — is all it takes to ignite it again. To turn it into a wildfire.

All of a sudden, Ga On is reminded of what real attraction feels like.

And the fact that it's not aimed at his girlfriend is definitely going to be a bit of a problem.

... aaaaaand maybe I should stop now. Because I'm not sure if you actually wanted me to answer what I think x'D

Anyway! Yes, very interesting things to ponder! And I think there are several ways to go, depending on what angle one wants to take and what happened during those last episodes. Like, if Yo Han and Ga On reconciled after their breakup, I think some parts would obviously play out differently. But, if they didn't? I'd go with something like what I said above.

But, again, that depends entirely on what you want to accomplish. Trust me when I say that there are always ways to tweak what happens to your liking but still make it feel in character and realistic. I'm somewhat of an expert on that, I've been told xD

Thank you so much for sharing, anyway! It was a very fun thought experiment! And I do hope to be able to get back to writing sometime soon. I'm actually feeling better than I have in a long time, but I think I'm going to make a separate post about that. We'll see.

I hope you have a great day! Take care 💜

#Amethystina Replies #Anonymous #The Devil Judge #For real though #I don't need much to get going #I got this ask 23 hours ago according to Tumblr #And I'm not lying when I say that I already have a vague outline for a possible story #That starts around the point where Yo Han and Elijah return to Korea #Mainly focused on how Ga On will have to navigate the extremely gay feelings he suddenly has for Yo Han #While also coming to terms with the ones he DOESN'T have for Soo Hyun #My brain works fast and doesn't stop for anyone #Not even me #My favourite scene is one after Ga On has put on his big-boy pants and actually broken up with Soo Hyun #And has no idea how to say that to Yo Han in a natural way #(because he's secretly hoping that Yo Han will be interested in him now but he can't just SAY that)#And eventually just ends up blurting it out without any context whatsoever #And Yo Han just looks at him #And with an INCREDIBLY deadpan voice goes: 'My condolences?'#Because Yo Han is NOT going to be easy to approach #(until he is because it's Ga On and he's a big softie for Ga On)

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dastardly-imbecile · 1 year

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Warmth

Wrote this for a friend, do not know a single iota of anything Hannibal-related, which is probably abundantly clear.

The chair is made of plush red velvet; so dark that it’s nearly black. Soft under you in the way that you know you could fall asleep if given ten minutes.

Around you, the house is dark and silent. All but for the crackling of the fireplace - such a cliche term, but cozy nonetheless. Too dark to read a physical book, but you don’t particularly feel like pulling out something electronic. It would ruin the illusion that you’ve so carefully crafted in this atmosphere - the idea that you’re in some fantasy world, relaxing in your mountainside chalet, nothing more than the fire and the chair and the dark, dark walls.

“Y/N?”

Well, something had to break the immersion eventually. Not that you’re really mad about that - not when it’s Hannibal. You can practically feel his approach behind you, feel it past the sound of his footsteps and the scent of the tea he’s carrying. It’s the feeling you’ve always had, ever since seeing him for the first time all that time ago - an internal fire; a warmth that starts in your chest and spreads.

Different from the external warmth of the fire. Strange to think about, to attempt to articulate to anyone - but you don’t really need to. All you need is to feel it yourself.

His presence moves around the chair to stand beside you. He’s tall, somewhere in the realm of the upper-fives lower-sixes. Enough to tower over you sitting here. “Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”

He pats the armrest next to you. “May I?”

You nod. There’s the sound of shifting above, and he settled next to you. Perched delicately - an anathema to that looming height, he wields it like a dancer would. Makes you wonder where he learned. It lends to the quiet sound of his footfalls and the languid, easy way he moves. Not a care in the world - a skill you sometimes wish you could learn.

Simply having him is enough for now.

Just now.

He passes the cup and saucer down. Warmth, it’s what you’re surrounded by, the fire and his body and the cup, and it’s spreading inside of you, down past your stomach and up into your head. More as you take a sip - it’s pleasant enough to loosen your muscles.

You shift to lean against him. He accepts it without comment, and your head lays just under his elbow.

“Bad day?” He asks. You’re a veterinarian, and that’s part of what drew him to you in the first place - said he admired anyone who would try and help animals. It’s hard sometimes to put them down or to see the ones that have been mistreated. Not today, though.

“Tired.”

At that, you yawn, and he laughs - softly, but you can still feel it jostle your head. Not an entirely unpleasant sensation when it comes from the person you love.

His arm settles around your shoulders. “We should get you to bed then, shouldn’t we?”

Probably. You can’t quite get your arms to move, however. He divines that - as he always does, somehow - and stands. “Or do you need an incentive first?”

“Maybe.” You take another drink; he moves around behind you.

Strong hands settle on your shoulders. At the moment, there’s a layer of fabric separating skin from skin, but the phantom memory of that sensation still shivers through you. Yes, this is definitely doing wonders for your wakefulness.

They start to knead - moving across your shoulders, gentle at first, but pressing deeper with every second. It sends your muscles tensing for a brief moment before they surrender to the feeling of being worked, molded into nothing but the feeling of release.

“Better?” He asks.

There’s nothing you can do but nod mutely. It’s as much as any words could’ve said.

It has to end, as all things do, but at least you’re comforted by the fact that there will be as many massages as you’d ever want. He helps you up from your chair, hand on your back. The touch of it sends residual tingles rushing through you. He can probably feel them.

He walks with you until you enter your bedroom - lights dimmed to suit the rest of the house, bed made and ready for sleep.

“I’ll turn the fire out,” He murmurs, voice soft and dark as the velvet chair. “Sleep, Darling.”

You do.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #x gn reader

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canmom · 7 months

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re the shit happening in palestine

nobody knows what will happen i guess, but like. what's most likely? my doomscrolling brain can produce possibilities from 'genocide to rival the worst of the 20th century' through 'syria-style proxy war' all the way up to 'first act of wwiii', and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop of the start of the ground invasion that would presumably make the sickening carnage of the last couple weeks look like nothing. meanwhile the countries around Israel are flinging a handful of rockets at US and Israeli military bases.

so like Israel's got to know that if it sends its whole army into Gaza, then Hezbollah etc. will attack and things will get much worse for them, so at some point they have to back down right? they're already having to play desperate PR damage control after they blew up that hospital, and even the U.S. is starting to say out of the corner of its mouth 'hey that's a bit much there buddy, go easy on the civilian slaughter'. on the other hand Israel seems to be pushing even fashier to enforce a pro-war sentiment internally - locking up any Arab citizen who says something anti-war, banning news orgs like Al Jazeera who don't toe the line, etc. like is it just going to fall back to the status quo plus several thousand bodies, or are we too far from that equilibrium at this point?

and as for Hamas and its allies - obviously they would have known that if they carried out a massive, bloody attack on Israel, the Israelis would go completely berserk and launch an even larger reprisal on the population of Gaza. ergo, they had to have believed that whatever they would achieve through such an attack might be 'worth that price', and have some sense of how things might go next - and they're still fighting, shooting rockets etc., but what's their current objective, just to survive as an organisation until other countries get pulled in against Israel?

really what i want to have some reason to believe is that there might be any remotely plausible way this can still work out to a 'better' state of affairs (no ethnic cleansing, no megadeaths - but also no more ghettoes, and somehow, end-of-apartheid-style negotiations to abolish the current Israeli state so that Palestinians can return home with equal legal rights etc.).

i see people talking like here is how the Palestinians will still win, that this is the first act in the overthrowing of Israel, even defining various neighbouring Islamic states as 'the resistance', because you need a team to cheer for I guess, enemy-of-my-enemy logic. but what seems more likely to come from that kind of escalation would just be a massive war which, if recent wars are anything to go by, will kill a lot of people and push every state/group involved to greater levels of internal repression, but eventually peter out without any sort of clear outcome. so... is Israel somehow much more fragile than it used to be? is there reason to think the US would cut it off?

anyway. for some historical comparisons - the Haitian Revolution took a little over 12 years (1791-1804) between the initial slave revolt and establishing an independent country (which promptly got squashed with debt and trade sanctions by the bitter European powers). in South Africa, the ANC turned to insurgency in the wake of the Sharpeville Massacre of 1960, and about 31 years later negotiations began for the end of apartheid (during the collapse of the USSR, which shifted the priorities of the US etc. who had been backing the apartheid gov). the Algerian War of Independence lasted about seven years (1954-1962). if this anti-colonial war is going to follow a similar trajectory... well, it depends when you start counting I guess, but probably it would take a decade or more to approach any sort of 'resolution' you could name.

the status quo obviously couldn't last indefinitely, you can't just keep a population in a massive prison and gradually bleed them out and not expect them to fight back, but in terms of ways this could fall down, there are some obviously very bad outcomes (nakba 2, surviving palestinians in Gaza exiled to e.g. egypt) that could establish a new equilibrium (apartheid state annexes the whole region after sufficiently depopulating it to establish a majority). that's not implausible, it's basically what happened in the U.S.A., Canada and Australia - the settler population now outnumbers the indigenous ones by orders of magnitude, and maintains a complicated legal regime to control the surviving population (reservations etc.). that's presumbly the outcome the present state of Israel 'wants' to achieve, gradually enough that it doesn't look too bad on TV. however, it's not there yet - in the combined territory of Israel and Palestine, there's presently roughly equal numbers of people defined by the census to be Jewish vs Palestinian.

conversely... the state of Israel's constantly broadcast fears about a combined 'one state solution' resulting in the Jewish population being treated the way the Israeli state currently treats the Palestinians (ethnic cleansing, massacres etc.), and the great-replacement birthrate bullshit, are surely completely overblown (notably the much smaller white population in South Africa was not banished at the end of apartheid), but what happens rather depends exactly how the state of Israel might collapse and who would hold power afterwards. and... in South Africa, the apartheid government in the last few apartheid years started to realise it had lost the game, and was making some paltry concessions - which the Israeli gov. is not doing at all, seeming to prefer to rush headlong into an 'us or them' war of annihilation, confident the U.S. will let it do whatever reckless shit it wants?

all in all it's a horrifying mess and I find it hard to feel any sort of hope that it won't just get worse in one of a dozen different ways. would love to be convinced otherwise. i always assume things will go in the bleakest way possible, which is not a very reliable mindset.

#amateur geopolitics analysis hour

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kaysfanficcorner · 1 year

Text

Out of This World Chapter 7: Stellar

Author’s Note: Well, here we are. From here on out this story is going to be SPICY. As we make our way into the events of season two, be ready for things to heat up considerably. I’m both nervous and thrilled to share this chapter with you, so please be kind and above all else ENJOY! My use of Mando’a is about to ramp up as well, and I’ve attempted to to give definitions within the story itself, but if I use any words you aren’t familiar with feel free to ask me about it. As always, if you want to join the Taglist please let me know!

Jate - Good Ca - Night Elek - Yes Ad - Son

Summary: As we make our way into the events of season two, things between the Mandalorian and the Earthling start to really heat up.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Female Earthling Reader

Warnings: Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Light action violence, Nudity, Graphic depictions of sex. SMUT AND FLUFF ABOUND 🌶️

If you are under the age of 18 you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

Music Inspiration

We Might Even Be Falling In Love - Themes inspired

Music Inspiration

Stellar - Title inspired by, themes inspired

AO3

Original OOTW Fanart by Justin Wood (at the end)

*****

Life back on the Razor Crest feels incredibly strange after all that has changed. You feel like a different version of yourself when you once again climb the ramp to the ship you now openly consider to be your home. You’d left it feeling like a shell of a person after killing Ranik and now you’re returning with a stronger disposition, determined to become a warrior in your own right. Determined to feel like you can pull your weight around the ship as an equal to the Mandalorian. You’d also left the Razor Crest completely unsure of where you and Din stood with each other. The mild flirting and signals here or there had been maddening, and now the two of you are closer than you were before. Which is maddening for entirely different reasons.

You’re so happy to be reunited with your cat that you spend a good ten minutes carrying her around the ship, until she gets restless enough to pry herself from your arms. Jupiter is thrilled in her own feline way to have everyone back on board, and the kid is just as thrilled to be back home with her. Similarly to yourself, the little green child won’t leave her alone for the first few days out in space.

On the second day after Nevarro, you even walk in on the kid using his powers to grab at Jupiter’s tail from a few feet away. Every time the poor orange feline meows and tries to whip around to slash at an assailant that isn’t actually there, the kid giggles. You’d scooped him up and giggle too, before booping him on the nose and lightly telling him he shouldn’t use his powers to mess with people or animals.

The Space RV is pretty much just how it had been left, save for the little tune ups here and there that were ordered. Being back on board is both a comfort to you, and a frustration. Frustration eventually evolves into aggravation, and it isn’t until a few weeks have gone by that you come to terms with why you’re so fucking irritable all the sudden.

It’s Din.

You came back to the Razor Crest assuming that things were going to continue to feel the way that they had on Nevarro, that Din would continue you dote on you with the soft side of his personality that is only ever meant for you or the kid to experience. Somehow what you end up getting from your cosmic companion is the complete opposite. He’s not touchy feely anymore, and the words of affection have drifted from his tongue.

As the weeks drag on, you sincerely miss the inn on Nevarro. Comfortable bed aside, now that you’re home on the Space RV, you and Din no longer sleep next to one another. It’s back to taking turns in the cot. You’d gotten used to the feeling of your bodies intertwining as you both drifted off to sleep, and it’s hard for you to find comfort in your nightly rest without it. Sometimes he’d spoon you, others you’d been the one holding him. If you had to choose a favorite position, holding Din while he fell asleep would hands down be the winner. Feeling his body relax against you, limbs twitching here and there as his mind switches over from consciousness to unconsciousness, is something you’d come to treasure by the end of the week long stay on your beloved lava planet.

As upset as you are that you’re not going to be able to sleep next to Din like that any time soon, you’re even more upset that you never got around to sleeping with Din while having such a luxurious bed at your disposal. With the kid around there was just never a good time to try again.

Being home, it’s painfully obvious that there aren’t a ton of comfortable places to have a sexual encounter on the Crest. Declarations of mutual attraction and a week of fluffy little moments had been absolutely lovely, but you’re dying to consummate whatever this is between the two of you. Wondering when or if a good time for it will ever present itself is making you extremely antsy, and its becoming impossible to hold it in around the increasingly grumpier Din Djarin you find yourself stuck with. It’s driving you nuts, to the point where now you’re just getting pissed off about it.

