#most of which is Fun and Fresh but with a dash of Throwing In Some Revitalized Versions of Old Ideas and which holds so much potential as a

[ponett]

while you're rpg-posting, can I get a rundown on what you didn't like about octopath?

so i played about ten hours of octopath - everyone's first chapters and one character's second chapter - and it drives me crazy because it felt like a no brainer for them to work on the obvious flaws and make a great sequel. and then they apparently went and made almost the exact same game a second time

first and foremost was the writing, which is maybe the most boring writing i've ever experienced in a jrpg. there are other, older games with dry writing, sure, but octopath just has so much of it. despite all those words the characters have no soul, the world has no intrigue, and the conflicts feel stock. it's completely paint by numbers. it's almost impressive how completely and utterly dry and charmless it is. i'd say it feels like the contents of a stock tabletop game adventure book but that would be doing those a disservice

the thing that could have potentially helped, which EVERYONE (even the game's fans) pointed out as its main flaw, would have been to let the characters interact with each other outside of the rare and easily missable skits. characters in a game like dragon quest xi are mostly building off of familiar fantasy archetypes too, but the fun comes in how those archetypes play off of each other. how does the gruff knight get along with the dashing rogue? instead there's zero interplay between the stories, because the structure of the game means that they can't assume you have any party members other than the one whose story you're currently doing... even though, like, the level requirements for the second chapters implicitly force the average player to either do all eight chapter 1's first, or grind a ton? it's baffling

the stories not intersecting is just one aspect of the larger structural problems, though. live a live (which i need to play soon) embraces the variety its separate stories enable - not just aesthetically, but structurally as well. it'll throw in a stealth chapter, or a chapter with minimal combat. octopath, on the other hand, makes every chapter feel like every other chapter with a different coat of paint. reach a new town, get some cutscenes for a party member's story, get sent off to another area to fight a boss, rinse and repeat. at the time i even made a diagram to complain about how every single area i encountered in octopath was designed the same

RPGs NEED variety in their pacing and structure! it can't just be the same thing at the same rate over and over for 40-60 hours. i got through the mindnumbingly boring eight opening chapters hoping that it would improve after that - and no, it can't be understated how stupid it is that this is a game where you're basically forced to play through eight slow and boring JRPG opening towns in a row for the first ten hours - and when i finally got to the second chapters my heart sank upon realizing that no, this really is the whole game

even the combat, which i found really fresh and interesting at first, got stale and repetitive to me. at first the break system was really cool. wow, there's a reason for my healers to attack even though they do low damage! how smart! but in what i played it just kind of made every boss feel the same. figure out their weakness, hit them with that until their defenses break, and then spam your strongest attacks

but, again, like with bravely default, its soundtrack is its main saving grace. i adore the octopath OST. i have it my itunes library and everything. yasunori nishiki is one to keep an eye on at square, and i'm glad he's a part of the ff7 remake team. that, and the ensuing "HD-2D" remakes of better games like live a live and dragon quest iii, are the silver lining with octopath

[tomboy014]

Found out there's a thing called OC-tober and I want to participate! I'm not really going to be following any prompts or post on any sort of schedule (especially since I didn't have time to prepare anything), but I've got more than enough OCs, so I figured I'd throw my hat into the ring.

First up: one of my Danny Phantom OCs, Ramona Sanchez

Ramona is Paulina's paternal cousin and roughly the same age (only a few months apart). She's very outdoorsy, loves hiking and exploring tide pools, is a geek and loves going to conventions and renaissance fairs.

After her mother died, her father moved Ramona and her younger twin brothers from the Bay Area to Amity Park to be closer to the rest of his family once the school year was over.

It's been an... adjustment for them all, and Ramona suffers from some parentification, being expected to take care of the home and her brothers while her dad worked. Her dad had hoped to take some of the pressure off of her by moving closer to his brother and family, but not much has changed.

It was one hell of an adjustment for Paulina, too. While she got to move into a bigger house (which was awesome), it's gone from just her and her dad to her, she also has to share with her tío and three cousins.

Because of this, Ramona and Paulina fight constantly. It's not uncommon to find the two of them screaming at each other in spanish behind the bleachers at lunch. Ramona because she's sick of Paulina trying to change her, and Paulina because Ramona is a geek and ruining her reputation.

But no one else is allowed to talk bad about the other. No one. Anyone who dares to talk bad about her cousin will find themselves facing down their full fury. Paulina lit into Dash when he called Ramona a "freak" and Ramona has blown up at Sam multiple times over comments made about Paulina.

Having a fresh, outside perspective, Ramona clocks Danny Fenton as Danny Phantom pretty quickly and joins the team as the "underground medic" since she's had the most first aid experience (bandaging up brothers after pee wee football, and her dad is a doctor).

This pisses Paulina off because it now means the biggest losers at Casper High keep coming over to her house. It also causes an insane amount of jealousy after she walked in on Ramona stitching up a shirtless Phantom in their bathroom.

Random Facts in no particular order:

Gets along the best with Tucker since they're both cosplaying comic book geeks

As much as Paulina insults her lack of fashion, she comes in to steal Ramona's "hobo clothes" (extra large sweats) all the time because they're super comfy

Ramona and Paulina are nearly identical, so Ramona does her best Paulina impression to tease Danny a lot. He does not appreciate it

She has the biggest crush on Fright Knight. He's a literal knight in shining armor! Paulina teases her, but supports her

Paulina and Ramona get along a lot better behind closed doors and have a much better relationship than most would guess

Ramona is still in charge of getting her little brothers to and from pee wee football

Ramona's cosplay makeup has gotten much better since moving to Amity Park... because Paulina does it

Fun Fact: Ramona started out as a self insert before I fleshed her out, and her relationship with Paulina's was inspired by an IRL relationship with one my cousins.

[theofficersacademy]

PROMPT 1. “GETTING ACQUAINTED”

In prior years, you weren’t a mere thumb tall, but hey... While you’re trapped here, may as well make the most of it, right? After all, your hosts have gone all out for this spectacular soirée, and you don’t appear to be in any imminent danger, so there’s no harm in enjoying the pleasantries.

Let’s meet your patrons, shall we?

Water: A lively and energetic spirit, likely the youngest of the Morfisian elementals. Despite being a playful prankster by nature, she is a compassionate caregiver and always willing to spoil her delightful little charges.

Fire: A lax elemental who is content to be hands-off with their pets, preferring to watch them scurry around their little lives. They only act when one of their charges needs a wardrobe change—dance on the tables all you want, but you better do it dressed in silks and finery.

Air: A chaotic and unpredictable master with a strange idea of fun. They enjoy playing games and tricks on their little ones, often in the form of pausing the world simply to put a chair in their way. They won’t stop your attempts to escape—it seems to amuse them more than anything, really.

Earth: A serious, disciplined spirit attempting to loosen up and enjoy the frivolity. Even so, they are the first to penalize rule-breakers and must be restrained by their fellow elementals to prevent them from pausing the party over every little thing. Particularly nit-picky with their charges.

Lightning: An amiable, passionate elemental whose presence electrifies any party! A true party animal, their enthusiasm for “frivolity” is infectious. They tend to lose themselves in the moment, leading them to be overly protective of their pets.

Well... It’s still a ball, right?

[ Fairy Wings ] - shimmer and dazzle in your new boutique threads! And what’s this... it seems they’ve some interesting accessories to choose from as well, the likes of which may be more functional than you initially thought. Soar!

[ Fairy Rings ] - this unorthodox ballroom opens up to the skies and nature, and perhaps even beyond... rumor has it that circle of mushrooms over yonder leads to a less crowded neck of the woods.

[ Cue the Music ] - there’s certainly music, but it’s unlike any you’ve ever heard before. Maybe it’s because it’s played by crickets with tiny instruments. Dance, request a song, or just stare at your new insect colleagues until they grow annoyed with you, you have so much freedom!

[ Garden ] - Outside of the dance hall, explore the miniature gardens the Elementals created for you, populated with all sorts of strange (and carnivorous) plants you’ve never seen before

[ Rat-Tat Tooey ] - a rat in a little hat is cooking up tiny dishes fit for a five-star restaurant. Partake in the refreshments table and try not to think about what it’s like to be a rat with a human consciousness.

Share some of the refreshments with a friend or stranger

Champagne: This isn’t a church-run event anymore, so the bar is open and flows freely. The waiter-mice might give you judging looks if you make a fool of yourself, and really, how low do you have to go to be judged by a mouse?

Sparkling Water: Fresh spring water that has been magically carbonated. Served with a squeeze of lime or a dash of one of the many fruit syrups available at the bartender’s disposal.

Coffee: Even more popular (to the mice) than the champagne is the coffee. It comes in all types - from light, medium, to dark, french-pressed or drip, espresso or latte - but you’re pretty sure the staff is drinking more of it than you are. Rodents love caffeine... who would have thought

Tea: Just what it says on the tin! There’s a wide variety of herbs, berries, fruits, and other flavors, brewed in a way that requires the leaves to be scooped out afterwards. Mmm nature

Water: The liquid of life, the quencher of thirst. Served in crystalline glasses. And what’s more dramatic than throwing water at someone’s face!

Spaghetti and meatball: A lovers’ portion of freshly-made spaghetti cooked in the monastery’s famous tomato sauce. The titular, singular meatball sits in the center, waiting for one lucky person to have their lover roll it to them with their nose as an offering.

Sweet Bun Trio: The first bun is filled with sweet cream and topped with icing and a candied cherry. The second is a sweet roll filled with almonds, pecans, and dried cranberries and glazed with honey. The third is a bun sliced in half, filled with almond paste and whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar on top.

Charcuterie Board: Every flavor of cheese you can imagine, all lined up by color and size for the Aesthetique.

Mint candy: For when your breath isn’t as fresh as newly-fallen snow.

Hark! Your elemental overlord speaks to you!

[ Make a Request ] - to your overseers to provide you with your favorite snacks and directions to the nearest bathroom.

[ Pause ] - and become frozen in time, paralyzed while an elemental dips their hand in to rearrange the furniture. The music, inexplicably, changes to a jaunty tune...

[ Indulge ] - in your sudden impulse to do whatever comes to mind, whether it’s hugging a stranger, slapping a friend, or doing push-ups on the dance floor.

[ Escape ] - or at least try to. There has to be a loophole that dispels the curse and lets you flee from this place. From shouting at the heavens to ramming against the doors, throw ideas against the walls and find what sticks!

[unidentifiedfluffyobject]

RP Search Post

I haven't made one of these in a while that was fresh, new and interesting to read, so, for the sake that I'm having an extreme dry spell, I'll make my desires known! Bear with me, please. All info below the cut for the sake of keeping your dash neat and tidy <3

As of late, I've been making new Undertale AU Skeletons and wanting to do things with them. It's not that I'm not looking to do things with the characters on this blog, I just have... a lot more I want to do and not enough room in which to post them on here.

That being said, here's a few things you should know about me;

-I write Male and Female characters and will do Male/Female, Male/Male and Female/Female ships. Hell, I'll do all of the lovely stuff in between, as well.

-I write both Canon/Canon and Canon/OC stuff, with a heavy lean on Canon/OC because I find it to be fun to do, and I rather enjoy seeing the creativity of others. *Note* Also, I do human/monster stuff too, needed to throw that in there last minute!!

-I double Up; if you do not know what this means, it's basically just you ask me for a ship you want, and in return for me writing that ship you want, you do the same for me. Easy peasy, right?

-I write anywhere between Five and Twenty paragraphs, but matching is not required. Oftentimes I'm on my cellphone, too, and as such, my posts will be a touch shorter. (This is because I am at work, and usually on discord.)

-I will try and get as many posts out a day as I can, but note: I work nightshift at a mental hospital, so most of my posts may be in the middle of the night.

-I require that my RP partner be 20+ in age, as I am in my thirties and I have GREAT DISCOMFORT writing with anyone who still has 'teen' in their age. This is not a personal jab at anyone who are still teenagers, it's just a discomfort thing- appreciate your understanding.

-I do art of RP related stuff with the permission of whoever I happen to be writing with.

-I enjoy making a plot, but if we get everything sorted out before we start typing up story together, we lose the fact that we're making up something new. Loose plotting is fine, full plotting is nah. I like twists, turns, surprises and intrigue.

-Will RP on Tumblr, but prefers discord or Gmail-- please ask for this information privately.

-I write in third person and would appreciate if my partner did, too.

-NSFW info: If it's violent, gory, generally hard to read, or lewd, it should be kept in private. At least for me, some folks don't wanna read that stuff u3u

-PLEASE NOTE: Your comfort is my priority. If something is upsetting you, or a subject matter isn't something you want, please please PLEASE let me know. And this can go beyond the RP, if you have something that's bothering you, let me know so that I can adjust. I cannot read minds, though I wish I could sometimes. I would much rather fix a situation than let it fester and we both end up hurt by it.

We'll discuss muses when we chat it up. Hope to hear from you soon!

[iamthescalesofjustice]

i definitely share the problem many people have of whats in my head vastly outpacing what ive actually written, but i sort of have the opposite problem with other parts of the creative process bc the thing is when i do actually write its never so much bc i sit down to write, more like the ideas that have been pressurizing finally burst forth in a chaotic torrent that drags me into a fuguelike state where there is nothing but feverishly getting the words out with minimal mind to editing or organization and eventually after at least several hours i surface and find myself with like 8k new words of writing to sort through, and hope the spell is broken rather than being only a brief window of lucidity bc it wont properly be done for the next couple days actually, which is what happens sometimes

[redwinterroses]

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! My gift to you: a warm and cozy Scar fic. (We're pretending the moon didn't come down before Christmas, or maybe going with the idea that in Minecraft years s8 was about 40 years long ;P)

Enjoy!!

__________________

Hermitcraft could be very stressful.

Scar was very well aware of this. The push to get builds done in a timely fashion, and videos recorded and edited and uploaded, and still have time to sleep and eat and maybe hang out with friends around the Boatem Hole of an evening… it could be a lot. A lot of impossible, to be exact. And near the holidays was always worse—Sometimes Scar could go days without seeing any of the other Boatem members except as they zipped overhead or dashed past him into the Nether.

Scar felt the strain in himself, too. It had been a long couple of months, working on his most recent build. He hadn’t had a proper chill-out day with Grian in weeks, and had barely seen Pearl since the last Boatem meeting.

He glanced up from the blueprints he was working on and caught a glimpse of Impulse trudging across the common area, a loaded shulker under one arm and his communicator open. He nearly walked straight into the Boatem Hole, focusing so intently on his screen—but looked up just in time, jumping back as if stung by a bee.

Scar chuckled, but it was more in sympathy than amusement. It was hard to be “on” all the time—especially these days. Ever since they’d moved to Boatem, there had been the ever-present understanding that any other hermit might be recording at any given moment, so better have your best hat on and your public speaking voice ready!

He loved it, don’t misunderstand. It was just… exhausting. And he could tell it was wearing on the others too. There really wasn’t ever a time or a place to turn off. To just be themselves. When everything is content… nothing is an escape.

Scar tapped the end of his pencil against the desk, resting his hand on his chin. And to top it all off, Christmas was less than two weeks away and he still had no idea what he was doing for anyone in Boatem.

Xisuma was simple—a nice card and a box of chocolates every year, and he was happy. Bdubs and Scar had been trading back and forth the same hideous Christmas sweater for two seasons now and this year Scar was going to wrap it in fourteen layers of packaging just for the fun of watching Bdubs struggle to unwrap it. Most other hermits just got cards or random boxes of things Scar knew they needed—though this year he might throw in some coupons for the Swaggon and call it done.

But Boatem was different. These were his closest neighbors and some of his best friends, and he wanted to do something special. He glanced down and realized his tapping had left a wandering line of pencil marks across the blueprint. Almost like a connect-the-dots puzzle. Idly, he traced across them, turning it into a rough wagon track behind the largest of the Swaggons.

If only there was a way to give the Boatem crew more time. Or at least some rest. He could break out his magic crystals again, but none of them really believed in that and half the magic came from believing it worked. So that was a bust. And outside hitting them all with a weakness potion and dragging them off somewhere to be locked up until they slept (which was certainly an option but probably not a great thing to do to your friends) he struggled to think of anything that would…

Scar paused, tilting his head to the side. His top hat slid a bit, and he caught it, readjusting the brim more securely over his forehead.

Kidnapping was… probably a bad idea. But dragging them off to an undisclosed location… That had a certain potential. In a definitely, entirely, non-supervillain-y way.

He swept various pens and pencils to the side of the desk, rolling up the swaggon blueprint and setting it aside. Spreading his hands across the fresh sheet of paper beneath, he chewed at his lip and hmmed to himself. Images and ideas started to drift through his mind’s eye, and a slow grin grew across his face.

Yes… yes indeed. This might just be his most perfect Christmas present yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Scar, where are you taking us?”

Grian’s voice held just a hint of exasperation, but that was probably more because of the hole he’d stepped into a second ago than any real irritation. Scar reached up and patted Grian’s hand on his shoulder.

“You just keep that blindfold on and trust old Scar,” he said, beaming. “Have I ever led you astray?”

“You literally just led me into a hole.”

Scar ignored that, glancing back to check in on the other Boatem members following in single file behind him. Each had a blindfold tied over their eyes—it was absurd, honestly, how trusting they still were, but he wasn’t complaining—and their hands on the shoulders of the hermit in front of them: Grian behind Scar, then Pearl, then Mumbo, and Impulse bringing up the rear.

“Scar, if this is a prank, you really should have let us empty our inventories first,” Pearl said. She was smiling, but then: Pearl was always smiling. Whether from happiness or mischief, she always sounded like she was on the edge of a laugh.

“It’s not a prank!” Scar protested, leading them down the narrow path. “Not this time, anyway. Okay—I’m stopping. Nobody’s recording, right? No recording allowed for the Scarmas Extravaganza.”

“Left my camera at home,” Pearl assured him.

“Same,” Mumbo agreed. Impulse nodded, and Grian didn’t say anything but Scar could deal with that later if he needed to. He knew Grian would understand, once he saw what the surprise was.

Reaching off the side of the path with his cane, Scar hit a button hidden in the long grass, and the sounds of pistons firing and blocks being shoved into place filled the air.

“Scar!” Mumbo exclaimed, sounding incredulous. “Did I just hear a piston door?”

“That you did, my dear Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar said, pleased. “And it leads downward, so watch your step.”

