#and chill wit cosmo

[unjustmind]

i (hope hope hope hope HOPE) to go out with my friend tmrw we're gonna go see the bob marley movie

[reidsdimples]

Like Puzzle Pieces

18+ ❤️‍🔥 MDNI ‼️

Spencer Reid x Reader

no plot, just spice (who’s surprised) 🤣

“You can do it baby,” Spencer exhales.

He grips your hips as you hover over him, trying desperately to sink down on his cock despite the aching stretch you felt. Your legs shake and the delicious sensation of being too full, too stretched out mixed with a dull ache.

You whimper and jerk upward with your fingers curled in his hair as the pain intensifies.

Spencer had warned you of this. His… girth mixed with his impressive length was challenging for most of his partners to take. You were determined, however, despite his protests that you didn’t have to.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks gently as he cradles your cheek in his large hand. You pout your bottom lip out.

“No, I want it. I want you,” you frown.

“I know,” he pauses for a moment. “Lay on your back, we’ll try missionary.”

“We probably should have tried that first,” you admit. It was you who insisted gravity would help and you just HAD to ride him. He argued that missionary allowed you to relax more. Hopefully he was right.

He moves on top of you and nuzzles his nose into your neck, inhaling slowly and planting kisses there. You run your hands up the planes of his body and moan against the sensation of his cock rubbing upward between your folds.

He bares his narrow hips downward, inching into you with cruel slowness. Still you gasp, your walls stretching as they try to accommodate him. This time though it feels more delicious, more sinful, less painful to open up for him.

The gasp he lets out is like floating in space, breathy uncontrolled. It’s unreal, having him like this. Where at work he’s the picture of control, logic, wit. Here he’s a panting mess as you take that final inch of him. Your swear he’s in your stomach and you moan his name.

“So so good,” he shudders.

“You like that I can take all of your cock, Dr.Reid?” You purr and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your fingers twist into his hair as he works his way in and out of you again.

He mutters an incoherent answer and buries his face in your neck. Your pull you knees up higher, giving him an angel to get deeper. You think time stops when he obliges and pushes himself down into your core. Fuck.

“Look,” he grips your jaw and turns your head so you can the reflection in the mirror.

The way his muscles flex as he thrusts into you? Your legs dutifully moving to wrap around his waist, his hair falling around you. You want to paint the image into a masterpiece, one to rival the greats. The beauty of him inside of you is unreal, its art. Fantasizing about it didn’t do it justice.

The sight has your heart racing, your pulse chasing your orgasm to the edges of eternity while he makes certain to hit that spot inside of you.

And when he moans your name?

You’re done.

Cosmos explode in your vision your nails dig into his back and your legs tighten around him, trying to keep his hard cock inside as you pulse and come apart. He shudders at the sensation, exhaling open mouthedly as you capture him and force him to still inside of you as your finish rupturing.

Chills shoot over your skin, goosebumps left in the wake of your orgasm and you can’t even see straight. A simple Spencer shaped blur above you. But he starts moving again, pulling something like a pleasure laced cry from your chest.

“You fit me so well,” he huffs. He’s right, you were scared at first but now it’s like the two of you are puzzle pieces, destined to connect.

He feels amazing, you can’t escape the feel of him as if he’s touching every part of your insides. It’s delicious, it’s torturous, it’s perfect. But you can’t imagine ever not feeling this full, how could you adjust again to not having him within you?

Your nails claw down his back, causing him to suck air through his teeth as he murmurs a string of praises and you’re climbing again. Climbing toward that peak, towards him.

His hands grip your heart, wrenching your head back slightly. Those damned hands…

You lose sight of reality as your second orgasm threatens to take you and he’s close to it wouldn’t it be perfect if…

“Spencer!” It takes you by surprise.

Your orgasm rolls violently through you, a malevolent being conquering your existence. Then you feel him tense, hear that moan, that string of whimpers, then he’s pumping into you. You feel his warm cum filling you and it’s so delicious mixed with the way you’re soaking him. His groin, his stomach, his hips, his bed, all coated in you.

He looks down at the mess and exhales a small laugh in awe. You try to catch your breath and cover your face in embarrassment, your cheeks burning.

“Hey,” he implores in a gentle voice as he moves your hands.

“Don’t hide from me. I want everything you have to offer,” a devilish grin plays on his lips and he leans down to kiss you.

[inhuman-obey-me]

do you remember the ask you did for the brothers about mc catching them doing something demonic?? could you do that but with the side characters?

Hi hello this is WAY overdue and I am so sorry it's taken this long to get around to it if you're even still around!! But yes, definitely wanted to do a version with the side characters for this. These...got much longer than the previous ones, so please take that as an apology for taking years to get to this.

Previous post referenced can be found here!

[Mod Cosmos]

MC accidentally catching the Side Characters being Demonic or Violent

content warning: blood, gore, implied body horror

Note: As before, this is from the perspective of an MC that might just not want to necessarily see all this

DIAVOLO

You were staying the night at the Demon Lord's Castle, exhausted after a long day running around with Diavolo. Despite your exhaustion, you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night — and notice that the Demon Prince is no longer resting beside you. Wondering where he's gone and figuring he must have had something to do, you try and fall back asleep, but to no avail. After some tossing and turning, you decide to get up and take a walk to the garden, hoping that its usual tranquility will help bring back the slumber that now escapes you.

On your way, you hear a distant crash, like glass shattering against stone. Remembering the many stories of how haunted the castle was, a chill creeps down your spine. You know its better to leave it be (just go to the garden, you tell yourself) but your curiosity gets the better of you, as it always does. With careful steps, you make your way down the hall from where you heard the crash, the portraits on the wall watching your every move with morbid glee. Every cell in your body is screaming for you to turn back, and you almost do — until you hear a hysterical laugh swiftly cut off by an agonized yell. A muffled voice soon follows, and you recognize it well.

"Your mistake, like all your predecessors, is mistaking my tolerance for weakness." Diavolo's voice becomes clear as you creep towards an archway, and your heart leaps into your throat at the scene before you. Blood stains the walls, a demon you don't recognize made further unrecognizable by the disfigurement of his flesh, as if it was melting from his bones. "A pity it had to come to this, Guthor. I'll send my regards to your little association." The mockery in the prince's voice is rare to hear, and in a flash the other demon is reduced to nothing but cinders.

"—MC?" Your startled at the sound of your name, and before you can blink you find yourself staring into worried golden eyes. "What are you doing here?! You should be asleep." His four wings fully unfurl, as if to block your view of the gruesome remains. "I…I apologize that you witnessed that." He cups your chin, taking in your unsettled expression. "I'll answer any questions you have, but let's first return to my room, shall we? I'll get you whatever you need."

BARBATOS

Your whole body vibrates as bass, drums, and discordant guitar riffs pour out the speakers at Tartarus Hall, a metal show well underway. It's not the usual environment one would find Barbatos, but you jumped at the chance to accompany him to the show when he cautiously offered. It delighted you to see him outside of the stiffness of his day-to-day duties, and although he still doesn't seem to break too much from his usual statuesque nature, you can certainly tell he's more relaxed.

Eventually deciding to take a break from the rowdy crowd, the two of you make your way to the bar for some much needed refreshments. As Barbatos hands you a drink, you notice something grabs his attention — and an ominous shadow falls over his features. Positioning you safely in a corner by the bar, Barbatos gives you a small smile.

"I'm going to use the restroom, so please stay here until I get back."

You nod and wait patiently, enjoying the music from a distance while sipping your drink, wondering what it was that really captured his attention. After a while, you find yourself with an empty glass and still no Barbatos in sight, so you decide you'll make a quick trip to the restroom yourself. After asking the bartender to let your demon companion know of your whereabouts if he gets back before you do, you make your way through the crowd and down a narrow hall lit with neon signs — and that's when you start to hear it. Screams.

At first, you wonder if its just from the vocalist on stage, but it sounds far closer to you than from the speakers. With a gulp, you cautiously turn a corner and can soon make out a familiar voice, muffled behind a door that isn't quite closed all the way. Peering in, you see Barbatos towering over another, a sharp object in his hand glistening with blood. You stomach twists. "I wish I could have more time with you, but I must return to someone far more important." He sighs, ignoring the other's pleas for mercy. "All you traitors sing the same."

In an instant, the other demon is dead on the floor. Before you can even move to take a step back, you find yourself face-to-face with Barbatos, a gasp leaving your lips as his tail captures your waist and pulls you away from the scene and back to the neon corridor.

"You can't help yourself, can you, dear?" Barbatos scolds, though his gaze softens as he checks you over. "I apologize for leaving you for so long, and for having to witness that. Let's go enjoy the rest of the show for now, shall we?"

SIMEON

It had been some time since your last visit to the human world, so Simeon had decided to gift you with a surprise trip — just the two of you, enjoying all that this coastal city had to offer. There was also a local festival in full swing, which meant dragging Simeon stall to stall to try a variety of food and play some games. You both eventually take a break away from all the festivities to enjoy the sunset, the last rays of the daylight disappearing into the horizon as waves crash on rocks below. You turn to smile at Simeon, but notice that something feels…off. In fact, you had sensed a feeling of tension from him since an encounter earlier that day with a less-than-friendly stranger.

"Simeon? Are you okay? You're not still thinking about that guy, are you?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Whatever darkness his eyes held a moment ago disappears, his gaze gentle as he looks to you. "Just a little tired, not to worry. Why don't you go look at some souvenirs," he motions to a cute store a few steps away, "…to bring back for the others, and I'll go fetch us some coffee?"

You agree, though can't quite shake off your concern. Watching from the corner of your eye, you see Simeon wander off before turning into an alley. Leaving the souvenir shopping behind, you decide to follow the angel to see what he's really up to. It's quieter in this part of town, and even quieter in the alley with no cafe in sight. You hear a dull thud and quickly follow the noise, peeking around a corner down another alley — only to freeze at what you saw.

It's a dead-end, and a man is backed up against the brick wall, holding a knife out towards Simeon as if in self-defense. You recognize the man as the one who had harassed you earlier, nearly bruising your arm when he tried to drag you off somewhere. You had managed to shake him off and thought that was the end of it, but Simeon clearly had other ideas.

An ethereal glow emanates from the angel, your eyes beginning to sting as your vision becomes slightly warped. The man opens his mouth as if to scream, but no sound comes out, and he drops his knife to the floor. "You are lucky I am only giving you a warning," Simeon's voice seems to echo, his hand now splayed out across the other's chest. "Reflect on your actions and repent, or next time you won't be so lucky."

A flash of light momentarily blinds you, causing you to stumble back. As you regain a sense of your surroundings, you find your face cupped by gentle hands and your gaze met with bewildered celestial eyes.

"MC! I…I'm sorry. That man continued to follow us throughout the day and was intent on hurting you." His voice is full of worry, his fingers flitting across your body to ensure that you were okay. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Is he—?" You begin to ask.

"He'll be fine, just…terrified for quite some time." Simeon clears his throat, his features showing relief once he's confirmed you're not harmed. "Let's go get something to eat, okay? Whatever you want."