Perhaps he’s dealing with similar frustrations about what’s going on between you. Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s got your makeshift family on a wild goose chase to drop off one of it’s members with complete strangers. More than likely, as it is with yourself, its a combination of the two things.

You’re perfectly aware that aside from the issues going on between the adults, a part of your heart shatters every single time you share a loving moment of fondness with the child. That being said, your only goal in regards to the little foundling is to love him and enjoy your remaining time together.

Which is one of the reasons why, today, you’re so pissed off at Din that you could punch that fucking helmet off of his head and risk breaking your own hand in the process. It’s as if he’s actively trying not to enjoy his time with anyone.

The Razor Crest is parked at a star port for a quick refuel, and so you insist that loading up on some more food and supplies for the cat is a necessity. Din just seems completely irritated with you when you suggest this, and it’s all you can do not to snap at him.

With a huff you tell him, “I’ll just go take care of it myself, you don’t have to come.”

“Absolutely not,” he counters, arms crossed over his chest.

You roll your eyes so hard that you nearly pull an ocular muscle. “Okay, then come on. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can get back on the road.”

“Fine,” Din agrees, voice dripping with animosity.

Between you, the child can sense your friction and his ears are casting downward as he frowns. He clearly dislikes his humans being snippy with one another. You sense this, so you scoop him up into your arms and begin walking down the ramp.

“Shouldn’t we use the pram?” Din asks, watching the two of you walk off.

You call over your shoulder, “Screw the pram. Just come on.”

And so you’re forced to shop for food with an uninterested, grumpy Mandalorian hovering over your shoulder and you feel as if you’re going to explode at any minute. Fighting with Din is the last thing you want, but if you aren’t able to have a conversation with him about what his problem is you’re afraid it’s going to come to that sooner rather than later.

What you really don’t understand is why a conversation hasn’t been had already. Aside from that first awkward month of living together, the communication between yourself and Din has been pretty good up to this point. Why it feels like you suddenly can’t approach him, you do not know. It’s starting to make your fight or flight instincts want to kick in, reminding you of what it felt like to constantly be on edge around your toxic family. Din is far from toxic, but it triggers you nonetheless.

So you try your hardest to ignore him, juggling the baby on one hip as you look at he various foods before you. The shop on the star port is small, and much like gas stations on the side of big highways back on Earth, the food seems both overpriced and unhealthy compared to the various fresh markets you’ve been to.

“Would your son like a free sample?” A voice suddenly catches your attention.

You look up from the vegetables to see an attractive young human man behind the counter. His dark skin is in contrast from his white hair and light blue eyes, and he’s dressed very plainly. A kind simile graces his features as he holds out what looks like a fried frog leg on a stick towards the baby, who is in turn grasping for it hungrily.

“What? Oh,” you hear yourself still sounding on edge so you try to force your voice to become pleasant with a fake smile plastered to your face. “Uh, yes thank you. He’s constantly hungry so I can’t say no to free food.”

“Here you go little fella,” the man says, smiling down at the kid as he hands it to him. “You have a beautiful family, ma’am.”

The compliment causes your chest to swell and you squeeze the kid tighter. Just as you’re about to say thank you and move on, the man speaks again.

“What’s his name?”

Then the tightness in your chest drops down into your stomach, a feeling of dread washing over you. How fucking embarrassing, even though it’s no one’s fault that neither you nor Din know the kid’s actual name. You fumble around for a quick answer, “Oh, well you know how it is with babies. He’s got a ton of nicknames. We hardly ever call him his real name because I can’t stop calling him ‘Green Bean’ at the moment.”

The man laughs, throwing his head back a little. “Oh, I get it. My wife can’t stop calling our little one ‘chubby cheeks.’ I keep telling her it’s going to give the kid a complex but she doesn’t listen.” He looks past you to where Din is standing behind and to your right side, “I’m sure you can relate, sir.”

You look back to Din, making a face that hopefully reads as “just play along”. The beskar helmet looks at you for a long moment, his shoulders squaring. Eventually he looks to the vendor with a shrug, “I try not to fight her on much.”

You can’t help but feel that his statement was directed at you just as much as the vendor, hoping that this is him making an attempt to address the misplaced bitterness between you. If it is, his timing really does suck. The kid is already done with his frog leg, so you take the pointy stick from him before he accidentally pokes himself.

With another laugh, the kind vendor nods his head, “I should try that with my wife and see if it gets me out of trouble more often.” The man reaches below the counter and pulls out another of the free samples. “Here, have another leg for Green Bean. On the house.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling brightly at the man. As annoyed as you had been when you entered the shop, having a friendly human encounter has helped to liven you up a little. You look down at the child in your arms, jerking your head towards the man. “Say bye, Green Bean.”

The kid complies, ears shifting as he looks to the man with a big smile on his tiny mouth. He gurgles and makes a few noises, using his free hand to wave up at the nice man.

You make a few more purchases, including more protein packs for Jupiter, and when you have everything on your list you inform Din and the child that it’s time to head back to the ship. Once the group is no longer around other people in the sanctity of the Razor Crest, you look down at the baby on your hip and lift him up so that you can kiss him on the head. “I wish we knew your real name, buddy. Sorry we have to call you ‘Green Bean’ or ‘the kid’ all the time.”

Din walks up beside you and speaks in a low voice. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” his tone is sharp.

Great, you think sarcastically. With a sigh, you stop what you’re doing and turn to look up at him. “Do what, Din?”

“Pretend that we’re his parents,” he says flatly, irritation floating just bellow the surface.

“I didn’t feel like explaining the real situation to that guy,” you offer lamely.

“You could have just declined his offer and moved on.”

“The kid was hungry.”

“You enjoyed it when that man called him your son,” Din’s voice sounds like it’s on the edge of control.

“Oh my God,” you groan with frustration, “yes! Okay? I did. Is that such a crime? I’ve practically been his foster mother for months. And like it or not you’ve been his foster father for much longer than that. I love him as if he was mine, and I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“It is irresponsible,” Din quietly seethes, you can practically hear his jaw clenching under the helmet.

“What is?” It’s all you can do not to raise your voice, “Giving him a home full of love? Letting him be a child?”

The kid makes a sad little noise between you and you both stop to look down at his distressed face. A feeling of guilt arises in your chest, having never wanted to make the kid feel as uncomfortable as you did when your own parents would fight in your presence.

“We shouldn’t do this in front of him,” Din finally says after a long moment of silence. He reaches out to touch one of the child’s downcast ears. The kid is clearly upset. “It’s okay, pal. We aren’t fighting.”

You drop your voice even lower as your eyes fill with tears. “We kind of are, Din. I hate this. Why are we being so cold towards each other? This isn’t us. At least, I didn’t think it was.”

He sighs heavily, “You’re right. This isn’t us. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” you move closer to him, grabbing one of his gloved hands. “But I’m not sorry for how I treat this child. What if we take him to these Jedi people and they aren’t who we think they are? Or what if they are great, but the kid still doesn’t like it? Don’t you want him to know that he has a place to come back to where he is loved?”

“I…” Din seems to falter for a second before dipping his head towards his foster son, “Yes. I want him to know that. I want you to know that, buddy. ”

You squeeze his hand tighter, looking into the visor as you speak. “Think about us, what our childhoods looked like. We didn’t get to enjoy being kids for very long. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I was denying him the right to actually be a child while he’s in my care. I realize that when we do find the Jedi, its going to be extremely hard on all of us. And I realize that the more attached we get to each other, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye. I know that this is going to be especially hard on you as the one who’s been caring for him the longest, but pretending that you don’t have feelings wrapped up in this isn’t going to make it any easier. We owe to to him as well as ourselves to treat him with love. Is he not an integral member of your two person clan?”

“It’s already hard,” Din says, voice choked, “I am going to miss him.”

“I’m going to miss him too,” you agree, misty eyes threatening to boil over as you cradle the child between the two of you. Din places a hand to the back of his tiny head so that you are both holding him. “But as long as he knows he can always be a part Clan Mudhorn, we may not have to miss him forever.”

Din seems to agree with this, gently touching his beskar forehead to the child’s fleshy one as he speaks to him in Mando’a. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner ad.”

You’ve been studying very basic phrases, numbers, and the Mando’a alphabet since leaving Nevarro, but what Din just said is almost completely lost on you. Not wanting to break from this tender moment, you decide that asking for a definition can wait until later. Instead you snuggle into the small group embrace, whispering to the green child that you love him dearly.

“It’s nice to have you back,” you tell your Mandalorian after he lifts up to pull apart from you. His body language is more akin to the Din you know, less stiff.

“Thank you for reminding me to be here,” Din replies.

You set the kid down between you, letting him waddle off to find Jupiter or something to mess with that he shouldn’t. You look at Din, opening your arms to offer him a real hug. “Still friends?”

He nods, pulling your body against him, “Elek, ner burc’ya.”

Instead of responding with the word in basic, you decide to reply to him with the Mando’a word for good, “Jate. I am sorry for letting my bitchiness get the better of me. It was not easy to go from having you feel like my partner on Nevarro to unexpectedly getting the cold shoulder for over half a month.”

“I thought I needed to pull away,” Din confirms.

“Yeah, well next time you feel the urge to pull away can we try to talk about it first?”

“I will try,” he sighs, “I’m not good at this.”

“You were doing great on Nevarro. Real boyfriend material.” Cringing, you wish to hell that you hadn’t just said that last part. If this thing between the two of you does end up progressing even further, boyfriend is the absolute wrong term for a man like Din. It sounds so… Earthy.

Din squeezes you, “On Nevarro things didn’t feel real. It felt like time had stopped and all there was, was you, me, and the kid. I could have stayed there forever, and when I realized this it unsettled me.”

You can’t help but chuckle a little, “Aww, Din. You had the post-vacation blues. It happens to everyone, totally normal.”

“I did not care for it.”

*****

A few more weeks go by and things between you and Din have improved considerably. He’s no longer shutting you out or acting cold, and the communication between you is more at the surface.

Unfortunately, though, the two of you have still yet to take any measures to further your budding relationship along. Now that you’re no longer irritated with him, you really just wish that you could fuck him already. It’s getting to the point where it’s actively a problem.

Din seems to be able to tell that something is up with you, because he eventually calls you out on it when the two of you are practicing with whipchord launchers on the lower deck of the ship. He’s begun training you on the various weapons that a Mandalorian considers to be essential, and up until now you’ve been incredibly enthusiastic. Even though a lot of what he’s trying to teach you does not come naturally, and most days you end up both exhausted and vexed, you approach every one of his lessons with respect.

Today, however, all the fervor has drained from you. The whipchord launcher seems impossible to use, and Din’s so fucking mesmerizing that you you could care less about weaponry. Watching him move so effortlessly to shoot his whipchord at the makeshift dummy he’d set up only serves to cause your mind to wander to lewd places. Horny and nonplused, your heart just isn’t in training and it must be obvious.

“What’s going on with you?” Din asks, stopping mid sentence when he figures out that you haven’t been listening.

“Sorry, I’m just in a mood,” you explain with a half hearted shrug, “I swear I’m trying to pay attention.”

His shoulders soften a little as he looks you over, “Is it anything I can help with?”

You stare at him for a long moment, knowing full well that the kid is within earshot only a few feet away. He’s curled up in the cot with his meerkat toy and his silver ball, watching you and his dad with huge eyes. Considering your words carefully, you say, “Actually you’re the only one who can help with this particular problem, but it’s most definitely not the right time to talk about this.”

Din follows your gaze to his foundling, then his silver head snaps back to you, “Oh.”

“I can’t help it that you’re really attractive and distracting,” you smirk a little, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you watch him.

“Mm,” Din seems to consider his own words carefully before responding to you. “Tell you what, if you can master the whipchord while overcoming your distraction, I’ll let you jump the Razor Crest into hyperdrive by yourself. A warrior must learn to fight in spite of distractions, to purge them from the mind completely in the face of battle.”

“Deal, Chrome Dome,” you agree with a grin. You’ve been practicing your flying almost daily, but he’s barley let you touch anything in the cockpit without his strict supervision.

And so you practice over and over again, listening to every word Din says to you. Each syllable you let soak in with respect, ignoring the fact that he now seems to be purposefully doing things to distract you. He keeps flexing as he shows you the controls or titling his head a certain way. Then you know he’s really trying to get under your skin when he comes up behind you to adjust the forearm holding the spare vambrace he’d given you, and he gently presses his slight bulge into your ass.

Even though you can’t see his face, you know for a fact that he’s enjoying every moment of tormenting you. It’s all over his body language, which you’re getting increasingly better at reading. Who knew that Din Djarin has a wicked side.

Eventually you’re able to successfully launch the chord at the dummy, watching as it wraps around it just the way Din showed you. You try to yank the thing forward and knock it onto its side, simulating the act of pulling an enemy to the ground in one fell swoop. But nothing happens, much to your shock and disappointment. As hard as you’re trying, you just can’t seem to get this right.

“Ugh,” you groan.

“It’s okay, Cyar’ika,” your cosmic companion comforts, a hand on your shoulder as he peers down at you. You can see your frustration in the silver reflection. “You’ll get it eventually,” he adds. Obviously you have no idea what his face is doing behind the beskar barrier, yet for some reason you feel as if he’s looking at you fondly.

You repeat this action until it’s almost coming naturally, and Din decides that he’s pleased with enough with your progress that he declares the training session to be over. After cleaning up and putting the dummy away, you both realize that the kid is napping in the cot. The two of you decide to leave him there as you climb up to the cockpit one at at time.

Once upstairs, you look to Din with a sigh, “Sorry about getting distracted earlier. I was definitely on edge.”

“You’re still on edge,” Din observes, “Your body is very tense.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” you mumble, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist. “I miss sleeping next to you.”

Din’s arms find you, “I miss that as well. But I know that’s not where this tension is coming from. You’ve been like this for the last couple of days.”

Cheeks flushing, you burry your head into his shoulder with a groan. “Am I that obvious?”

“You’ve been giving off signals,” the Mandalorian chuckles a little. “But I am not without tension of my own. I’m sorry that there hasn’t been a good moment for us to resume what we started on Nevarro.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” you pull apart from him slightly to look right into the visor. “I think I’m just psyching myself out about it.”

“I don’t understand the phrase.”