“Hard to do that with blindfolds on…” he heard Impulse mutter from the back, but they all followed him down the stairway and he didn’t hear too much tripping. At the bottom of the stairs, he flicked a lever that closed the opening at the surface, silently making a note to thank Cub again for the door.

“Okay, just a little further!” Scar led them into the main room, and stopped. “Don’t open your eyes, but I’m going to just… kinda move you into the best viewing position, okay? Gotta get that perfect first impression, ya know?” He tugged each of his friends to stand in a half-circle facing into the room, the grin on his face threatening to crack his cheeks. His hands were a little shaky with the excitement, and he stood back, grabbing his hat off his head to clutch in both hands.

“Right!” he said. “You can take off the blindfolds!”

Grian was the first to whip his off, and Scar was gratified to see his friend’s mouth drop open in surprise.

“Scar!” Grian turned in a small circle, taking in his surroundings. “This is—what is this?”

The others removed their blindfolds as well, and Scar watched proudly as they oooh-ed and aaaah-ed at what he’d built.

It wasn’t a large space, but it was open and had a high ceiling that made it feel larger than it was. A sunken firepit took up the center of the room, surrounded by low couches piled with blankets and cushions, with spruce pillars holding up an oak roof. Lanterns provided warm light, and the corners held various book-nooks, desk crannies, and cushy armchairs with their own end-rod lamps. Barrels full of snacks stood next to a small cooking setup along the far wall, and he’d even installed a floor-to-ceiling aquarium, lit with sea lanterns and sporting a couple of darting axolotls. Copper details and a grandfather clock in one corner finished out the room, and the entire place had a cozy, sit-and-stay-awhile vibe.

Scar suddenly felt a little shy. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Mumbo flopped into one of the couches, pillows tumbling on top of him. “Scar, this is amazing.”

Impulse ran a hand along the top of a bookshelf, rubbing his thumb against the smooth grain. “It’s really awesome,” he agreed. “But… Why all the secrecy, Scar?”

Scar sank into an armchair, resting his hands on the top of his cane and his chin on top of his hands. “Because we need a place that’s just for us,” he said. “Where we never have to worry about being on camera, or someone else turning up and wanting to do a quick collab, or making sure we don’t spoil anything… this is a camera-free zone. The Not-Content Room. Just for vibin’, ya know?” He nodded at one corner, grinning. “I even brought down a vibe machine.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s that creepy disk—” Pearl groaned.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” Scar laughed at her expression. “I kid, I kid. I’ve got the whole collection in there. Had to buy a few from other hermits, but should be anything you might want to listen to.”

“This is brilliant, Scar,” Grian said. He plopped down on the arm of Scar’s chair and ruffled his hair affectionately. “And I’ll delete the footage I got on the way over here.”

“Grian!” Mumbo popped his head up over the back of the couch and gave him a chiding look.

Scar just laughed. “Oh, I knew he was recording. To be honest… I probably would have done the same thing.”

“Never trust a Scar, that’s what I say.” Grian leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms behind his head. “Still not entirely convinced this place isn’t rigged with TnT.”

“It crossed my mind, it crossed my mind.” Scar tapped the floor with his cane. “Just don’t go through the floor. There’s a ravine underneath and I didn’t light anything up.”

“Wouldn’t be a Scar build without a mob farm.” Pearl popped a disk into the jukebox and hit the power button. The soft sounds of the new Otherside album filled the air, and the Boatem crew settled in to enjoy the Scarmas Extravaganza.

Which. Now that he thought about it, was probably too dramatic of a name for a place designed specifically to not be dramatic, but… He had to stay on-brand, right? Scar chuckled to himself and sat back to watch his friends explore the bookshelves, the stash of board games, and the snacks he’d squirrelled away.

“Merry Christmas, Scar,” Grian said beside him. He gave his friend a nudge. “And thanks.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Grian.” Scar gave a contented sigh. “And you’re very, very welcome.”

[recurring-polynya]

Do you think Renji, Orihime, and Chad ever swap recipes? I can't decide if Renji is more like "oh man your tortilla soup is the best I could never do justice I don't even know where you get fresh limes" or "I spent fifty years of my life pursuing an impossible goal to hook up with Rukia and she REALLY likes this soup so ORA ORA ORA". I don't even know what an Orihime and Chad collab would look like and I crave your hot take on the matter.

Wow, okay, I hope you wanted a novel on my Six Hearts Gang Food Prep Headcanons, because that's what you're getting. .

Quick answer: Of course they swap recipes, the Karakura kids have an entire recipes channel on their Discord (or Line or whatever they use)

Here is a cut for the sake of everyone's dash:

So let us start off with an overview of everyone's cooking styles:

There are many hills I am willing to die on, and one of them is that Orihime is not a bad cook. There are two things that are very important to understand:

- Orihime loves flavors, the more flavors the better

- Orihime is not afraid to experiment

I am constantly reading fanfics where Orihime makes trash and feeds people trash, oblivious to their rude reactions and it makes me want to flip a table every time. In canon, mostly what we see is Orihime cooking for herself and occasionally offering someone a bite of her weird lunch, which they politely refuse. The one time I recall her cooking for others was the time she made Matsumoto and Hitsugaya dinner while they were staying with her. Matsumoto gushes over how good her cooking is (Hitsugaya doesn't have any, but he also refuses to come inside, so I'm not sure that's a judgment on Orihime's cooking) and Orihime laments that no one ever wants to eat what she cooks. Also, keep in mind that Orihime is a teen at this point, and it's highly doubtful she had anyone teach her to cook (Sora ran away from home himself at 18). I think Rukia and Renji will also eat literally anything happily, and they love Orihime's cooking, too. Over time, the other Karakura kids start eating her cooking out of their love for her and find that a) it's not actually bad, some of her wild combos are amazing actually, and b) she starts keeping track of what her friends like and dislike and starts tailoring her cooking to their preferences. Like, when Ichigo discusses the things they eat at home, it’s literally like he’s from another dimension, but he’s just used to it, it’s normal.

Chad was taught to cook by his grandfather, who I think Cooked Like a Bachelor. Chad has a small stable of classic Mexican dishes that he can make, and a lot of it is mix and match proteins and sauces, etc. He never measures anything. Every one of these meals is an absolute banger. He can also do some related cuisines, like he can make marinara sauce, but he just doesn’t vibe with Japanese cooking generally, the flavor profiles just don’t match his instincts. It’s fine, though, because that’s what Uryuu is most comfortable with (they are married in this headcanon, not-sorry). Uryuu owns a lot of books about the chemistry of cooking and talks a lot about umami and tenderizing connective tissue and stuff like that. They once took a French cooking class together for 🌹romance🌹 and had a lot of fun.

Ichigo is actually a reasonably competent cook! Orihime likes to do it, and it works out for their household, but he happily fills in when she’s busy or just needs a break. He’s not very fancy about it, but he can definitely throw together a decent meal; the family joke is that (boxed) curry is his specialty. He is also a very good sous chef, and is always willing to chop veggies or stir a thing on the stove, mostly because he’s just likes to hang out with his wife. 

Renji cooks like one of those dudes that you sometimes see videos of, slinging noodles in an Asian open-air market somewhere. He does everything extremely quickly, on some inner rhythm. Everyone except Rukia is always afraid to talk to him while he’s cooking out of the fear that he’ll chop off his own finger, but Renji’s brain and body operate entirely independently. Renji owns one cookbook, which he only consults when he is trying to make something he never has before. He does not use recipes. He has a bedraggled notebook that contains the most arcane and minimalistic notes possible, like an onion-to-meat ratio, or a single ominous statement like “if smoke comes out of it, start over”.

Rukia does not cook, unless you count the time she set Ichigo’s microwave on fire (he does not). If Renji is off on a mission or otherwise indisposed, Byakuya sends over care packages. It’s always enough food for about six people. Sometimes Renji has already cooked ahead for her. Rukia loves when this happens.

On to collaboration:

There is a small amount of recipe swapping: Chad’s mole sauce hits Orihime’s taste aesthetic perfectly, and Ichigo is gonzo for it, so he taught her how to make it. Chad will also straight up make gigantic batches of sauces and give some to the Kurosakis in exchange for bread-seconds. Orihime invented a surprisingly tasty, Ponyo-inspired concoction that’s sort of a clam chowder with ham enters the Sado-Ishida meal rotation in the winter months. Uryuu often puts “easy weeknight meals” in the Discord and everyone knows they’re for Ichigo.

Their real strength in invention and troubleshooting. Whenever someone is workshopping a new recipe or has a project start to go south, everyone will jump in to help. As I said earlier, Uryuu is very knowledgeable on the principles of cooking. Chad is extremely good at salvaging disasters with the proper application of condiments. Orihime has a vast reservoir of knowledge-gained-from-disaster. Her advice often sounds insane (you need to ADD a RAW EGG) but it works miracles. Orihime also knows a ton about baking. Ichigo may not have much to add, but he is extremely quick with a fire extinguisher. 

Now we come to the question of Renji. Renji’s entire culinary oeuvre is built around “things Rukia likes.” Of course, he is going to try to replicate his friends cooking, but as you say, the peculiarities of Soul Society make these things difficult. Many of the foodstuffs that the Karakura kids are used to buying come in convenient, packaged or frozen formats. Renji can sometimes find the equivalent, but then he has to figure out what to do with it. Soul Society vegetables sometimes taste radically different from the ones in the Living World, because they are different varietals. (Byakuya’s favorite bananas are probably Gros Michels, rather than Cavendish, for ex). Some things are just straight-up unavailable. Renji does his best, with feedback from Rukia. Sometimes he achieves Good Enough, sometimes he just has to give up. He has successfully replicated a large number of Living World condiments, which is honestly what Rukia cares about the most.

When the Karakura kids found out that he does this, though, they got extremely invested in trying to adapt their own recipes for the Soul Society grocery situation. For example, Chad didn’t used to bother making his own tortillas from scratch, but in the course of teaching Renji, he realized it wasn’t as bothersome as he remembered, and the results were worth the effort. At first, they were also very concerned about Renji’s lack of modern appliances, like a food processor or a mixer, but it turns out that Renji’s knife skills and bicep strength tend to make up for it. The real MVP of this effort is Uryuu, who got so into historic food that he started a YouTube channel about Edo Era cooking, that is half historical research and half stuff Renji tells him. Soul Society is not actually historic though, it’s just weird, so there have been a couple of episodes where Uryuu says something absolutely insane on camera. Many of his viewers suspect he is actually a time traveler from an alternate reality.

Renji is so grateful for the help, and he’s a little embarrassed because he can’t really reciprocate (no one wants to learn how to cook labor-intensive, bizarro Soul Society food), but he will mix up some pickles for anyone who wants them whenever he’s in the World of the Living. He considers this pretty basic kitchen stocking, but the Karakura kids are obsessed with Renji-pickles and will go crazy for them. He’s even gone to the trouble of writing down how to make them, but it’s not the same. Orihime insists this is because he is a ghost and is therefore somewhat preserved himself. Rukia says it’s because he probably doesn’t actually follow his own instructions.

[stolen-pen-name23]

Any prompt you want. I just want some Padme and Obi-wan friendship (yes, I’m aware these are angst prompts. I don’t care)

Hello my friend! Here's my final prompt fill from this round! Thanks for the prompt! //prompts now closed

Here ya go!

---

“You cannot possibly go like this.”

“Yes, I can,” Anakin says, panting slightly.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at Anakin, standing over his former apprentice as he leans heavily over the toilet bowl. Anakin groans and allows his body to fall back against the wall.

With a concerned “hmm,” Obi-Wan crouches down beside Anakin and places a palm on his forehead. The younger Jedi pulls back but is unable to elude Obi-Wan for long. He is concerned but not surprised by the heat that greets his palm. Sweaty hair tangles in Obi-Wan’s fingers as he tries to smooth it back. His concern deepens when Anakin stops resisting his touch.

“Oh, Padawan,” Obi-Wan says, slipping into the old title like it’s muscle memory. He grabs a damp towel and dabs it at Anakin’s sweaty forehead. “This isn’t good.”

Shivers course through Anakin’s whole body and his cheeks are flushed pink with fever.

“I can still go, M’ster,” Anakin says, though it comes out as more of a whine than an assurance. “Please, Obi-Wan. I can’t disappoint Pa– Senator Amidala.”

“Anakin, you can’t even stand up without keeling over,” Obi-Wan says. “How do you think you’re going to last through a whole senatorial ball?”

“I can stand,” Anakin pouts. As if to demonstrate his point, Anakin climbs to shaky feet. “See? I’m st–”

Anakin sways and his knees buckle. Obi-Wan takes a heavy step forward and grabs a hold of Anakin before he can collapse again.

“You were saying?”

“Shudup.”

Anakin’s face is pressed into Obi-Wan’s chest and he sags into him.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan says. “Let’s get you to bed and out of that suit. You won’t be wearing it tonight I’m afraid.”

“But Padmé…”

“I’m sure Senator Amidala will do just fine for a night,” Obi-Wan reassures, dragging Anakin down the hallway.

“She’s gonna be all ‘lone,” Anakin slurs, and Obi-Wan can feel guilt and disappointment clouding Anakin’s Force presence.

“She’s a very strong woman, Anakin, she’ll manage.”

“But I promised,” Anakin whines.

“She’ll forgive you, she’s very kind,” Obi-Wan says.

“I know,” Anakin says wistfully. “She’s just the best.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Come now, Anakin, let’s get you in bed before you say something I’m going to have to pretend to forget.”

“Kay,” Anakin says, too delirious to truly catch Obi-Wan’s meaning.

Like any good Master would, Obi-Wan helps Anakin out of his fancy suit and provides him with fresh, soft tunics to sleep in.

“Get in bed,” Obi-Wan commands, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be right back.”

Anakin grumbles but slides under his sheets.

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan heads to the kitchen and pours some tea he made shortly before he found Anakin hurling his guts out. It was still warm, but not scalding — perfect for Anakin who has an impatient streak a mile wide.

He returns to Anakin’s room to find him with half-closed eyes and an arm wrapped tightly around his abdomen.

“Drink this,” Obi-Wan says, handing the tea over to Anakin. “It will settle your stomach.”

“What about Padmé?” Anakin says again.

Obi-Wan frowns. He does feel bad that Padmé will be left without a date to the senatorial ball. He glances over to the chair where he draped Anakin’s tie and groans internally. Obi-Wan hates senatorial balls.

But he cares about Anakin and he cares about Padmé.

With a long-suffering sigh, Obi-Wan pulls out his commlink.

“Master Kenobi?” Padmé answers. Her expression is passive, but her voice betrays her confusion. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine, Senator, but I’m afraid there has been a change of plans.”

***

A gentle knock at the door tells Obi-Wan his date for the night has arrived to pick him up.

“Hello, Master Kenobi.”

The young senator is radiant in her evening gown. Fine lace patterns web over the length of her slender arms, but cut off at her shoulders, leaving them bare. The rest of the gown, a solid, navy blue, cascades down her body just as a waterfall might plunge from a mountainside. She is a dazzling sight and Obi-Wan thanks the stars that Anakin is asleep in his bed and not out here attempting to prove his healthiness. If illness didn’t make Anakin fall at her feet, this dress would certainly do the trick.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Obi-Wan says. “It is not the most chivalrous thing, but I’m afraid I was short on time.”

“What you’re doing is chivalrous enough, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course, I did. I could not possibly let you get stood up, especially by a Padawan of mine.”

Padmé giggles. “It’s hardly his fault.”

“Oh, I know, but giving him a hard time is much more fun than giving him my pity,” Obi-Wan says. “Give me one moment, Senator. I just need to find… ah, here it is.” Obi-Wan grabs the tie he had thrown haphazardly on the kitchen counter while he was getting ready.

He had rushed to throw together an outfit that would be acceptable for the ball and was pleased to find that his blue coat coordinated quite well with Padmé’s gown.

The tie is made of a silky material and his fingers fumble with the unfamiliar article of clothing. Qui-Gon taught him how to do this a long time ago. Now if only he could remember which way to pull…

“Let me,” Padmé says gently.

“Pardon?”

“You’re hopeless. Let me do it.” Padmé strides over to him and takes each side of the tie in either hand.

“I assure you, Senator, I am perfectly capable–” Obi-Wan starts as he tries to grab hold of the tie again. Padmé bats his hand away.

“Stop that,” she says. He squirms backward but she grabs hold of his shoulder to pull him back. “Hold still, would you?”

Obi-Wan sighs in defeat and allows Padmé to finish the knot. She carefully tucks the tie under his collar and she brushes her hands over his shoulders. “There. You look dashing.”

He smiles softly at her. “Thank you, Padmé. You look quite beautiful yourself.”

She bows her head graciously.

“Where is Anakin?”

His smile tightens into a grimace. “He’s asleep. I hope he stays that way. I gave him something for the nausea in hopes that it will help him sleep.”

Obi-Wan can sense her conflicting emotions in the Force and he already knows what she is going to ask.

“Are you sure he will be okay by himself?”

“He should be fine for a few hours. If not, he knows I will have my comm on me, though I anticipate we’ll be back before he wakes. Unless, of course, this is not the stuffy senatorial ball I was promised?”

“I’m afraid it is the stuffy senatorial ball you were promised.”

“Very well,” Obi-Wan says, extending an arm for Padmé to link hers around. “Let’s get on with it shall we?”

***

“You’re a good dancer,” Padmé observes.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Obi-Wan says, before twirling her around. Her dress splays out, its flared edges brush his legs.

“I’m not,” she says. “I suppose it’s a Jedi thing?”

Obi-Wan laughs at the mental image of Yoda dancing at a senatorial ball. “It is hardly a Jedi thing.”

“Anakin is a good dancer too,” Padmé argues.

“And pray tell, who do you think taught him?”

“Fair enough,” Padmé concedes and then she laughs.

“Something funny?”

“No, it’s just… I’m picturing you teaching a teenaged Anakin how to dance.”

“Yes, looking back it was probably quite amusing. It was less funny in the moment when he managed to step on all of my toes.”

Padmé laughs even more and the musical cadence of it blends in with the song the band is playing.

“So, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says. “Who taught you to dance. I’m having a hard time picturing Qui-Gon doing it.”

“That would be because he didn’t teach me,” Obi-Wan says.

“Then who did?”

Obi-Wan thinks back to a time long ago — to two kids and a Jedi master on the run. Blonde tresses and the gleam of beskar. Long nights under star-speckled skies.