SOLOMON

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind, filled with various events and obligations that had kept you away from your sorcerer studies with Solomon. Far overdue for a lesson, you were finally getting together tonight to practice a few new complicated spells. You decide to stop by the market to pick up a few snacks, texting Solomon to ask if there's anything he wants. A few minutes pass and he fails to respond, so you give him a quick call, assuming he's probably not paying attention to his DDD.

No answer. You sigh and decide to just get what you know he likes before making your way to Purgatory Hall. Taking the more scenic route, you leisurely walk through one of your favorite parks, going over some of the spells in your head — but your mind begins to wander as you notice that Solomon still hasn't returned your texts or call, even though he should be expecting you later. He was usually quick to respond, especially when it came to his "favorite apprentice", as he so often said. He's probably just deep in one of his books or experiments, you assure yourself, but the slight sense of unease forming in your stomach won't go away.

Then, you sense it. A faint warmth on your hand coming from the sorcerer's ring that Solomon had gifted you. He had recently imbued a spell on both your ring and his to let you know when the other was close, but you still were no where near Purgatory Hall. Rather, the ring was pulling you towards another path that went into the forest.

"Stop, stop! I'm sorry, okay?!" You eventually hear a coarse voice, so you quietly hide behind a tree and peer around to see what's going on, eyes widening at what you find. A demon seems to be brutally bound to the floor, blood seeping from his eyes and mouth as he looks up and pleads to the sorcerer who put him in such a position.

"Coming to your senses after you tried to take away mine?" Solomon answers in a mocking and cold tone. "You should have known better than to try your tricks on me, Pinen." He takes a few steps towards the demon, squatting down to get more to his level. "And," his voice is dangerously low and furious, "…you should have thought twice before trying to threaten my apprentice. Have fun getting out of this one."

The demon opens his mouth to scream, but you blink and he's gone. You blink again and find Solomon before you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders and worry in his eyes, a shadow of guilt on his features. Of course, he must have sensed you were nearby.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get caught up in this." He glances down and scoops up the bag that you must have dropped at some point. "I'll explain what happened and what I did once we're out of here, okay?"

[reveryfics]

hi hi !!!

not a scott lang request, moreso a thor one !!

wow, so different, i know / j

god reader? he's an anchor being (unknown "center of the universe"). he was hiding out in earth in a human form, (like thor, just... his god form is an eldritch horror). endgame timeline. fury says they need more firepower, and thor suggests asking reader for help.

reader has no obligation to, because if he's such a powerful being, thanos has no real threat to him / and or his realm. (his army?)

just, thor practically swooning over readers god form. any scenario, but what i stated (last paragraph) is basically some world building. reader towers over everything, "i eat planets whole" size, with the entire... other worldly, extravagant personality.

imagine the figure that Gorr saw before asking Thor to protect his daughter. (the big, crossed-legged entity of the universe itself).

🪲 anon

Eater Of Worlds

Thor Odinson x Male Reader

Summary: The Avengers need more help against Thanos, and Thor has just the God in mind.

A/N: Currently have a lot of smut requests in my drafts, those will be spaced out as I've done a lot of Smut lately however non-smut requests are still open. I'm not a big fan of how this turned out, so I apologize.

TW: Fluff

The threat of Thanos hung heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of dread. Everyone present understood the brutal calculus of their situation. They knew the risks intimately, the chilling probability that no matter how meticulously they planned, how fiercely they fought, many wouldn't emerge from the inevitable confrontation alive. The sheer power Thanos wielded was a tangible force, a looming shadow that dwarfed their collective might. They clung to the belief that they were facing a singular, insurmountable obstacle, their options dwindling with each passing hour.

Then, a flicker of improbable hope ignited in the hushed room. Thor, his voice low and tinged with a long-forgotten reverence, murmured about an old tale, a legend whispered by his mother, Frigga. It spoke of a god, a being of immense and terrifying power, one who dwarfed even Thanos in the annals of Asgardian lore. This god, according to the ancient stories, had vanished, choosing to walk among mortals, his true nature masked by a human guise. But the echoes of his past deeds still resonated, tales of devastation and awe that had once sent shivers down even Asgardian spines. This being had once roamed the cosmos in a form that defied comprehension, a wolf so colossal its head pierced the clouds, each earth-shattering step a testament to its raw, untamed power.

Thor recounted these stories, Frigga's voice seemingly echoing in the room, her descriptions so vivid it felt as though she herself had witnessed these incredible events. Yet, even he, a god accustomed to the extraordinary, had never truly believed he would lay eyes on this legendary figure. But here you were, standing amongst them, indistinguishable from any other human, a stark contrast to the monstrous deity of myth. The only hint of your true nature was the casual arrogance in your laughter as Thanos's threat was mentioned, a dismissive scoff that bordered on insulting.

Your amusement abruptly ceased as you registered the gravity etched onto the faces of Thor and Loki. Two Asgardian gods, beings who had faced down cosmic horrors, were visibly concerned. A flicker of something akin to curiosity, perhaps even a grudging respect, crossed your features. If they were taking this seriously, then perhaps, just perhaps, it was worth a moment of your attention.

"Our mother spoke highly of you," Thor ventured, his voice respectful, almost pleading. "You must understand what is at stake here. This… this Thanos… he could even pose a threat to you."

You sighed, a drawn-out exhale of weariness that seemed to carry the weight of ages. "Then you are aware that not even this Thanos can touch me, dear boy," you whispered, your voice a low rumble that resonated in the silence. "It simply isn't my fight."

Tony Stark, who had been observing the exchange with growing impatience, finally interjected, his voice sharp and laced with his usual pragmatism. "Look, with all due respect to the Norse mythology hour, this is getting us nowhere. We're facing a universe-ending threat, and you're talking about some bedtime story. This 'god,' if he even exists, clearly isn't interested in helping. We need a plan, not fairy tales."

Thor ignored Tony, his gaze fixed intently on you. "But you have helped before," he insisted, his voice gaining a desperate edge. "My mother told us stories, Loki and I. Tales of how you single-handedly turned back armies to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. How you devoured entire worlds that posed a danger to others. You possess a power that could tip the scales."

You remained impassive, your eyes flicking briefly towards Tony, a silent acknowledgment of his assessment. "He's right," you stated flatly, your voice devoid of emotion. "Whatever you are attempting will be futile."

Thor refused to be deterred. He pressed on, his voice laced with desperation. Loki, standing beside him, shot Thor a sharp, knowing look, a subtle warning that seemed to suggest Thor was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction.

A low growl rumbled in your chest, a sound that vibrated through the floor. You grunted, the human facade beginning to crack under the weight of Thor's relentless appeals. "Enough!" you roared, your voice booming with an unnatural resonance, silencing Thor mid-sentence. "Stop your mewling, godling! You sound like a child begging for scraps."

Thor, stung by the rebuke, his own patience fraying, retorted, "Perhaps my mother was wrong. Perhaps you are nothing more than a cowardly god, content to hide while others suffer."

The air crackled with a sudden, palpable energy. The sound of bones audibly shifting and cracking filled the room, followed by a guttural growl that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the earth. Your human form began to contort, stretching and shifting in ways that defied natural law. In a matter of seconds, the mortal man was gone, replaced by a wolf of unimaginable size. Its fur was the color of midnight, its muscles rippling beneath its hide like shifting mountains. Its head breached the ceiling, its massive jaws capable of swallowing a planet whole. You bent down, your enormous head looming over the stunned Avengers, a low snarl rumbling in your throat. Your eyes, once human, now glowed with an intense, ember-like light, burning with ancient power.

"Pathetic," you rumbled, your voice a deep, resonant growl that shook the very foundations of the building. "You dare disturb my solitude with such trivial affairs? Matters that have nothing to do with me?"

Thor, however, seemed to have tuned out your words, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He interrupted you, a strange smile spreading across his face. "The stories," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, "they never truly captured it. How… breathtaking your godly form is." He stepped closer, oblivious to the danger, his gaze sweeping over your massive form. "The sheer power, the majesty… it's… magnificent. I must say, I am rather enjoying this particular form of yours."

You recoiled slightly, taking a massive step back, your paws causing the ground to tremble beneath their weight. You stared at Thor in utter disbelief, your massive head tilting slightly as if trying to comprehend his bizarre reaction. Your colossal form began to shrink, the impossible transformation reversing, albeit not entirely. You settled into the form of a wolf still immense, easily towering over Thor and the other Avengers, but no longer scraping the clouds.

Uncertainty flickered in your glowing eyes. You glanced between the bewildered faces of the Avengers and Thor, who was still gazing at you with an unnerving mixture of fascination and admiration. "I… I am still not obligated to assist you," you finally managed, your voice now a deep, rumbling growl, less earth-shattering than before, but still undeniably powerful. "However… perhaps… if the situation becomes truly dire, if there is absolutely no other recourse… then I might consider lending my aid."

Thor's face lit up, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his features. "Thank you," he exclaimed, his voice filled with relief. "Thank you for reconsidering."

You simply huffed in response, a puff of air that rustled the nearby debris. You turned to leave, your massive form moving with surprising agility. Just as you reached the doorway, you paused, glancing back at Thor, a flicker of something unreadable in your glowing eyes. "And for the record, thunder god," you rumbled, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice. "If that was your attempt at flirting… it worked."

[puppetmaster13u]

DP Prompt

   Danny died, electricity in his veins, cold on his lips, scream in his lungs. 

   Danny lived, frost in his hands, cries on his tongue, scars on his skin. 

   He told his friends he didn’t remember it. That it all went dark, that one moment there was a jolt and the next he was waking up to their worried shouts and pleas. He told them he didn’t remember anything. 

   Danny lied. 

   For just a few moments, between the whine of lightning, the chill of metal, the stench of burning flesh, for just a few scant moments, he saw it. The vision is seared in his mind, dancing on his eyelids the moment he closes his eyes. 

   For just a moment, he was something more than a body of flesh and bone. For just a moment he witnessed the cosmos, the sky opening up to welcome him, of starlight dancing below his skin and newborn moons floating in his chest. 

   For just a moment, he sees all that has been, all that will be- the dark, the light, the beginning of worlds as they boil and cool, the end of it all as suns explode and blackholes devour. For just a moment, he dances freely amidst the universe, flying between galaxy amidst blinks, despite never having done so. 

  For just a moment, he is something More, something far greater, before he comes crashing back down into the restraints of a body, of a confined form too small for him, human brain aching as it tries to understand despite knowing it could not. 

   And now, staring at this Other, this ghost that is not, with a form that shifts and changes beyond what his human eyes can perceive… 

   For a moment, Time looks at Space, and Danny? He looks back. 

[loth-creatures]

I am not my body, not my mind, or my brain

Not my thoughts and feelings, I am not my DNA

I am the observer, I'm the witness of life

I live in the space between the stars and the sky

-MARINA

EZRA IS BACK OUR LONG LOST BOY IS BACK HE IS ALL GROWN UP RAAAAAAAAAA

I'm happy for him chilling with his little friends, though I continue to imagine him as a freak entity in the Force, he has glimpsed the furthest reaches of the cosmos through the eyes of ancient creatures and witnessed their deaths, his soul splinters in the Force under the weight of their memories.