“I just mean I’m overthinking it, and subsequently second guessing myself. I haven’t had a partner in almost three years, so I’m worried that I’m a little rusty in the sheets.”

Din scoffs a little, shaking his head, “I have similar worries. I have not… been with another in nearly ten cycles.”

“Fuck, that’s a long time,” you utter softly, wondering how uncomfortable this conversation is for him as he confesses this to you.

Din nods, voice wavering as he speaks, “It hasn’t been entirely up to chance that we have not moved forward. I have not pursued connection with another in so long. Worry of my own inadequacy has been on my mind, preventing me from pursuing you.”

Brow furrowing as you regard your very good friend and possible lover, you reach out to trail delicate fingers over the black visor of his silver helmet as if touching his brow. “Then let’s not rush this. It can happen when the timing feels right for the both of us.”

The Mandalorian leans his head forward to knock lightly into yours, and a warm smile finds it’s way to your lips. No amount of Mandalorian head butts you receive from him are ever too much.

“I know we had a deal but I’d still like to see you jump the ship by yourself. Do you remember what we went over when I last showed you the hyperdrive?” Din asks, lifting up to his full height again as he moves over to the pilot’s seat.

You follow, coming to stand beside him as you look over the many lighted controls. “We talked about how to enter in jump coordinates into the navigational computer.”

Din takes a seat, pulling you down with him so that you’re seated in his lap. “Correct. Do you think you can enter them in without my help?”

You nod, “Yeah, I think so.”

It sounds like there is a smile riding the tone of his voice, “I want you to enter in these coordinates and jump us there.”

A little orange holographic display pops up from Din’s left vambrace, letters and numbers written in Mando’a. You can read some of it, but you squint at it for a moment before you turn your head to look at him. It’s taking most of your will power to ignore the feeling in your belly that stirs from being seated on his warm legs. His lap is comfortable, even with the hard beskar upon his thighs.

“I can only read some of that. I know there’s a x, a three, a four, and a nine.”

“You’ve been studying,” Din says fondly, switching the holograph over to basic so you can read it clearly. The basic alphabet is something you’d memorized with Cara prior to meeting your Mandalorian.

“Learning Mando’a is important to me,” you reply with equal fondness. Neither of you says anything else as you lean forward to begin entering in the coordinates into the computer. Din’s hands come to rest comfortably on your waist as you fumble a little bit with the typing, still not used to all of the symbols yet. Eventually you have the correct information inputed into the system, and then your hand lingers over the button which will jump the ship to those coordinates through hyperspace. You look back to Din and wait for him to give you the okay.

“Punch it, Cyar’ika.”

The ship lurches forward as stars begin their dance all around your metal home, an incredible sense of pride washing over you. Successfully jumping the Razor Crest feels like such an achievement.

When the jump is over in a few hours, Din helps you to bring the ship out of hyperspace. Now the kid is awake again and in his usual seat with Jupiter, so you’re seated in the pilot seat without the added cushion of one Din Djarin. The Mandalorian in question tells you that you’ve jumped the ship just outside the atmosphere of a planet on the outskirts of the outer rim, and that he’s brought all of you there so he can question a crime lord named Gor Koresh about where to find other Mandalorians. There have been rumors that Koresh is an underground beskar dealer, and Din thinks that he may have leads.

According to Din, if he can navigate through the various Mandalorian coverts scattered across the galaxy, then maybe he’ll have a better chance of finding a Jedi. Perhaps one of his own kind has information on where to find such a being. He’s made these Jedi people sound like literal space wizards when trying to explain it to you with what little knowledge he has on the subject, and if you weren’t sour about the fact that the purpose of finding one is to give them the kid, you’d probably be pretty excited to see what a space wizard looks like.

Din assists you in bringing the Razor Crest in for a landing, something you’re only starting to feel slightly comfortable doing, and then the two of you take the kid and the cat downstairs to discuss the plan.

“Follow my lead,” Din says as he hands over your blaster. He also hands you the small dagger you’ve been practicing with and the old whipchord vambrace you’d used earlier. “Do not say anything that’ll get us into trouble, and above all else stay calm. There’s a good chance that this could turn into an ambush for my armor, so try your best to remain unperturbed if things go south.”

You nod, holstering the blaster before strapping the vambrace to your forearm. This one isn’t made of beskar, but you still feel somewhat official adhering it to your person. You’re in your favorite outfit, and it helps to make you feel more confident about going on a mission at Din’s side. You stick the dagger into the side of your right boot, grinning up at Din once you’re done. “I’m starting to feel like a badass, getting to go with you to do cool Mandalorian shit.”

“Don’t get too cocky either,” Din adds, sounding amused.

With the child in his pram, the three of you make your way out of the ship and into the crime ridden streets of the city’s grungy warehouse district. Every run down building is riddled with graffiti, and you know that nothing good must happen in a place like this. It’s all very Gotham City in a weird sci-fi kind of way.

“Yeesh,” you mumble to yourself, eyes flicking around in every direction as your guard moves up on high alert.

Din seems to be purposefully staying under the dim street lamps, and you realize why as you see a glimmer of red to your right. It occurs to you that what you’re seeing is several sets of glowing eyes watching you from deep within a dark alley. When you hear the faintest growl coming from that direction, you quickly pick up the pace in order to keep closer to Mando.

Eventually you come to a stop where a male Twi’lek, as you’ve learned they are called, is working as the doorman for some sort of seedy looking establishment. Din tells him that your group is there to see Gor Koresh, and you’re surprised that the doorman moves to the side without much of a second thought. You’d assumed it was going to be much harder than that to get in.

You and the kid follow your Mandalorian into some sort of underground wrestling match, and you feel even more like you’re in a Batman comic as you take in your surroundings. Aliens of all shapes and sizes are packed into the space, screaming with fistfuls of drinks and paraphernalia as two green pig-like men fight each other in the large ring. The room is smoky, stinking of sweaty men, alcohol, and blood. A cacophony that only seems to get louder the further you tread into the crowd begins to hurt your ears, leaving you to hope that the kid’s big green ones are doing okay. You can only imagine how loud this may sound to him.

Being in a place like this is slightly exhilarating in spite of the nerves you feel. It reminds you of the one time you went to Earth wrestling, or some of the really low rent EDM shows from back in your early twenties. Except on Earth when you had gone to watch wrestling it was old dudes with metal folding chairs, not green Pumba-looking aliens with battle axes.

When your group comes upon a cyclops alien with an open seat on either side and group of goons surrounding him, you assume this must be Koresh. Din takes one of the seats beside him and motions for you to take the seat on the other side, the two of you surrounding the stout man. You try your best to ignore the lecherous stares from some of the other men around you, focusing on Din and the business he is here to conduct.

“This is no place for a child,” Koresh says, causing Din to straighten slightly.

“Where I go, he goes,” Din replies cooly.

The two of them talk things over for a while, until Koresh mentions Din giving his beskar armor up in exchange for information about the other Mandalorians. It’s all you can do not to chime in with something snarky, but you remember what Din had told you about not getting them into trouble. It seems that trouble comes regardless though, when Din says that he’s not going to leave his fate up to chance and Koresh agrees by pulling out a blaster. He shoots one of the wrestlers dead before pointing the blaster right at Din’s unprotected neck.

If he were to fire, Din would be dead in an instant.

Keep calm. Trust him, your voice is whispering inside your head, which also has a blaster pointed to it. All of the goons surrounding Koresh have drawn a weapon and are now pointing it at either Din or yourself. Any patrons who are not involved begin to scream and scatter from the building.

Koresh gives some small speech about how beskar has been rising in price and that he’s become quite fond of it, while threatening to peel the armor from Din’s corpse if he doesn’t give it up. You notice that Din is calmly arming his whistling birds, and the kid sees it too as he closes himself inside the pram. Then, Gor Koresh turns to you for the first time since you’d sat next to him and places a hand on your upper thigh. He’s dangerously close to snaking a hand between your legs, and still you remain calm.

He makes a lewd remark about how he’ll take you as well if Mando is willing to give up just some of the beskar, and Din’s voice never falters as he speaks to the crime lord with an even but forceful tone.

“Tell me where the Mandalorians are, and I’ll walk out of here without killing you.”

Koresh scoffs, “I thought you said you weren’t the gambler.”

“I’m not.”

And with that, Din’s whistling birds take down all of Koresh’s goons who’d had you both at blaster point. Both of you are up from your seats immediately, and you manage to dip down and dodge the oncoming blow from an alien directly behind you. For a second you think of Ranik’s death by your hand on Nar Shaddaa. Then when your body begins to freeze up you’re somehow able to purge the feeling of fear from your system and focus on the situation at hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see that Din has his hands full, but your not worried about him as you continue to move away from the man before you and his oncoming attacks. While you are crouched down to avoid a high kick, you pull the dagger from your boot and jam it into his thigh just above the knee. Howling in pain, he falls to the ground as you yank your dagger from his thigh and begin to lift yourself up. He attempts to lunge at you again, so you run the blade along his wrist before standing to your full height to move away from him.

Glancing to Din to make sure he’s still okay, you notice that Koresh is using the fight as a distraction and he’s waddling off towards the back of the arena. Without thinking twice, you take off after him. The rest of the goons are attacking Din, so you’re able to slip away quite easily. Koresh is shuffling as hard as he can but his little legs don’t get the portly man far, so you’re able easily to follow him out into the street. Huffing and puffing, Koresh looks back at you and shouts as you lift your right forearm. Aiming as much as you can with a moving target, you initiate your whipchord and watch with glee as it wraps around Koresh’s legs on the first try. The alien falls to the ground with a grunt and a thud.

“Oh shit,” you exclaim, holding the chord tight, “I did it!”

You can feel the presence of another coming up behind you, but before you can react to a possible attack Mando’s modulated voice is in your ears. Upon hearing your cosmic companion, your body relaxes a little.

“You caught him?” he sounds completely amazed.

“Yeah, holy shit!”

You observe as Din takes the chord from you and swings the end of it up over the light post above your head, pulling Koresh up until he’s hanging upside down in front of you. Din ties him off and then comes to stand before him as he pleads for Din to stop.

“Serves you right for tying to buy me, creep,” you shove at the alien, making him swing a little.

“I’ll tell you where he is, but you must give me your word that you will not kill me,” Koresh pleads, panting.

The Mandalorian steadies him and looks down into the one upside down eye as he speaks evenly, “I promise you will not die by my hand. Now where is the Mandalorian you know of?”

“Tatooine.”

“What?!”

“The Mando I know of is on Tatooine!”

“I’ve spent much time on Tatooine, I’ve never seen a Mandalorian there.”

“My information is good, I tell you! The city of Mos Pelgo. I swear it by the Gatra.”

“Tatooine it is, then.”

Koresh starts screaming for Mando to cut him down as your friend simply motions to you that your group is leaving. The kid’s pram is floating just behind Din as he walks off so you turn to follow as well. When Koresh screams that he can’t be left like that, Din turns back to the little one eyed man with his blaster raised.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Din says cooly, and shoots the street light out.

Koresh dangles there in the dark like a piece of meat, and you turn back for a moment to watch as he’s swarmed by those same red eyed creatures from the alley. You quickly spin around and catch up to Mando as the alien’s screams of agony echo behind you.

*****

“I’m going to put him down in the cot, I’ll be right back.” Din says, squeezing your shoulder with his free hand. The kid is sleeping in Din’s other arm and you just nod your head, on the verge of falling asleep yourself.

Space RV is back in hyperspace and you’ve since cleaned yourself up from the fight in the arena. Dressed in comfortable clothes for sleeping, you feel almost cozy curled up in your blanket on the red leather seat. The Mandalorian only leaves you alone in the cockpit for a few minutes, and you start to nod off a little while he’s gone. But then he’s climbing the ladder again, his voice bringing you back to reality.

“Thank you for your help tonight,” he says, moving all the way into the small control room to join you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, throwing a sleepy little smile up his way.

“The way you handled yourself was… exemplary. Taking the initiative to chase after Koresh, using the whipchord launcher just like we practiced. You kept calm even when we were being held at blasterpoint. I’m very proud of you, ner burc’ya.”

As Din is saying all of this, showering you with compliments, he’s slowly dropping down to his knees in front of you. Positioning himself between your legs, Din’s tone of voice morphs into something akin to sultry, and he reaches a hand forward to cup your face. His gloves and most of his armor have been removed.

“So fucking proud of you,” he says lowly, and your back straightens as his phrasing sobers you up from the sleepiness you’ve been feeling up to this point.

Din never uses that word in the way that you do. In fact, he’s only ever repeated it to you the one time after he had realized it’s definition. So when he says it right now it gets your full attention, causing you to sit up and look at him with raised eyebrows. The blanket falls from your shoulders in a clump behind you.

“Yeah? You’re how proud of me?” You repeat back, scooting yourself forward so that your groin is right up against him. You place a hand on either side of his head and look straight down at the beskar, pleased when he doesn’t move to stop you like he had last time. He trusts that you are not trying to remove it, and that fact alone fills you with joy.

The helmet in question tilts up at a sharp angle to look at you, “Take off your clothes and I’ll show you how proud I am.”

“What’s gotten into you? What happened to taking this slow?”

Din starts to lift the hem of your Bowie shirt, sliding his bare hands underneath the thin fabric as he inches it upwards. “Watching your bravery, seeing you use the skills that I’ve taught you. We felt like a team, like partners.”

“It was pretty nice to feel like I could be useful in a situation like that,” you agree, grinding your hips a little as you speak.

Din’s fingers continue pushing your shirt up until your breasts are exposed, stopping to tease both nipples with soft little pinches. “What I didn't like, was Koresh having the audacity to touch you.”

Your heart is beginning to beat faster, loving where this is going as you play dumb, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Don’t like people touching things that don’t belong to them,” he growls, lifting up to be more level with you as he pushes you back against the backrest of your red seat.

“And who do I belong to?”

“Me, Cyar’ika. You are mine,” Din’s voice is so lascivious, you feel as if your entire body could melt into goo right then and there.

“Tell me that again,” you demand as Din begins to yank the yoga pants and underwear from your waist.

He wiggles the fabric out from under your ass, leaning in towards you. “You are mine,” he repeats in that same lusty growl.

You long to run your fingers through hair, his hair, so you squeeze the helmet tighter. “I’m all yours, but that means you have to be all mine.”