“An old friend,” he says.

“Your friend did a good job.”

“She was a good teacher — stubborn and willful — but a good teacher nonetheless.”

One song ends and another begins.

Obi-Wan and Padmé continue their dance through the magnificent ballroom, their steps falling perfectly in time with the music and with each other.

“Thank you again for doing this. I know this kind of thing isn’t… well… your thing.”

“All things considered, being in good company certainly makes it more tolerable,” Obi-Wan says.

“Oh, only ‘tolerable’?” Padmé says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe after another glass of champagne, it will verge into enjoyable.”

Padmé grins brightly as he spins her around again. On beat with the music, she steps back perfectly into place, one hand in his, the other on his shoulder.

“You’re a good friend, Obi-Wan,” Padmé says. “To me and to Anakin.”

“Thank you, Senator. You’re a good friend too.” He pauses, but then adds on, “to me and to Anakin.”

Padmé bites her lip and averts her gaze. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Obi-Wan feels the tension in her body as she asks the question and he can tell she has been wanting to ask it for some time. Her worry clouds the Force, but he parses through it to poke at the bond he shares with Anakin.

“He’s fine,” Obi-Wan reassures. Padmé’s shoulders remain rigid. “I would be able to sense if he were not. He’s fine, Padmé.”

Padmé relaxes at his words and returns to gently swaying with the rhythm. They move together, perfectly in sync with one another.

Only a few heartbeats more, and the song finds its end. Obi-Wan bows to Padmé and she inclines her head in polite acknowledgment.

“Another dance?” he asks.

“Maybe in a little while. Let’s see about getting you that glass of champagne first, shall we?”

“You read my mind, Senator.”

Arm in arm, they walk together laughing and smiling — not as a Jedi and a senator, but as two friends enjoying the simple pleasure of one another’s company.

[chosonore]

part one | oblivion

oblivion [noun. the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening around one]

pairing: kamo noritoshi/f!reader

summary: your relationship with noritoshi was like a game of cat and mouse; no matter how hard you tried to escape from him, he would always find his way back to you.

wordcount: 3.9k

content/warnings: friends to enemies to lovers, language, noritoshi is kind of a dick but i promise it gets better so please don’t lose faith in him, we’re not strictly following the manga timeline bc while i am reading it, i do have a goldfish brain, lowercase intended

a/n: hello, here’s the first installment of my sanguine series! it’s the prequel of this drabble (nsfw) i wrote the other week while i was working on the outline of the fic. it’s a little slow burn because i wanted to spend some more time exploring their relationship and the groundwork for it, so yeah. i’ll try to update it regularly, but since i’ve only planned five parts for sanguine, it might take a while bc i want to take my time with it. if you want to stay updated with the series, i’ll post the masterlist to it shortly! i do hope you enjoy it though :) and stay safe, everybody! [tagging @sukirichi​ the sukuna to my yuuji, who just gets spammed when i start rambling about my aus but always screams with me (´• ω •`)]

masterlist - next 

"y/n!" you look up to see miwa storming towards you, thrusting a book in your direction. "could you- could you please give this to noritoshi? i borrowed this book from him like a week ago and if i don't return this anytime soon, i think he's gonna kill me." 

scowling at her, you look at the book in disdain. you wanted to avoid crossing paths with noritoshi as much as possible and miwa was well aware that you didn't like hi- 

"please," miwa pleaded again, taking your hands and placing the book in it. "i'm really scared of him. he always looks like he's going to shoot me soon. even todo is pretty nice if you don't interrupt his takada-chan time!" 

you sighed in annoyance, you just couldn't say no. ever since coming to the kyoto metropolitan curse tech, miwa and you had been pretty close because you strongly disliked the other students. most of them were arrogant and stuck-up, thinking they were better than the other; the two that belonged to the three clans were even worse. on your first day here you'd promptly gotten into a fight with mai, disliking how haughty she was and trying to prove everyone that she was better than them. much to your chagrin, the fight ended in a tie.

"fine, but you owe me some mango," miwa's face lit up in relief and she gave you a thumbs up before dashing to her room, most likely to escape noritoshi's wrath. you inspected the book. was it even worth returning it? maybe you could just throw it in the trash. if noritoshi ever found out, he'd kill miwa first and then you. you let out another sigh before making your way towards the training grounds. he most likely was outside to practice, either with one of the guys or alone. as you were nearing the training grounds, you could already hear the sound of arrows whistling and the dull thuds of them hitting the target. it was hard to spot him through all the trees; you weren't entirely sure where he was. your ears perked up when you heard him release another arrow until you realized that it was heading your way. this bastard. fortunately, you were able to slash the arrow clean in the middle, angrily pointing your sword in his direction. you still couldn't see him anywhere.

"you fucking idiot! you could've killed me," you snarled, stomping deeper into the forest. an amused laugh echoed through the trees. 

"you're acting like i can't control my arrows. it's not my fault you let your guard down," noritoshi retorted smugly, lowering his bow as he saw you approaching. you were fuming, hurling the book at him. how dare he? you watched with satisfaction as it hit him square in the chest - who was caught off guard now, huh? he deserved it anyways. 

"miwa asked me to return your book," you curtly explained and turned back around to leave but apparently, noritoshi had other plans. instead of saying anything else, he just followed you which unsettled you even more. 

"stop following me." 

"who said i was following you? i'm just going back to the dorms. i'm sorry you can't handle me being near you."

you whirled around, sword pointing dangerously close to his neck. he smirked at you triumphantly, it was just too easy to get a rouse out of you. "another word and i'll cut you, seriously. you're pissing me off," you gritted your teeth, hating that you always fell for his stupid games. he knew you all to well, what made you angry, what made you happy, what motivated you. once upon a time, you'd thought the same about him; until he changed so rapidly, so unlike your expectations. you were worlds apart and yet you'd reserved an ounce of hope that he wouldn't turn out to be as arrogant as the clan heads. swift as the wind, noritoshi grabbed your wrist, dragging it upwards and towards him until he could lean down to you. your heartbeat sped up - holy shit why was he so close to you - and you froze in shock. 

"i'd like to see you try, princess," he whispered in your ear, the grip on your wrist tightening. "you wouldn't dare to."

the first time you met noritoshi, he was sitting outside in the garden with his mum. both seemed to have a good time. noritoshi's hair was tousled from the soft summer breeze and he had a soft smile on his face, happily munching away on the snacks that were displayed on the table. while he looked friendly enough, you were wary of meeting and talking to him because you felt kind of queasy around the kamo family. you couldn’t quite place a finger on the feeling, the older members of the family intimidating you to no end. much to your dismay, you felt like you had to be watchful - your parents worked for the kamo family, so naturally the apartment you lived in was close to the estate. you avoided any run ins with the adults, they weren’t exactly friendly to you. noritoshi’s mum had befriended your mum and they spent a lot of time together when possible. and yet you’d never met noritoshi before, seeing how busy he was with his various classes.

the fit that you threw, not wanting to tag along with your mum, was long forgotten when you’d spotted the jar of cookies on the table. before your mum could react, you pulled your hand away from hers and quickly ran towards it. “hello miss!” you greeted enthusiastically, your eyes shining at the sight of the sweets. “my name is y/n! i’m here with my mum and i uhm… could i have some of the cookies? please?” when your mum finally caught up to you, she scolded you quietly and greeted the other two, taking a seat beside noritoshi’s mum. you pouted, immediately climbing on her lap as you refused to sit next to the boy. his mum handed you a cookie which you happily took and thanked her politely. noritoshi was curiously eyeing you; it wasn’t often that he saw other children around his age and he didn’t have any friends to play with. his everyday life revolved around reading books, studying, taking archery classes and sometimes spending time with his mum. noritoshi barely even knew what fun was - he’d only ever felt at peace when he was around his mum.

“y/n, sweetie, why don’t you go and play with noritoshi?” your mum prompted but you immediately shook your head, hiding your face in her chest. she simply laughed and shook her head, brushing your hair back softly. “come on, noritoshi is really nice. you can be his friend one day, right? didn’t i tell you that friends are important?” 

you frowned. then huffed. when she worded it like this, there was no way you could refuse. the cartoon that you religiously watched featured a group of friends that went on adventures and helped each other out. you’d told your mum that you wanted to be like that too! begrudgingly, you slid off her lap and trudged towards noritoshi who looked at you with big eyes. you held your hand out, waiting for him to shake it. “my name is y/n. uhm… nice to meet you,” you shyly whispered, eyes darting away from him. 

it took a while until noritoshi reacted, shaking your hand gently and answering: “hello y/n, i’m noritoshi.”

much to your surprise, noritoshi was actually fun to be around with. he showed you his collection of books, the bow that he was practicing with and you often played the card game you’d received for your birthday together. he was smart and witty, often explaining you things that he’d read in a book but he was also attentive when he listened to you ramble about the other kids in school or when you told him about the cartoon that you were watching. for you, noritoshi was becoming your best friend - for noritoshi, you were his first friend. he cherished you and how unabashedly true to yourself you were. spending time with you was something he looked forward to; you always made him laugh and you didn’t care whether he lived up to the kamo family name or not. to you, he was simply noritoshi. you were like a fresh breeze of air in his life.

noritoshi didn't quite understand why the elders were always so hard on him, so strict and unrelenting. they expected only the best results from him and didn't show any understanding when he exhausted. he didn't enjoy practice anymore, the lessons becoming a chore and burden on his mind. but whenever he saw your face light up at his newly acquired skills, he thought it was worth the trouble. you came to visit him everyday after school, never skipping a day. sometimes he questioned why you weren't visiting your friends from school but you shook your head, poking his chest indignantly. "you're my best friend, 'toshi. of course i'd want to spend more time with you." noritoshi was glad you always chose him, without fail.

even though your parents had always warned you to be careful around noritoshi because his family was strict and didn't like outside influences distracting the heir, you never really strayed from his side. noritoshi didn't have any other friends, who would keep him company or listen to his troubles then? you didn't understand why your parents were suddenly going back on their word. they'd always told you that family and friends were important. you couldn't pinpoint your feelings for him - but your parents saw it. it was obvious; the stars in your eyes when you looked at him, the slight blush on your cheeks when he complimented you and how happy you were when you got to spend time with him. the more time you spent with him, the more they were worried for you. 

"'toshi!" you yelled in excitement as you ran towards him, waving wildly. he dropped his bow and turned to you, a soft smile gracing his lips as he opened his arms to hug you. you squeezed him tightly. two weeks you hadn't seen him due to a school trip after which you got sick and weren't able to leave the house. you'd missed him a lot and you were excited to show him the souvenirs you brought him. 

"look, i bought you an omamori!" you handed him the small object, then pointing on your bag to show him the one you'd bought for yourself. "i got myself a matching one too! my teacher said it wards off evil spirits and brings you luck." noritoshi's smile was bright, so bright. he was happy you thought of him and were always kind to him. your eyes widened as he leaned in to kiss your cheek before thanking you. the two of you were blushing, neither saying a word but not minding what had just happened.

the day noritoshi's mother left the estate was the day you were slowly starting to lose him. noritoshi grew more forlorn and didn't seem to easily find joy in anything anymore. the departure left a deep, deep gap in his heart. it had shocked him deep to the core when she left him. him. why couldn't she stay? why did she leave him when she was the only person who protected him, loved him? she did say that she was hindering his growth but who was she to decide that? he didn't want to become stronger, didn't want to protect other people like she'd told him to. he wanted to stay with her. "'toshi? 'toshi!" a concerned voice broke through his trance, pulling him back into reality. "i asked you a question! you weren't even listening to me." 

you were pouting at him, tugging at his sleeve impatiently. noritoshi apologized, patting your head to soothe your temper. "what do you want to do in the future? mum said it's important to work towards your dreams!" you asked him curiously, grasping his hand to hold it. the gesture filled him with indescribable warmth, drawing him in like a moth to the flames. "my mum said i have a special power, i can heal people! i want to become a doctor in the future, so i can help everyone that got hurt," you explained to him so earnestly that he felt bad for the lie he was about to tell. noritoshi didn't have big dreams or ambitions just yet. he didn't even know what would be suitable to him - he was strictly following orders, never allowed to think for himself. 

but when he looked at you, he only had one wish. "i think… i think i want to help people, protect them. especially those that i love."

with each year passing, you noticed that noritoshi was putting more and more distance between the two of you. at first you'd brushed it off as the stress of his training and number of classes he was attending. but as you spent less and less time together, the weight of the situation didn’t escape you. he was easily irritable, cold and arrogant, often rude towards employees of the kamo estate. every now and then when you’d scold him for being an asshole, he’d simply scoff at you and haughtily ask you how it was any of your business. you sighed, tossing and turning in your bed as you thought about how much noritoshi had changed. it kept you up at night, just thinking about how he wasn’t your ‘toshi anymore. you didn’t know this person. ‘toshi was always gentle and kind, he tended to overthink many things and sometimes he was a little bit of a crybaby but you still loved him regardless. you sneaked out of your room, finally mustering up enough courage to ask your mother for advice. the thought of her discovering your blooming crush on noritoshi was scaring you. your parents were wary around the kamos despite working from them - even more so ever since noritoshi’s mother left and the elders had free reign over her son.

“noritoshi! noritoshi, stop walking away from me! hey, i’m talking to you!” you yelled frustrated as you were trying to keep up with him. noritoshi was crossing the garden in long strides, it was nearly impossible to stop him as you couldn’t catch up to him. you lunged forward, getting hold of his sleeve and tugged him back harshly. noritoshi yanked his arm out of your grip, glaring at you annoyed. 

“what do you want from me? i have better things to do than to quibble with you,” he hissed irritated. you couldn’t believe him, he had the nerve to dismiss you like this when he was in the wrong? 

“you know exactly what i want from you! you can’t just go around and talk to people like you did before just because they’re not from a reputable family! noritoshi, you’re not any better than them just because your last name is kamo.”

as much as noritoshi scared you, you stood your ground. you knew he didn’t take you serious, not with the amused look he gave you. in the past month or two, noritoshi was suddenly hit by a growth spurt - you barely reached his shoulder now and he took advantage of that to mock you, often treating you like an armrest. he pat your head condescendingly, pouting at you in fake regret. “aw, did i hurt your feelings? did i make itty bitty little y/n sad?” he mocked you, before abruptly grabbing your cheeks to make you look at him. “i don’t care what you think of me, cry all you want. i strongly suggest you hold that sharp tongue of yours if you know what’s good. know your place.” 

tears filled your eyes; noritoshi had never talked to you this way. what has gotten into him? your heart broke in pieces, unable to take the pain any longer. you were no longer his equal but below him, much like everyone else.

“mum?” you cautiously knocked at the door of her study, waiting for her response. your mother was most likely still awake and dealing with paperwork like she usually did. upon hearing the affirmative noise she made, you flitted inside, closing the door behind you so your father didn’t catch any wind of this. it was already embarrassing enough and you were sure your mother could offer you better advice. you gingerly took a seat on the armchair, grabbing a pillow and hugging it close to your body. how were you going to approach this? hey mum, i have a crush on noritoshi and he’s weird to me now and i don’t know why? uh yeah mum, i caught feelings for the guy you warned me about and now i look like a fool crawling up to you like this? 

“it’s about noritoshi, isn’t it?” your mother interrupted your stream of thought, spinning her swivel chair towards you. 

“huh? oh no it isn’t, why would it be? i have-” 

“y/n.” 

“ugh okay fine, maybe it is about him,” you sighed defeated, of course she would look right through you. she always seemed to know what you were thinking, even when you hadn’t confided in her before. “but promise me you won’t judge me!” the look in your mother’s eyes told you that she was going to judge you regardless but you knew she meant well - she simply wanted the best for you.

“i- i just don’t understand why he’s been such a pain in the ass lately. and he’s been treating everyone like dirt too, including me! mum, he’s becoming someone else and i… i don’t know what to do,” you sniffled inconsolably, wiping at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. she wasn’t supposed to see you getting emotional. “he’s always busy and when we do get to see each other, he doesn’t want to spend time with me. what if he doesn’t like me anymore? and i don’t like how he’s treating you! it’s the same issue with the elders, they don’t know any human decency at all!” 

your mother motioned you to scoot over a little and sat next to you, wrapping her arms around you and patting your back to console you. while she meant well, it accomplished the opposite - you broke down in tears, unable to stop your sobs. “i just want my ‘toshi back,” you whimpered upset, burying your face in the pillow to muffle the sound of you crying. “i know you didn’t like that i became good friends with him but i couldn’t help it and i just really like him and- you weren’t supposed to find that out.”

“sweetheart, i know you love noritoshi,” she handed you a tissue. “you let a lot more on than you were aware of; dad and me always knew you were in love with him.” as if on cue, your sobbing stopped and you just looked at her in disbelief. she knew. she knew. you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. “i think it was always pretty obvious, to be honest. you always looked at him as if he was your entire world and no matter what happened, you were always by his side. i know it’s hard to accept when a dear friend is changing but sometimes you just have to, right? both of you are still growing, there’s no way of telling how your personalities change.”

“but i don’t want him to change like this,” you protested stubbornly, glaring at her. she was talking about it as if it was a matter of simply discarding a bad apple in the trash. it wasn’t easy and it made you anxious. you grew up together, shared secrets and memories. he was the person you’d always looked up to.