[luis-michael6160]

🌍💫 The Whisper of a God ✨❤️

[story collection] <-more stories here

He floated in silence, beyond the hum of atmosphere, where the void was absolute and time itself seemed to breathe slow.

Superman hovered in space, arms crossed over his chest, the crimson cape billowing softly like a flame refusing to die out. Below him, like a living gem set into the cosmos, the Earth spun—blue, white, green—alive.

His eyes traced its curve with reverence. From this height, borders dissolved. There were no nations, no wars visible—just the planet’s gentle curve, wrapped in clouds and light.

“I’ve saved you more times than I can count,” he said, not expecting an answer. “But the truth… is, you saved me first.”

He pressed his lips tight, as if biting down on a memory. Kansas. Golden wheat fields. Martha’s laughter. Jonathan’s calm gaze on the porch. First steps. First words. First doubts. First dreams. All born from this radiant sphere he now beheld.

“When I fell to you, you were strange. Cold. New.” “But you gave me a name. Gave me parents. Gave me purpose.”

A shooting star streaked across the distance, as if the heavens themselves nodded their approval.

“I’m not from here. I feel it every day—in my bones, in the sun that feeds me, in the strength that’s not entirely mine.” “But you…” His voice cracked, barely a whisper in the void. “You taught me how to be human. To love. To doubt. To choose.”

Superman’s blue eyes glistened—not from the chill of space, but something older, deeper.

He reached out a hand toward the planet, as if he could touch it, as if that gesture alone could carry all he felt.

“I love you,” he said at last, with a conviction that needed no witness. “With every cell, every breath, every battle I fight… I love you.”

Then, letting himself fall like a comet wrapped in red and blue, he descended—heading home.

If you enjoyed this story, don’t forget to like and reblog so more people can see it. Leave a comment and tell me what inspired you! If you want to support my work and help me keep creating, consider donating on my [Ko-fi] — every little bit means the world to me. And don’t forget to follow me so you don’t miss what’s next. Thank you for being here! ❤️✨

[sapphorror]

I am endlessly plagued by totally normal and appropriate feelings re: Zim and Dib saying each other's name's like that (if you get me, you get me), but I'm too lazy to make a compilation so I did the next best thing and wrote this piece of highly questionable literature about it instead

It's when Zim drops the suffix that Dib knows for sure things are about to get serious.

Most times, Zim spits out Dib’s name like it’s an insult, the tone indistinguishable from the one he uses when cycling through his roster of a schmillion and one derogatory titles, all of which smear together but might as well be a single moniker for the uniform way in which they’re spoken. Really, it’s not much different from the way most people tend to address Dib, as if the burden of tolerating his presence is an unpleasant but inevitable chore—just a bit more vehement and with the addition of arbitrary modifiers Dib’s long since learned to tune out. Sometimes it’s as if Dib has ceased to be a name at all and is instead a definition, the scientific classification for a new species of grotesque freak.

But every now and then—just often enough to keep Dib perpetually suspended in a state somewhere between eager and on-edge—the energy shifts, his last and most dire signal that a very dangerous game has already begun. There’s just as much contempt and an even nastier mocking edge, but there’s no mistaking it for another petty jab. It’s a knife shoved right in his middle, cold metal chill and the sharp numbing spark of a body going into shock, precise enough to leave his psyche spitting up rivers of rage or fear or both, but even as he’s shuddering around the lethal wound, there’s something in him that can see the care with which the blade has been sharpened.

More often than not, Dib only gets to be stabbed through the fuzz of a transmission as Zim describes his doom to him from wherever he’s judged a safe distance, the edges dulled by that slight alteration in quality that not even the best in Irken tech can entirely eliminate. That’s all well and good and gruesome enough, but it’s the occasions on which Zim’s enacted his plans in person that really stand out in Dib’s memory. Felt from beneath the full weight of every decibel, Zim’s voice almost sounds less sing-song than serenading, some single-minded ritual of seduction. A taunt, yes, but also a reassurance—that he really is every inch the monster Dib needs him to be, and that just for this moment, Dib is the sole locus of his attention. A creature of the cosmos, witness to incomprehensible wonders, stirred by Dib more than anything else, and under such exceptional circumstances, could anyone really claim he’s crazy just for being a little bit obsessed?

Zim's name sounds good in Dib's mouth.

Granted, Zim’s name sounds good in anyone’s mouth; there are some things simply too perfect to be butchered. With Dib, though, there’s a difference Zim can’t put his finger on. Of course, Irken names never roll off quite right from the humans’ flat, flappy tongues—too many hard consonants and clipped syllables for them to manage. Tak’s always sounds like the slam of a door, and poor Skoodge got stuck being addressed as something seen smeared on the sidewalk, stretched and squished at the same time. Even Zim’s name, unbutcherable as it might be, sounds slippery in their mouths, or else too quick, too sharp. Not with Dib, though—coming from him it’s slow and sibilant, a sort of sliding hiss, and that isn’t right either but for some reason Zim likes the sound of it, maybe even more than he does the real thing.

Things aren’t always so theatrical, of course. Far too often, Dib just shrugs the word off with all the dismissiveness due an old raincoat or coats it in enough casual contempt to make the internal cooling systems in Zim’s PAK falter by a couple dangerous degrees. No, if Zim wants the reverence he’s owed, he has to earn it, and that’s perfectly fine—it’s not as if the Dib has ever proven particularly difficult to entice. A mysterious occurrence, the suggestion of a scheme, any lure to lead him in by his overactive sense of curiosity and he’d be there, crying out for Zim’s attention as if his arrival hadn’t been half the goal in the first place. Sometimes he shows up already stumbling-sick with anger, at others sounding so ecstatic it might even be mistaken for sign of fondness, but in every case there is the one critical constant; that his presence itself is a papered-over proclamation of the most all-encompassing, unashamed want.

Not that Zim has ever been unwanted—the very notion, absurd!—but within the most walled-off corners of his mind, he’s willing to allow that maybe, just possibly, there’s a chance he’s never been wanted quite like this. Like a prayer or a pipe dream, the promise of settled scores and spiteful satisfaction, as if Zim’s somehow both the solution and the cause to all of Dib’s problems at once. The grating celebration always comes so premature, as if just seeing Zim, speaking to him, is by itself a form of vindication, and Zim’s never been the least bit pleased to let Dib have it. He knows it’s not much like an Invader to be running from something he could so easily fight, not much like an Irken, but the inevitable dogged pursuit that follows is proof of Dib’s dedication desperation, and what possible shame could there be in indulging that? After all, no consequence of getting caught is scarier than losing all cause for a chase.

[dandysworldconfessionbooth]

"cosmo players are so greedy they always take heals !!11!!!1!1 😡😡" i only see other people get mad at people for taking meds and bands and then tyhe cosbro [my lovely nickname for cos] is so ok with it

EXACTLY???? IDK ANY TIME WHERE I WAS IN A RUN WIT A TOXIC COSMO,,, THEY'RE SO CHILL😭 ts ppl fighting a brick wall onggg

-🐴🧑/🤠 [ponyyyy🤑]

[mushroompoisoning]

Good friend, I ask of you because I trust you, what are these "The Mechanisms" you are so fond of?

Okay I tried to type out an incredibly long summary but tumblr deleted it so you're getting a semi-sane version instead

The Mechanisms are a band of immortal, space-faring pirates travelling the universe singing about the tragedies they witness for our entertainment!

There are nine main members you'll hear about, with the tenth - Dr Carmilla - having left much earlier and making her own music 👍 ( there is technically an eleventh but they're more of a mystery easter egg than anyone we know things about )

Quick lore thing: the mechanisms immortality works from the mechanical part(s) they each have. They can die and get injured, but they'll revive whenever the narrative wants them too. All logic in this universe functions off of Would It Be Good For The Story

The cast is:

Jonny D'Ville (he/him) is the ship's first mate ( don't let him tell you otherwise ) and he's got a mechanical heart

Nastya Rasputina (she/her) is the ship's engineer and girlfriend! Yea the ship - Aurora - is alive btw. She's got me hanical blood

Ashes O'Reily (they/them) is the ship's quartermaster and best arsonist! they've got mechanical lungs

Drumbot Brian (he/him) is the ship's pilot and the only one with a moral code. It's controlled by a switch which flips between Means Justify Ends and Ends Justify Means with no nuance. everything is mechanical except for his heart

Ivy Alexandria (she/her) is the ship's archivist! Pretty chill, cares more for books than violence but that doesn't mean she disapproves of the latter. she's got a mechanical brain

The Toy Soldier (it/its) is the mascot and whatever else they tell it to be! it just wants to be involved. will follow anything you tell it if you ask nicely ( or with enough force ). it's not actually mechanized, and is instead a sentient wooden man

Gunpowder Tim (he/him) is the ship's master at arms! madman war veteran who I love dearly. he blew up the moon. he's great. I pick favourites. he's got mechanical eyes

Raphaella La Cognizi (she/her) is the ship's unethical scientist! nothing is off the table when it comes to research. nothing. theory is she mechanized her, but iirc that unconfirmed. she's got a mechanical spine and wings!

and Baron Marius Von Raum (he/him) who is neither the ships baron nor doctor. he claims to be both, though. Deeply unserious fella. he's got a mechanical arm

^ here are some good images for crew reference

OKAY! Now onto actual music

They have six albums and a couple singles!

Once Upon a Time (In Space) is an unconventional retelling of classic fairytales

High Noon over Camelot is a retelling of King Arthur

Ulysses Dies at Dawn is a greek mythos adaptation

and The Bifrost Incident is a norse mythos adaptation

there's also Tales To Be Told volumes I and II, and the two single Frankenstein and Death To The Mechanisms ( technically that one is part of an album but the album is just a bunch of their other songs from already existing albums )

The tales to be told albums contain some of the mechanisms origins!

One Eyed Jacks is Jonny's

Lucky Sevens is Ashes'

Lost In The Cosmos is Brian's

and Gunpowder Tim vs The Moon Kaiser I don't think I have to say

Nastya has an origin song, but it was never officially put on anything. You can find it on the @mechanismslorearchive ( you can get any lore you want on there )

They also have a number of live shows ( you can find those on youtube ) and written stories on their website! I recommend these if you wanna get to know the mechanisms as characters better

that is the basic rundown. I'm not an expert on the mechs so if you're looking to talk to a metaphorical seasoned nurse instead of a med student I'd go to @bugsinthebayou or @gunpowderdtim (sorry for tagging yall)

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 3

Chapter Three: I Could Be Your Sacrifice

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, ONE BED TROPE, Awkward,

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Slight angst and then some good o’l fluff at the end of this chapter! I appreciate all the comments and reblogs, thank you so much for the kind words and for being so incredibly supportive. Half the time I second guess myself if this fic is conveying what I want to convey :pp Love you guys!

Song: She Calls Me Back by Noah Kahan

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INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

The sleeping arrangements within the confines of the Razor Crest were undoubtedly tight, the ship's interior bearing witness to the imprint of its dual roles as both a transport vessel and a storage space for the Mandalorian's bounties. Dedicated to this purpose, the lower deck offered minimal comfort but maximal efficiency. It served as both a bunk for Mando's bounties and a restful space for himself, providing enough seating to accommodate a handful of individuals.