“Naturally,” he finishes disrobing your bottom half, discarding with your clothes behind him, “I belong to you.”

Feeling a chill run through you now that most of you is exposed to the cool air, a little moan escapes your lips. You let go of him and rip the shirt from your head before leaning back into the seat more as you spread your legs. Of course, your planet necklace is the only thing adorning your now nude form. “Mmm, tell me that you’re proud of me again. That I did a good job.”

He’s beginning to unfasten his own pants, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Cyar’ika.”

“Show me, Din. Please,” you whine for him.

Din is almost fully dressed save for his hands, but now he’s pulling himself out and you really stop to appreciate how impressive he is when fully hard. Uncircumcised and quite large, he’s unlike any of the sexual partners you’ve been with in the past. The prospect of feeling him enter you is enough to make your entire body quiver with anticipation, core heating up rapidly.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, reaching out to take him into your hand. His entire body jerks forward when you make contact, a soft moan escaping him. “What is it, handsome?” Your voice is salacious.

“Been so long,” he mutters, his own wanton voice strained and husky.

You begin to stroke him, loving the way he melts into your hands. He braces himself on your chair as you scoot yourself forward and slide off of it, landing softly on your butt so that you’re at eye level with the impressive appendage. Then you part your lips, tongue protruding, and the noise Din makes when you slide the tip of him into your mouth is one you plan to cherish forever.

Hips bucking involuntarily, Din slides himself in and out as you gently suck. You’re careful not to use too much pressure or teeth, and under the beskar his eyes are rolling into the back of his head at the sensation. This doesn’t feel real. It’s got to be a dream, because nothing in his life has ever felt this fucking good.

“It’s real, Din,” you say as you come up for air, saliva running from the corners of your slightly swollen lips.

Had he said that out loud? He was sure that had been a private thought.

It doesn’t matter, all that matters is the pleasure he hasn’t felt in far too long. The dust and cobwebs have been cleared from his dormant libido, and he can feel a much older version of himself start to reawaken. Your mouth is lovely and warm and wet, but he’s suddenly ready to feel you clamp your muscles around him as you whine in ecstasy.

Pulling out of your mouth with a small pop, he leans back and brings your blanket down with him. You watch him with hunger in your gorgeous eyes as he lays the thick black fabric down on the floor of the cockpit before guiding you to lay down on your back.

You allow him to gently push you down, spreading your legs as he positions himself between them. The floor is hard and unforgiving, and will likely fuck your back up for the following day, but in this moment both of could give a shit less.

“Tell me what you want, ner cyare,” Din demands, swollen cock in one hand as he hovers over you with his other hand finding your soft wetness. It’s not lost on you that he’s calling you a word you do not know, but that can wait. His fingers are grazing over the sensitive swollen flesh of your clit, and nothing else fucking matters anymore.

Hands at the base of his neck, you lift up to whisper into the right side of his helmet, “I want my Mandalorian to fuck me so hard that I forget my own name.”

The heat between your legs only fires up more when you feel the tip of him press into your opening, and when you least expect it he thrusts all the way in. A gargled cry erupts from your throat, pain and pleasure both cascading through you as you realize you really haven’t taken anyone this big before. You’ve never been this full.

“Oh fucking hell,” you grunt, wiggling your hips around to try and adjust to his size pushed all the way in.

“You okay?” He pants above you. Fuck, if only you could feel his tongue in your mouth.

“Don’t stop,” you grunt out again, “you’re just bigger than I’m used to.”

Din pumps in and out, slowly at first but soon his pacing picks up to a more feverish rhythm. Nothing about this is picturesque. It’s rough, and raw, and messy. Both of you are so full of passion that your movements are almost frantically out of sync for the first few minutes. Eventually though, you start to tune yourselves into each other. Your hips rock up to meet his has he thrusts forward, and when your legs wrap around his waist it feels like he enters you even deeper. It feels so intense that you dig your nails into his lower back under the shirt as a loud noise escapes you, louder than any of the noises you’ve made thus far.

Din’s hand comes to clamp over your mouth, adding enough pressure to make you moan even louder against his palm.

“Shh,” he coos, “don’t want to wake the kid.”

With his hand stifling the obscene noises you’re unable to control, Din begins to really fuck you. No gentle thrusting, no consideration for your pain tolerance. He’s slamming into you with so much speed and force that you can barely keep your eyes open to look at him. You’re fully aware that you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you adore every second of his rough handling of your body. It hurts, but in that way that you’ve learned to crave when it comes to sex.

Then he suddenly pulls out, leaving you feeling empty as he releases you to the ground and sits back on his booted heels. “Shit,” he exclaims, breathing more heavily than you’ve ever heard him. His hands are on his knees as he hunches forward.

Din really had to force himself off of you, afraid that if it went any further he’d finish too soon.

You’re similarly worried, sitting up to look at him with your brow furrowed. This is the most unprotected you’ve ever been, and it’s only just now occurring to you that the two of you need to be careful. “Did you…?”

“Almost,” he’s still catching his breath, “Sorry for being so rough with you.”

“You could be rougher,” you grin at him, “I’ve never been one for gentle sex.”

Crawling forward, you plop down onto your stomach right in front of him and prop yourself up on your forearms. Hesitantly, as this side of Din is so new to you and you’re not sure what will go over well, you stick out your tongue and run it from the base of his lovely cock all the way up to the tip. His body shudders as he moans, and you’re so proud of yourself for being able to cause these reactions in him.

“Mm, I taste so good on you,” you remark, smirking up at him as his head leans back to point up at the ceiling.

Din grunts out, “Oh fuck, Cyar’ika,” as his hips buck forward.

You take the opportunity to pull him all the way into your mouth, letting as much of his length as you can take slide down your throat. Bobbing, you begin to work his cock with your mouth and his hands come to grip at your hair. He pulls harder than you expect him to, but this only serves to kindle the blazing fire in your core as he helps guide your head up and down.

Then he yanks upward, causing you to pop off of him and look up. The beskar helmet is looking directly at you, and you whine a little bit just from the sight before your eyes. Din’s hardness in the foreground and the way his head is tilted down, you can only imagine what his face must look like riddled with lust.

“I want you to cum for me, Din,” you pant, mouth dripping.

He shakes his head, voice taking on a commanding tone that leaves you weak, “I’m not done with you yet. My chair. Now.”

Din never lets go of your hair, walking you on all fours across the short distance to the pilot’s seat. As uncomfortable as this is on your knees, you do not complain one bit. He’s handling you in the way you’ve been fantasizing about for months. You let him guide your naked body up on the seat, chest and stomach pressed down into the leather as you bend over it.

Oh shit, he’s going to take you from behind.

“Ner Mesh’la. Ner Cyare,” he croons, “tell me who you belong to.” He’s positioning himself at your opening once again, so you brace yourself against the seat as you turn to look back at your Mandalorian in all his glory. Din Djarin is absolutely fucking intoxicating like this, and now that you’re finally getting to experience it first hand, you feel as if you never want another person besides him to touch you for the rest of your life.

“I belong to Din Djarin, the best fucking Mandalorian in the galaxy.”

“That’s right, Cyar’ika.” Din grasps onto one of your forearms with his free hand as he places it to your lower back and holds it there. “And who do I belong to?”

“Me,” you moan, “you’re my Mandalorian, Din. All fucking mine.”

The next words that flow from Din’s mouth come so naturally that he doesn’t stop to second guess himself. He unabashedly says how he feels, how he’s been feeling. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

You’re squirming beneath him, pushing your ass out. “Quit teasing me,” you whine.

“Don’t get mouthy,” he reprimands lightly, spanking your ass once for good measure.

“Oh shit,” you squeak, looking back at him with a devilish little grin.

“Mm, my girl did so well tonight,” Din says as he begins to slowly push himself into you once more. “So fucking proud of my beautiful fucking girl. My girl deserves everything she wants.”

You feel your body envelope him, and everything else fades away besides Din Djarin. The sensation of his voice and the words he’s saying paired with the feeling of fullness in your core nearly sends you over the edge. This is the closest you’ve ever been to having an orgasm from another person’s involvement, let alone just from penetration. Your free hand moves to play with yourself, hoping to coax climax on if you can.

Then Din starts to pump again, pulling back slowly and then slamming his hips into you at nearly full force. He purposely tortures you with every thrust, loving how much you squirm and quiver each time he gradually pulls out. He really is close, and knows he can’t go on much longer, but he intends to savor every second that he’s inside of you and the effect it has on your body. Your tight wetness is so inviting that he feels like he could move in and never leave.

“Your girl wants you to fuck her harder,” you eventually plea, voice dripping with need.

So Din gladly complies, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself as his movements become relentless. He goes for as long as he possibly can, until he’s dangerously teetering on the edge and has to rip himself from you at the last minute. It’s over so fast, orgasm rocking his body completely as he leans his helmeted head on the small of your back and empties himself onto the floor between your knees with several soft moans. He’ll be sure to clean that up later.

Once he catches his breath, he’s lifting himself from your back to sit on the floor. You slide from the chair, coming to sit on your blanket directly in front of him. Your hair is a mess and your face is flushed, and Din is so enamored with your appearance that he wishes he could kiss you. Truly kiss you.

“How’s my Mando doing?” You ask, leaning forward to kiss his messy tip and lick up some of the remnants. His body shakes violently, a strangled little noise escaping him.

“He’ll let you know when he can think clearly again,” Din eventually chuckles, adrenaline slowly beginning to ebb from him. “That was…”

“Good?” You offer, looking hopeful.

“Magnificent,” he counters, head moving as he looks you up and down. “Did you…?

You grin, “Did I enjoy it? Din, I don’t think there are words for how much I enjoyed that.”

Din wishes you could see his own grin. “I’m glad, Cyare. But I was asking if you finished.”

Then your face falters, souring for a moment before you force a smile back to your lips. Din’s heart drops as a certain awkwardness washes over you. “No, I didn’t. I was close at one point, but its okay. I’m probably not going to.”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze, “I’ve been having sex since I was nineteen, and I’ve never been able to cum when I’m with someone. If I’m alone it happens like it’s nothing, but if I’m with another person it’s like I get close but that’s all that ever happens. A guy went down on me for a full hour once and I still couldn’t climax. I don’t know if it’s that my body just freezes up or I’ve never had a true connection with anyone or what.”

“Your body was hardly frozen,” Din remarks, mulling over this information. His own orgasm feels lessened knowing that you did not experience the same amount of pleasure from the encounter. “You deserve to feel good as well.”

You shake your head, “I do feel good. I don’t have to finish to have good sex with you. And please know, that was very good sex.”

Din’s not taking no for an answer, he’s determined to make this right. “Is there anything more I can do?”

“Unfortunately not with the helmet on,” you say, squeezing his hand. “But it’s not important. I’ve already written that off.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, but then once he really thinks about it the realization dawns on him. You’re suggesting he preform oral on you. Something he’s only aware of, certainly nothing he’s ever had a chance to try. Xi’an used to beg him to do that for her, but being true to the creed he’s never had sex without his helmet. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so out of respect for you lets not even go there. We should just stop talking about it all together. It’s off the table.” You wave him off as if you really are unconcerned, but Din can see the smallest glimmer of disappointment in your eyes and he simply cannot let this stand.

There’s got to be something he can do instead. He looks around the cockpit as if anything in this room could aid him, and then his eyes land on the pinkish-purple scarf that was given to you on Nevarro. You had recently tied it around the headrest of your seat and declared that you were decorating your space, but now Din thinks of a better purpose the piece of fabric could serve. He refers back to the dream about you that he had right after Nar Shaddaa, and a part of him wonders if this idea is actually taking things too far. Then he looks over your naked body and he suddenly doesn’t care.

It very well could be taking things too far, but that doesn’t seem to matter as Din feels himself moving towards it before the rest of his mind can catch up. He yanks at the fabric until it loosens away from the seat, and then he moves to sit in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, eyeing the scarf skeptically.

“Do you trust me?” Din asks, ignoring your question. You nod, so he continues, “I will not let this happen lightly. If we do this, I need you to vow to me that you will continue to uphold your respect for my way of life.”

“I promise,” you whisper, eyes widening.

Din folds the fabric in fourths longways, holding one end in each hand. His face is completely serious below the beskar. “I have no idea what I’m doing, so this might not even work. But I do not wish to see you disappointed, and I would very much like to know what you taste like.”

You seem to react to this, face melting into the same one that was full of lust just a few moments ago. “Only if you’re one hundred percent sure.”

“I am,” he nods, “Turn around and face that way.”

You comply, moving your body to face in the opposite direction. Din lifts the fabric of the scarf above your head and comes to a stop right in front of your face. You nod once, so Din gently places the fabric over your eyes and ties it tightly behind your head.

“Too tight?”

“No it feels fine.”

“Can you see anything?”

“Not at all, its totally dark under this thing.”

When you eventually hear the hiss of his modulator and the sound of metal clunking to the ground, a thrill runs through your body. Gooseflesh prickles all the way up your arms and legs, up your spine, and comes to rest at the back of your head. The tingling sensation you feel all over is maddening, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Are you okay, Cyare?” His voice sounds completely the same while also sounding so different. Without the speakers of the modulator, it sounds more human. More tangible.

“Whoa, your voice sounds different. I… did you really take it off, Din?” Blanketed in darkness, you’re not sure if what you’re hearing is real.

“I did,” his voice is suddenly in front of you, much closer than it was a moment ago.

Then you feel hands in your hair, and something fleshy brushes up against your nose. “Is that…?”

One of the hands in your hair moves to grab hold of one of yours, gently lifting your fingers upwards until they come in contact with skin.

“My nose,” Din says, trailing your fingers over more skin and you giggle at the feeling of prickly facial hair. Then you’re touching what feels like lips, and this is only confirmed for you when they part slightly and you can feel the heat of his breath. He kisses your fingertips, “My lips.”

“My lips wouldn’t mind getting to know yours a little,” you say with a small laugh, gasping at the end of your sentence when he cups your face and pulls it forward slightly.

“I have not done this since I took the oath,” he says, sounding almost awkward and unsure of himself.

You smile, “I don’t have any expectations, Din. I just want you to be yourself.”

Then your lips are captured in his and suddenly the reality of what is going on really kicks in. Din has taken his helmet off, you are blindfolded to be kept from seeing his face, and he is kissing you. Something that you assumed would never happen, and had come to terms with long before anyone admitted their feelings for the other.