“y/n.” your mother sounded stern but you didn’t back down, not yet. “is it really worth it? if a person is changing so rapidly and you’re not getting through to them, you’ll have to let it go. there’s only so much you can do. people grow apart sometimes, it’s only natural. you have to let go of them, temporarily, so you both can heal and grow. y/n, i know you’re being stubborn about this but you’ll have to let him figure things out on his own. fate has curious ways to bring people back together.”

when the time came, noritoshi left to attend the kyoto metropolitan curse tech school without telling you a word. you were disappointed, apparently you weren’t worth saying goodbye to. whatever his reason was, it must’ve been pretty important. important enough to forget the promise that you’d always stay in contact. you wondered whether he'd change again, for the better maybe? maybe you would reconcile when you could finally attend the school as well and train together. you were excited to show him your sword skills, having received your family's heirloom, an elegant steel blue sword. though your skills probably weren’t up to par with the other students, you still wanted to show them off, show him what you’d learned in the year that you spent apart.

noritoshi had changed but not for the better. holy shit, did he get on your nerves. the first time he'd practiced with you, you realized that he had mutated into an insufferable know-it-all. he would give you backhanded compliments or make snide remarks about your posture, how you were supposed to hold your sword, how inefficient your fighting style was. sometimes you wished you could just beat him for once and have him shut up. there was no denying though, noritoshi was way too strong and you had a long way to go. judging from the reactions of the others, barely anyone had beat him either. 

and just like that, your feelings for him were buried. you’d taken your mother’s advice to heart, keeping conversations and interactions with him to a minimum but somehow noritoshi always found his way to you. he was everywhere and a quarrel was inevitable. noritoshi got under your skin and he knew how to push your buttons. why he chose to pick on you was beyond your comprehension; he didn’t pay much attention to the other students nor was he particularly liked by them. just how much was he going to get on everyone else’s nerves? out of all the second years, todo aoi was the most amicable; you had the (dis)pleasure to run into him on your first day and for some reason, he took a liking to you. while he was loud and boisterous, mostly doing whatever he wanted, you couldn’t deny that he was a good friend. even though he didn’t care about anyone as much as he cared about takada-chan. at one point, he’d looked at you in sympathy when he caught you staring at noritoshi, patting your shoulder (too forceful): “i’m sorry, y/n, i’m so sorry.” 

you still didn’t know what he meant by that.

ps.: todo knows and he’s kinda judging you for your taste in men 

[beskarberry]

Garden of Ishtar

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 9

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

"The Universe has a strange way of granting wishes"

<-Previous Next->

Rating: holy shit Explicit

Word count: 15.8k

Content warnings: SEX POLLEN + BREEDING KINK + PREGNANCY KINK with an extra kinky twist! (Dubcon/use of mind altering substances by non-sentient creature/ovipos) Side kinks: dom/alpha, praise, begging, denial, overstim, bonus somnophila. Obvious favorites of p in v, finger blasting, oral f receiving, multiple orgasms and then some. Big gooey heaps of fluff to make up for all the filth. I tried.

A/N: Weird shit happens in space, and this chapter is no exception. This is the most kinks I've crammed into one chapter, almost zero story progression whatsoever, it's just smutty smut the whole way though. Good luck and may the force be with you because you're gonna need it.

“Well, which one do you want?”

“You pick.”

“Fuck no, I picked the last one, you can pick the next.”

It was a bright, lovely, sunshiny day on the forest moon of Endor, the fine weather a stark contrast from how it had been when you had landed. You had opened the access ramps on the Crest to get some fresh air circulating while you made preparations to head towards your next target, but you had to pick a target first.

On a supply crate that you had pushed into the middle of the cabin like a dining room table sat three little pucks, their bounties still as mysterious as they had been when you had wantonly pulled them off of Karga’s countertop. As far as you were concerned it was Din’s turn to pick, and though death was just an occupational hazard in your line of work, there had been too many brushes with the reaper during your last hunt for you to be comfortable picking again.

Leaning against the wide open doorframe you took a deep breath of the fresh, rain-scrubbed air, letting it fill your lungs and clear your head. It was a little humid, though it might have been the nicest day you had seen in a long time. Outside on the dampish grass the foundling was chasing some kind of pretty insect, hopping about trying to catch the elusive critter. It was good for him to get a chance to stretch his legs, no matter how short they were, and you giggled at his antics when he tripped and fell. He squealed and rolled through the grass before he was bounding after another fluttering creature. Without the violent storms the mini-moon was peaceful, serene almost, and in another lifetime maybe you would have settled down here; though you couldn’t imagine being anything besides a hunter. I wonder if that will ever change.

“Really, cyare, you pick.” Sitting across from you, Din was cleaning the last bit of mud from his armor, the thick muck having long dried into a chunky, flaky mess. Everything but the plate he had in his hands now shimmered like spilled mercury over his chest and shoulders, catching the dappled sunbeams that filtered in through the open doors. Your argument over who got to pick the next puck had ground to a stand still, and you were getting frustrated, but not frustrated enough that you would yield.

“It’s not my turn, it’s your turn.” He just shook his head, diligently scrubbing the dirt from the details of the mudhorn on his pauldron without realizing the irony of his efforts. He set the cleaned metal to his shoulder, the clack of its fasteners echoing faintly in the open hold. The Mandalorian sat up straight, leaning his helmeted head against the hull wall and patting his knees, expectantly waiting for you to make your choice. Something about his armored appearance gave you a stupid idea, and you sauntered up to him with a cocky grin. “I’ll fight’cha for it.”

“You’ll what?” The black gloss of his visor tilted sharply, as though you had just grown a second head.

“Fight me! Loser has to pick the puck.” You kicked the tips of his boots and brought your fists up, playfully making soft, slow jabs towards him. He huffed, like he wasn’t used to you having bright ideas by now.

“I’m not going to fight you, cyar’ika, just pick a damn puck already.”

“Them's fightin’ words.” Your knuckles went pap pap pap in quick succession against the hexagonal indent on his chest. “What’re’ya afraid you’re gonna lose?”

He lazily swatted at you, barely even trying to block your attack. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ha! As if!” You whipped your head forward, sending the beskar you wore on your crown sliding down over your eyes, letting the quicksilver flash of its curved surfaces tell him you meant business. Your jabs got a little meaner, though if you hit him too much harder his own beskar would probably break your fingers. Between his metal plates were a few soft spots, and you honed in on them with sneaky digits. Din jerked visibly when you got the one right under his chest piece, and a swift arm came up and caught your next offence. “Ohoho, so you are awake, I was beginning to think you had fallen asleep on me.”

“I’m not going to hit you.” His words came through his modulator like gravel, irritated that you would even think he would lay a hand on you. Shrugging, you knocked him right in the forehead with the heel of your palm, making his helmet clonk against the durasteel. The next jab you threw was caught and thrown back to you, him tossing your fist away. You went for him again, but when he grabbed both your fists you were pushed back with the force of him rising from his seat. He marched you backwards and shoved you away, then brought his vambraces up in a defensive block, ready for the next attack.

You took one last glance at the foundling, who was sitting sweetly in the grassy meadow, absently trying to catch motes of pollen that were floating by, before launching into your assault. Your fists stung at him with reckless abandon, not enough to actually hurt either of you, though he probably wouldn’t have felt it anyway under his pile of armor. Mando blocked everything you hurled at him, making good on his promise not to hit you, but that was taking all the fun out of it. “Come on, rust bucket, stand up for yourself!” He took everything you gave, deflecting every thrown fist and slowly inching his way closer to you until you were taking steps back to open up your jabs.

“You really want me to fight you? Fine.” He barked, whacking your next punch away. You jumped back to dodge a rapid slew of hook shots, cackling like a lunatic that you had gotten your wish granted.

“Yes! Come on, big boy, fight me! Let’s go! I’m gonna kick your- ass!” Din lunged at you, tackling you like a linebacker and throwing you against the wall. Cornered, you snapped your head forward and rang his bell, disorienting him enough that you could drop out of his grasp and dash out between his legs. He turned on you in an instant, and you made ‘come at me bro’ hands at him before he was on you again. He swiped with a left hook, chuffing you lightly on the shoulder while you socked him back; though you weren’t nearly as gentle, stinging your knuckles on his unyielding iron.

A bandoliered boot went for your shins, and you stomped back at it, kicking sideways at the plates of his thighs. You hopped, switched legs, and spun a roundhouse straight into the side of his gut. On anyone else it would have been a crippling blow, but your Mandalorian grabbed your lifted ankle and hauled you to him, using your own weight against you to palm your sternum and flip you on your back. The wind was knocked from your lungs when you hit the floor, but not enough that you didn’t get a knee up as he tried to pin you under him, and you kicked up into his gut and flipped him over your head; the sound of his armor hitting the ground ringing loud and ugly.

You kicked up and tossed yourself backwards in the same spring, putting you over top of his breastplate. Throwing your knees back you locked his arms under your ankles, straddling his chest so you could hold his helmet down. “That all you got?”

“You wish!” Din squirmed and kneed you in the ass, tossing you off of him. You rolled away and scrambled to your feet, narrowly avoiding another flying tackle. The cabin of the Crest wasn’t giving you much space to work with, and you hauled ass down down the ramp before he could catch you again. “Oh now you want me to chase you, ner riduur?” He hollered, swinging his arms wide in a challenging stance.

You turned and wiggled your ass at him, slapping yourself tauntingly before the sound of armored thunder had you running for cover. You ran past the foundling on the ground, braking quickly next to him to pat his head before his father was upon you, and you missed being snatched by the skin of your teeth.

Hopping back a few paces you put up your dukes, and this time the beskar took the bait. The Mandalorian threw punches left and right, more forceful than he had started with but not enough to actually hurt. You took a few blows to your forearms and shoulders before lashing out with a wild throw. The sound of fists on metal echoed against the tree trunks that surrounded the sunny meadow while you took on the mighty warrior, though armor was kicking your ass for him, and you nearly dashed yourself to pieces on the plate of his chest.

“Had enough yet?”

You roared in response and threw your whole body at him, making quick jabs at the meat of his sides where his armor was thinnest. He keeled sideways, dropped himself into a crouch, and lunged, tackling you to the ground. Damn it! Time to fight dirty! You pulled an arm free of his grasp and grabbed his cloak, throwing it over his helmet and wrapping it up tight, temporarily blinding him. He sat up to try and unravel the fabric from his face, and in that split second you grabbed the backs of his knees and yanked, flopping him back down onto his back. The pinner had become the pin-ee, and you squashed yourself up between his legs and thrust into his groin, making him keen in surprise.

“You’re mine, bantha-butt!” Tangled in the cloak he squirmed under you until he was free of your trap, giving you a confused head tilt at your position. You hooked your arms under his knees and ground yourself up against his ass, making him grunt underneath you before he wrapped his legs around your middle and rolled, throwing you down onto the ground. Both of you grappled for dominance, rolling and tossing each other through the soft, dampish grass until you were on top of him again, straddling his waist.

“That’s better.” He hummed, grabbing your wrists and pulling you down to him where he could wrap his arms around your writhing form. “You’re mine, you little womp rat.”

“Nuh uh! You’re under me, that means I win, chumbucket.” You threw your weight around, trying to coax one more good roll out of the two of you, but he had you in his clutches. A dark, lecherous laugh reverberated in your ear, and you felt him rut up against your crotch to demand your complacency. Between your legs the faintest outline of his shaft slotted against you, fitting so well against the cradle of your body that it really might have been made just for you; but you grabbed his shoulders and pushed him harder into the grass. “Not in front of the foundling, you big horndog.”

“Says the one riding me.” A soft, leather-clad hand left your captured shoulders to slide your mask up and brush the grass from your hair, gently tucking a stray lock behind your ear; and you pressed your face into his palm as it passed back down. The rumble in his chest went right through your legs up your spine until your cheeks blushed under his thumbs. “Mesh’la…”

Something twitched under you, and as much as you would like to indulge him, sass came to you more naturally. “Is this why you didn’t wanna fight me?” You rolled your hips over his, giving him a tantalizing tease. “Gets you all fired up?”

His helmet rolled, trying to avoid your skull-boring gaze. “Maybe…”

“Well maybe when we get into hyperspace we can do something about that, but not until that one has gone to bed.”

Ahead of you the foundling was laying back in the grass, watching his adopted parents with big googly eyes. Din followed your gaze, and the two of you made stupid little waves at your child. Beans waved back and stood up, teetering over to the pair of you on his little stubby legs. You laid against the breadth of your mate’s chest and reached for the goofy green baby, who happily ran into your arms.

“Heya, Goob! What’cha up to, huh? Catchin’ bugs?” You sat up and leaned back, ignoring the heavy hands that laid on your thighs while you chatted with the foundling. The baby gibbered and told you all about his fun in the sun, but under you the slow gyration of hips was starting to get distracting. “Beans, tell your dad to stop being naughty.”

“Me? You started this.”

“Bah! I don’t start things, I only finish them.” Under you your beskar burdened buddy sighed and let his head fall back into the grass, shaking it back and forth at your foolishness. You hefted the foundling up in the air, making him squeal in delight, and the sweet sounds of his laughter gave you a better idea. “You know what? I bet he would like to pick a puck!”

“Thank the fucking stars, does that mean we can get going?”

“Yeah yeah fussbucket come on. You’re so damn impatient!” You made one last amorous swirl of your hips before leaping up from your man, running with the baby high above your head as you dashed circles around the ship. It was good for both of you to spend time together that wasn’t just on the trail, and you treasured the few moments of comfort you got to have as a pack between hunts. You ran a few more laps before flying up the ramp to where Mando had already beaten you there, and you plopped the baby down on the makeshift table where the pucks had miraculously survived your wrassling. “Ok buddy boy, can you pick a puckie for me?”

The baby tossed his arms in the air and squeaked like he would rather go for another round of flight simulator, but you plopped down on the ground in front of him and pointed at the pucks again. He tilted his head, making his airplane ears flop akimbo. The foundling looked down at the pucks, back up to you, and then -slapped- the one in the middle as hard as he could. The pucks projector fired up and glowed ghostly blue in front of the child’s wondrous eyes, and he tried to grab at the thing showing in its center.

The holo must be malfunctioning, maybe the baby hit it too hard, but the picture wasn’t of a face, or even a person for that matter; it was something round, egg shaped almost. Beside you, your Mandalorian was making the same confused head tilts that you were, and he tapped a leather finger to the puck’s button, turning it off and on again, but the same image remained. “That can’t be right, have you ever seen one like this?”

You shook your head, puzzled by the purplish object that floated before you. Maybe it was some kind of stone or seed, or even an egg like its shape suggested. The pucknotes had a counter next to the ovoid, indicating that more credits would be rewarded for the quantity of items procured. Besides a description of the item and the indicator, the puck notes had one last useful tidbit of information, the last known location:

Hoth.

“Wait, Hoth? There’s nothing on Hoth! You sure this thing’s not fucked up?” Din shrugged, making his plates clack before he got up and started getting the ship around, closing ramps and scooting crates back into place. “Shit balls of hell, alright! Fucking Hoth it is.” You’d been to Hoth maybe all of two times chasing down the stupidest, most idiotic bounties, and not once had you seen anything of value there. “Of course it has to be somewhere cold, we already did cold. One of those fucking pucks better go to a goddamn beach or something or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“You sure you haven’t already? I mean,” Din stopped rearranging the furniture to swagger up to you, catching your hand in his own. “You did try to fight with a Mandalorian.”

“Bah! And I’d do it again, too, you’re not that intimidating.” Playfully you tried to take your hand back, but he was a professional bounty hunter, and he didn’t let his captures get away so easily. Thick, leatherbound fingers laced themselves between your own, and your other arm was taken hostage and brought to his shoulder so he could rest a heavy palm on your hip unhindered. You let your hand wander up his pauldron to the edge of his helmet, sneaking a finger between the metal and the man to toy with his curls. The hand on your waist pulled you closer, and he gently pressed his helmet to your brow.

“Riduur’ika,” He purred, making the cool beskar rumble against your skin. “You don’t think I’m… intimidating!?” The arm against your waist hugged you tight while the other twirled you around in a circle, and you made some kind of undignified squeak as you were dipped low. Parallel to the ship's floor, you clawed at his cowl as if he would drop you, though his grip was stronger than beskar. You caught the reflection of your own wild eyes as his visor tilted to meet your gaze. “How about now?”

Safe in his arms, you snorted a laugh and stuffed your hands under his helmet to pick the latches free and toss the heavy thing off, ignoring the sound of it rolling away from you while you kissed your husband. The Mandalorian’s warm, soft lips against your own muffled the few stray giggles that tried to escape your mouth, tickled by not only his romance but also his mustache. Those dark chocolate eyes of his met your own, and the edges of his cheeks rolled right up into them with a dazzling smile. Maker help you.

“Din! Where the hell did you pick that up from?” A warm laugh reverberated against you before he was pushing his lips to yours in another fiery kiss.

“Saw it in a holovid once, some kind of… courtship ritual, I think. I’ve, uh, always wanted to t-try it…” His wavering baritone trailed off with a hint of embarrassment, and you couldn’t help but snicker.

“‘Courtship ritual’, huh? Golly gee willikers, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.”

His cheeks flushed pink, “Is it working?”

“Mmm… no.”

The gorgeous smile on his scruffy face was replaced with a scowl a mile wide, but you laughed and kissed at it anyway. You heard him inhale sharply when you started to push your tongue past his lips, and he met yours with his own. Without parting, he slowly stood the pair of you back up, and you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him even closer.

Free from the muck of the forest floor that had clung to his armor, or the stygian waters of the river soaking his cloak, the familiar scent of him had returned. Rich and smokey, sweat and leather and blast plasma and the faintest remnants of the fresher soap you adored. The spice of him saturated your lungs and drenched your heart with the promise of his eternal company, giving you that delightfully warm and gooey feeling that he alone could give.

You pulled your lips from his and kissed at his cheeks and the tip of his angular nose before grabbing the sides of his head and bringing his brow back to yours. He almost fought you over it, torn between wanting his lips against your skin and the joy of you indulging in his sacred inheritance. Either way, the stubborn little ‘patu’ that peeped up from the floor had you both pulling away to bring the foundling into your arms, you were a clan of three, after all.

It would take a few jumps to make it to your next destination, and if she could speak, the Razor Crest would tell you how glad she was for your company as she carried you through the stars. There had been a time in the old ship’s life where she had only known silence, save for the screams of captured bounties, her hull had been nearly barren with only her captain for comfort. But then the foundling had come into her Mandalorian’s life, and the sweet sounds of a child’s laughter warmed her steel heart, amplified tenfold by the starsongs you brought with you when you had arrived as well.

Like a serenade written to the stars themselves the three of you flowed through her ironsides, a triple-part harmony that reverberated from the top of her transparisteel dome to the depths of her cantankerous stardrive. The chimes of the navigation panel had gone unheard while the streaking stars spiralled around the old dropper, her passengers fully engrossed with each other's company. There was so much laughter now, between stories told and songs sang high, the starcraft’s walls nearly rang with mirth.

The jokes you would tell, as terrible as they often were, made the Crest’s captain smile so often now; his scruffy cheeks going right up into his eyes whenever he flashed those pearly whites. He was so sweet, so gentle when the beskar was lifted from him, as if a new man was made every time the armor fell away. The oath of riddurok had given him such a gift, the gift of touch, and he relished in it at every turn; pressing kisses to the faces of the two he loved most.