However, the sleeping quarters held a singular bed, a testament to his pragmatic nature, a stark contrast to the sentimentality he concealed beneath the metal of his helmet. The offer was extended with an innate honor, the unspoken promise of his desire to ensure your comfort, but you steadfastly resisted, determined not to infringe upon his personal space.

With gentle insistence, a pillow and blanket were procured, a compromise forged amidst the ship's cramped quarters. Your refusal carried a quiet grace, a testament to your ability to understand the intricacies of his character. You cited the importance of his rest, invoking humor in the process, teasing him with a jest about his tireless vigilance in safeguarding you and the child. In response, a subtle tilt of the helmet conveyed more than words ever could.

Nights aboard the Razor Crest had seasoned you, acclimating you to the ship's unyielding metal floors. The chill and vibrations of its machinery became a lullaby, serenading you into slumber as the ship charted its course through the cosmos. Though far from lavish, this makeshift arrangement became a ritual of sorts, a testament to your resilience and adaptability in the face of the galaxy's unforgiving expanse.

However, there were nights when slumber proved elusive, despite the weariness that accumulated through hours spent attending to the child's needs. Those were the moments when you lay sprawled across the ship's floor, a facade of sleepiness concealing your restless thoughts. With practiced nonchalance, you enacted the role of someone lost in slumber, the steady rhythm of your breathing a well-rehearsed act.

In the subdued darkness, a hushed interaction would unfold. As Mando descended the ladder from the flight deck, his presence manifested as a palpable shift in the air. Though the contours of his expression remained obscured behind the enigmatic visor, you sensed the weight of his gaze upon you, an unspoken concern rendered through the ocular grille.

The sprawling expanse of deep space, another night of restless contemplation unfolds. Your thoughts drift like specters, whispering uncertainties and conjuring images that refuse to allow your mind the solace of sleep. As the void outside holds its secrets, your consciousness becomes a ship adrift in its own sea of contemplation.

However, tranquility morphs into chaos as blaring alarms shatter the silence, piercing through the cocoon of your thoughts. The ship shudders violently, a forceful reminder of the volatility of the universe beyond. With a jolt, you are propelled across the interior, the sudden impact rendering the boundaries between you and the Razor Crest momentarily blurred.

With determination to overcome the disorienting disarray, you manage to regain your footing. The insistent vibrations beneath your palms resonate with the urgency of the situation. Grasping onto the ladder, you ascend to the flight deck, your heart racing in synchrony with the blaring alerts that reverberate through the ship.

There, in the pilot's seat, sits the Mandalorian, his presence a reassuring bastion amid the chaos. The Child is secured nearby, nestled within its protective confines. Your voice rings out, laced with concern and a hint of anxiety, "What is happening?"

Mando's response is direct, his command imbued with a stern urgency, "Strap in." Without hesitation, you comply, securing yourself in the seat behind him, the restraints binding you a testament to the gravity of the impending situation. As the ship hurtles forward, the fabric of the universe twists and turns, painting streaks of luminous stars against the canvas of your perception.

"Hand over the child, Mando," the voice crackles over the comlink, the words delivered with a chilling clarity that slices through the tense atmosphere. "I might let you live."

The air vibrates with an electric tension, a symphony of anger and defiance. Blaster fire illuminates the vacuum of space as it dances between the battling ships, a chaotic ballet with life-and-death stakes. Amidst the cacophony, the Razor Crest sustains a blow, the left engine shuddering under the impact. The Child's frightened whimper punctuates the blaring alarms that echo through the ship's corridors. Your grip on the seat's edge tightens, a gesture of both apprehension and determination, mirroring the Mandalorian's resolve.

"Hold on," Mando's voice is a steady anchor, a reassuring reminder that in this perilous dance, he is the one who guides the rhythm. With a deft maneuver, the Razor Crest executes a barrel roll, an attempt to shed the relentless pursuer who clings to their tail. The ship's momentum weaves through the void, an intricate waltz defying the laws of physics. "Come on," his muttered encouragement is laced with both urgency and a fierce determination that speaks volumes.

The dogfight rages on, each maneuver a calculated gamble for survival. Over the comlink, the other bounty hunter's voice sneers, "I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold." The chilling proposition hangs in the air like a chilling fog, a testament to the ruthless persistence of their adversary.

A palpable shift occurs, an imperceptible transformation in the Mandalorian's demeanor. His focus crystallizes his movements a seamless fusion of instinct and skill. In a heartbeat, he tugs a lever, bringing the Crest to an abrupt halt. The ship hangs suspended in space, defiance etched into its very frame. The bounty hunter's vessel hurtles forward, intent on a collision course, a move laced with reckless arrogance. But Mando has other plans.

A fierce glint sparks in his eyes as he maneuvers the Razor Crest, narrowly avoiding the oncoming starfighter's attempted ramming. The moment crystallizes, frozen in time as the enemy vessel glides into the forward crosshairs of the Crest's weaponry. A single, precision-engineered laser cannon shot finds its mark, a brilliant streak of lethal energy. In an instant, the enemy vessel ignites into a radiant blaze, consumed by its own demise.

"That's my line," Mando's retort is a symphony of satisfaction and resolve, the final note in a confrontation that unfolded with calculated precision. The pulsing aftermath is one of victory, a dance of survival and defiance choreographed within the unforgiving expanse of the cosmos.

The Razor Crest floats in space with a damaged engine. You unbuckle yourself and check on the child, he coos at you and you give him a small kiss on the forehead before peering over the Mandalorian’s shoulder.

The alarm continues to beep, and the Mandalorian flicks a few switches, assessing the damages he says, “Losing fuel.”

With another deft flick of a switch, the ship's engine purrs into silence, the hushed hum of energy fading into the quiet chamber. The child, nestled in his cradle, fills the air with his innocent coos and delighted giggles. Meanwhile, the Mandalorian rises, a lithe silhouette moving with purpose behind you. The emergency power is coaxed to life under his skilled hands, and then he returns to the captain's chair, his presence a sturdy anchor amidst the sea of flashing red lights that bathe the ship's interior in an eerie scarlet glow.

A distant planet materializes in the viewport, its familiar contours, and features an unsettling reminder of where you're headed – Tatooine. The planet's name carries an undercurrent of history, a mixture of legends and realities woven into its very fabric.

As the Razor Crest eases into the planet's atmosphere, a voice crackles through the comm, a signal from Mos Eisley Tower punctuating the anticipation. "This is Mos Eisley Tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over."

Mando's response is succinct, his voice steady despite the impending tension. "Copy that. Locked in for three-five."

Guided by the Mandalorian's skilled hand, the ship gracefully descends toward the arid desolation of Mos Eisley, its landing gear meeting the sun-scorched surface with precision. Bay three-five becomes the vessel's designated haven, a moment of respite amidst the vast expanse of Tatooine's desert landscape.

As the Razor Crest settles, you find yourself contemplating the planet's grim reputation. Tatooine, a world subjected to the harsh glare of twin suns, finds itself devoid of the lush resources needed to sustain thriving populations. This barrenness birthed an environment where smugglers and outlaws thrived, a fact evidenced by the tales of the notorious Mos Eisley Cantina and the shadowy dealings that echoed through its walls. Despite its criminal underbelly, Tatooine was not solely defined by its infamous reputation; hardworking settlers carved out their lives amid the sands, a testament to the resilience of those determined to survive.

Mando's gaze turns towards you, the silent exchange of understanding passing between you. His words are a quiet request, laced with concern. "Can you put the child in the safe room downstairs, please?" With a reassuring smile, you affirm his wish and cradle the child, his tiny form bundled in warmth, before making your way to the room below.

As you settle the child, making sure he's comfortable and secure, the docking port announces the arrival of the Razor Crest's journey's end. Your attention turns back to the Mandalorian, who's preparing to disembark down the ramp. You close the door of the safe room with a gentle click, ensuring the child's safety before following the Mandalorian outside.

The scene unfolds before you, a trio of DUM-series pit droids bustling out in a flurry of mechanical efficiency, their programmed task to service the Razor Crest. Yet, the Mandalorian's actions cut through the air like a bolt of lightning, a warning shot aimed at the droids. Instantly, they retreat, their servos whirring in a cacophony of aborted movement.

The sharp retort of blaster fire does not sit well with a woman whose fiery curls frame her determined features. Her voice carries across the space, charged with anger. "Hey! Hey! You damage one of my droids, you'll pay for it." Her words hang in the air, punctuated by her frustrated gestures, a clear indication of her displeasure at the unexpected disruption.

Mando's retort is terse, a clear directive. "Just keep them away from my ship." His words prompt a curious glance from you, a silent question lingering about his aversion to droids.

She, however, is not one to be deterred by his terse response. A retort drips from her lips as she strides forward, embarking on an inspection of the ship. "Yeah? You think that's a good idea, do ya? Let's look at your ship." Her palms meet the ship's exterior in a series of resounding knocks. "Oof! Look at that. Ugh, you got a lot of carbon scorin' building up top."

The Mandalorian holds its characteristic stoicism as she goes on, "Yeah. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in a shootout. Special tool for that one." She appraises the ship's damages with an air of detachment, expertise born of experience. "I am gonna have to rotate that. You got a fuel leak. Look at that, this is a mess. How did you even land? That's gonna set you back."

To her questioning gaze, Mando reveals the extent of his resources, his offer modest but practical. "I've got 500 Imperial Credits."

"That's all you got? Well, what do you guys think?" Her inquiry is met with a chorus of negative responses from the pit droids, their mechanical chitters a testament to her assessment. "That should at least cover the hangar," she concedes, her decision firm.

Mando's promise, however, doesn't escape her skepticism. "I'll get you your money," he assures her.

Her retort is laced with skepticism, a hint of annoyance. "Hmm. I've heard that before."

Mando's response is deliberate, his focus clearly beyond this conversation. "Just remember…"

Her exasperation is evident in her muttered response, a comment half-spoken under her breath. "Yeah, no droids. I heard ya. You don't have to say it twice. Jeez. Womp rat." Her remark carries an undertone of annoyance, her final word a muttered descriptor. As the Mandalorian turns his attention to you, his grip takes hold of your wrist, pulling you slightly aside.

He leans in, his voice a hushed whisper, his request both practical and heartfelt. "Do you mind keeping an eye on them for the meantime while I go around and look for work?"

Your eyebrows rise in response to his request, your willingness to help apparent. "But I can help–"

His head shakes subtly, his intent clear. "I know what you’re capable of, but I also need you to look out for the kid when he most likely wakes up and causes trouble." The unspoken trust between you is palpable, a testament to the bonds that have been woven between you in the face of shared challenges.

Your lips quirk to the side, a mixture of concern and understanding painting your features. "Alright, but… just… please be careful," you advise, your voice carrying a subtle layer of caution. He acknowledges your words with a brisk nod, his grip on your wrist relinquishing as he turns away. With purposeful steps, he exits the hangar bay, his figure soon melding into the sandy expanse of Mos Eisley's streets.

Your attention shifts to the mechanic, a warm smile gracing your lips as you approach her. "I’m sorry about him… he’s a bit reserved when it comes to new people… comes with the job, I guess."