Just as it had been when you were having sex, the movements are feverish and all over the place but soon enough the two of you find rhythm with one another again. Your tongue snakes out from behind your teeth, slowly entering his warm mouth as his own tongue runs over yours in exploration. You think idly that he tastes of caf and something else you can’t place. He moans against you, so you take it that he enjoys your advances. Cradling his face in either hand, you push yourself forward to really get leverage in the kiss. The facial hair feels so nice against your hands, his mustache tickling your nose.

Then he pulls away, a hand to your chest as he gently coaxes you to lay down. You whine a little, openly pouting. Din growls, and the hand on your chest increases pressure.

“I want my mesh’la girl to feel good,” he declares, and you finally give in to the hand pushing you down onto your back.

His lips travel down your neck, pecking every few inches until he makes his way to your breasts. Licking at one of your nipples, he then takes it into his mouth as he nibbles lightly. It sends you into a tizzy until he pulls away.

“Kissing you felt really good,” you finally counter, grinning in his general direction as you lay there. “I was ready to go on for the rest of my life not knowing what that feels like and now you’ve spoiled me and I don’t think I can live without it.”

A hand moves your left leg outward. “Let me spoil you even more, Cyare.” Then another hand moves your right leg, spreading you open. Nothing happens for a moment, until you hear the distant sound of Din inhaling deeply through his nose. “Delicious,” he breathes, referring to the scent of you.

His movements are hesitant at first and when you feel the warmth of his wet tongue for the first time you jump a little, flinching away with a sharp noise when his facial hair tickles the sensitive flesh between your legs. Before he can stop and ask if you’re okay, you assure him that you’re fine and urge him to keep going. You have to consciously keep your legs spread, fighting the instinct to clamp your thighs around his unsuspecting head as he tentatively runs his tongue from the base of your entrance all the way up to the clit. Din repeats this motion several times, before showing complete attention to the swollen nub. You can tell that he’s not sure of himself, that he’s truly never done this before, so you decide to coach him a little bit.

“Mm, oh fuck,” you croak out between moans, “when you swirled your tongue there it felt so-oh god-so fucking good. Try to focus your attention there as much as possible.”

Din carries on with the same strokes of the tongue, and then suddenly you feel a finger pressing against your entrance. It traces the slick opening a few times before sliding in completely, causing you to cry out Din’s name in a feral voice. Then a second finger enters you, then a third, and your eyes roll back behind the blindfold as he beings to pump. Your sense of how long this is going on is completely gone, having no idea how much time is passing. All you know is the pleasure your body is feeling, totally unmeasured by time. Blindfolded and filled up with the Mandalorian’s fingers while his tongue swirls over your clit, you can feel the familiar building sensation that always comes before an orgasm. Arguably, the crescendo of nerves firing up is more pleasurable to you than an orgasm itself and this one builds for a long moment of agonizing intensity.

Legs trembling, suddenly your hands are tangled in Din’s hair as you yank harder than you mean to. “Oh, oh shit. Please don’t stop I think it’s actually happening.”

Then the crescendo tips over, and you’re riding out the waves of orgasm with bucking hips and whining moans. Din laps at you a few more times, your body jerking with each stroke, and you beg him to let up as your sensitivity is temporarily maxed out.

You just lay there, quivering in the aftermath, and Din crawls up to your head. When his lips touch yours again everything feels swollen and slick and wet, especially his mustache. You can taste yourself on him and it causes you to pose the question, “So how do I taste?”, once he breaks apart from you again.

“Delectable, Cyar’ika.”

“Thank you, Din. I am beyond grateful,” you choke, the sudden need to cry washing over you as a small sob escapes your mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes as he scoops you into his arms.

Grasping at him, your hands snake up into his lovely soft hair as your body comes down from the adrenaline rush of sexual release. “I really thought that would never happen, and then you manage to make me cum on the first try with zero experience. What are the odds?”

His unmodulated, gorgeous voice is whispering lowly in your ear, “I perform best when the odds are against me.”

“Wow, such a humble Mandalorian.” Chuckling, you turn your head and catch his earlobe between your teeth.

He makes a little noise as you nibble his ear, body shuddering. “Perhaps you were on to something when you said you’ve never had a true connection with someone. I know that this, how close I feel to you, is more tangible than any connection I’ve made since my parents died. It means quite a bit to me.”

You pull away from his ear to face him, in spite of not being able to see. “You’re not wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to anther person, Din. I’m glad that black hole spit me out where it did.”

“Mm,” he hums, and you feel the vibration of it, “as am I.”

You rub your cheek against his, adoring the feeling of skin and hair against your flesh as well as the scent of your sex on him. Even if you truly never get to see what this man looks like, feeling him is more than enough for you and you know it in your bones. “Thank you for trusting me. I know that the decision to remove your helmet did not come lightly.”

“Thank you for honoring your promise.”

The two of you lay there for a moment, peppering each other’s faces with kisses. You kiss his forehead, accidentally bumping into one of his eyes at first. He chuckles, and the sound of his unmodulated laugh melts your heart.

“Din?”

“Yes?”

Fingers playing with his hair, you smile a little at him. If only you could see his facial expression. Then an idea strikes you, so you move to his lips again and feel what you assume is him smiling against your fingertips. “What does ‘cyare’ mean? You called me your ‘cyare’ several times. And I don’t think I’m going to pronounce this right but you also said something like ‘kah-tay-leer darasoom’? We haven’t gone over those phrases in Mando’a yet so I had no idea what you were saying. I remember you said something similar to the kid recently.”

Din doesn’t respond right away, instead he kisses you deeply while holding your blindfolded face in both hands. After a moment he pulls apart from you, and you can sense that he’s hovering an only an inch or so from your face as you feel his warm breath on your skin. The pad of his thumb traces your lips.

“Cyare means beloved,” you feel his fingers move some of the hair from your forehead, “and what I told you was ‘ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.’ Kar’taylir means to know, to hold in the heart. Adding ‘darasuum’, eternity, changes it’s meaning to ‘I will know you forever.’ Essentially it is our phrase for expressing love. As I said before, this connection means something to me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, the realization of his confession hitting you so hard that anther of your soft sobs echos through the cockpit. It’s not lost on you that you can feel fresh, warm wetness on his own stubbled cheeks. Tears, you’re feeling Din’s tears. He just told you that he loves you and he’s weeping. You almost can’t wrap your head around it.

“Din,” you are so overwhelmed with emotion, feeling your own tears form as they soak into the blindfold. The part of you that is afraid to give yourself over to him, afraid of the risk involved in giving your heart to another, wants to stop you from expressing how you feel. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers.

Cara’s advice echos through your mind, This life is too short not to get what you want out of it. You consider this for only but a moment, deciding that she was right and you cannot let yourself miss out on this. Yet something still feels off, and then it occurs to you, “Saying I love you just doesn’t feel right, like it means less to just say it in basic knowing there’s a beautiful way to say it in Mando’a. Say it slowly so I can hear the pronunciation.”

You feel Din hover just above your navel, placing a kiss to the flesh just below your breasts. “Ni,” his lips move between the soft peaks, “kar’tayl,” they migrate to your throat, “gar,” then he’s kissing you on the mouth again, “darasuum.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Din Djarin,” you whisper, lips spreading into the widest grin.

His face nuzzles into yours some more, sighing heavily before the sound morphs into a low chuckle. “I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted.”

“I wish we could sleep together like we did on Nevarro,” you say as you nuzzle him back. The smile on your face would have to be jackhammered off at this point, your heart is just too full of glee to for it leave anytime soon.

“Let’s try to sleep in the cot together,” he suggests, “I can’t be apart from you. Not right now.”

“Is the kid in his hammock?”

“Yes. It’ll be a tight fit but I think we can make it work.”

“It wouldn’t be the first tight fit we’ve had to deal with tonight,” you can’t help but joke, chuckling.

Din laughs, kissing you once more. This kiss is not deep, there are no tongues and the pacing is not feverish. His lips simply linger on yours for a long, loving moment.

“I need to put it back on, Cyar’ika,” he eventually says as he breaks apart.

Your chest aches a little, but you lift up to brush your nose against his once more. “Thank you for sharing this part of you with me. Will this be the only time I’ll ever get to feel you like this?”

“No,” he breathes, tone confident, “this will not be the only time.”

“Well until next time, then,” you say, pecking at him once more.

You feel him move away, and then after a moment his voice is once again being filtered through the modulator of his helmet. “It’s on, you can remove the blindfold.”

The cockpit had been dimly lit to begin with but everything seems incredibly bright as you slowly peel the damp fabric from your face and the visual world comes back to you.

Din is seated in front of you, once again wearing his helmet. You stare at him for a long moment, and suddenly none of what just happened feels real to you.

“Holy fucking hell,” you exclaim, giddy giggles bubbling up your throat. You long to cry out in elation, like when you used to go driving alone and joyfully scream in the sanctity of your car if you were in a great mood.

“You okay?” Din asks.

You nod, “more than okay.”

Din watches you re-dress, the two of you looking at each other as you pull the shirt over your head and hike the stretchy pants back up your legs. He’s sorry to see your body disappear behind the fabric, but sleep is starting to sound nicer than anything else. When you’re finished, you stand next to him with a hand outstretched. Din takes it, allowing you to help him up off the floor. He scoops up the blanket and hands it over to you, checking that everything with the ship is in order before motioning for you to start heading downstairs. He quickly cleans up the mess he’d made under the pilot seat and then comes to join you. As Din descends the ladder, he sees you standing there waiting for him with the blanket draped over your shoulders and a sleepy smile on your soft features.

“You’re a vision,” Din remarks as his feet touch the ground.

“Mm,” you hum, smiling at him. That lovely, kind smile that first caught his attention all those months ago on Nevarro. Maker, how far things have come. He’d been so annoyed when Karga coerced him into hiring you on as the nanny, and now he can’t imagine what his life would look like if he hadn’t.

“Let’s sleep, Cyar’ika.” Din says, tapping his forehead to yours.

“How’s this supposed to work?” You raise an eyebrow at him, grin cheeky.

Din peers into the thin sleeping cabin, noticing that the kid is still sleeping away in his little hammock above the bed. Jupiter has somehow managed to squeeze her way onto the thing with him, and the kid is using her as a sort of pillow. Admittedly, the scene is quite endearing.

“We lay on our sides,” Din shrugs, “you go in first and I’ll climb in after.”

“If you say so, Chrome Dome.” Chuckling, you crawl into the cot, laying on your side up against the right wall to give him enough space to enter.

Din kicks off his boots, bending forward to craw in with you. It’s certainly going to be a tight fit, but he thinks this may actually work nicely. He pulls himself all the way in, the door sliding shut once he’s inside. His body is already pressed to yours, so he carefully shifts around until he’s spooning up to your backside. One arm is tucked under his helmeted head, while the other is draped over you. You pull his hand into yours, tangling your fingers with his.

“Goodnight, Din,” you whisper in the darkness.

“Jate ca,” he whispers your name, “rest well.”

When Din awakes several hours later, his heart is so incredibly full that he’s not sure he could jam any more affection into it if he tried. You’re still out cold, but the kid has since migrated from his hammock to laying between you and the wall. One of your arms is curled around the foundling tightly, a content smile on your slightly parted lips. Jupiter has also relocated, as Din can feel her purring against the back of his helmeted head.

He should get up and start his day, but he instead closes his eyes once more and allows himself to feel happy for a long while.

*****

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chromotps · 4 months

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#saw this and thought it’d be up your alley^^#very star crossed vibes haha

oh!! tbh i don't know if i've ever gotten a submission before haha i hope this works right

[steeples my hands] this is up my alley... the poetry... ace acknowledging luffy and even sabo are somehow different from him... the idea that ace is in the echoes around luffy all the time......

but also. I am a big soft depressed weenie (especially after getting off work lmaO) so i have to make ace happy eventually—EDIT: I got a second wind and wanted to stretch my writing muscles, so... Have a wild drabble!!

Even as it set, the sun's light washed over Luffy like honey: rich and copious. It was something Ace couldn't lift from his brother's skin no matter how hard he imagined. Luffy was meant to be like this, golden.

Ace knew it was an odd thought, but he couldn't help it. They were sharing a rare quiet moment at the hill where they'd wept for Sabo. Now, with Ace's departure drawing near, he found his mind meandering down strange, overly sentimental paths, especially when it came to his brother.

Breaking himself out of the pattern, Ace unwound a hand from where it'd been wrapped around his knees, and gave a cursory yank—tugging on the tattered, too-big hat resting against Luffy's back.

"You don't really need this thing, do you?" he said. "You never get burnt."

Luffy, interrupted from idly pulling at the grass around him, looked up with an affronted expression. "Of course I need it! It was a gift from—"

"From Red-Hair, yeah, yeah, I know." Ace sighed. "I'm not saying it's not important to you, relax. Just that you don't need it—the sun doesn't bother you."

Luffy tilted his head, goofy preteen face squinting at the clarification. As if he had to think of everything in concrete terms, Luffy pulled the hat off his back, holding it in his hands so he could contemplate it.

A grin spread across his face. "I guess you're right! I'm still glad I have it, though." His smile was dazzling; Ace didn't look away, but his heart suffered a pang for the lack of action.

"It's a part of my dream, like you said." Luffy nodded. "As long as I have this, I'll know I'm on my way to becoming the most amazing pirate ever!" He looked at Ace then, grin turning impish. He'd probably been swept up by another one of his dumb ideas.

"Hey, Ace, you should start calling me 'Captain Luffy.' It'll help me get ready!"

"Pfft." Ace grabbed the hat from Luffy, and stuffed it back over his brother's head. Luffy couldn't see his fond smile, whining like he was from beneath the wide brim.

Ace held the smile while he spoke over Luffy's whine. "As if. Try that again when you've actually got a crew to boss around, and your own ship."

"Aww. C'mon," Luffy sighed. He sounded put-out, but he didn't refuse Ace's next unspoken offer: the older teen knelt, facing away from Luffy, arms lifted back to accept his brother's weight.

He didn't need to say anything at this point, the two of them so used to the tradition. Ace would carry Luffy, piggy-back, to Dadan's at the end of the day. Luffy climbed into his hold easily, chin resting over Ace's shoulder, childish pout still in place.

"I'm gonna do it some day, you know." So petulant.