And when it was time to rest, hidden away in the little sleeping alcove the three of you laid, wrapped more tightly together than any captured quarry. Below the howl of the hyperdrive engine, so faint it was almost like a secret, would come the sound of your starsongs. For your boys alone would you let yourself remember the rhymes of timelost sailors, sang low and slow to ease them to sleep. The foundling usually blacked right out on the first verses, but your unarmored husband would grapple with the pull of sleep for as long as he could, just to hear your voice.

When you dropped out of hyperspace the uncaring iceball called Hoth dominated your view, nearly blinding you with its glaring white surface. Your captain flew the Crest over the snowy expanse, looking for any sign of life or even a point of interest, but the ice fields seemed to stretch on forever between snow covered steppes. You had to pull your visor down just to be able to look out the window, and you attempted to cycle its settings as if that would do you any good, but everything came back as solid colors as far as the eye could see.

“This is bullshit, there’s nothing down there.” In your palm the bounty puck glowed faintly, making a liar out of you; but you ignored it to watch a herd of large, bipedal herbivores making their way along a mountainous ridge. The Crest put the animals in the rear view quicker than you would have liked, and you leaned against the transparisteel with a huff. In your lap the foundling was watching joyfully out the window, seemingly undeterred by the blinding snow. You started trying to get the baby rearranged when you saw the fob flash erratically before going back to lazy blinks. “Din wait! I think we passed it!”

“Passed what? I don’t see anything.” Below you the vast expanse was flat as a fresh pressed sheet, only dotted here and there with specks of icy blue.

“Circle around!” You tucked the foundling under your arm and unbuckled yourself from your seat to squish into the narrow space between Din’s armrest and the dashboard so he could see the fob for himself. He slowed the mighty metal bird down as slow as she would go and flew her in a wide circle back towards the way you’d come in.

Flash… flash… flash flash flASHFLAsh flash… flash…

“You see that? There gotta be something down there, maybe it’s under the snow. Take us down, captain!” In the corner of your eye you caught the slightest jostle of his helmet, though it could have just as easily been the rocking of the ship that made his head move, but you knew better. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, captain.” The poorly veiled cheekiness in his voice was met with a loving suckerpunch against the side of his pauldron. You’d completely failed to learn your lesson about the bite of beskar, and you hissed at the iron’s sting on your knuckles. The Crest floated down gently, her engines kicking up flurries of crisp white snow over the broad expanse. The moment the landing struts had locked into place your armored companion was grabbing for your wrist. “That’s why you shouldn’t try to fight me, mesh’la.”

“Bite me.”

A soft thumbpad brushed gently against your reddening knuckles, making you wince just slightly. The black gloss of his single eye slowly coasted up to meet your own, then cocked sideways. “Looks like I already did.” With his other hand he lifted the edge of his helmet just enough to press the softest kiss to the back of your hand, and though his sweetness made your heart thunder against its cage, the wry upturn of his lips almost made you want to punch him again.

Under your arm the foundling squirmed and cooed, and you brushed your captured hand along the edge of your husband’s bristly jaw before pulling the child around to your chest so you could both look out the window. The alabaster plains stretched out in all directions like the Dune Sea of Tatooine, nothing for miles.

“Din I think this fob is busted, and probably the puck too, there’s fuckall out-”

*-crik- c-c-crrrack craack!-*

Something snap-crackle-popped outside the ship, like the sound of suspension cables breaking. High pitched creaks between deep, almost gutterel booms. Ice.

“Cyare… don’t… move.” The armored monolith was frozen solid, more frozen than the ice underneath you apparently. Not even the sound of his modulated breathing could be heard in the stillness of the flightdeck.

*...cricckckcick..creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak……cruUNCH!-*

The ship lurched, a vicious gash splitting the ice below you. You lurched with it, your heart leaping to your throat as your arms squished the baby tight. A gloved hand shot from the steering controls to steady you.

*-k-k-reaaaak thuddduddudud… crRONCH!-*

“Oh fuck.”

*….CrAcK-!*

The Crest tilted nose-first into the growing abyss, and your oathsworn had only a split second to haul you and the foundling into his seat before the old girl was hurtling through the breach.

For a moment you were in free fall, a canyon of aquamarine flying past the window, darkening with every passing second. It felt like slow motion, your legs becoming weightless while the rest of you was anchored to the pilots seat.

*-ka-RuNcH!-*

Rigid muscle and beskar enveloped you as the Razor hit the ground, metal crunching and screeching with the impact. Your deathgrip on the foundling was only matched by the armored grasp around you, keeping the two of you locked safely to Din’s chest. Bulbs flickered and wires sparked in the waning light of the flight deck, though your eyes were so tightly screwed shut you didn’t notice. You took a cautious breath, only now aware that you had been holding it before wrenching an eye open. Beskar dominated your view, the heavy helmet of your husband pressed tightly to your face.

“Are you ok?” came a modulated whisper.

“Yeah, are you?” He nodded against you, and you peeled yourselves apart to inspect the foundling that was encased between your chests. Baby Beans chirruped and ogled at his fussing buir, the two of you knocking into each other while you both checked him for damage. When he’d passed both your inspections you glanced around the cockpit, though you guessed from the sound of the impact most of the damage would be down below.

You practically needed a crowbar to get Din’s arms off of you, his protector’s instinct running at full bore to guard his clan, but you managed to weasel out of his iron grasp. Frigid air gusted up through the ladder hole before you’d even crossed the short distance to the drophatch, making you shudder. Below, the force of the impact had torn the Razor’s walls asunder, breaking apart her riveted seams. Icy wind blew in through the gashes, freezing the mist that sprang from your eyes.

“Oh, my poor Lady…” You whispered, your heart aching from seeing your ship so wounded. Heavy boots made their way down the ladder behind you, and you turned to your oathsworn, “Can… can we fix this?”

“We can try, but you need something warmer.” Stoic as the day you met, Mando strode to the bent lockers and forced his way in, pulling out a heavy parka and draping it around your shoulders. The cold weather garb was entirely too big for you, but it snuggled around you like a warm hug, blocking out the frigid breeze. In your arms the foundling peeped out from the collar, just enough to watch his papa without getting too chilly.

Din was elbow deep in another wrecked cabinet, scrounging up whatever tools he could find to repair the damage. You joined him at the growing pile, holding onto the child with one arm and trying to pick a portable welder up with the other. Hands too full, you ducked into the oversized parka and worked to stuff the baby up under your shirt, cinching your belt under his butt so he wouldn’t fall out. There, stay warm you little fart.

It took a while for the two of you to make enough progress on the broken bird to get her closed up again, but many hands make the work lighter. Ship repair had been your very first duty when you went starborne, and your hands remembered how to bend durasteel to your will, though you would probably need to get to an actual mechanic if you were going to be star-worthy again.

Occasionally you caught the tilt of your Mandalorian’s visor when you fired up the welder or cranked a ratchet against a stubborn bolt, snapping away from you when you’d shoot him a sly wink. Once the cabin was passable, it was time to work on the exterior, but you swatted at Din’s occupied mitts, demanding that the two of you take a rest beforehand. His back cracked when he stood up straight, and though he wouldn’t admit it, a break was a good idea.

“Do you have a kettle or something I can make hot water in? I think I saw a canister of broth we can heat up.” Your repair work on the hull must have been pretty damn efficient, because the parka was beginning to get warm, and you started to shrug it off when you heard the rackety sound of something clattering to the floor.

“B-buir’ika?” Behind you, Din had dropped a heavy tool and was staring at you with that black hole gaze of his.

“Boo-ear-eeka? What does- oh!” You glanced down at yourself and laughed, your tunic protruding with a large, rounded tummy. “Chilly beans!” Bending forward, you pulled your collar down so your oathsworn could see the half-lidded eyes of the cozy foundling hidden below the swell of your breasts. “I didn’t want him to get cold.”

When you looked up from the babe’s sweet face, your armored husband had silently crossed the length of the hold and was nervously reaching towards you, his hands hovering over the lumpy shape in your middle. Gently he set his palms to where the child was bundled, slowly gliding over the taut fabric and making you flush crimson. Din did a double take on your cherry-red face and pulled away, muttering an apology and hastily returning to his duty as kettle-fetcher.

When you’d gotten the foundling out of your shirt and the thin soup heated, you sat down on your regular eating crate with your crew. The three of you took your break quietly since eating or drinking in your presence still made Din a little embarrassed, but between his timidness and the awkward term of endearment the tension in the cabin was so thick you could cut it with a vibro. He usually pressed his back to yours, but now he was hunched over his bowl of broth, sipping silently.

When your cup was empty you got up from your seat, pressed a kiss to each of your boy’s heads, and got your tools around to work on the outside of the Crest. You were garbed and out the exit before Din could protest, though you wouldn’t have listened anyway if he did. Once the ramp closed behind you, you took a deep breath of the glacial air, letting it clear your head. Shore leave was a luxury you rarely got to indulge in during your early years, and your love of having your boots on the ground only got stronger as the years went by.

The basin you had crashed into sprawled beneath the ice sheet high above your head, supported by enormous pillars of frozen water. This had probably been a lake once, or even a small sea, but when the water drained it left behind the frozen aquifer you now found yourself stuck in. High above you the light from where you had fallen through the ice cast frosty sunbeams through the falling snow, faintly illuminating the mythical columns in cobalt and turquoise hues.

Your boots crunched through the ancient permafrost as you made your rounds, taking a mental checklist of the Razor’s damage. Her keel had taken the brunt of the impact, but one of her wingtips was pretty busted up, a twisted panel sending sparks into the cerulean cathedral that would probably take two people to fix.

Out of curiosity you pulled the blinker from somewhere in your parka, relieved to see that it was indeed flashing. If you had thrown your crew to the depths of Niflheim on a busted fob you might never forgive yourself. You wondered what the acoustics would be like in the icy cavern, but the threat of bringing the fragile ice sheet down around your ears kept you quiet. Holding the fob up, you made a wide circle around the ship, trying to pinpoint which way the blinks were fastest. This way… You cast a quick glance over your shoulder at the Crest with her ramps still closed, and started towards your quarry.

~

In the ship's durasteel depths, Din sighed and groaned, unsure how to feel. He hated not being next to you, but he respected you enough to know you might need some space after… that. He tried to distract himself by wiping off the foundling’s mush-mouth with the edge of his cloak, but that almost made things worse. Our foundling.

Everything about The Way encouraged the safety and procreation of younglings, and not only as a riduur but also an Alor he should be fathering many children with you to recover Mandalore’s losses. But you had said you weren’t ready, and he honored your wishes, but even so, his heart ached with the desire to see you filled with his warriors.

He knew he shouldn’t, but that was suddenly all he could imagine, you round and glowing and full…

“Damn it.” He could feel his face flush red, and the honeyglow seeped through his bones all the way down to his guts, forcing him to pull his helmet back on just to regain his composure. When the visor was back over his eyes, he glanced down at the foundling, who was making some kind of face up at him. “This is your fault.”

“Patu!”

~

The Crest was a good distance behind you now, the edges of her wings partially obscured by the ice, but not quite out of eyeshot. The air was stagnant so far below the surface, the cold of it sitting heavy in your lungs and freezing inside your nose. Aside from the towers of frost and fallen snow, the cavern was empty. Enormous, but empty. This fucking fob, there’s nothing here. You were half tempted to chuck the hunk of garbage away or stomp it out, take the loss just to get the fuck out of here, when you felt a subtle breeze waft over you.

You were too far from the breach for it to be coming from above you, and you held perfectly still, trying to determine its source. Too faint, you bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, chucking it high above you and watching the way it fell. That way! Suddenly excited to play Arctic Explorer, you hustled to find the source of the breeze.

Twice more you used the snow as a compass until you were at a colossal glacier, the size of it easily big enough to swallow a large starship. A splotch of dark blue stood out against the ivory, and as you got closer you saw it was a fissure in the ice, a tunnel of some kind. Maybe this is where the water went. The air coming out of it was making your parka flap around you while you held up the fob: flashflashflash. Whatever it is you were tracking had to be down there, and you brushed ice crystals off of your faceplate to flip through your extrasensory settings until thermal flickered to life.

Warm. The air coming out of the tunnel was warm, though only by a few degrees more; not enough to thaw your bones, but enough to register on your visor. You stepped forward, tucking your head into the tunnel. Dark as the depths of an ocean and just as blue, the frozen tube stretched away, darker and darker until it turned to void. Stepping just inside the entrance, you flailed when your boots nearly lost traction.

This is dangerous, I don’t know what’s in there. A gust of air blasted around you as if to warn you away. Could be anything, maybe I should wait for- Ah FUCK!

The thought was knocked from your skull when your boots slipped out from under you and you slid ass over teakettle down the icy channel, vanishing into the dark.

~

The inside of the Crest was immaculate, more ship-shape that she had been in a long time. Din had to keep busy, after the repairs were given another once-over and you still hadn’t returned he had started reshelving all the tools and cookware, and only when the last thing left to do was mop did he give up his endeavors. Where the hell is she? He was getting anxious, more so than he usually was. His hands fidgeted with the strap that crossed his chest, thumbing at each of the slugs in line. She should be back by now.

What if she’s hurt? His hands froze on the leather, his breath catching in his chest. He knew you were capable, but what if something got you, or you fell or… or…

“Kid, let’s go.” The ‘what ifs’ that drained out of his thoughts and down his throat turned to bile in the pit of his stomach, and he had to do something about it. She can be as mad at me as she wants, I don’t care, I just need to know she’s safe. Quickly he grabbed a few supplies, loading up his rucksack with rehearsed precision: bacta, shovel, thermos, jet pack, munitions, rations. The foundling gibbered while his papa wrapped him up in a heavy blanket before setting him in his pram. I’m coming, cyare!

~

The slip-and-slide you had gotten yourself into wooshed past your ears, and you could only curl in a ball to protect yourself as you hurtled through the chasm of ice. The violet hue coming through your visor slowly turned to warmer tones as the temperature steadily increased. You struggled to grab a vibro off of your belt as you spun through the dark, but the singing dagger only scraped against the solid ice, the permafrost so old and strong that not even steel could cut it.

Under you the angle changed sharply, tossing you on your ass over another slope before you were falling through the air. You tucked and rolled when you hit the ground, desperately trying not to get your neck broken. Skittering to a halt, you cautiously let yourself uncurl, but what your eyes saw made you think you had landed on your head.

“Woah.”

~

The top of the Crest was still damaged, though Mando knew you had left with the intent to do repairs. Not up there. Your footprints circled around the old ship in a few loops before heading off into the cavern. Fuck, where did she go? The prints from your shoes still glowed faintly with residual heat on his visor, and he checked on the foundling’s comfort one more time before following your trail.

~

The Universe has a strange way of granting wishes.

Crystalline gravel crunched underfoot as you approached the beach you had landed in front of. Mineral-rich water bubbled and boiled in front of you with volcanic heat, steaming up the chamber you now found yourself in. The thick, viscous ooze was so leden with salts that its edges were caked with jagged deposits that lapped against the sides of tall, crested structures that almost resembled a reef. The subterranean coral ranged in size and height from just below your knees to easily three times your height, almost brushing the stalactites that hung from the vaulted ceiling.

You wished you had a holo-corder or data cube handy, because there was no way anybody had been here before, though maybe for good reason. The colors on your visor ranged from bright yellow to teal to hot motherfuckin’ pink, and you lifted your faceplate up to wipe at the sweat that was beading on your brow. The vibrancy of the reef without your sensors was even more garish in person, caught in the radiant light that seemed to drip from the ceiling on the tails of glow worms.

The ground under your boots sounded like glass breaking as you wandered through the cavern, spellbound by the sprawling grove. It took a herculean effort to bring your gaze down to the fob in your hand: FLASHFLASHFLASH! You held the tracker high, doing a little spin to try and locate the target, letting your feet walk on their own. Maybe the coral is the target? Stopping at a particular orange staghorn, you held the fob to its spongy flesh, nope, not this one…

From fan to tube to spiraling tower you walked, holding the fob up to each one in turn, waiting for a solid link. The reef thickened as you moved away from the lagoon, growing in taller and thicker clusters until you had to scrape your way between them to continue. Under your parka you were sweating like a quacta, but the spiny polyps on some of the branches could easily scratch you without it as you wormed your way between them. The crystalline gravel under you started to make a different noise, from a crunchacrunch to a squishasquash. Beneath your boots, long, dark purple roots were growing, pulsating with the fluid that flowed through their veins. Eww…

~

The silence of the cerulean cathedral weighed heavy on Mando's audio processors, more so than the stillness of the air. He was in full hunter mode, following your tracks to where you were hopefully safe and sound, though if he let himself think anything else he worried he might have a full blown panic attack. No, can’t think about that. Find the quarry, find your wife. Don’t think about her being hurt, or lost or scared or…

From the open pram a chirruping coo echoed softly between the towering pillars of ice, bringing Din’s attention to his son. Though the foundling looked alright, the tips of his ears were turning the faintest shade of blue. Din pulled his cloak off, though he needed it just as much in the sub-zero space, his foundling always came first. The fabric heaped out of the pram, almost covering the child completely. If she were here, would she put the baby in her shirt again to keep him warm?

Suddenly he didn’t need his cloak, the fire in his chest surging out to burn at his ribs and scald his cheeks. He stopped, shaking his head at the embarrassment that sprouted from his scorched insides. You’ve got it bad, Djarin. Your tracks had lost their heat, but he could still clearly see your footprints in the snow, and a flood of determination spurred him on. Find the quarry.

~

The dark purple roots lead you to a grove of anemone shaped corals, their thick tentacles reaching for the jagged sky. At the center of their radials sat a fat, lumpy bulb, protected by fleshy limbs. Draped between the spires, more of the icky veins hung like vines, throbbing and pulsing with whatever goo they were filled with.

Touching the blinker to the closest arm, the flashing red light went solid, bingo! “This is it!” Your excited voice would have echoed in the chamber that you had fallen from, but the sponges soaked up your words. You’d left the puck back on the Crest, but you remember you were here for some kind of shape, eggish or stone like, but the waving arms arched upwards into bare, knobbly tips. Fruitless.

That left the pod in the center, probably some kind of seed in the bottom of its pistil. Gonna have to cut my way though. You turned your attention to the viney spires that blocked your path to the center and pulled a vibro from your now sweat-soaked parka. Cautiously, and without turning on the thrummer, you touched the blade to the creeping flesh.