She meets your words with a knowing grin, her tone tinged with familiarity. "Your partner could use a talkin’ to. The name is Peli, what’s yours?" Her inquisitive gaze holds genuine interest as she extends this unassuming introduction.

You return the sentiment with a gentle nod, offering your name in exchange. Her response carries an inviting air, and her words, and demeanor are both hospitable. "Well, would you like to join me and my droids in a game of sabacc before we start fixin’ up your ship?"

A sigh of relief escapes you, the tension that had been coiled beneath your exterior easing with the offer. "You know what… I’d like that." Your acceptance is genuine, a chance to unwind for a while.

"I'm in and I am gonna raise you three bolts and a motivator," Peli playfully quips, the air light with camaraderie. Your chuckle mingles with her words, the accompanying grumbles of the droids adding a whimsical touch.

However, the levity is shattered by a sudden, piercing shriek that reverberates through the hangar. Instinct propels your head to whip toward the source of the sound, concern flooding your features. Without a second thought, you break into a run, your steps swift and purposeful as you rush toward the Razor Crest.

Peli's voice follows you, a directive laced with urgency. Her command to her droids to retrieve her blaster underscores the seriousness of the situation. Amidst the mounting tension, your focus zeroes in on the scene before you. The Child, upset and distressed, wander within the ship's interior. Your heart clenches in response, and with swift determination, you close the distance.

In a fluid motion, you scoop the little one into your arms, cradling him close to your chest. The shift from alarm to comfort is palpable as you soothe him, your voice gentle and reassuring.

You call out to Peli, your voice carrying the reassurance of a caretaker, "It's fine! The little guy just woke up from his nap."

Peli's response is a mixture of enthusiasm and affection, her voice warm and exclaiming, "Oh, my, my! What a cutie!" You approach her side with the child nestled in your arms, his presence a comforting weight against your chest. Peli's genuine concern for the child is evident as she continues, "Did that grumpy bounty hunter leave you with your mom?”

Your attempt to intervene is met with her uninterrupted stream of conversation, her attention entirely captivated by the small being in your arms. "Uh… Peli…" you start, but she forges ahead, undeterred.

Without missing a beat, she shifts her focus to practical matters, "All right. Now, would you like some food? Are you hungry?" The child coos in response to her soothing voice, prompting Peli to immediately issue commands to her droids, her urgency palpable, "Okay. Fetch us something to eat. Quick!"

Peli's affable demeanor persists as she addresses the child, bestowing upon him a sense of camaraderie, "Yeah, bright eyes? We're a team. Mmm-hmm." Her gaze then lifts to you, a smile gracing her lips as she adds, "Let me go check on those droids to make sure that they find something to eat for the both of you."

You return her smile with gratitude, your appreciation mirrored in your eyes as you respond, "Thank you, Peli. We appreciate it."

AN HOUR LATER…

MOS EISLEY, HANGAR 3-5, TATOOINE – AFTERNOON

With gentle motions, you wiped away the splotches of food from the child's tiny face, the soft fabric of the towel brushing against his delicate skin. As the task is completed, you place the towel aside, your attention solely focused on the little being cradled in your arms. The contentment within you finds its expression in a soft hum, a melody of comfort and care that resonates in the air.

A smile graces your lips, a reflection of the joy that the child's presence brings to your heart. His coos, like musical notes, intertwine with your hum, creating a harmonious symphony of connection. And then, as if a curtain is gently drawn aside, you perceive a subtle shift – a glow, an aura – emanating from the child. It wraps around him like a protective embrace, a light green shade that seems to mirror his innocent spirit.

Meeting your gaze, the child responds to your smile with one of his own, his expression a canvas of pure delight. In his eyes, you sense not just the reflection of your smile, but an entire universe of emotions that only he can convey. It's as if he knows as if he comprehends the significance of your presence, your companionship during Mando's absence.

"Hmm… I suppose you're already aware of my abilities, little one," you mused softly while deftly swaddling the child in a cocoon of fabric. His gaze meets yours, those wide eyes seeming to hold a depth beyond their size. "But you know, it's something I'm still trying to figure out, something I can't quite control... just yet. So perhaps, in a way, we're both on a journey of learning."

As your words gently weave through the air, reaching the child's tiny ears, his response is a melodic coo, a sound that seems to carry the weight of trust and a growing understanding between you. In answer to his expressive delight, your lips mirror the sentiment, curling into a fond smile that speaks volumes of the connection you share.

With each coo and flutter of his eyelids, the child's energy begins to wane, the day's adventures and interactions leaving their mark. Spotting a nearby chair, you settle into it, cradling the child in your arms. The comforting rhythm of your breathing and the warmth of your presence seems to envelop him, and gradually, his eyes start to drift shut, the weight of contentment and fatigue causing them to surrender to sleep.

In the peaceful cocoon of that moment, you both find rest. The child, nestled in your arms, and you, leaning into the chair's embrace, succumb to the soothing embrace of slumber. It's a serene picture, two souls finding solace and comfort in each other's company, a silent testament to the profound connection that has woven its way between you. As the outside world fades into the background, the peaceful symphony of breathing and heartbeats lulls you both into dreams, where adventures continue in the realm of the subconscious, accompanied by the gentle backdrop of trust and understanding that only companionship can bring.

Startled from your peaceful slumber, your eyes snap open at the commanding voice of the Mandalorian, “Where is she? Where are they?” 

The child nestled in your arms stirs, his cries soft but insistent. With gentle motions, you attempt to soothe him, your touch and hushed words a source of comfort amid the abrupt awakening.

As you rise from your seat, the atmosphere tinged with a mix of sleepiness and alertness, you find yourself at the center of a scene unfolding before you. Peli's animated protests directed at the Mandalorian seem to reflect the sentiment of having been awoken prematurely, both for you and the child, “Quiet! Do you have any idea how long it took for her and the kid to sleep?”

Emerging into the light, you watch as the Mandalorian approaches with urgency, his footsteps carrying a mix of concern and reassurance. His presence is a testament to the bond you've built that drives him to ensure your safety. Even though the opaque visor of his helmet, his intent is palpable.

His gaze sweeps over you, a silent assessment to ensure your well-being. It's a gesture that speaks volumes, a silent acknowledgment of the importance you hold in his world. As his footsteps halt, his stance emanates both vigilance and relief, his words carrying a note of vulnerability, “I… I panicked… when…”

You nod in understanding, your gaze meeting his through the obscurity of his helmet. Reassurance becomes your unspoken promise, a testament to the depth of your connection. Waves of his worry and anxiety reverberate within you, but you manage to summon a gentle smile, “We’re okay. We’re fine, Peli gave us something to eat, and then the Child and I took a nap together. How about you? You okay? Did you manage to find some work?”

He nods, his words carrying the weight of the situation, “Some rookie, Calcican, wants to track down Fennec Shand, an elite mercenary. Needs some help and he’ll let us keep the credits… he just wants to get in the guild.”

You blink in surprise, your concern surfacing in a furrow of your brows, “Fennec Shand? Are you kriffing kidding me? She’s one of the best sharpshooters in the galaxy. Let me come help you, please.”

Mando's response is a whisper, so soft it seems to hold a universe of emotions, sending a shiver down your spine. You hold your breath involuntarily, his gentle words almost intimate in the quiet, “I need you to stay here and look after the kid, for his sake and my own. Just in case anything happens to me…”

“Don’t. No, you have to come back to us alive. Please…” The plea in your voice carries a raw urgency, your gaze unwavering as it meets his visor, your emotions palpable even through the steel exterior of his helmet.

Something shifts within him, a subtle tremor in his posture that you can sense even without seeing his face. It's as though a current of understanding passes between you two, a connection that transcends words. In your perception, a silvery mist begins to encircle him, a visual manifestation of his protectiveness and an unspoken desire to be closer, to hold you in that moment of uncertainty.

He wills himself to stay in his place, he stretches his gloved fingers before clenching them in a fist, and he gives you a nod, “I asked the rookie to meet me outside with the speeder bikes, we’ll be out in the Dune Sea.”

You blink and offer a nod to the Mandalorian, then shift your attention to Peli, who begins to recount, “Anyway, I started the repair on the fuel leak. I had a ‘couple setbacks I want to talk to you about. You know, I didn't use any droids, as requested, so it took me a lot longer than I expected. But I figured you were good for the money since you have extra mouths to feed.”

Mando walks inside the Razor Crest to grab some supplies and acknowledges her with a simple nod, gratitude conveyed through his demeanor. With your heart still racing from the encounter with the Child and your earlier nap, you exit the hangar bay beside the Mandalorian. Waiting for you both are the speeder bikes, as promised, with Calican in tow. His voice chimes in, trying to project a sense of accomplishment, “Hey, Mando, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh?”

Mando only gives him a look and he shrugs, “What'd you expect? This ain't Corellia.” Calican then addresses you with a nod and a courteous “Ma'am.”

Holding the child closer, you meet Calican’s greeting with a guarded expression, your skepticism about him evident in your eyes. Trust was a commodity not easily granted in your line of life. Your heart sinks to your stomach as you can see the yellow and black swirling aura around Calican’s figure, a murky haze that stirs a sense of caution within you. The two men mount their speeders and ride off into the vast expanse of the Dune Sea, leaving you with a mixture of concern and an unsettling feeling of impending danger.

A FEW HOURS LATER…

MOS EISLEY — NIGHT

He should have seen it coming, the signs as clear as the twin suns that painted the desert sky. A curse slips through his lips, a low rumble of frustration that mingles with the restless desert winds, carrying his vexation into the vast expanse around him. The Mandalorian's gloved hands maintain a firm grip on the dewback's reins as he guides the sturdy creature back toward the heart of Mos Eisley. The journey, once a routine return, stretches now into the embrace of encroaching nightfall, the creeping shadows a harbinger of the impending storm within him.

His thoughts churned like the grains of sand kicked up by the dewback's steps, caught in a relentless spiral that mirrors the ceaseless swirl of thoughts within him. The weight of responsibility presses heavily on his shoulders, a tempest of anxiety that beats in time with the rhythm of his pulse. Each heartbeat is a reminder, a primal urge that courses through his veins, an unwavering call to safeguard both you and the child at all costs. The images of your faces flicker in his mind, his protective instincts amplified by the connection he's forged with both of you amidst the galaxies' dangers.

As the night's cloak deepens and the desert landscape becomes an indistinct silhouette, the Mandalorian's resolve remains unyielding. He's prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead, the fire of determination burning bright.

Earlier, you had left your lightsaber hilt in your bag and taken a moment to rest with the child cradled in your arms, your guard temporarily lowered after aiding Peli in the Razor Crest's repairs. A brief respite that was shattered all too soon.

Abruptly, you're jolted awake as a blaster clicks against your temple. Calican's voice drips with threat as he gives you a chilling ultimatum, "Make a sound and you won't like the outcome. Cooperate, and we all walk away."

Your throat feels dry as you nervously nod, complying with his demands. He forces you to your feet, maneuvering you and Peli toward the Crest's entrance. Reluctantly, you relinquish the child, your heart aching as you're corralled onto the ship with Peli.