"Sure," Ace said. It sounded dismissive, but he didn't actually have any doubt in his mind. He knew he'd lose Luffy to that dream eventually.

His brother might be right here in his arms, and they'd wake up tomorrow close enough to touch, like always. But Ace knew he'd never really belong at Luffy's side. He didn't belong at Sabo's, or his mother's, or Dadan's; but he especially wasn't meant for Luffy's.

They entered the forest, everything dimming in the earthy shade. Luffy was drowsy at his back. Ace's overactive brain thought that only made sense. The sun would naturally retreat, with night coming on.

Twilight gave way to dusk; a branch snapped somewhere in their vicinity, and Luffy tensed ever so slightly against Ace's back.

Well, Ace couldn't have that. And so he hummed. If nothing else, he could do this for the brother he couldn't keep. He'd make sure Luffy stayed safe and grew up strong. That way, if he ever faced something dark on the path to his dreams, he'd have a song in his heart instead of fear.

"S'not even that sunny," Luffy mumbled. Ace paused, turning his head slightly, but it wasn't like he could get a clear look at Luffy right now.

He kept on walking, but asked, "What was that?"

Luffy sighed. His tired, warm voice drifted by Ace's ear. "I don't really need the hat, 'cause we spend most of our time together here. In the forest... Right?"

He sniffed sleepily and then continued, "The sun doesn't really reach us here. N... Nothin' does." In what seemed like a total leap in logic, Luffy then said, "You don't really have to call me 'Captain.' When it's just you 'n' me..." Luffy yawned. "...none of that other stuff matters, 'kay? I'm just Luffy, and you're just Ace. S'all there is."

Ace blinked.

He squeezed Luffy's leg in his grip, and kept walking.

#submission #thank you!!#please excuse my post work moping #i am off to watch cute shoujo anime w some friends and eat fresh baked cookies which will literally fix me #acelu #?#for my own blog sorting purposes if nothing else haha

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saltydoesstuff · 1 year

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Feral ROTTMNT HCs PT. 1

I've been seeing so many AUs and such for Rise! but not so much on if the boys were raised wild/more heavily entuned to their animalistic nature (if there is already, I'd love to see!) So here are some personal head canons on how I think they would act (All characters are portrayed as 18+! Unless stated otherwise)

---------------------------- - The turtles after mutation and saved by Splinter would have either somehow escaped and got lost, or if we want a darker twist Splinter had shortly perished after being mutated. Whether it is was due to the mutagen being too much for his body to bear long term, or other reasons is up to interpretation - They had ended up in the surrounding woods around New York through the sewer systems and had settled where it felt more natural. They had stayed hidden in abandoned burrows and ponds for the most part of their very early years - Raph being the biggest, even when they were small is the one that protects him and his brothers from predators growing up when they did eventually venture out into the open for food. Being a mutant turtle has some serious perks when it comes to survival, that includes a nastier bite force when push comes to shove. I feel like he would be the most defensive when it comes to Donnie's safety, as he's most at risk due to his softer shell - Because of this, Raph carries many scars from throughout their childhood and teens. Most of them he got from getting his brothers out of dangerous situations. Sometimes he swears his brothers have no self-preservation, it only got worse when they got curious about the humans and society - As you might expect, the brothers cannot speak english. They were never taught, so they communicate through hisses, chirps, churrs, etc instead. They believe others can just magically understand them, they soon realize this is not the case - Leo, Mikey and Donnie are the ones that are fascinated by humans first and try to find out more. Raph simply comes along to make sure they don't get themselves killed, he does start to see why they love them after a few trips into the city though - They get around via the sewer tunnels, and spy on people through storm drains - Donnie likes collecting trinkets and broken tech pieces that people throw away while Mikey takes a shine towards the more colorful things that get tossed, including used art supplies. He likes to use them on himself or his brothers if they let him, or just simply decorate whatever surface he finds suitable - Leo just likes stealing food from people when they aren't looking, maybe their wallets too if it's just sitting out in the open. Just about anything he can get his hands on honestly without being caught - He has a collection of random ID cards and Drivers Licenses stacked up somewhere in the den they had made when burrows got too small for them, he just thinks their neat even if he doesn't know what they are. He'll make fun of the pictures and try to mimic them with his brothers - Raph mainly just takes things he thinks will benefit their home, thrown away blankets and stuffed animals is his go to- but he will nab anything he thinks his brothers will like if he can get it - He's the one that actually got them their masks, he thought that it could be used as camouflage if they ever got spotted by humans since they see humans dressed up with colors all the time - It does not work at all, but A for effort big guy Okay so it is word count, at some point it just doesn't save your work anymore lol. I'll be sure to post more stuff and how our dear Y/N gets mixed up in this

#rottmnt #rottmnt x y/n #rottmnt x reader #eyyyy it works now #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #saltydoesstuff #rottmnt au

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childotkw · 11 months

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If regulus was reincarnated into the Naruto verse, how much damage do you think he would do to the plot??

Hmm, I'd say it'd depend on which era he reincarnates in, the type of reincarnation we're talking (is he born into a ninja's body? is he in his own body? more dimension-hopping than reincarnation??) and if he keeps his magic or not? Naruto's universe has already got insane jutsu, so Regulus whipping out random spells wouldn't be completely out of place. At least at first.

He'd bamboozle most ninja though his obvious use of jutsu but no one can explain the shit he does at the same time because there's no surge of chakra to accompany any of his 'jutsu'.

Levitating shit? Surely it must be a wind jutsu of some kind but there's no breeze?

Teleporting?? Must be some variant of Tobirama's cheater jutsu (Madara's words), but it doesn't require any noticeable marker to move to?

Invading minds and skimming surface thoughts???? They're almost positive he's not a Yamanaka but blond hair is recessive so maybe one of his parents had dark hair??

Honestly, if he's in his original body, the only thing that they have over him is that he's not as physical as a ninja. He's slower, weaker, his reaction time is tiny, and his stamina is terrible compared to a ninja.

But he's not easy prey by any means.

This contradiction is interesting for whichever ninja stumbles across him because he moves like a soldier and can do things even jutsu struggle to emulate but only registers as a civilian to their senses.

For instance, let's say Regulus dies in the cave and wakes up in the forest utterly alone. He's got his wand and absolutely nothing else, but he's disorientated enough that he can't trust himself to apparate.

So he trots off, and eventually hits a tiny village - in Japan??? He thinks??? His Japanese is non-existent but he has enough strength for a translation spell that lets him communicate with a lovely elderly couple that take him in and help him recover.

His panic is slow churning but well-hidden when he eventually figures out that he is very much not where he should be. These people have no idea what England is, or what country they're in - they keep saying something like 'Land of Fire' and mention cities like 'Konoha' and Regulus is genuinely considering that this is a very vivid hallucination cooked up by his dying brain.

Still, he pushes on, recovering from his fatigue only to nearly have a heart attack when he's caught using magic to fix a broken plate. He's got one foot out the door when the old man, Aoi, just goes oh are you one of those ninja people? and Regulus is so confused that he just agrees without really understanding it.

Once he calms down enough, he slowly starts to put together the pieces and comes to the terrifying but somehow believable notion that he's in a different world.

And...well...he has no idea how to get back home. Doesn't really want to, in a way, because his life before had been dark and cruel and besides Kreacher he didn't really have anyone waiting for him. It hurts but Regulus has never been one to lie to himself.

So he lets himself mourn, spends some time coming to terms with his new reality, and then does what he always does - picks himself up and carries on.

He decides to make the most of this new place, first by repaying Aoi and his kind wife by repairing their home and (maybe) laying down some wards to keep them safe. He finds a new meaning in this simple life - helping around this little village, using magic-that-people-here-call-jutsu to help with the seasonal work, healing the sick and injured with improvised potions and tonics...

For the first time in his life, Regulus feels like he's making a positive difference. For the first time, he's using his magic to help people and he kind of loves it.

He doesn't mean to draw attention from Konoha, or to get involved in their politics. It's not his fault these annoying fucking ninja are crawling all over him like weevils, asking questions he's never going to answer. It's not his fault these assholes don't know when to take a hint, and it's not his fault that his short temper leads to him flattening some of them as a warning to stay out of his business.

Jokes on him though because that just makes these bastards more fascinated.

Regardless of the era, Regulus would completely derail things. It's just a matter of who he's unfortunately saddled with - the Founders, Kakashi's generation, or Naruto's.

Either way, he'd be beating curious ninja off with a stick.

#anonymous #HP #Naruto #regulus black #someone come save regulus from curious ninja #they all wanna know how he does jutsu without chakra #regulus just wants to live in peace but these assholes wont leave him alone

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professorspork · 5 months

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debated with myself whether to ask about a happy scene in order to spare myself the agony but: since it has haunted me unceasingly since the first time i read it i would love to hear the commentary on the scene in newsbees where adam. well i can't say cuts off because that happens later but. destroys yang's arm? i consider myself to have a pretty high tolerance for dark/disturbing stuff in fiction but that scene made me feel physically ill (positive? as in insanely well written) so i would love to hear what went into writing it because it is a fucking Achievement. (i have not picked out a smaller passage but if you want to pick a specific section to talk about go crazy)

well first of all thank you for the incredible compliment, gosh

and second of all-- to talk about the genesis of this scene we actually have to rewind the clock pretty much all the way back, because it wasn't entirely clear to me how all this would work for uh... a really good percentage of the drafting process, tbh

[warning for squeamish readers this will eventually get... a little intense bc I'm describing some very violent shit under the read more]

figuring out how Adam would fit into the basic framework of the Newsies film plot was a major hurdle in my planning process before I could actually start writing the fic. Blake and Yang don't map perfectly onto David and Jack, they're sort of constantly swapping who carries which beats, but Jack's on the run because he knows the cops will give him back to Snyder, the warden of the juvenile hall. Jack has systemic issues that ultimately have systemic solutions, resolved by the dismantling of The Refuge as an institution. so in the very earliest versions, when I was figuring out my antagonistic forces, I considered all sorts of ways for Clover to be chasing Blake, too, or for Adam to somehow be manipulating the Atlesian carceral state as a way to get Blake on the run.

one of the reasons I thought I had to use the cops was because I wanted to capture the visceral fear that happens in Newsies when the police break up the union's rally. I wish there were a youtube clip I could link to, but the basic outline is that Jack, having been outed by Snyder as a ~runaway outlaw~ to the chief of police, is slated to talk on stage at this massive rally of all the striking newsies. The cops surround the concert hall, and then storm in as Jack's speaking. Jack's friends try to help him get away, but it's chaos. there are mounted officers inside the lobby, and that terrifying moment-- a horse rearing up and the desperate scramble to get out of the way of its falling hooves-- is the true kernel of what ultimately became the Yang's arm scene. the violence of it is so distinctive and outsized to the situation, and felt true to both source materials in a way I was eager to keep.

so the stomp was kind of there from the beginning, because Newsies gave it to me... though it took me a while to realize it. I knew I didn't want Adam to have a sword, because that felt like it broke the world and was a little too cartoon-y. that meant I had to choose between Adam cutting her arm some other way (cleaner, but requires a lot more context to pull off in terms of what he'd have access to), or issuing such a catastrophic injury that amputation was the only option (much more achievable no matter how I wrote the scene, and brutal). I read up a lot about like, what does and does not constitute an irreparable break, and the bones in Yang's arm being crushed was the most "this is inarguable, they'd just do it" solution. the idea of Adam warning Blake resisting just makes the boot come down harder was something that I'd already had floating around my notes, and so the idea of using that as a parallel and him saying it again while actually stomping down was just... once I had the thought, I knew I had to.

figuring out how that scene would work took a lot more doing, though. as you'll notice, newsbees doesn't actually have a rally scene; the people Blake and Yang are talking to are the press, not their fellow strikers. for a long time, the rally was going to be played much more straight, and I was going to use that moment for Adam to out Blake as a Faunus and insinuate her as a member of the White Fang (something something "great job darling, you fooled them" "what the fuck are you talking about??? he's lying!" sort of thing) and there would be some kind of reveal about the crowd being filled with White Fang plants. I got.... really far into the draft, before I let go of that being the shape of the scene. it really wasn't until I reached the part after Blake and Yang's arrest and the gang had to come up with a plan that it all finally fell together organically, based on this idea of "Ruby should talk to the press" being the script that goes sideways.

so once I had the venue, it all kind of came together. the pieces fell into place; I knew I needed to blow up the Schnee garage to cause damage to the property that wouldn't threaten any of the cast in the manor, and to get Ilia access to a getaway car. having Adam hit Yang to start the scene then laid out the players on the board the way I'd wanted them (Blake surrounded, Yang largely incapacitated).

and as for the actual writing of the scene itself... the vast majority of what's published was the very first draft, which I wrote in one feverish sitting just trying to get my own, like, revulsion at Adam's actions down on the page. Blake's anxiety manifests as nausea often throughout the story, and this was always intended to show why--he's just absolutely stomach-turning, in the things he's willing to do and say. I tend to be adjective- and adverb-heavy in my writing even at the best of times, but I really tried to maximalize my descriptive language to always land back on violence, here: it's not just that he's menacing, it's not just that Blake is scared out of her mind, it's that he's purposefully doing everything he can to make this hurt (physically, emotionally, mentally) as much as possible and they both know it. it's why one stomp was never going to be enough for him; it's why he goes out of his way to make Blake parrot that it's her fault, which immediately back-fills in all the millions of times the reader knows he must have done that throughout their relationship. in his head, this is Blake's punishment for defying him: look what you made me do, this wouldn't have happened if you'd just behaved. and for a punishment to stick, Blake has to FEEL it.

which: the cruelty here, just like in the show, is that this is a pivotal moment in Yang's life and it doesn't get to be about her. Adam's not hurting Yang to hurt Yang; he's doing it to hurt Blake. Yang's just a prop, and useful or important to him only as a way of showing there's no part of Blake, nothing she holds precious, that she can protect from him. he hurts Yang for the same reason he'd punch a wall next to Blake's head, or tear pages out of her diary and break her pencils or something. he doesn't see Yang as a person. he doesn't see Yang AT ALL. he's making eye contact with Blake, talking to Blake, putting pressure on Blake the entire time he's doing this. the only time he addresses Yang, period, is to reveal that Blake used to be in the White Fang and hid it from her-- which, again, was a dig to make Blake feel like shit. he couldn't care less what that meant for Yang.

which, you know, is exactly what Blake was afraid of and knew would happen and was trying desperately to avoid :)

#newsbees au #fic what i wrote

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morroodle · 1 year

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Morro's Redemption

Morro deserved a redemption so now I'm giving him one. I love playing with morro redemption stories and this is how they generally go though the circumstances differ (I have so many aus help me). I'm calling this my Morro redemption au but note that it's not one consistent story and there will be plot holes and contradictions when I eventually decide to make more. Bonus this is the au where all my headcannons come from/can go

Requested by @dontlookforme00

It starts when he's possessing Lloyd. Being in his head, Morro has a chance to see some of Lloyd's memories and thoughts, and he starts to understand. Lloyd is just a kid. Lloyd never wanted to be the green ninja, nor did he do any work to get that title. He was forced into this role and has been hurt because of it when he never deserved any of this. It's not his fault, and Morro's anger towards him fades.