Your knife sank easily, and the fluid that filled the tentacles oozed readily out over the steel. Oooooh, pretty! Though it was mostly clear, the syrup gleamed with a holographic, oily shine, looking like a melted rainbow as it seeped through the wound. The open gash quickly grew new vines that slimed their way around their host trunk, pulsating with goop. Weird.

What hit you next was the smell, an intoxicating sweetness like honey on fruit sitting out on a hot summer day. If the anemone was poisonous, it had a devilish way of attracting its prey, whatever that might be, because the temptation to lick your knife clean became almost overwhelming. That is the stupidest goddamn idea you’ve ever had, get cuttin’, damn it! You hacked and slashed your way to the center, trying to out-cut the regrowth; but the scent quickly made you feel hazy. You reached out to grab one of the arms for support, your cloudy head threatening to toss you on your ass, and the serpentine buds tried to coil around your wrists. Sonofabitch! Fuck off ya big vegetable. Just… just a little further.

~

“Of course this is where she went.” Standing at the crack in the ice, Mando was pacing back and forth with his hands stabbed to his hips. Your tracks ended abruptly at the fissure, and the slick surface told him you had probably slipped and fell into the dark, and he was going to have to jump down after you. The hole stretched far away through the ice, so far that not even his full helmet’s array of sensors could detect the bottom. He rested a boot on the icy surface, giving it an experimental slip. If he fell down the hole as well, he would be no good to either of you.

Every protective instinct told him to jump, go in after you, get you to safety, but his hunter instincts knew better. Fishing the trencher from his bag, he sat down at the entrance and tucked the shovel under his knees, pointy side out. He pulled the foundling’s crib into his lap and carefully started the slide. The shovel blade screeched against the tunnel, and though it couldn’t break the ice it would at least slow him down as he scraped his way through the dark.

~

You were dizzy, the coral’s perfume making you falter. Your goal was so close, but in your haze you were starting to get tangled in the vines that laced through the anemone's arms, and it wasn’t long before they were tangled around your own outstretched limbs. Stupid fern, ger’off me! Yanking against the tendrils only seemed to make things worse, and soon your legs were being caught up as well. Fuckin’shit’it’all. Progress to the core stopped completely, and you stood a moment to catch your breath. Fucksake, this shit is strong! You knew you weren’t moving, but even dazed you could feel something snaking around your boots, and you kicked at the movement, horrified to find that you couldn’t. Shit balls of fucking hell!

The slimy vines coiled around your legs, and you fought valiantly to cut them away, but the more you cut the more seemed to grow like hydras from the anemone's wounds. They were up to your knees, then your waist, and the weight of them started to pull on you until you were dragged to the ground. Struggling in their grasp, they tightened on your arms until you could only writhe like an insect caught in a spiders web. You started to scream, but the creeping thing stuffed itself up under your faceplate and plunged into your mouth.

Something warm and wet oozed between your teeth, and you bit down on the assaulting tendril, only to flood your mouth with more of the sweet syrup. Even in your panic you were taken aback by the taste of it, sweet and rich, almost ambrosial, and a wildly primal instinct told you that you wanted more. Around your limbs the vines were not constricting, merely holding you down, and you took another cautious gulp of the nectar. Your fear began to subside, though in the back of your mind you knew it shouldn’t; you were in a subterranean hellscape, far away from your partner, with some bullshit plant keeping you hostage, but maybe one more taste wouldn’t hurt...

You sucked at the intruder, delighted to find it give you more of the tasty substance, the flavor of it settling warm and snuggly in your belly. Closing your eyes you lapped away, enjoying the hazy, almost drunken feeling that was washing over you. It was blissful and comforting, even wrapped up in the living spires you couldn’t be bothered to care as long as you got to have more.

Something slithered up around your legs and waist, but caught up in the ambrosia you paid it no mind until it was worming its way into the waistband of your pants. Your trousers were pulled down around the tops of your boots, and though the sweltering volcanic atmosphere was making you sweat, the heat burning between your legs almost made the air feel cold. The sudden change in temperature reeled you back to reality, and you tried to spit the vine out while you squirmed in the hydra’s grasp. Another gush of nectar leaked over your tongue, and you greedily sucked it down, feeling another wave of cozy fogginess settle in your head.

Not even the sweetness on your lips could distract you from the feeling of something slimeing its way between your legs, leaving a trail of slick around your entrance. The goop tingled, leaving the same warm and wet feeling behind that it was leaving in your throat. Maker help you it felt good, though some distant instinct screamed to you that it shouldn’t, but you couldn’t hear it if you wanted to. Your back arched, driving your hips against the coils between your thighs, chasing the sensation.

The hydra’s arms pushed their way inside you, many thin strands that sqirmed and writhed, working to stretch you wider. Their efforts slicked past your clit, rubbing the tantalizing ooze around the sensitive little nub while they opened you up. Your hips rocked on their own, though in your captured state you were nearly helpless to chase your own high, but the coral’s limbs worked you up for you. Inside you could feel them, sliding past each other in the warm slick in tandem with the rubbing on your aching clit making you obscenely wetter.

You cried out around the knob still in your mouth as a thicker arm started to push up into you, gliding through the slick nectar. The smaller vines coiled around the newcomer, spiraling up its length as it started to pump in and out of your dripping cunt, adding ridges to the smooth length. Fuck it’s thick! The ties on your legs held you in place as the tendril fucked itself into you, twisting and slimeing around your insides. Hot streams of juice, both yours and the hydra’s, coursed down your thighs almost embarrassingly fast, and you choked and gasped around the spigot while you came.

As if it was emboldened by your orgasm the tentacle surged up into you, leaking what felt like gallons of the wonderful, mind numbing nectar into your fluttering cunt until it was pouring out of you. It thrust against your cervix, dragging the smaller tips around the sensitive muscle. More of the threadlike tendrils tried to push in with the larger one, plucking at your clit and folds and playing you like a sinful harp.

The sensation of it all stoked fire in your core until it was nearly burning you alive, and you gladly let the blaze consume you as the devious creature fucked you stupid. Warm juice practically gushed out of you when you came again, squirting all over the arms that held you captive. Your legs were pulled further apart, anything to open you up to fit more of the sneaky devils in you until you were stretched as wide as you would go, the girth of the serpentis shaft pushing against the bones of your hips from the inside.

Slicked thoroughly, the widest arm rolled against the muscle that protected your womb, and even in your lust-drunk state you could feel it pouring its juices into you. The smaller tendrils followed the nectar up into you where no cock could ever reach, teasing at the rim of the protective coil until it started to relax. More pushed past the ring of muscle until you could feel it gaping, holding you open against the large, blunt tip.

The thrusting stopped, and you mewled sinfully around the vine between your teeth, begging it not to, oh fuck please don’t stop! Whatever aphrodisiac you had been pumped full of was screaming for more more more! Your body hungered for more release, as if you hadn’t drenched the surrounding reef underneath you. You flickered an eye open, but the way your back was curved gave you no vantage of the scene below your waist, but you could see the central pod you had so valiantly tried, and failed, to reach.

From a hole in its top grew the amorphophallus that was filling you so deliciously, and you watched in horror as it pulsed something bulbous up its length. The bulge got closer until it disappeared from your line of view, but it wasn’t long before you felt it, something big pushing against your entrance. You cried out against the gag, but you were held steadfast as the rounded thing forced its way inside you.

The width of it knocked against your hip bones until it was past their crest, and you clenched as best you could around the delicious stretch until you felt something you’ve never felt before. You’ve been fingered, you’ve been fucked and loved and filled to capacity, but the weight of something being deposited in your belly was something wonderfully new. The heft of it felt good, filling and wholesome, though the feeling of terror was still trying to permeate your hazy mind, telling you to run, as if you could. Your hands were bound to your sides, but you wanted to rub at your belly and feel what had been put there. The press of another orb teased at your entrance, and you bucked your hips at it, encouraging another fill.

So good! The unknown object settled in your womb next to the first, the size of them pressing against the back of your abdominal wall, any more and you would be showing. A third bulge made itself known, and you seized your coils around it, letting it bring you to release with its stretch. You came around the vines, and the hydra wormed another pod past your cervix, riding with you through your high. A fourth, a fifth, sixth! You forced an eye open, and the swell of your stomach was visible over the curves of your breasts. Fuuuuck, any more and you really might be fit to burst.

Three more times you were gloriously stretched and drained, the exertion of so many orgasms nearly causing you to faint, but you would do so gladly in your heightened state. One more for good measure pulsed into your swollen belly before the vines receded, and the bindings on your arms and legs withered and died. Gloriously spent, you laid on the ground in a pool of nectar and juices, weakly tugging the vine from your mouth so you could gasp for air. With shaking arms you tried to pry yourself free of the dried tendrils, but the nectar that still filled you felt so good that you almost didn’t want to move, lest it drain out.

The first thing you noticed when the effects began to fade was how much the skin on your abdomen hurt, it felt tight, and you weakly brought a hand up to feel it. Maker above! Your belly was full, and you poked at your protruding middle, feeling the pods inside you slosh around in the devious nectar. Warm goo poured out between your legs, making your eyes roll back from the heat. Through your cloudy mind you thought you heard something, something far away that sounded like shouting. The shouts got closer, and you could almost swear it sounded like your name. Maybe it was.

“Tra’laar!” That was definitely your name, though it sounded distant and fuzzy. You tried to call out to the voice, only to cough up more of the sweet syrup that lined your throat. The taste of it was still as delicious as it had been from the beginning, and another blaze of heat coasted down your spine and made your guts clench and your belly jiggle. Licking your lips you called again, this time with enough force to actually make noise, and the sound of corals being torn apart as something barreled through the reef towards you made itself known.

“Tra-” Mando skittered to a halt somewhere beside you, the sound of your gifted name snagging in his mouth. There you were on the cavern floor, covered in dead vines and some kind of goo, but the most distressing sight of all was your sudden pregnancy. Cautiously he approached you and started untangling your arms and legs, trying to clear the offending tentacles away. He kneeled beside you, his armored hands hovering over your rounded shape. “Riduur’ika? Wh- what happened to you?!” His voice was shaking, barely a whisper coming through his modulator.

“Heeeyyy~” You purred, still buzzed on the herbal wine that had soaked every nerve in your body. “Babe… I think… um. I think there’s something… i-inside… me?”

“Well I can see that!” There was some kind of tone to his voice, wedged somewhere between anger and fear and maybe just a sprinkle of desire. “What did this to you?!”

“I dunno... that wiggly thingie got all up in my bisnatch.” You rubbed at your eyes, trying to get some clarity while your armored companion stressed himself to a frenzy. Mama-hen Mando’s fretting started to make you giggle, and the jostling of your laughs had your tummy jiggling with its fullness. Above you your oathsworn was horrified, but all you could see was his silly visor and his twitchy hands. “Prob’bly need to do something about it, don’t we?”

“Fucking hell, cyare! Yes we need to get whatever that is out of you!” He sounded really upset now, panicked even, and you shook your head trying to shake the daze. You started to sit up, but the weight of your womb made it a struggle. “Hey take it easy! Here, let me help you.” His protector instincts kicked in, and he was wrapping himself up around you to raise you to a seated position. You couldn’t help the way you rubbed at your tummy, still riding the high of the juice that coated your cunt and thighs and stuck to the back of your throat. I wonder if I can bottle this up and sell it.

A soft leather hand placed itself on your swell, moving over your taut skin with a featherlight touch. “This isn’t right,” you heard him say, “I should be the one filling your belly, not some fucking vegetable!”

Stupid chuckles burst out your mouth and made you snort, “Pfft… babe are you jealous some fruit by the foot knocked your girl up?”

“Damn it all yes I’m jealous! Of course I am, I'm your husband! And why aren’t you more upset? You almost look like you’re enjoying this!” You ignored him to swipe a finger through the goop on your leg and bring it up to your lips, slurping noisily at the colorful syrup.

“It’s this stuff, it’s tasty! You should try it!” The snap of his visor told you he wasn’t going to indulge you, but his gentle touch was pressing carefully under the drop of your belly, and you could see him watching the way it wiggled. “Bah, you like this don’t you? Don’t lie to me, bucketboy.”

“No!... Well… maybe a little.” He shook his head, trying not to be disoriented by the same daze you were. “We’re getting this out of you right now! Can you sit up? Get on your knees?” He guided you up off your butt and onto your haunches, the weight of your middle lurching forward from the motion, swaying under you. “Stars above, mesh’la, I-I don’t know how to f-feel about this…” He trailed off, torn between seeing you swollen full and knowing damn well whatever it was could probably kill you. “You’re beautiful…”

“Ha, I knew you liked this, now c’mon and get this fucker out of me, yeah?” How the actual fuck were you supposed to do that? Your partner pulled his gloves off and went for the obvious route, sliding his long, calloused fingers up inside your sopping cunt with a curse. Three of his devious digits went up without a hitch in your overstretched state, teasing around to get a feel of you.

“I didn’t know you stretched this wide, cyare, does… does this feel good?”

You shot him a sideways glare, letting your lips turn up in a mischievous sneer. “Ye-yeah, feels amazing.” the ambrosia was still making you sex crazed, and even with your legs covered in your own arousal you could tell there was still more to give. “Din..?”

“I’m right here, buir’ika, I’ve got you.” He scootched back behind you, wrapping one arm in between your breasts and your belly to hold you in place while he hunted through your slick folds. Din had become an expert at finding that naughty patch of nerves behind your clit that had your muscles tightening around his strong hands in seconds, and you let him work your ecstasy right back up. “That’s it, mesh’la, fucking stars I can feel you, you’re close! Come for me, that’s it, that’s a good girl.”

He pressed his helmeted head against your own, burying the sharp edge of the beskar in the meat of your shoulder while you tightened around him. His other arm pressed down on your swell, and the force of your orgasm squeezed something out of your belly and through your channel, rubbing deliciously against your walls as it passed into his waiting hand.

The seed pod that practically popped out of you was a dark purple egg-shaped thing with swirls of green and blue, matching the description of the bounty puck to a tee. Mando brought the thing around for you to see, rubbing at your side encouragingly. It shimmered in the eerie light of the cavern only briefly before it withered in his hand and flaked away on the volcanic breeze. Gone.

“Um, Mando…” You whispered, feeling a weird mix of arousal and fear ooze down your thoat with the unicorn slime, “I think if we’re gonna get them back to the ship, I think they have to, um, fuck... stay…

“Absolutely not! What if they poison you? What if they break open or s-something and kill you?”

“But the bounty-”

“Fuck the bounty!” He roared, “Fuck everything! I can’t lose you, cyare! I… I won’t, especially for a handful of credits.” The desperation that clawed at his voice stung your heart, but you were determined not to fail in your mission, no matter how creepy it was.

“Din,” you hummed, trying to calm him down, “I’m ok, really! Maybe a little mess- Oh~!” The Mandalorian’s fingers slid right back up your weeping cunt, fucking into you mercilously. His rough fingers slid easily through the slick, and he made up for the lack of friction with sheer determination. “Ah! Ah Din! Din yes! Oh yes!!!” High as a kite you went, coming all over his persistent thrusts. His grip tightened on your middle, and another pod escaped your womb.

“I told you to stop trying to fight me.” Oh fuck he’s using that voice! Dark and husky right in your ear, searing electricity over your flesh and blowing up your ovaries. The voice of a hunter, the voice of an alpha, whether he knew it or not. The timbre of it vibrated so low and strong you couldn’t help but whine against the beskar pressed to your face. “You’re going to stop arguing and you’re going to be a good girl and let me fuck you empty so I can fill you right back up. You’re mine, MY riduur, and the only thing that should be inside you is me!” His command flooded with raw power, and you blasted out another pod or two at his words alone.

You were gone, soaked to the core with desire until all you could do was moan into the armor that held you steady. Bonelessly you gave him everything you had, drenching his arms and knees with your holographic slick. Determined as ever, your armored protector pumped into you, cupping your whole pussy in his palm while he stuffed you with his fingers. When you’d rocketed the fifth seed out, you nearly fainted in his arms, drained of all your energy. Your mind was fuzzy, but you could almost pick up the sound of a question making its way over the roaring blood in your ears. “Huh?”

“How many more?” You shook your head, and a furious growl reverberated against your skull. His soaked hand slid out of you and shook itself somewhere nearby, sending melted rainbow goo flying. When the arm coiled around your belly left you, you nearly toppled, but he caught you swiftly. “Drink.” Metal was pressed to your lips, and the broth you had abandoned earlier graced your syrup-coated throat. You’d never been so thirsty, chugging it down until you were coughing, and the hand that held you reached up to cup your jaw, imploring you to swallow.

When the thermos left your lips, you leaned back against your heavily armored partner, letting his beskar hold you up. You were tired of the appetizer that was his fingers, and your swollen belly hungered for the real deal. You needed him. “Dindin… please… please I want your cock!” The body behind you couldn’t go any stiffer, and you felt his clothed erection rub against the curve of your ass. “I know you’re hard, fuck me, please?”

“Not til you’ve done as you're told.” His rasping voice was edged with heavy breaths, whether from the effort of claiming your clutch or trying not to cum in his pants you couldn’t be sure, but it sounded fucking hot as hell either way. Plated arms wrapped around you again, and you were pulled backwards into his lap with your knees thrown over his legs. He prodded your belly, trying to get a count of how many more orgasms he was going to give you. “Four… maybe five…”

Din went for your clit, spinning tight, vicious circles around the engorged nub and making you scream. “D-D-Din!!! Oh yeees! F-fuck me! Please p-please I-I want you in me!” He only hummed against you, rubbing his groin up against your ass to tease you while you came again. He stuffed an ungloved hand up your shirt to find your breasts, tugging and pinching at the sensitive buds until he could feel you shaking in his grasp and pleading for his thick, girthy cock to plow into you and scramble your guts even more than they already were.

For you he was taking charge of the situation, being the anchor you needed to get through this, but behind his faceless armor he was trying not to lose his goddamn mind at the sight of you. Where you sat on him he could grind himself against your soft thighs, and even through the layers of duraweave he could easily imagine himself sliding his length through your slick heat, drenching himself in your cum. Filling that belly. “Come for me again, cyar’ika.” He had to distract himself from his perverted thoughts, though that was becoming an impossible chore. Here you were in his arms, looking like some kind of glowing goddess with your womb as heavy as it was, and he cursed the Universe for giving him exactly what he’d wished for.