Back at hangar three-five, the Mandalorian's gut churns with unease. Something is amiss, the air thick with an eerie silence. His gaze catches the pit droids cowering in the office, a silent indication that danger lurks.

Calican emerges from the Razor Crest, blaster trained on you and Peli, the child cradled uncomfortably in his grasp. His taunting words slice through the tension, a twisted smile curling his lips, "Took you long enough, Mando."

Mando steps out, blaster aimed at Calican, your figure, and Peli's held hostage in the crosshairs. Calican revels in the reversal of power, his bravado evident as he sneers, “Looks like I'm calling the shots now. Huh, partner? Drop your blaster and raise 'em."

Reluctantly, the Mandalorian complies, his blaster clattering to the ground as he places his hands behind his helmet, his gaze never leaving Calican's threatening form.

With a forceful push, Calican shoves you forward, your footsteps reluctantly crunching in the sandy dirt as you stumble slightly. The metal cuffs he carelessly tosses to the ground glint dully in the faint moonlight, a stark contrast to the tense air that clings to the scene. "Cuff him," Calican orders, his voice dripping with an arrogant authority.

You roll your eyes at his command, the irritation barely concealed as you stoop to pick up the discarded cuffs. A reluctant sigh escapes you as you begin to move toward the Mandalorian, your steps hesitant yet resigned. The cold metal feels heavier in your hands as you draw closer, your gaze fixed on his rigid back. With a careful maneuver, you move behind him, the cuffs clutched tightly in your fingers as you follow Calican's instruction to restrain the Mandalorian.

Calican's taunts cut through the air like a blade, his words seeping with disdain and accusation. "You're a Guild traitor, Mando," he sneers, his tone laden with derision. "And I'm willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape, as well as the pretty little thing you got with you."

The Mandalorian's jaw clenches, his masked face an inscrutable mask that belies the turmoil within him. You sense the simmering waves of anger emanating from him, a fierce wildfire igniting in the depths of his chest. The tension in the air grows, and the silence is almost recognizable, a heavy weight that hangs like a storm cloud. The familiar aura that enveloped him in silvers and greys now seems tainted, the colors shifting to reds and oranges like the crackling flames of a fire unleashed.

Positioned just behind the Mandalorian, you notice a subtle movement in his left hand. It's a flash charge, a device you've seen before in the armory closet of the Crest. Your heart races and a whisper escapes your lips, almost lost in the tension of the moment, "I'll follow your lead."

Calican's voice, dripping with triumph and hubris, slices through the air like a blade. "Fennec was right. Bringing you in won't just make me a member of the Guild, it'll make me legendary." His finger tightens around the blaster's trigger, ready to end the Mandalorian's life in pursuit of his ambitions.

But in a swift and calculated move, the Mandalorian triggers the flash charge. The room is momentarily engulfed in blinding light, and your instincts kick in immediately. You crouch and seek cover behind a cluster of large equipment, your heart pounding in your chest. Peli seizes the opportunity, her escape facilitated by the distraction.

The Mandalorian's lithe form shifts with practiced agility, seeking the shadows at the periphery of the blinding light. The eruption of blaster fire punctuates the tense atmosphere, the room transformed into a battlefield in the blink of an eye. The distinct snap-hiss of the Mandalorian's weapon adds to the raucousness as he engages in the gunfight.

A precise shot rings out, and the blaster bolt finds its mark. Calican's body jerks as the lethal energy courses through him, and you watch with a mix of relief and dread as he crumples to the ground. You and Peli peek out from your hiding place and move toward the body.

Amidst the aftermath of the confrontation, Mando's terse command rings out, a blend of caution and concern woven into his tone. "Stay back," he instructs, his words a shield against the lingering uncertainty of the situation. His gaze flits to the fallen figure before him, a grim assessment to ensure the danger is truly past.

Peli's voice breaks the tense silence, laden with urgency, "Gotta get it. Where is it?" The shared mission binds you together in a common purpose, each driven by a blend of necessity and the survival instinct that thrives in the harsh corners of the galaxy.

Together, the three of you search, casting wary glances over the room's every shadow and corner. And then, relief unfurls its gentle wings as the child peeks out from behind a stack of barrels. His cherubic face breaks into a smile, the trauma of the encounter seemingly forgotten in the safety of your presence. Babbling with innocent delight, he emerges unscathed from the tumultuous events that have unfolded.

"Ah, there you are, sweet child. Come to us," you murmur, your voice a soothing melody as you scoop him into your arms. His laughter weaves through the air, a testament to his resilience in the face of danger.

Peli's commentary adds a touch of levity to the heaviness that hangs in the air. "That was really loud for your big old ears, wasn't it?" she playfully teases, her fingers dancing over the child's tummy, earning infectious giggles in response.

Meanwhile, Mando retrieves the bag of credits from the fallen bounty hunter's pockets, a quiet declaration of triumph. With a few strides, he joins your group, his presence a comforting anchor. As the pouch is opened, credits tumble into Peli's waiting hands, a tangible reassurance that carries the weight of unspoken gratitude.

Peli's smile holds both warmth and genuine relief as she affirms, "Yeah. Yes, this is gonna cover you." The exchange, brief as it is, speaks volumes about the unspoken understanding and camaraderie forged in the crucible of shared danger.

Mando's nod is a silent farewell, an affirmation of the transaction's completion. Turning, he ascends the ramp and disappears into the maw of the Razor Crest. Your glance lingers with gratitude and a faint smile is shared with Peli, a wordless acknowledgment of her aid in this precarious moment.

Soon, you find yourself strapping into your seat within the ship, the child nestled safely in your arms. The Mandalorian's deft hands guide the ship's controls, and the gentle thrum of engines fills the air as the Razor Crest ascends into the sky.

As the Razor Crest slips into the embrace of hyperspace, you rise from your seat, your heart still heavy with the weight of recent events. The hum of the ship's engines forms a steady backdrop to your thoughts, amplifying the nervousness that coils within you. The decision to speak with Mando simmers in your mind, finally finding its way to your lips.

Swallowing your apprehension, you approach him, a soft urgency propelling you forward. He swivels around in the pilot's chair, his visor fixing upon you with an expectant gaze. Silence hangs heavy, stretching between you like a taut wire.

A cascade of feelings tangle within you, knotting your words as they attempt to tumble out. Your fingers toy with one another, a physical manifestation of the tangled thoughts swirling in your mind. The slight tremor in your voice becomes evident as you begin, "I'm sorry."

His tilted head invites you to continue, his silence acting as an unspoken invitation to lay your thoughts bare.

You let out a soft breath, the warmth of the ship cocooning you in this moment of vulnerability. "Earlier, while helping Peli with the repairs, the child was playing nearby. We got caught up in the work, and it's just… I guess exhaustion caught up with me. I didn't mean to let my guard down."

A gentle awkwardness colors your confession, your words imbued with a kind of sincerity that comes only from raw honesty. The palms of your hands grow damp with a nervous energy, a sign of the earnestness that propels you to continue.

"And about the sleeping on the Crest," you stammer, "I mean, I was trying to catch up on sleep… it's not like I haven't been sleeping well, per se…" You falter, feeling your cheeks warm under his covered gaze.

A pause lingers, and you find yourself fumbling for the right words. "I just wanted to say that today, after the repairs, I was more tired than usual, and I'm sorry that it impacted my alertness. I know that I'm supposed to be looking after the child, and I… I failed in that."

The quiet echoes in the space between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. His visor remains trained on you, an enigma waiting to be unraveled.

Your voice softens further, on the edge of vulnerability, "I know you rely on me to help, and I'm grateful for that. I just… I don't want to let you down, or the child." An earnest sincerity paints your words, an unspoken yearning to prove your worth and dedication.

Still, his silence persists, and your heart flutters in your chest, a tempest of uncertainty and vulnerability.

Tears threaten to gather at the corners of your eyes, your emotions swirling in the midst of this poignant moment. With a faint, awkward smile, you conclude, "I just needed you to know that, I suppose."

And as you stand there, exposed and raw, the quiet communication shared between your eyes speaks volumes, bridging the gap between your hesitant words and his silent understanding.

He flicks on the auto-pilot and rises, his figure a silent directive that beckons you to follow. His voice is a simple command, "Follow me. Bring the kid."

You move, cradling the child in your arms with a tenderness that comes so naturally now. Carefully, you descend the ladder after the Mandalorian, your steps measured to ensure the safety of the precious cargo you carry. Once at the bottom, he waits for you, his stance both patient and protective. His arms extend as he takes the sleeping child, his touch gentle yet firm. 

In the dimly lit room, the Mandalorian places the child in his safe haven, the hammock swaying slightly as he arranges the little one, making certain of his peaceful slumber. With a hiss, the door seals shut, leaving the child in his safe haven.

His gaze shifts to you, and you realize that the next part of this unspoken sequence is your turn to follow. He resumes his path, and you fall into step behind him, your instincts guiding you through the ship's corridors. Eventually, he turns a corner, a door revealing his sleeping quarters.

The urge to protest tugs at you, the understanding of his gesture and the weight of its implications churning in your mind. "Mando–"

He halts, facing you head-on, his beskar armor a silent testament to his resolve. And then, he corrects you with a softness that feels like a whispered confession, "Din."

Confusion and surprise tangle in your words, "Uh… I'm sorry?"

He tilts his head and meets your gaze with an unyielding steadiness, his tone so matter-of-fact that it takes a moment for his words to truly register, "My name is Din. Din Djarin."

The declaration hangs in the air, a revelation that seems to open a new chapter. Your lips part soundlessly, and then close, the weight of his name resting on your tongue. And then, a smile blooms on your face, the sheer warmth of the moment washing over you. Your joy is palpable, evident in your widened smile that seems to light up the space. Unintentionally, your reaction affects him, his pulse quickening beneath his beskar armor.

With a soft chuckle, you test the syllables of his name, your voice giving it a musical lilt that dances through the air. The way his name feels on your lips sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Your slight accent adds a touch of musicality to the way you utter his name, the mere sound causing his heart to pick up its pace. It's an odd sort of connection, the way your voice shapes his name, making it feel like something entirely new, something that belongs in this exact moment.

"Well, Din Djarin, thank you for offering your um… bed… but like I said before I'm fine–"

He cuts through your words with a gentle yet resolute command, "You just said you weren't sleeping well."

A nervous chuckle escapes you, a feigned nonchalance as you attempt to downplay your previous statement, "Did I? Must've slipped my mind. But, it's okay, I'll be–"

"Stop."

The abruptness of his single word leaves you momentarily speechless, your lips parting slightly as you meet his unwavering gaze. He steps closer, his presence encroaching on your personal space, and an involuntary reflex makes you lean back slightly, your heart pulsing in your chest as you wait for his next words.

"We can share the bed."

Your mouth falls open in a mixture of astonishment and disbelief, your voice catching for a moment, "Um… Mand– Din, no offense but your bed will barely fit the two of us."

Din's response is a casual shrug, his demeanor unfazed by the logistics, "So?"

Your eyebrows ascend to your hairline, your eyes widening incredulously, "I– but you wouldn't be able to take off your helmet and actually get some rest."