Just as Morro can see some of what's going on in Lloyd's head, Lloyd gets a peak at Morro's brain too, and he starts to understand. Morro was a kid, alone and scared and unloved. He was desperate to be a good student, to somehow repay the man who showed him kindness. When he was told he could be the green ninja he was filled with hopes and dreams and for the first time someone thought of him as something more than a street rat. He would be the best green ninja possible and make Wu so proud! He would be a great hero and make people safe and happy! When the day came and the weapons didn't react he was crushed. He thought he had done something wrong, that he had failed his dad master, that he really was just a worthless street rat. He had to prove destiny wrong, he just had to. He would do anything to prove that he was the green ninja, that he was a good student and not a waste of Wu's time. He got himself killed like that, desperate to prove himself to the person who loved him most.

*vague plot timeskip* this isn't actually one solid au so basically anything can happen here, heck even day of the departed can still happen. All that matters is for whatever reason he's stuck with the ninja/wu in the monastery.

Morro regrets what he's done and he hates himself for it. He wanted to be a hero, to help people and protect ninjago, how the hell did he end up like this? He still carries the aggression learned in the cursed realm, and tends to hide in his room, avoiding Wu most of all. It takes time but eventually him and Lloyd get to talking (replace with Cole for a slightly different situation). Morro apologizes, and they talk about the green ninja prophecy and how it affected them (see above, trauma bonding woo). There are tears and elemental powers but they end the situation doing a little better.

The other ninja are... wary of Morro. They understand that he's good (ish) now or else he wouldn't be living with them, but with how aggressive and closed off he is they haven't really talked to him or tried to understand him, and Lloyd can only share so much. While most of them are at least tolerant of Morro, Kai fucking hates him. He is pissed that he hurt his baby brother and he won't just ignore his attempt to destroy the world. Kai confronts him and it goes... questionable and definitely not mentally healthy. Essentially Kai is giving Morro shit about it when Morro interest him with a "I know and I hate myself for it" type thing (tempted to actually write this) and there's a whole lot of screaming and crying. They are by no means on good terms but Kai chills out after that (the other ninja either overhear or are told about this later) and from there they can at least start building relationships.

After this point my solid thoughts start to break down and there aren't any more major events but the general idea is Morro slowly getting more comfortable and building relationships with the ninja (and Wu but way slower). I plan another post about just those relationships but at this point his redemption is pretty much complete and my aus start to go different directions.

Morro is avoiding Wu like the plague. He still hates him and is extremely angry but he wants to be good now so he can't just kill him and he dosent know what to do so he just hides from his problems. After quite some time and definitely after the Morro Kai thing Wu confronts him and it goes absolutely horribly. (I've played out this scene in my head a dozen times a dozen different ways but there is a general idea). Morro is so so hurt and practically screams his throat raw yelling at Wu, full on mental breakdown ugly crying. When Morro is done Wu hugs him, and he lets it last for just a moment before punching him and breaking his nose. After this Morro goes back to avoiding Wu but things start to get a little better. Wu is trying to make things better and help Morro heal but it is going very slowly.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago morro #morro #ninjago au #ninjago headcanons #morro redemption au

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eddie-hellfire-munson · 1 year

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𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊

pairing: Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

synopsis: "Somehow Eddie returned" [it's a star wars reference].

warnings: alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Steve being miserable.

word count: 5651

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When the sky went dark and ash fell from the clouds above Steve Harrington knew things wouldn't be the same. When they'd entered the Upside Down and attempted to fight off the things that went bump in the night he knew somehow, call it a sixth sense, that things were going to shift. He knew the world was going to tilt on its axis though whether that would be for good or bad he couldn't say, that was until the darker half of Hawkins began to bleed into their current reality. It started small after the earthquake- such as the occasional red strike of lightning through the sky during a storm or that first initial instance of cold ash falling to blanket Hawkins in dusty gray. Other than that things seemed relatively normal, or as normal as they could be. As much as he himself tried to ignore it, fend off the feelings of guilt and fear, his world had tilted on its own axis as well. After the death of Eddie Munson he wasn't the same, nobody was for that matter. He and Robin continued to go to work with Keith at Family Video, the media shifted it's blame onto Jason Carver after it was revealed how he'd chased down an innocent man- which was really the only positive thing that had come of all this, and the kids all eventually went back to school now that things were deemed safe. Their close knit relationship due to the shared trauma both strengthened and began to fall apart at the seams.. mainly on the end of one Dustin Henderson. Steve couldn't blame him, hell if he lost his best friend he'd probably react much the same. Dustin had taken over the un-appointed leader role in Hellfire, Steve knew he wasn't trying to replace Eddie and that he was coping the only way he realistically knew how... but the issue was- well Dustin and Steve weren't on speaking terms. It had been weeks and while Steve tried to apologize, tried to help, Dustin didn't want to hear it. That night in the Upside Down had been brutal on them all, Dustin had to watch his best friend die- and Steve had to set his feelings aside and play mediator yet again. He dragged Dustin away from Eddie Munson's mangled corpse.

He could still recall so vividly the way he looked. Eyes wide and unblinking, lifeless and empty. Hair matted and stuck to his face, caked with grime and dirt. Blood soaked clothes, open wounds still oozing and angry- his Hellfire shirt a tattered mess. Dustin had pulled him up onto his lap, cradling him and sobbing- begging him to wake up and shaking him as if that would bring the other man back but Steve knew better. Steve had to pry him away. Steve had to hoist Dustin over his shoulder when the younger boy tried to scramble right back to Eddie's side. Steve had to carry him up through the portal in the trailer. Steve had to sit him down on the mattress in the real world and tell him Eddie was gone, that he wasn't coming back and watch as the sheer horror and realization sink in. Steve had to hold back his own emotions, his own feelings of guilt clawing at his chest while bile rose in the back of his throat because if he'd just stayed behind maybe things would be different. He had to watch over the course of four days as Dustin's sadness turned to rage, had to sit and watch silently as Dustin shut him out- his last words hitting the nail on the head and solidifying Steve's guilt.

"If you would've been there, Eddie would still be HERE- Steve. Fuck you."

That was the first time Steve had heard Dustin Henderson swear. Sure the kid dropped the occasional 'bullshit' or 'shit' on him and was always reprimanded for it but this time Steve had let it slide. He let Dustin swear and point fingers and place blame because deep down he knew the kid was right. If he had been there.. maybe things would be different. Everyone grieved in their own ways, and Steve threw himself into work. He picked up extra shifts so he'd have to spend less time in an empty house, his parents had decided to extend their ‘business trip’ in New York leaving Steve in an empty home for an undisclosed amount of time. They could be gone days, weeks, months, and while he didn't mind them being gone- he didn't want to be left in an empty house with only his own thoughts to keep him company. Steve Harrington went to work by day, and at night he found solace and comfort at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. He drank most nights, but even the sweet embrace of a good buzz couldn't always keep his thoughts at bay. Sometimes his mind would wander, wander to what could have been if he would've said screw it and stayed behind- or if the party would have never separated at all. Would Eddie slot so effortlessly into his life just as Robin had? He could have gotten the man a job at Family Video, could've spent more time with him- and Robin of course him and Robin. Sometimes when he drank these ideas came to fruition in his dreams, taunting him and fueling his survivors guilt when he woke up the next day. It bothered him how quickly everyone aside from the party seemed to move on, Eddie hadn't had that big of an impact on their lives so he couldn't blame them for losing interest when his name was cleared and he was pronounced missing but it still hurt. It hurt that nobody cared that he was gone, meanwhile Steve drank himself silly and vented his emotions to the man's jacket that maintained a permanent residence on the chair in the corner of his room. Everyone grieves differently, and for Steve that involved cradling a jacket and sobbing while apology after apology tumbled from his lips like a mantra- sometimes he'd fall asleep with that jacket still clutched to his chest.. sometimes he'd fall asleep knelt at the base of the chair it always sat on, cheek resting on the plush cushion like a pillow.

He'd woken up, unsurprisingly, on the floor. His knees were cramped and sore from kneeling on his carpet all night, cheek pressed to the now warm fabric of that denim number- emptied bottle of jack sat at his side. With a groan he sat back, rubbing the indent of Eddie's iron maiden patch against his cheek in an attempt to soothe the angry red skin as he glanced over at the clock. One in the afternoon, the glowing numbers of his analog clock mocked him- he'd slept through half the day. Like every day he went through the motions- brushing his teeth, taking a hot shower that lasted a good hour because he tended to stand in there for prolonged amounts of time just staring at the wall, get dressed, attempt to do his hair, make coffee: black with one scoop of sugar, pound a Tylenol or aspirin- whichever he saw on the counter first, head out the door to pick up Robin for their shift.

"You look like shit Steve."

No 'good afternoon', no 'hey how was your night'- just 'you look like shit Steve' as if he wasn't already acutely aware of how awful he looked. There was still a round indent in his cheek from having fallen asleep on top of Eddie's denim jacket, his hair hadn't wanted to behave and he'd given up trying to get it to coif like it usually did so it sat entirely deflated, and there were thick puffy bags under his eyes.. all this being on top of the throbbing headache he was doing his best to power through. So yeah, yeah he knew he looked like shit but when he turned his head to quip back he was met with concerned eyes and an arched brow. With a sort of defeated sigh and a hand running uselessly though his hair he just fixed her with a soft smile and a shrug that was meant to be reassuring combined with his pathetic little excuse of "Im fine Robs, just slept a little rough is all." It was obvious she didn't buy it, but he was thankful she didn't press him for more information as they pulled into the parking lot five minutes past two- five minutes late for their shift. Things between Steve and Robin hadn't changed too much- they were still thick as thieves and closer than ever, though Robin had lost just a little bit of her spark since the incidents in the Upside Down. She was a little less energetic, tended to ramble just a bit less, and they fell into comfortable silence during their shifts more often than they used to. Today was no different, settling into their routine at work- Robin managing the counter while Steve walked around the aisles and put movies back. It was nice, quiet but not in the uncomfortable or unwelcome way- and they had little to no customers throughout their entire shift. On their drive home Robin had gone on a tangent about how weird it was that Steve hadn't tried hitting on a single girl since they started working again- going so far as to press the back of her hand to his forehead when she stepped out of the car and he'd actually laughed for the first time in days. He didn't want to go home.

8:30pm- Following his usual routine he kicked his shoes off at the door, not bothering to put them on the shoe rack as he made his way into the kitchen to retrieve a six pack of beer. He sat on his bedroom floor, back propped against the bed as he cracked one open and stared at his usual company for the night: Eddie's Jacket. "Hey man, how was your day?... Mine was alright, Robin made fun of me for not knowing who Marty McFly is... someone also returned Re-Animator finally, dunno if you've seen it but it seems like something you'd be into." Slowly he raised the can, taking a long hard swig as he just stared at the faded and worn out denim. It looked just the same as it did the night that Eddie had thrown it at him, still spattered with his own blood from his run in with the demobats. With half the can chugged down he set it between his feet, propping his elbows up on his knees as he cocked his head to the side. "Dustin hasn't spoken to me in a few weeks.. but I think he's doing alright from what Mike has told me. He's in charge of Hellfire now, you'd be proud of him.. he's just like you. He misses you, we all miss you....I miss you. I know we didn't really know each other, it's probably weird that I'm sitting here talking to your goddamn jacket, probably weird that I still have it, but I fuckin miss you Munson.. maybe not as much as Henderson does- but I miss you." and it was true, he did miss Eddie. He missed the moments in between the chaos, the times where they all laughed because of something Eddie said or did. He missed the way his eyes lit up when he got really excited over something, was it strange that he noticed these sorts of things? Steve didn't think so, he was an observant man- to an extent. He could appreciate the beauty in another person without it being romantic, he did it with Robin- the pair were platonic with a capital P and yet he found things he enjoyed about her as well. He enjoyed the way she rambled, how Eddie rambled when he was nervous. It was endearing, but platonic with a capital P just as his feelings towards Robin were.

10:39am- He didn't remember finishing that pack of beer but the empty carton was sat on his floor still and at some point he'd dragged himself up onto the bed with Eddie's jacket wrapped around him like a security blanket. For the first time since returning from the Upside Down he'd slept through the entire night without a spot of night terrors or nightmares plaguing him. He woke up with a mild headache from all the beer but he felt well rested, deciding to skip this morning's cup of coffee in favor of a tall glass of water before again going through the motions of getting ready for work. Shower, brush teeth, fiddle with hair until it looks decent for once, add a few things to the grocery list, get dressed, head out the door- in that order. It was a muggy summer afternoon but despite this he left the house with a bounce to his step, settling into his car and drumming his fingers against the steering wheel the entire ride to the Buckley household. There was no concern for him this time when Robin hopped into the car, the pair making idle conversation that consisted of Robin going on about how she had plans with Nancy which earned a raised brow before the girl went into a spiral promising that it was purely platonic "With a capital P! She's still with Johnathan-". Steve had gotten a word out here and there, letting the other ramble on about how excited she was to actually go and do something.. Steve wished he was so lucky but he had a routine- and if he wasn't home on time who would talk to Eddie? No that wasn't right.. Eddie's jacket, not Eddie. Eddie was gone. This shift went by considerably faster, maybe due to having gotten enough sleep- or maybe because Robin kept him from looking at the clock every five minutes by forcing him to play checkers with her in between customers... either way when the sun began to set and the clock read 7pm he was excited to close up and head home for the day.