Damnation flowed through his modulator at the sound of your begging. “Is that right, cyare? You want me to stuff my cock in this soaked pussy of yours? You’re gonna have to earn it.” He was conflicted about talking to you in such a way, but something about the way he was speaking to you made your muscles clench around his fingers while you moaned against his armor. “You like it when I f-fuck you like this? I know you love these hands, cyar’ika, but if you want me to give you my cock you’re gonna have to come! Come so I can fuck that beatiful belly of yours full!”

Maybe he was talking to himself more than you, but you whined in his arms nonetheless as your walls squeezed and flooded. Another hot wave of slick coated his wrist, and he tossed the seedpod away, diving right back in for the next. His strong palm kneaded at your tummy, taking another count, two, maybe three more. He knew he should still be worried, terrified even, but damn it if he wasn’t harder than beskar. His cock was straining against the inside of his pant leg, desperate to grant his own desires.

“D-Din… w-wait…” He almost didn’t hear you, the thunder of his heartbeat roaring as loud as it was in his helmet, but your wobby arm came back around and patted his leg. “Th-thermos…” The canister was at your lips in a heartbeat, but you pushed it away. “C… Catch…”

Oh! The broth was poured out into the massive puddle under you, whatever, might as well add soup to the mix. He prodded your guts once more, palpating the hard lumps that still sat inside you, two left? “Cyare, that’s it, almost done. Come on, come all over my fucking fingers so I can b-bury my cock in you where it belongs!” You cried into the armor, heat searing from where he was pressed against you to your fluttering muscles to bare down on his fingers with your impending final climax. Dark, sultry praises rasped out of his modulator, so close to your ear you could feel the heat of his breath. “That’s it, ner riduur, one more and you can have my cock. One more and I'll stuff you with my own seed. You want that? Come for me so I can fill you up and breed you like I know you want me to!”

You nodded against him, making some kind of affirmation noise, but the last pod would be the toughest to pull, and he need to make you cum your fucking brains out if he was going to get it. He stopped his thrusts to tease at your stretched walls, rubbing his calloused fingertips against your slicked core. “What was that, riddur’ika? I can’t hear you.”

“Y-yes Din, please…” You were breathless, your words dryer than a desert as they scratched their way past your chapped lips. He laughed darkly against you, reminding you that you should probably stop teaching him new tricks.

“Yes what?”

“Breed me! Din please you big fucking jerk pump me full! I wanna be full of you!”

The cold metal of the thermos was pressed to your folds, making you cry out from the sting of it, but a hot fingertip groped at your clit, spinning one last mindblowing orgasm out of you that nearly rendered you unconscious. The metallic plonk that came from between your legs told you the pod had been captured, hopefully with enough of the nectar to keep it from drying out. Hunting is stupid. Din’s dry hand dug into the flesh of your stomach, searching for any more of the bullshit you had been filled with.

“There. Are you ok, cyar’ika?” Something like a nod wobbled your head, though the darkness coming in around the edges of your eyes told you that might be a lie. “You did so well! It’s all over now, let’s get you back up to the- cyar’ika stay with me!” Limply you laid against him, ignoring his exhausted pleas to slump against the rock hard tent pushing against your ass, trying to get him to make good on his word. You’d never been so spent in your life, as if you’d squirted out your very soul. Blinking your eyes open, you hazily saw the tilted visor of your oathsworn and shot him a lecherous grin.

“You gonna fuck me now like you said you would?”

Mando was rarely as grateful for his armor as he was right now, the cold, emotionless beskar hiding his sweat soaked face and lust-drunk eyes. The way you were watching his visor made him think you could hear the cogwheels in his head spinning out of control. Yes, yes a thousand times yes! Beautiful creature of the stars, more wondrous than any constellation. Her cunt is so perfect, so warm and wet and beautiful and literally gushing with her arousal, just begging for me to fill it. To fill her, Her womb is open, ready and waiting for my seed to be planted, a fertile haven for my younglings. They’ll be so strong, born with daggers in their teeth and songs in their hearts. I want to see her filled. I need to!

“No.” His reply barked dryly through his modulator, chewing on the sound of his denial. “We need to get out of here right now in case that fucking thing decides it wants to go for round two.” The arms that held you together wrapped around your back and under your knees, lifting you gently away from the mess. Weakly you held onto his neck, barely aware of the reef as it passed you by. Staring up at him through tired, tear-washed lashes you were filled with warmth, though not the heat you had felt from the hydra’s nectar. Better than that. Still, though the pleasant sensation was thrumming in your heart and your cunt, you were a bit peeved that he wasn’t going to give you what you’d begged for.

“You suck”

“I know.” The back of his mind roared with desire from hearing you literally beg for him to fuck you full, making his cock throb painfully against his duraweave. Keep it together, Djarin. Stars above he didn’t want to, he wanted to make good on the filthy promises he had poured over you, but there was no telling what else was lurking in the reef. He had to get you to safety, get you to the ship, and maybe then he could indulge himself. Mark you as his territory from the inside. Shaky fingers dug up under the edge of his helmet, and the feel of your skin against his face made him halt. “What is it, ner cyare’se?”

“You’re… you’re a good man. And a good dad.” The Mandalorian froze solid at that one, cocking his visor at you sharply. A new pull made itself known in his chest, something tugging on his heartstrings. Your eyes were closed, having long since given up the ghost as you started to fade away, and it took massive effort for you to drag them back open to see him. “Even if you do fucking suck s’metimes. You take good care’a me, ‘n Beans too, we’re v’ry lucky to have you.” Your words slurred, and you tried to lick your lips to get them to cooperate, but only found more of the ambrosia stuck to your face. You wouldn’t be cognizant much longer. “Thank you, Din.”

His name being spoken by you was more addictive than any spice, and paired with the praise you were whispering against his metal he nearly melted right down to the ground with you. That was all he ever wanted to be. A good man, a good husband, a good buir. Honeyglow flooded his bones, soft and warm and gentle, the polar opposite of the beskar he was covered in. He felt you curl a lock of his hair around in your fingers, the gentle tug on his scalp making him rumble. The life of a hunter was fucked up, to be sure, but as long as he had you and his son, it was bearable.

You kissed at the chest plate you were pressed to, the one that hid the embodiment of your vows safely next to his heart. He pressed his helmet to your brow, and the way you hummed against him in his arms made him want to run back to the Crest where you could have some privacy and peel his armor away, give you what you had so desperately begged him for. Maybe it was the way you were laying so limply against his cuirass, but you seemed so small to him in that moment, like without him wrapped around your body you would dissipate on the volcanic breeze like the pods had. Protect her.

“You’re… welcome.”

Your fucked-out face nuzzled against him, and he couldn’t help but hug you even tighter, making the scent of you coast up under the edge of his armor. It was different, fragrant and succulent though it was probably the juice that still clung to your legs and face. The scent of you was still there, just enhanced by the aroma, made stronger. He took a deep breath of you before continuing through the reef, almost tripping over a low coral when he wavered. Wavered? Why am I wavering?

The sound of a deep, indulgent inhale caught your ears, and you flickered an eye open to see him burrowing the front of his helmet in the fabric covering your breasts. Against you his chest ballooned fully, holding the scent of you in his lungs until it stuttered through his modulator with a curse. You giggled weakly, “Smells good, don’t it?” A low grumble made the plates against you vibrate, telling you the siren scent of the anemone was seeping into his brain. “If you think it smells good you should see how good it tastes! Try some n’ then get’cher self some sloppy seconds, I know you wanna~”

“No! The last thing we need is for me to get caught up in whatever the hell pumped you full of… quarries.” The imagery of that made you chuckle, silly, stupid laughs that bounced off his armor. He was practically jogging now, though you could feel him stumble through the stoney gravel every once in a while as the perfume of the anemone grove started to sink into his synapses. “We’re almost out of here, just a little further…”

“Bah, alright party pooper. I’ll getcha when we get back aboard.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

You curled against him, feeling his arms go somehow even tighter. The living fortress that was your Mandalorian carried you with declining ease through the reef, and you could tell from the engine purring away under his armor that he was not nearly as composed as he sounded. One more poke, for good measure. “I love you, Din.”

“And I you, cyare.” His response came out a little cold, but only because he was desperately trying not to melt away into the same puddle of goo you had been turned into. Again you whispered his name, gliding through his ears like a song, and his heart ached to kiss you, to taste the flesh that hugged his Creed-sworn secret so well. He hadn’t heard it in so long before you came, and though his old alor knew it, it was forbidden, meaningless. But coming from you it was powerful, strong enough to bring him to his knees if they weren’t so busy wading through hell and highwater.

Vaguely you were aware of your egress, though most of it flickered in and out of your lust-lost mind. The warmth of the cavern fell away to be replaced with the cold, rushing air of the tunnel as you rocketed back up to the basin. Maybe you were dreaming of the sound of boots crunching through snow, or the soft gibbering of the founding, you couldn’t be sure, but it was pleasant nonetheless. You heard words being spoken from time to time as well, all of them muddied and faint. Maybe they were Basic, maybe Mando’a, but all of them sounded like they cared. Like every syllable and intonation humming through the iron on your cheek was spoken for you alone.

Your Mandalorian carried you diligently back to your broken chariot, trying his best to make small talk with the foundling as he floated along behind. The child seemed worried at the state of his adopted parents, And Din rattled off every reassurance that he could think of, but his legs were starting to weaken from the scent of the nectar so close to his helmet. He marched on through the glacial basin almost on autopilot until the Razor came into view. Warm air sent flurries of snow around him and his crew as the ramp fell open, and blearily he made his way inside.

He had to do something about the state of the two of you, but his knees locked and froze him to the spot, demanding he take a moment to breathe. There it was again, the fruity, summery scent of you that made his dick throb. Damn it all. Shaky steps hauled him through the cabin, and he laid you down on the little cot you both shared. He needed to get your soaked clothes off, but in order to do that he would have to get out of his own armor first. He shrugged off the helmet, though the metal had been protecting him from the temptation of you more than he realized, and the heat that gooped its way through his body from the pungency of your scent nearly threw him to the floor.

Din punched the buttons on his vambrace, closing up the foundling for the night whether he was ready for bed or not. Sorry kid. He peeled his armor away, setting the beskar aside and tossing the soaked fabric into the fresher. Next came your own clothes, and at first he worried he might wake you. Stars knew you needed the rest, but you made no indication that you even knew he was there.

Your limbs flopped like jelly while he tore off your clothes to be chucked into the fresher along with his until you were beautifully naked. Spread like a feast before him on the narrow bed, he couldn’t help but lick his lips. Little shimmers here and there told him that you were still coated in the hydra’s goo, and his first thought was to grab a washcloth to clean you up, but you stretched your lovely arms and made the splashes of color dance like melted candy on your skin, making his mouth water at the sight and giving him a much better idea. Maybe just… just a taste.

~

The faint whirring of the Crests innards caught your attention, and you came back to consciousness with agonizing slowness. You were laying on your bedroll, tucked safely away in the durasteel depths of your ship, though you weren’t sure if it was dark or if you still had your eyes closed. Warm fog settled in your head and wafted through your bones, a mindless comfort that left you blissfully numb. It could have been whatever the hydra had left in you, or more likely, it was whatever activity was going on below your waist. Your breath hitched in your throat, surprising you, but not as surprising as the stars that flashed behind your eyes. “Ah~!”

From between your legs a lusty groan shot right up your cunt and made you fist your hands in the plush fabric underneath you while you came. How is there anything left!? A broad tongue lapped at your clit, slurping away at the remnants of the nectar that coated your folds. The smooth muscle dragged itself through your slit, drinking in everything you were giving before sliding right back to that sensitive little bud to tease circles around it.

“Mesh’la.. I’m.. I’m sorry, I c-couldn’t help it, you taste so good~” The Mandalorian’s baritone rocked you to your core, and another flick of his tongue had you coming all over his face again. “P-please… forgive me.”

“F-f-forgive? Bahh… I told ya it was good, now get lickin’, bucket boy.” You tangled a hand in his curls, pushing him back down to enjoy his just desserts. His tongue fucked into you with reckless abandon, hungry and desperate for the taste of you. He dug his arms under your thighs and forced your mound as tightly up against his face as he could, and you heard him gasp for air between gulps. Exhaustion and pleasure tugged your eyes back closed, and you teetered in and out of consciousness, being brought back to the realm of the living with each fresh wave of ecstasy. Something rhythmic moved against your leg, the muscles in his shoulder thrumming away at something well out of sight. Is he jerking off?

In his hand he was going to town on his aching shaft, using the glittering goo that still flowed readily from your gloriously wet pussy to coat himself in. The coral’s effect had been burrowing into his brain stem from the moment he could smell it, calling to him like some kind of siren; but finally getting to taste it was an otherworldly experience. You had been through enough for one hunt, and though he craved release like a sex crazed animal he would happily content himself with just getting a taste of the ambrosial sweetness while you relaxed.

It hadn’t taken him long to coax the rainbow juices from your stretched folds, and even less time to slick himself with it. For a brief moment he thought he would just lap enough from your wellspring to get himself off, but soon he found himself unable to tear his face away from your delicious cunt, slurping away at the honeyed slick until he was nearly drowning in it. He dragged the colorful fluid around the tip of his cock, almost creaming himself right then and there with the warm tingly sensation that dribbled down his length.

Stars above you were juicy, wet and engorged against his frenzied tongue, though the rest of your body was boneless against him. He didn’t mind holding your legs up on his shoulders while he lovingly cleaned the nectar from the core of your body, in fact he was delighted to be of service. Lost in his indulgences he almost didn’t feel you tug on his hair, bringing his eyes up to meet your own.

“You… you can… in me… please... “ Nothing remained of your shattered mind, but you almost felt bad that he was trying to take care of himself when you were right there, ready and waiting. He shook his head against your leaking slit, dragging himself up for air to answer you, making the hazy emergency lights of the cabin sparkle in the wetness that covered his mouth and chin.

“I shouldn’t, you need to… to rest… ”

“Should’a thought about that before you started tonguin' me. Now get up here and fuck me like you said you would!”

You were starting to wonder if he liked being bossed around, because he growled against your core and yanked you back towards him, burying himself balls deep in one swift thrust. His wet mouth crashed against your own, giving you a taste of your own medicine. Fuck he wasn’t kidding, that’s delcious! He thrust into you with ragged strokes, messy and out of time. Muscular arms wrapped around your body, flooding your senses with the combined scent of him and the intoxicating perfume of the sunken grove.

Din hugged you close to his sweaty chest, digging fingers into the back of your head and the swell of your ass so he could rocket into your wonderous coils, punching the blunt tip of his cock against your tired cervix. His kisses were frantic but messy, all tongue and teeth and heated breaths as if you could do any better. You were almost surprised that you could feel him as stretched out as you were, but the spear of a Mandalorian was nothing to be scoffed at. The girthy thing rutted against your walls, bottoming out with every desperate thrust.

“Not… gonna… last… much... “ He choked on his own words, making a half dozen more ragged thrusts before blasting you full of his cum, painting your walls with his seed. The ring of muscle fluttered against his weeping tip, almost like a tongue that was greedily sucking his cum into your depths. That’s the only seeds she should be filled with, he thought blearily, my seed. His hips twitched against you, giving a few more staggered thrusts to milk himself to completion in your forgiving heat.

Din was panting, driven nearly to exhaustion by the effort of making good on his promises to fuck you senseless. Under him your own breath was stuttered, your chest crushed by his weight. He coiled his arms around you and rolled you both sideways, using the last of his strength to tuck you up under his arm and lay your head on his chest. You murmured something fondly against him as he lazily threaded his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face as best he could, but the soft breathing against his skin told him you probably didn’t notice. Soft kisses danced over your face, more for his enjoyment than your own, a fact made apparent by the cutest little snore in his ears. Sleep well, my love. And thank you. For everything.

He could lay there forever, with the weight of you on his chest and the hot slick sliding down his thighs, if he died right then and there he would die a very happy man. His fingers tried valiantly to run themselves down the curve of your spine, but there was no energy left in his body to power them, and he let them rest in the dip of your hips. Your breaths came slowly, a gentle rise and fall that heated his skin where you were pressed tightly against the crook of his neck. Din kissed your forehead again before tangling his limbs around you and burying his nose in your hair. Tomorrow we can get the exterior fixed, the inside is warm enough for now.

A gentle smile tugged at the edges of his lips, making his whiskers catch your hair. And maybe if it’s too cold for the foundling, she’ll keep him in her shirt again. Din couldn’t help but hum at the thought, you all cute and round, even if it was only temporary. By marriage you were a buir to his foundling, as truly as you would be if you had sworn the Creed, but the thought of you carrying his own flesh-and-blood ad’ika was the guiltiest pleasure he could imagine. Now that he knew what you would look like all full and heavy he could more easily indulge those devious thoughts. It was probably wrong to recall the image of you laying on that vibrant nest of tentacles, glowing and radiant and full. And in need. Needing me to care for her.

He wouldn’t admit it, and he knew you were tough enough to take care of yourself as long as you didn’t go sliding down any mysterious chasms, but he loved being needed by you. He loved that the name you had screamed for in that sunken grove was his, that you needed him to rescue you, needed him to pull the pods from your belly. Needed him to breed you. He could hear you in his mind again, you desperately begging him to fill your womb with his warriors, but you had only done so while drunk on the hydra’s wine. Was there any truth to it? Probably not, he’d practically demanded that you beg for it.

But what if there was?

Tired fingers pulled you impossibly closer to him, as if to invite you to sleep in his ribcage, curled up next to his heart. You grumbled in your sleep, murmuring something about tater tots before letting loose a beastly snore. The Mandalorian rolled his eyes, that’s her, that’s my mesh’la, my cyare, my riduur.

And maybe, when the time is right, when the bounties have been collected and the universe doesn’t seem so hostile. Maybe when we find another convert, or even just start one of our own. Someday, maybe...

Maybe I can call her my buir’ika as well.

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[footballxwrites]

The MM taking care of you drunk but with Trent please? ❤️

“Look what the cat’s dragged in” you heard announced on your arrival, stumbling into the house and swinging the door shut behind you with a thud before attempting to guide yourself into the living room. “Trentttt” you whined, throwing a hissy fit as you balanced your hands firmly on the side table, flinging your heels off and dashing them across the wooden flooring as your legs were on the verge of giving way, “whatttt” he shouted back, mimicking your tone as you heard an abundance of laughs in the background, remembering he had a couple mates over for a lads night while you went out clubbing with the girls.