The tilt of his helmeted head conveys a sort of indifference, his conviction in the matter clear, "I'll be fine."

Your concern is evident in your voice as you continue to protest, "But–"

"Are we just gonna keep going back and forth about this, or are we actually gonna try and get some rest?" His words flow from his lips so easily, leaving you gaping at him for a moment before you manage to blink and respond, "Are you… sure? Like, really sure?"

His helmeted head gives a single, affirmative nod, his unwavering assurance resonating in his voice, "Of course."

Unstoppable force meets an immovable object. The tension in the room is palpable, like a charged energy lingering between you two. You let out a deep breath, your shoulders rising and falling with the weight of the decision, "Okay… I'll just use the refresher to get ready for bed real quick…"

Din's acknowledgment is marked by another nod. You turn on your heel and retrace your steps down the hall to the refresher, your thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and nerves. The sound of the water hitting the metal basin is a comforting rhythm, its steady cadence grounding you. You allow the warmth of the water to wash away the day's dust and uncertainty, letting the soothing sensation lull your racing heart.

Once you're out of the refresher, clad in more comfortable attire, you find your way back to Din's quarters. He's already made himself comfortable, sitting on the edge of the bed, his helmet still on his head but the rest of the armor was placed to the side on the floor, leaving him in his black long sleeves and shorts. The soft ambient lighting casts gentle shadows, adding an air of intimacy to the moment.

Swallowing your nervousness, you approach the bed, your gaze drawn to the space next to him. The thought of sharing such an intimate space with him feels simultaneously exhilarating and nerve-wracking. As you settle down, you can't help but feel acutely aware of his presence beside you.

As the bed dips under your weight, Din's attention turns to you. There's a subtle tension in the air, the silence pregnant with unspoken words. The moment feels fragile, delicate, like the hushed prelude of a song waiting to be played.

Din breaks the silence, his voice a calming reassurance, "Goodnight."

You offer a shy smile, your heart beating a little faster as you reply, "Goodnight, Din."

With those simple words, a new chapter begins in the space between you and the Mandalorian, a chapter defined by shared vulnerability and a budding connection. As the quiet settles around you both, the ship's gentle hum lulls you into a peaceful slumber, nestled in the warmth of companionship and the promise of a new day.

END NOTES:

YIEEEEEE ONE BED TROPE AND THE NAME REVEAL??? OOOOO??? WHATS GOIN’ ON OVER HERE??? I hope the pacing so far is okay… and yes, yes, we’ll tap into the reader’s empath abilities more soon, dw! Especially in the next chapter <3

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil @n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

[aventurineswife]

Elke gasped for air, forcing her eyes shut against the searing, pulsing vision in the sky. The entity’s presence pressed on her like the gravity of a collapsed star—heavy, inescapable. She clutched at the floor, feeling it ripple beneath her fingertips as if reality itself were paper-thin.

And then... the pressure shifted.

The being’s shape—if it could be called that—receded, folding into itself like a fractal collapsing across higher dimensions. Elke could breathe again, but a low, thrumming whisper lingered in her mind.

"You have seen. Now you are part of it."

Before Elke could process the words, her console flared to life. Data scrolled faster than her eyes could follow—symbols, equations, and sequences not part of any human language. Embedded within the noise, she glimpsed something that resembled a map.

Her hands trembled as she downloaded the data, unaware that across the galaxy, another mind had just intercepted her discovery.

Herta’s Lab – Herta Space Station

Herta leaned forward, staring intently at the streams of data flowing across her screen. The anomaly—The Laurent Echo, as she’d just named it—wasn’t just noise. It had structure.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Fascinating... A pattern embedded in a pulsar’s emissions? That’s not normal cosmic junk."

The AI assistant in her lab chimed in: "There are indications of extra-dimensional harmonics in the waveform, Lady Herta. The transmission appears to contain spatial coordinates... and instructions."

Herta’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Instructions, huh? Someone—or something—sent a message to a random Earth scientist through a pulsar?"

She flicked her finger, magnifying the data.

"Or maybe not so random... Well, well, Dr. Elke Laurent," Herta mused, tapping on Elke’s personnel file that had appeared in her system. "Astrophysicist, cutting-edge pulsar research, mild obsession with cosmic expansion theory... You’re more interesting than I thought."

She grinned mischievously.

"Looks like the Aeons aren’t the only ones meddling in cosmic-scale shenanigans."

Elke’s Observatory – Earth

Elke stared in disbelief at the encoded file she had extracted—symbols that shifted when she wasn’t looking directly at them. Her instincts screamed at her to erase the data, to sever any link with the entity she had witnessed.

But the whisper was still there.

"Come find us."

Elke hesitated... and then her console pinged with an incoming transmission.

A strange, chibi-like figure with lavender hair appeared on the screen.

"Yo, Dr. Laurent! This is Herta—yes, the Herta, genius of the Herta Space Station."

Elke blinked, stunned.

"Listen, I couldn’t help but notice you stumbled into a little... cosmic anomaly. Mind if I join the fun?"

Behind Herta, the vast starfields of the space station shimmered. The universe had just grown much larger for Elke—and far more dangerous.

And somewhere, in the darkness between galaxies, the Watcher Beyond the Stars waited.

There's this gorgeous, creeping escalation in the narrative—Elke touching something so far beyond comprehension that the universe shifts around her, and then Herta swoops in with her signature "this is weird, therefore I must poke it" attitude. It's chef’s kiss.

Elke being caught between fear and fascination is so human, so real. That moment where she wants to delete the data but can’t quite bring herself to? Classic scientist’s curse—curiosity wins over survival instinct. And that whisper—"Come find us." Chills.

And Herta??? You nailed her. Her flippant genius energy, the way she just casually digs into someone's life while planning a new research project involving a possibly eldritch signal, and that final line: "Mind if I join the fun?" I can hear her voice in my head and it’s dangerous.

Also:

the Watcher Beyond the Stars waited.

This line??? Absolutely haunting in the best way. Like the cosmos blinked and something very old and very patient noticed.

[reveryfics]

Nerves

Glenn Rhee x Male Reader

Summary: Glenn had always noticed the way you ticked when nervous.

A/N: Requests open. Enjoying doing non-Marvel fics as of late.

TW: Slight angst - Fluff

The chill air bites at your exposed skin, a constant, whispering reminder of the vast, star-dusted sky above. Each gust of wind whips through your hair, sending shivers crawling down your spine, a physical manifestation of the anxiety that already coils in your gut. You light a cigarette, the small flame a brief, flickering defiance against the darkness. Inhaling deeply, you exhale a plume of smoke, watching it dissolve into the night, a fleeting, ephemeral thing. Your eyes trace the constellations, searching for familiar patterns, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the immensity of the cosmos.

Your leg bounces, a frantic, rhythmic tremor, a nervous habit you’ve carried like a worn-out comfort blanket. Your fingers fidget, picking at invisible threads, tracing the edges of your anxieties. You’ve always been this way, a whirlwind of nervous energy, a constant battle against the internal voices that whisper doubts and fears. It’s a distraction, a way to keep the chaos at bay, a desperate attempt to maintain a semblance of control when everything feels like it’s slipping away.

You’ve tried to convince yourself that no one notices, that you’re a master of concealment, but the truth is a heavy weight in your chest. Glenn has always seen you, has always been acutely aware of the subtle tremors that betray your inner turmoil. He’s observed the intricate dance of your fingers, the way your thumb traces a path across your fingertips, avoiding the middle one like a forbidden territory. He’s noticed the way you pick at your skin, the raw edges of your fingernails, evidence of your internal battles. He’s witnessed the escalation of your anxiety in the weeks leading up to Alexandria, and the way the storm at the barn amplified your nervous tics into a frantic symphony.

He’s never asked, though. A silent, unspoken understanding hangs between you. He’s always been careful, hesitant to pry, to disturb the delicate balance of your fragile composure. He fears that asking would only exacerbate the anxieties you work so hard to suppress, that he would be the one to shatter the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around yourself. And you, in turn, are terrified of him asking. You fear the vulnerability it would expose, the raw, unfiltered truth of your inner world laid bare.

"It's beautiful tonight," Glenn's voice cuts through the silence, a gentle intrusion into your swirling thoughts.

You nod, your gaze shifting to him from the corner of your eye as he settles beside you. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. The warmth of his presence, usually a comfort, now feels like a spotlight, illuminating every flaw, every tremor.

His eyes, those kind, observant eyes, fall to your hand, still performing its nervous ritual. "You do this thing with your hands when you're nervous. Why?" His voice is soft, devoid of judgment, but the question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken concern.

You look down at your hand, the frantic movements halting abruptly. "Keeps me grounded," you admit, your voice tight. "Gives me something to focus on instead of… the nerves." The words feel clumsy, inadequate, but they’re the closest you can come to articulating the chaos within.

Glenn nods, a silent acknowledgment, a gesture that says he understands more than you realize. He begins to subconsciously mimic your hand movements, his fingers tracing the same pattern, a silent act of empathy, a way to bridge the gap between your worlds. You feel a strange mix of emotions, a flutter of warmth in your chest, a desperate longing for connection, and a sharp pang of fear at the intimacy of the moment.

"Making fun of me?" you ask, a nervous laugh escaping your lips, a desperate attempt to lighten the tension. You lightly smack his knee, flicking the ashes of your cigarette into the darkness. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a jolt through you, a reminder of the unspoken connection that simmers beneath the surface. You wonder, in that moment, if the anxiety that plagues you is worth the moments of fragile intimacy you share with him, if the fear of vulnerability is worth the possibility of something more. You long for the moment the anxiety will stop, and you can simply be close to him.

"Hey, I'm just trying to learn your secret hand-ninja techniques," Glenn teases, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Maybe they'll help me fight off walkers. Or, you know, awkward silences."

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Hand-ninja techniques? Seriously?"

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," he retorts, wiggling his fingers in a mock-martial arts pose. "Imagine me, deflecting a horde with the power of… thumb-to-pointer-finger coordination."

You laugh, the sound a little shaky, a little relieved. "You're ridiculous."

"But you love it," he counters, his eyes twinkling. "Admit it, I'm your favorite ridiculous person."

"Debatable," you say, but the playful tone is clear in your voice. Your hands, however, betray your inner turmoil, starting their nervous dance again. Glenn, sensing your unease, gently reaches out and takes your hands in his. His touch is warm, grounding, a silent reassurance.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft, serious. "If you ever feel anxious, no matter where you are, I'll be there for you. Always."

The sincerity in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat. You want to believe him, to trust in his unwavering support, but the fear of vulnerability still lingers, a shadow in the back of your mind. "You don't have to say that," you murmur, your voice barely audible.

"I mean it," he insists, his grip on your hands tightening slightly. "I would do anything for you."

The words hang in the air, a promise, a declaration. You feel a surge of warmth, a flutter of something akin to hope, battling against the familiar anxieties. Impulsively, you lean in and kiss the corner of his lip, a fleeting, tender touch.

"You better keep to your word," you whisper, your voice laced with a playful challenge, a way to mask the vulnerability you feel.

He smiles, a genuine, heart-melting smile that makes your stomach do a little flip. "I always do."