9:03pm- Steve had arrived home later than intended, having stopped at the store on his way home to pick up a few necessities since his parents still hadn’t returned and someone had to keep the house in a livable condition. Toilet paper, bread, frozen pizzas, batteries for the tv remote, and of course a new bottle of Jack. Breaking routine a bit he kicked his shoes off in the comfort of his own bedroom, bottle of jack in hand as he brought it up with him after unpacking the rest of the groceries. He twisted the cap off as he carefully kicked both shoes away from the door, glancing over at his chair expecting to be met with the sight of Eddie's jacket only it wasn't there. His hands rattled, nearly dropping the bottle as his eyes darted around the room- panic clawing its way up his throat and chilling him to his very core until his gaze landed on the familiar worn denim sitting on his bed still crumpled from when he'd slipped out of it before work. "Jesus- sorry I'm late Munson... I uh- needed more whiskey." Everybody grieved differently. Dustin had busied himself with Hellfire club, Mike had begun planning a new campaign for Dustin, Robin had begun spending her free time with Nancy, and Steve spoke to a piece of fabric. He supposed it made him a little strange, treating an article of clothing as if it were a living breathing human being wasn't exactly normal but it helped him in a weird way. If he could treat this jacket the way he'd treat Eddie.. maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to forgive himself one day. He didn't bother getting dressed again after his uniform hit the floor and he was left standing next to his bed clad in a pair of boxer briefs, nor did he hesitate to slide that jacket back over his shoulders as he leaned back against the headboard of his bed.

1:54am- Dreams weren't something Steve had too often, unless you counted the nightmares he had on an almost weekly basis ever since Barb had 'drowned in his pool' some years ago. He had a few recurring nightmares about the things that went bump in the night- getting eaten alive by demobats being the new one that he found almost ironic since.. well.. that's how Eddie had gone. His own near-death experience at the hands of those winged devils was enough to give him a lasting fear, seeing Eddie's mangled body had solidified that fear for him. Steve wasn't a dreamer usually, but what constitutes as a dream? Well, a dream is a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind while they're asleep. Most people think of dreams being good, positive, often enjoyable or mildly confusing things that once awake can just vaguely be remembered or in most cases are forgotten entirely seconds after waking up. Nightmares were the negative dreams- scary and unpredictable.. they could rear their ugly heads at any given time and turn a good dream over on its ass. What Steve experienced was neither good nor bad.

Out of body experiences were always something Steve assumed to be a myth, some made up thing you only heard about in movies about magic- not that he enjoyed that sort of thing but he’d been making his way through Eddie’s extensive collection of fantasy films on his days off. When drifting off to sleep it was a sinking sort of feeling despite still being propped upright against the wooden headboard. It was like some invisible force was pulling him down.. down… down into the plush depths of his mattress and into total darkness before he snapped back up like the ricochet of a rubber band pulled taut and then released. All of a sudden he was in Eddie’s trailer, in his room that he’d seen just in passing during their brief time inside.. and there, sat on the couch, was Eddie. His jaw was slacked, eyes dull and lifeless and yet Steve found himself reaching out for the other but before he could touch the man he’d turned to smoke and vanished. Steve’s legs were welded to the spot, he couldn’t move as he sank into the carpet like quicksand- dropping down deeper until he was engulfed in darkness once more only to emerge on the other side spat out like a hiccup into the Upside Down. His back hit the carpet, eyes wide and alert and as he sat up he came face to face with Eddie again- only he looked like himself.. like not a thing had happened to him. He didn't open his mouth, didn’t move or blink, he just stared Steve down with wide panicked eyes as a slowed rendition of Trapped Under Ice by Metallica played slowed down and distorted through the alternate version of Eddie’s living room.

No release from my cryonic state

What is this, I've been stricken by fate?

Wrapped up tight, cannot move can't break free

Hand of doom has a tight grip on me

Freezing, can't move at all

Screaming, can't hear my call

I, I'm dying to live

Cry out

I'm trapped under ice

Those lyrics, just those lines, played on repeat like a mantra as Eddie stared at Steve- looked directly into his soul. They sat like that for what could have been minutes, hours, days- Steve wasn’t sure, time in the Upside Down had always been a little wonky and he supposed that went for the dreamt up version of it as well…. assuming this really was a dream. With motions quick as lightning Eddie’s hands shot forwards, gripping each side of Steve’s face as tears as black as night welled up and slid down his cheeks thick as molasses. His jaw twitched, popping open just a fraction as Steve watched on in shock.

“RUN!”

8:30am- Birds chirped just outside the clear glass of Steve’s window as he shot up in bed, eyes wide and chest heaving as he’d been forced out of his dream by the blaring of his alarm clock. He didn’t know how to feel about the things he’d seen, didn’t know how to process seeing Eddie so clearly.. so vividly as if the man were actually there. He could still feel the chilled press of clammy hands against his cheeks, still feel the frantic tremble in those limbs as he’d shouted at him without even moving his mouth. Normally he would’ve called Robin to ask but her shift started later than his- so he instead busied himself with getting ready for the few hours he’d be spending with the man.. The myth.. The legend- Keith himself.

10:00am- Steve had walked into work right on time, an exceedingly rare occurrence as of late but Keith didn’t seem to mind either way. Without Robin there to keep him company and keep his mind occupied the first few hours of his shift were absolute hell on earth, the worst form of torture known to mankind! It was, in short, boring. To give Keith some credit he wasn’t all bad, sure the guy was weird and had a knack for taking things way too seriously but he wasn’t terrible in any way shape or form. 10am until 1pm- exactly three hours were spent in the other man’s company and god was he happy to see that familiar head of messy chestnut hair when Robin finally strode through the big glass doors. He didn’t bother idle chit chat, didn’t bother avoiding the topic of his dream- he needed advice and who better to give it to him than his best friend and platonic soulmate Robin Buckley?

“So- Eddie grabbed your face… told you to run… and then you woke up?”

Steve nodded profusely, hand instinctively raising to fix his hair- smooth it back out as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I mean he looked scared… and I think I should’ve been scared too Robs but I wasn’t. It was really weird.” Maybe he was insane, maybe he’d missed the other man far more than he’d initially thought or maybe he was just going off the deep end and the dream meant absolutely nothing but it didn’t feel like it was nothing. It didn’t feel empty and it didn't feel pointless. Robin had always been good at deciphering these things, had always been good at reading between the lines and seeing the deeper meaning within and as he watched her nod along he’d held out a little bit of hope that she’d be able to tell him something about his dream.

“Steve… are you getting enough sleep? Are you drinking again? Look at me-”

And that was it. Disappointed wasn’t quite the word for what Steve felt, betrayed maybe? For the first time in their friendship he and Robin weren’t on the same page, not even remotely although she was pinning him yet again with that knowing look of concern that he didn’t quite understand. With a sigh he slouched back against the wall behind the counter they occupied, arms crossing over his chest as he shook his head and did his best to smile though the light behind his eyes had gone out and suddenly he wanted the floor to swallow him up. He didn’t usually take dreams seriously, usually didn’t think they would or could have any lasting impact but this one… he couldn’t put his finger on why exactly but it had felt so real, like Eddie had genuinely been warning him of something. “I’m fine Robs, seriously- I’m fine. Just a wild dream that’s all.”

The rest of their shift went on in relative silence, Steve didn’t feel like talking after that and Robin didn’t force him to socialize. He was hurt, but he couldn’t expect her to understand how real it had felt, like Eddie really was reaching out to him somehow… she wasn’t there, so of course she didn’t understand. It was a quick close when the sun set, and after dropping Robs off at home Steve returned to his own empty estate. He slid his shoes off at the door, setting them on the shoe rack on his way to the kitchen where he could see the flashing green light of the phone signaling there was a voicemail waiting for him. He pressed the little ivory button, one hand on his hip as he listened to the recording.

“Steven? Honey? Are you there? Pick up the phone please.” It was his mother, he could hear his father in the background cut in with a “Elaine he’s probably at work, hurry up we have dinner reservations at-” before a soft intake of air from his mother as she covered the receiver so it didn’t pick up whatever muffled and brief conversation they were having.

“Steven we’ve decided to extend our stay here just a little bit longer, now I know you have a job but we sent you a check in the mail. That should be enough to cover groceries and-”

“Elaine. Dinner reservations.”

“Sorry sweetie I’ve gotta go. Kisses!” and then the line cut and the voicemail ended.

That was the first Steve had heard from his parents in a little under a month, they’d left right after the earthquake hit- didn’t even tell him. No warning, no invitation- he just woke up to a note and some cash on the kitchen counter. He could only scoff, fists clenching at his sides for a moment before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. There was no use getting mad, he knew this would happen. It always did. He left the phone then, spinning on his heel and entering the kitchen. Immediately he headed for the fridge, yanking it open to pull a six pack out. That was left in the living room, Steve making his way upstairs to change into a pair of pajamas and he had been on his way back out when he paused in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder, gaze drifting down to the denim sitting neatly this time on his side of the bed. “Shit, sorry Munson- you wanna watch a movie?” He didn't even hesitate, entering the room again to pick up the battle jacket and shrug it over his shoulders. It was still a little small on his larger frame though with the weight he’d been losing he didn’t doubt it would fit perfectly in a couple months time. It’s weight on his shoulders was comforting as he made his way back downstairs, setting up shop on the couch to watch The Hobbit. It was one of the movies Eddie had owned, one he watched frequently despite not really understanding anything going on in the animated film.

2:30am- Steve jolted awake, startled by the sudden ringing of his landline. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, the sixth and final beer still clutched in his hand half drank. Rubbing sleep from his eyes he set the bottle down, wobbling as he stood up- feet dragging against the hardwood floor on his way into the hallway where the phone sat on the wall. With a groan he picked it up- putting it to his ear to mumble a “I swear to god Robin do you have any idea-”

He could hear breathing on the other line. It sounded labored and choppy, as if every inhale was effort- as if it was painful to breathe. For a moment he just sat there, listening to that sound and processing it- one glance over at the caller ID told him it definitely wasn’t Robin. The display itself was flashing on and off, the numbers scrambling themselves like static though every few seconds they would solidify into a readable number and when he finally saw the name displayed his jaw went slack.

M-u-n-s-o-n.

“Hello? Who the fuck is this? This shit isn’t funny-” Steve was cut off by the sound of a choked out sob from the other line before the other person’s breath cut short and a sort of gurgling began. It was low at first, escalating in volume quickly as it was accompanied by coughs and grunts as well as that same labored breathing as if the person was choking on liquid. Water? It sounded thicker, rougher, like something was coagulating and getting caught in someone's throat. Blood.

“Eddie?” he was met with radio silence aside from the continued gurgling though it slowly faded out, the labored breathing however- that remained.

“Ste-”

The line cut out entirely and Steve stood there listening to the dial tone for a long while before hanging up. Frantically he pressed the call back button though when selecting the number to call back- Eddie’s wasn’t there. In the list of recent callers there was his Mother, Robin, and Family Video. No Eddie, or Munson, or anything to confirm that had been him or that the call had even happened in the first place. His head hurt, throbbed as he stumbled back over to the couch to sit down. Had he imagined all of that? There was no way that was actually Eddie either way, he’d seen the guy's corpse. He’d seen the state he was in, there was no coming back from that- there was no coming back from death. Sleep didn’t come easily after that, Steve laid awake on the couch staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts raced. When sleep finally did take him again, he’d clutched a pillow to his chest- needing something to hold onto as he drifted off.

11:32am- His body ached from sleeping in a twisted position curled up on the couch, sitting up slowly and setting the pillow that he’d been cuddling beside him. It was odd having a day off, even more odd knowing that Robin had to be stuck at work without him. Steve had a routine for his days off- specifically for the days where he couldn’t invite Robin over to watch movies but before he even started he needed a drink. His first initial instinct when walking into the kitchen was to reach for the beer- having to pause and remind himself that it was far too early for that before he shut the door and instead poured himself a tall glass of ice water. Now- normally he’d go visit Robin and hang around Family Video to keep her company and keep her from murdering Keith with her bare hands but it was a little too early for that. So instead he made his way back into the living room, picking the tv remote up off the coffee table to turn on the news.

“I'm standing in front of the once abandoned Munson trailer-”

Everything fell on deaf ears from that point on as Steve’s vision blurred at the edges, focusing entirely on the familiar mop of brown hair in the background of the scene. He was inside the back of his van next to Wayne- the much older man cradling none other than Eddie Munson. Eddie who had died in Dustin’s arms. Eddie who they’d left behind in the Upside Down. Eddie who had a healthy glow to his skin as he glanced up at the camera and Steve was rooted to the spot. Eddie was staring at him, through the tv and directly at him and it sent a violent shiver down his spine- fear and elation coexisting as he stared right back. His hands rattled as he watched the slowly forming smile stretch Eddie’s features, dropping the glass cup as it shook straight out of his grip to shatter on the floor. There was something unsettling about that stare, that smile, like it was fully directed at him and only him as if Eddie knew he was watching but he didn’t have the facilities to delve too deep into that… he was too elated that Eddie was apparently alive and well.

The loud ring of his phone cut through the still muffled and almost muted voices of the news reporter as he continued to speak but Steve was still frozen in place staring straight ahead unwilling to break eye contact because somewhere in the back of his mind he was afraid to look away, afraid that if he did the other man would vanish like this was all just some twisted trick- a hallucination of his broken and fragile mind. Despite being ignored the phone continued to ring until the answering machine clicked on and Dustin’s voice cut through.

“Steve? Steve I know you're there man please tell me you’re watching the news right now? Are you watching the news? I’m coming over-”

As the phone cut out he released a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, one equally shaky hand moving to run fingers through locks of brown hair before gripping onto it gently. He took a step back, then another, and on the third his calves hit the couch and he collapsed onto it. The reporter approached Eddie and Wayne, uttering something that again fell on deaf ears before holding the microphone out towards Eddie who leaned in slightly to speak as the camera zoomed in on him.

“I don’t have much to say, just happy to be back.”

Steve watched, couldn't tear his gaze away as he studied Eddie’s features through the tv screen as he smiled again. He noted the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, a scar just above his right eyebrow, the subtle flush in the apples of his cheeks before his gaze dropped down to Eddie’s lips and stayed there… had Eddie’s teeth always looked so sharp?

Authors Notes: this will be updated at my leisure but I've got multiple chapters planned already, I hope you enjoy it! This is posted on my AO3 as well at welcome_to_hellfire

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