The two of you fall silent, turning your attention back to the vast, star-studded sky. The anxieties still whisper, but they're quieter now, overshadowed by the warmth of his presence, the promise of his unwavering support. You trace the constellations, no longer searching for anchors, but simply enjoying the shared silence, the quiet intimacy of the moment. With Glenn beside you, even the darkness feels a little less daunting, the anxieties a little less overwhelming.

[holographic-mars]

MARS! any headcanons on what ravage thinks of cosmos?

HAI BLIGHTTT I HABE TO GO TO WORK IN A FEW MINUTES BUT I WANTED TO ANSWER YOUR ASK BC I LOVE RAVAGE SO MUUUCHHH TEHEE

I absolutely have hcs for Ravage and Cosmos!!

Ravage is, to put bluntly, an incredibly judgmental mech with impossibly high standards. You CANNOT impress her. It doesn’t matter what kind of mech you are or what you say your intentions are, Ravage WILL find a reason to not be impressed by you (okay. Well. Maybe not if you’re megatron, but thats beside the point)

So naturally, Ravage is completely and utterly unimpressed with Cosmos. She thinks he’s small and silly and useless and she has no clue why Soundwave lights up when this chubby little minibot enters the room.

Pretty much the entire 3/4ths of their first meetings is Ravage stalking Cosmos. Cosmos was a little weirded out by it at first, but eventually gets used to it (being watched by cassettes is such a norm for him he’s learned to enjoy the company. Even if it’s lurking in the shadows thinking of ways to eat him alive).

Ravage is baffled and fascinated at how strange Cosmos is. Cosmos is very blunt with Soundwave in a way that Ravage hasn’t really seen before. If Soundwave does something Cosmos doesn’t like, Cosmos is the first to call him out on it. He has the wit and attitude of a mech much bigger than himself and it’s almost funny seeing how Soundwave stumbles over himself for this little autobot. But at the same time, Cosmos handles Soundwave gently like he’s something precious to be protected (and he is. Watching cosmos care about Soundwave—genuinely care about him—is what gets Ravage to start softening up towards cosmos).

So, Ravage supposes, that unimpressive, stout autobot isn’t THAT bad. She’ll give him a chance, since he makes Soundwave so happy (and that’s what’s important to her—if Soundwave is happy and safe she’ll go along with whatever stupid thing he wants).

Ravage likes scaring Cosmos. She thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, watching Cosmos yelp and fall down bc he didn’t see her from the shadows. Soundwave scolds her for it and every time she insists it was an accident. She does it again a couple minutes later. Cosmos falls for it every time.

Ravage is not a very talkative mech so sometimes she likes to just chill around Cosmos and listen to him ramble. Cosmos, on the other hand, is very very talkative and he talks to himself out loud a lot. She teases him for it. She also likes to sit behind Cosmos and read over his shoulder while he’s reading.

Ravage has begrudgingly accepted that cosmos is one of the warmest mechs she’s ever met. He rivals Megatron with how much body heat he produces. When Ravage decides that she wants to use Cosmos as a heating pad, he does not get a say in it at all. Cosmos has to just sit there and let ravage cuddle up for a nap.

Cosmos is aware of Ravage’s dynamic within Soundwave’s little family so he is very respectful of Ravage. Ravage is happy there’s finally someone here who respects their elders (though don’t get it too twisted, he’s still got an attitude. Though ravage finds it funny in a small-kitten-trying-to-be-intimidating kinda way)

Cosmos has learned to accept Ravage’s bossiness. As long as she’s around, everyone has to do what she says. Cosmos finds it really funny watching Soundwave get scolded by a mech 1/5th his size.

ANYWAYS I HAVE TO GO TO WORK THATS ALL I CAN COME UP WITH RIGHT NOW THANK YOU FOR THE ASK EHEEE I love Ravage so much, she’s one of my favorite characters ever so I am so happy to talk about her eheehe THANK YOU❤️❤️🛸🛸🛸

[ant1quar1an]

I'm not biased at all but...

a cosmic happens to get close into orbit. out of curiosity it decides to explore the planet and dives in like a meteor.

it struck near the forest and the ground shock from the impact but the fire seemed to be self contained. it would not spread.

will the boys explore the crash site? of so who first.

you did mention they're territorial so what do they do if a LIVING natural disaster happens to just chill next to their forest, making the crater it's burning temporary nest?

other noteworthy traits:

they will just revive if killed from the craters fire. if you want to permanently kill them you'll need a flood... and unfortunately the body of water is nowhere close enough to reach l.

they're mischievous and playful. smug and cunning. but despite being a mythical creature from the legendd they don't exactly ACT refined or royalty.

they genuinely mean no harm. they're CAPABLE of it, but they're just curiously exploring. they won't fight back if they're attacked because it'd be so easy to kill a tiny adorable mortal and regret it later.

they're made out of fire but it will not burn anyone if they see fit. they can be touched. it'll be a bit warm and fuzzy.

if the current body dies it'll turns to ash instantly.

That likely depends whose territory it lands closest to.

If it lands near Killer? He's there immediately. This territorial fucker wants to know what kind of threat might be at his borders. The fire definitely confused him. Controlled fire? Near his land? That could easily catch one fire? Well fuck. When he meets you, he's probably even more confused. He hasn't seen a Cosmos before. He was just old enough to remember part of his original Ancestor Avian species taking off into and has definitely heard the tales- but in person? Shit's wild. He's probably doing the whole posturing "what are you doing here" thing that he usually does (despite the fact that you would be taller than him). When he gets to know you more, he probably likes to attempt to tackle you and mess with you- but he'll keep you safe. You'll see him scaring off other predators, even though he knows you can definitely take care of yourself.

If it lands near Dust's territory, he'll probably perch on one of the nearest trees at the edge of his territory and simply just stare. If you died in the crater and reformed in front of him, he'd be mildly alarmed but not... that confused. Dust was old enough to remember The Unsettling, so he was witness to the future-Cosmos taking off into the sky. He would have followed them, had he not had Axe, Classic, and Killer to take care of (who care about him a lot). He probably just sort of... hang around you. You're faster than he is- a very rare thing- so he'll probably challenge you to speed battles. He'll also playfight with you if you're willing to do so with him. He thinks you're super interesting, being made from flames. Reminds him of a star.

Axe will simply see you, study you, then offer you food. It may seem out of the blue- and it kind of is- but it's more of a test. You a good person? You'd take the food. You a bad person? You'd probably try to skewer him. If you can't eat and explain that to him it's all goods. He probably finds you very interesting! Which will also lead to a lot of shenanigans where he sorta just snatches you and show everything.

[midnight-oily]

nashuri cosmic horror | 3/3 | 12.0k words | ao3

“Y’called Captain?”

“It’s unfortunate but Miss Shuri has left us no choice. We must free her from that creature’s influence.”

“...aye, Captain.”

“May she find some comfort that her final resting place will be in the sea.”

—

As the fog rolls through on this somber night, Professor Shuri Udaku tip-toes her way to the bow of the fishing vessel. Heart pounding loudly, she peered over the edge of the railing to stare into the endless dark of the ocean. The flickering light of the moon on the water made it seem like the whole cosmos was dancing upon the calm waves. A trick of the light perhaps but Shuri knew that there was something to it—something enigmatic.

“Namor…” She murmurs quietly, wrapping her arms around her waist, “Where are you?”

El niño sin amor.

Her memory flickers to the first time she heard that wretched name, given to the legendary creature that haunted these waters. It was on a night like this one—somber and cold. The crew was already half drunk, sipping on canisters of bitter alcohol to keep chill away from their toes and fingers. Shuri sat further away, maintaining a cordial distance to the group with her own cup of warm tea. No alcohol for her. She has seen the dark glint in some of these men’s eyes—she would keep her wits about her.

The fishermen were already not happy about having a woman on board but she was wealthy enough to shut them up. Even with their misogyny, men cannot resist their endless greed for wealth. She remembers the hunger in the crew gaze as she pulled out large stacks of bills. So little is known about the marine life in the area that she was willing to pay exorbitant prices to have a spot upon one of the few vessels that dared to sail these waters. This patch of sea is her only option left. She was running out of time.

Shuri is the youngest distinguished professor at Oxford—an achievement that came from her groundbreaking research exploring the greatest mystery of their time: the ocean. The new species of coelacanth she discovered off the coast of Sri Lanka led to a breakthrough in cancer research due to their unusually high healing factor. As a reward, her face was plastered upon many prestigious scientific magazines and she was lauded as one of the greatest minds of their time. A short-lived fame however. People’s memories are short and that discovery was seven years ago. Nothing she has discovered recently has ever matched up to it and there was pressure in her department to publish something substantial or risk having their funding cut.

So, she struck a deal with a fairly dubious captain and his crew. She would be left alone to conduct her scientific inquiries and in return, she agreed to not to interfere with any of the fishermen’s work.

The arrangement worked well enough. There were a few grumblings on board about all the space her scientific equipment would be taking up on the deck but the captain kept the crew’s grips in check with the promise of a cut of her money. Most of her days were boring and uneventful. Shuri would spend her mornings with her notebook in hand, taking notes on all the readings her equipment took over the night. She would then write up her findings in the afternoon underneath a baking sun before spending her evenings in her own private cabin, eating a lukewarm meal that barely kept her warm during the cold, wet nights.

Finally, tired of only having the four walls of her cabin to keep her company, she agreed to join the crew on deck for dinner. Though regret simmers in her gut as she cringes at all the lewd jokes and remarks thrown around between the crew members. As the alcohol flowed, so did these men’s tongues. Luckily, most of them just ignored her. Most of them.

“Did the locals -hic- tell ya about it missus?” One of the men, an American that smells like a wet dog, stumbles towards her, “There’s a beast that haunts these waters. A beast with -hic- dagger teeth and eyes of night that consumes the souls of black hearted men! Nobody dares try to sail over here because of the bastard.”

Shuri flinches as the American looms over her, the stench of alcohol filling her nostrils, “Lucky for you, we are the only dumbfucks brave enough to get on this boat. We aren’t afraid of some el-neen-o-s’more!”

“¡Orale, guey!” scolds another man, a local sailor with missing teeth, “How many times have I told you? It’s el niño sin amor.”

The boy without love. A chill runs up Shuri’s spine.

“That’s what I fucking said! El Neeno–Simor–sin amur–fucking damn—Namor. Yeah, Namor—that's what the captain said it’s name was. Better be careful, missus!”

The local sailor shakes his head, “Keep my beautiful language out of your mouth, guerito.”

“Fuck off, I’ll keep my cock in your ma’s mouth if I want—”

The man wasn’t able to finish his sentence before the local sailor smashed his fist into the side of his jaw. With a loud crack, the man topples over onto his back and the rest of the crew swarm around him including the captain. Shuri is frozen in place, shocked at the violence that had just taken place.

“He’s alive, cap. Nothing feels broken.”

“Carry him to his bunk and let him sleep it off,” grumbles the captain, “Rest of you? Party’s over.”

Shuri decides not to join the crew for dinner again after that.

(Read the rest on AO3! Mind the tags. Eventual 18+ and updates every Sunday)