“Come here pl-please” you muttered out your words in small burps, “can you not come to me” he called as you let out a swear under your breath, hearing FIFA and the clicks of controller buttons, “Trent Alexander-Arnold” you huffed back in a serious tone, “are you telling me a game is more important than your loving gir-girlfriend?”

“Course not” a smile appeared on your lips as that familiar face you’d missed came into view, walking towards your drunken body that was well and truly done for the night. “Woah watch it” he giggled as your arms moved to grab him, only to misjudge the distance and nearly fall flat on your face, “I’m a b-bit wasted” you replied in hiccups, a sleepy grin staying on your face as he pulled you closer to his warm scented chest. “How many you had eh” he asked, slinging your arm over his shoulder before carefully stumbling into the living room and collapsing onto the sofa, “one too many I’m guessing...” as you nodded, a proud look upon your face.

“Cheers for the night lads but it’s probably time you headed off, I’ve got to get this one up the stairs and into bed somehow” he laughed, raising his eyebrows, knowing it was bout to be an effort as it always is when you have a few drinks. “Take a lady out before trying to sleep with her” you jokingly slurred, letting out a yawn as he rolled his eyes before showing his mates out.

“Right should we get you into something comfy first off? he smiled, hovering over you while scooping your half sleeping body into his arms and taking you up into the bedroom where he gently placed you on the fresh crisp sheets. “It’s been a good night” you said as he hunted around for your pyjamas, eventually giving up and grabbing a spare t shirt of his that was a few sizes too big for you before fiddling with the dress zip. “Well I’m glad, as long as you had fun that’s all that matters” he winked, dropping your dress to the floor and throwing the black tee over your head, “I love you” you sobbed as he stared confused, watching your lip quiver. “Oh I love you more my baby” he jokingly cooed, leaning down to peck your lips which you happily agreed, going in for a full force snog, you might be drunk but still most definitely horny as ever.

“Noooo” you whispered as he moved away only for you to grab his hand and stop him, “i need you” you smirked, gazing up at him while biting your lip. “What you need is sleep...you can have me all you want in the morning but I doubt you will with the dreaded hangover” he giggled back, kissing your head one last time before shuffling the sheets back for you to climb into, “right, pills are on the side next to the lovely big glass of water and the sick bowl is down there next to the bed...please aim for that because these are clean sheets, fresh on today ok?”

“Yes yes I understand, now get in” you pulled him towards you as he smiled, whipping off his clothes so he was just in his boxers before getting in behind you, his body heat bringing you comfort as his muscly arms drooped around you, resting comfortably on your hips, “thank you...I know I’m a nuisance when I’m sm-smashed” you sighed, spinning around in his grip to face him. “No you’re not, a bit whingy but nothing new there” he joked as you tapped his chest, “goodnight darling” he moved you closer as your eyes closed, “I feel the headache coming already” you whined, “get some sleep because you’ll feel ten times worse in a couple hours” he giggled as the pair of you dozed off in seconds 🤍

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph!

Love you ♥️

Can you and your followers maybe help me out? I'm writing a story where John is Canadian, what are some Canadian dishes that he'd be easily scandalised over if done wrong? You know, in this joking way like when we butcher some Italian dishes for example and you get an Italian village throwing pitchforks (all jokes fam)

I think poutine is Canadian? What are some do's and don'ts?

Thank you :3

Hey Nonny!

AHHH what a fun question! Ahhhhh, funnily enough, a lot of our cuisine is very American, BUT the one I was going to suggest WAS the poutine hahahah. It’s legit one of my FAVE foods, and my city has a Poutine Fest every summer when we’re not in a pandemic, LOL, and it’s just the best thing ever.

It’s the one that is ALWAYS make or break for me personally! It differs by region and nowadays, because of the ease of “buy everything in a can” for food, but a poutine can be greatly affected by what type of the three main ingredients you use.

A proper “original” Canadian poutine (pron. POO-TEHN) is made with fresh potatoes skin-on, gravy made from beef broth (dark brown, THICK gravy... this REALLY REALLY matters), and cheese curds (NOT shredded or chopped up blocks of cheese). BUT because not everyone’s tummies can tolerate ALL THAT HARD TO DIGEST FAT AND DAIRY, obviously these days, any poutine is good, as long as it’s got good fries, hahah. Poutine Fest has trucks that sell “hamburger” poutine and “mac and cheese” poutines (I’ve had both, and they are delicious), so really, it’s all about what you like. But yeah, IF you can eat cheese, get it with curds.... it’s NOT the same without the curds. I know many Canadians judge a poutine by the curds you have in them. It’s because they melt and get SUPER stretchy, which is why it’s fun!! This website here, actually, has a pretty good rundown of how a good Canadian poutine should be made :)

These days I make my poutines with bagged frozen fries, St. Albert’s Cheese Curds (one of the local cheese farms that sells in-store), and St. Hubert canned Poutine gravy (very subpar, but it’s the best of the canned gravies for poutine), topped with bacon bits, green onions, and a dash of salt. TOTALLY not an every day snack, but it’s nice to treat myself once in awhile. Really though, there isn’t a RIGHT and WRONG way to make poutines, but I CAN say that Americans make very.... subpar poutines. Except New York Fries. Theirs is really good.

Ah, hmm, what else? Timbits (doughnut holes) are the perfect snack. Popular “group” snack, since you can order them in Party Packs. 

Maple syrup, very important! The best syrup comes from sugar farms, costs a lot, but SO worth it. There’s a BIG difference between pure maple syrup and whatever fructose crap sold in bottles on the store shelf. Canadians have “maple season” from February to April where you go to a sugar shack (cabane à sucre), pour hot maple syrup onto the snow to make maple taffy / candy and eat it. Best thing ever. Every Canadian kid who grew up in Northern Ontario of my generation has gone to at least ONE during a school trip.

And another one I am REALLY fond of and miss, are Persian Buns. It’s COMPLETELY a local thing in Thunder Bay where I grew up, and when I was a kid, you made sure you had money to buy a Persian on Persian Day at school lest you look like a LOSER. It’s literally a cinnamon sweet roll with strawberry sugar icing on it. They were the best, and I miss them so much.

AHHH sorry, I got super nostalgic there. That last one is completely not an all-Canadian thing, but it’s very VERY localized.

OH!! BEAVERTAILS. Americans call them Bear Claws / Paws, we call them BeaverTails, they taste better, and they’re shaped like a beaver tail, LOL. Staple of Canadian ice skating winters on the Rideau Canal. We actually have stands here where I live all year round, but yeah, people go NUTS for them. It’s literally a pastry with cinnamon sugar, sometimes with additional toppings (see the link above) and they’re HUGE, like the length of your forearm and about an inch thick.

OH!! A Tourtière (pron. TOUR-TEE-AIR, but faster and roll the ‘R’ because French people talk fast and all our R’s are rolled LOL), which is a meat pie made with beef and pork. Some Québecois will not be happy if you make them wrong, LOL. Traditional French dish my family has on Christmas Eve. 

OH. NANAIMO BARS. One wrong mess up in a recipe will ruin them. Trust me, I did this once, EEEEEE.

Montréal Style Bagels. The best bagels you will ever get, tastes like heaven, that’s why they’re shaped like halos.

OH! And Canadians are VERY VERY proud of our craft domestic LOCAL beers. Wherever John lives in your story, look up the local brewery, because that shit is important to some Canadians, and it will make the story more believable. Same goes for wines, especially if your John is from the Niagara region. They’re popular for their wineries and wine tours. And Canadian beer is better, and I don’t even like beer LOL.

Hee hee! I was just scrolling to see if there’s any other I have a comment on, and I actually found this great article about Canadian things you HAVE to try, so yeah, these are all staples of Canadiana! <3

Food Network Canada also has some here too! I have lots to say about all of them minus the seafood and the Caesar, but yeah, all of it is delicious, and just makes me proud to be a Canadian! <3 

AND finally, some a lot of the best-known Canadian cuisine comes from the French Canadians and from our First Nations People [see here for some make-at-home recipes] (bannock bread is AMAZING!!), so have a look see at that too – these are the cultures I grew up with and currently live around, so they’re the ones I’m most familiar with. I know that there’s regional food out west, in the Territories, and out east that I’m unfamiliar with, but do some research on Canadian food, it’s all very unique and amazing.

As I said, a lot of Canada has a lot of “local” things, so many of us make things in our own ways, and we’re pretty easy going about it all, because it’s food and we love food. But yeah, I think poutines are the biggest one. Most Canadians who love poutine will tell you every other poutine EXCEPT a French Canadian poutine is inferior, LOL. 

If any of my fellow Canadians have anything local to their region to share, or has some words about poutine because it is very divisive, please share LOL.

This was such a joy to write, and now I want Persians. :D

[writethelifeyouwant]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Sam Winchester (SPN) x Spencer Reid (CM)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags: implied one night stand, college bar, questionable decision making, flashbacks, Stanford!Sam, virgin!Spencer, making out, grinding, back alley blow jobs

Created for: @spnkinkbingo - TedTalk!Sam | @there-must-be-a-lock 3,500 followers / 30th birthday celebration - Sam x Spencer

Summary: When Spencer comes across a viral TedTalk, he's stunned to see he recognises the speaker.

When he gets into the bullpen that morning Spencer goes through his usual routine. His messenger bag and scarf are dropped onto the desk, jacket slung over the back of his chair, and mug filled with coffee that – thankfully – smells fresh. He holds the warm ceramic tight between his hands, letting his fingers re-acclimate themselves to blood circulation after his walk in from the bus station, while his computer flickers to life and his inbox loads.

After years of resisting the advent of modern technology, Garcia had gotten fed up with him and set up his work email address with a few things to tempt him into reading his emails. Every day he comes in to cute pictures of baby animals - courtesy of the chain between Garcia, JJ and Emily - as well as newsletters from medical journals, physics journals, and psychological studies. Spencer opens today’s email from the TED conference series and sips his coffee while he waits for the embedded videos to load. Last week there had been a really interesting keynote on educational psychology, and he hopes there is something equally as stimulating today.

The headline under the video isn’t particularly enthralling, Top Federal Lawyer Shares How To Win - In the courtroom and in life, but Spencer nearly spits out his coffee when the video thumbnail loads and he recognises the speaker.

Sam Winchester. So he’d gotten into law school then. More than that, he was now one of the top Federal Attorneys in the country, according to the bio in the email. God, he’s young to have that job, he’s only two years younger than Spencer. Even Hotch hadn’t made it that far up the legal ladder by 35. He remembers Sam as intelligent, charismatic, intuitive – all skills that would have gotten him far if he shook the right hands along the way, but still – Spencer is quietly impressed.

“Hey, Pretty Boy!” Spencer hears Morgan’s voice distantly but he’s caught up in memories now.

“Pretty Boy!”

Spencer looks up from his drink and turns towards the sound of his nickname, about to tell Morgan to stop calling him that for the millionth time when he hears another voice shout back.

“Dude, can you just stop? I told you not to call me that!”

Spencer and Morgan both look puzzedly at the stranger who’d just told Morgan off. He has bright hazel eyes, and soft looking, light brown hair and – yeah, Spencer can see why someone might call this guy ‘Pretty Boy’.

“Oh, sorry,” Pretty Boy blushes and shakes his fringe in front of his eyes. “I thought you were Brady. I keep telling the idiot to stop calling me that.”

“I keep telling this one the same thing,” Spencer jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Morgan, shocked for a moment that he’d actually spoken. He wasn’t very good at speaking with strangers in bars.

Morgan claps his hand over his chest in mock hurt, expression teasing. “C’mon man, you know I’m only messin’ with you,” Morgan laughs and ruffles Spencer’s hair. “He is pretty though, in’t he?” he whispers conspiratorially at the other Pretty Boy and Spencer shoves Morgan off him.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my gun on me,” he threatens and Morgan holds up his hands in surrender.

“What like you could hit me?” And before Spencer has the chance to retort, Morgan’s dashed off, back to the table where Gideon is sipping a beer and reading through an open case file.

“So, you usually bring a gun on nights out?” Spencer takes a moment to realise the stranger is talking to him again.

“Oh I, uh,” Spencer stutters under the his open, curious gaze. “It’s not, um, I’m an FBI agent,” his voice shoots up at the end making it sound more like a question than a statement. “So it’s not, you know, illegal for me to–”

“Hey, it’s fine,” the stranger laughs and scootches one bar stool closer to Spencer. “I know who you are, actually,” he admits, ducking behind his hair again. “I was in the careers talk earlier.”

“Oh,” Spencer relaxes a little now he doesn’t have to explain himself but then tenses up again remembering how awkward he’d been during the presentation, and not really wanting to relive that experience if this guy was about to make fun of him for it.

“I uh, I’m Sam,” Pretty Boy – Sam – sticks his hand out, and Spencer shakes it, a little perplexed as to why this guy is still talking to him. “I’m uh, guessing I should call you Dr. Reid rather than Pretty Boy, huh?” Sam tries to break the tension with a joke and Spencer realises he’s still holding Sam’s hand, the skin soft and warm under his, and he’s staring pretty intensely at the guy.

“Um, Spencer,” he manages to choke out as he snatches back his hand and tucks his hair behind his ear.

“It’s nice to meet you Spencer,” Sam smiles, genuinely, but with some kind of intensity behind it that Spencer can’t place.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Sam,” Spencer tries the name out on his tongue and decides he likes it.

“I really liked the presentation earlier,” Sam says, taking a sip from the beer bottle he has in front of him.

“Are you thinking about joining the FBI?” Spencer asks, circling his fingers around his own glass to give them something to do, to keep them from creeping back along the bar towards where Sam’s are now resting.

“I don’t know,” Sam shrugs, turning on his stool to face Spencer a little more head on, and giving him a small smile. “I’m pre-law right now, but I thought it would be cool to hear about, I guess.”

“Law is nice,” Spencer nods. “We get a lot of people transferring in from law backgrounds.”

“Did you like the Academy?” Spencer grimaces at Sam’s question before he can help himself. “Oh, maybe not then,” Sam laughs.

“No,” Spencer rushes to explain himself. “I just, when I was there I was still really young, and y’know, people pushed me around a little. I mean, look at me,” Spencer gestures up and down his scrawny body.

“I am looking,” Sam breathes, eyes following Spencer’s hand and dragging across his form. Spencer freezes. Did Sam just… flirt with him? He has no idea what to do with that. He decides to carry on with his previous train of thought instead.

“With a guy like you... you wouldn’t have that problem,” Spencer finishes, feeling himself blush a bit in embarrassment at the lame conclusion. He was not doing a great job at selling the Academy.

“Whaddya mean? A guy like me?” Sam pushes with a knowing grin, that same intensity in his gaze, eyes still roaming over Spencer.

“Well, you, y’know,” Spencer waves his hand in Sam’s direction, hoping that will get his point across, but Sam just sits there smirking at him, waiting. “You’re all tall and, a-and,” his eyes catch on Sam’s shoulders, which are broad, and nicely displayed beneath a t-shirt that’s stretched just a little over the muscles there, “s-strong looking, I guess?” Spencer cringes. God he sounds like an idiot. “I bet you could throw around someone like me, easy,” he shrugs. Sam is still smirking at him, and Spencer takes another drink, trying to cool down the burning in his cheeks.

“You wanna find out?” Sam takes a casual sip of his beer, eyeing Spencer the whole time.

“Find out what?” Spencer’s brows draw together, not following. Sam grins and hops off his barstool, closing in on Spencer’s personal space. Most people might look threatening, doing something like that, but Sam just looks… happy. Carefree, almost – and excited.

“Just how easily I could throw you around,” Sam is still speaking pretty loudly to be heard above the noise of the bar, but he’s pressed himself close up against Spencer’s side and leaned in like he’s whispering in his ear. The feeling of Sam’s breath on his neck is enough to make Spencer shiver, and coupled with the words themselves, Spencer thinks he might just fall off his chair.

Sam pulls back to look Spencer in the eye, and Spencer finally understands what that darkness behind Sam’s irises is – desire, attraction, hunger. Sam’s eyes flick down to where Spencer is licking his lips, a bad nervous habit of his. That desire clouds Sam’s expression even more and he starts to lean down, eyes still fixed on Spencer’s mouth, and a split second before it’s too late, Spencer reaches out and places his hands on Sam’s chest, stopping him short.

“Sorry, I just...” Spencer glances nervously back at Gideon and Morgan who are, thankfully, engrossed in conversation and not paying him any attention. He looks back at Sam and sees the understanding flit across his face.

“Follow me,” Sam checks around them and then reaches up and grabs Spencer’s hand. Spencer makes a small noise of shocked protest but Sam ignores it, leading them around the bar and out a door in the far corner.

They emerge into an ally, dark and shaded from the street lights, and Sam immediately pushes Spencer’s back against the door they just came out of. Spencer stares at him nervously, but doesn’t pull away. This is nothing he’s ever done before. This is what Morgan does, picking people up in bars and slinking off somewhere private to do god knows what. This isn’t Spencer. But Sam’s still looking at him with those bright, beautiful, hungry eyes and Spencer feels something stir in the pit of his stomach that he hasn’t felt for a long time. And as nervous as it makes him, he lets himself admit that he wants this too.

Sam moves closer in, pressing his front against Spencer’s, and he feels solid. Yeah, this guy might be pretty but he could absolutely throw Spencer around if he wanted to. He feels himself shudder against Sam and the fronts of their hips skate against each other, sending a jolt of want to the pit of Spencer’s stomach.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice is low and soft, and it brings Spencer’s attention back to Sam’s face, which is only inches away now. “Is this okay?” Spencer nods, pleadingly, and Sam smiles. Sam’s hand comes up to his face and Spencer leans into it. His eyes slip closed as he relishes the warmth, this is more human contact than he’s had in months. And he doesn’t see it coming because his eyes are shut but then Sam’s lips are on his and wow – they feel amazing.

Spencer’s kissed people before but he’s never been kissed like this. Like he’s being devoured. Like he’s everything Sam could possibly want. And Sam is certainly everything Spencer could want. He pushes his hands up into Sam’s hair and pulls him in tighter. Sam moans against him and wedges their thighs together and Spencer swears that when he tugs on Sam’s hair again he can actually feel the twitch in Sam’s pants in response.

Sam is getting harder by the second and Spencer can feel Sam coaxing the same reaction out of his body. He juts his hips forward experimentally and the answering groan from Sam matches his own. Fuck, that feels good. And Sam feels big. Jesus Christ, Spencer doesn’t know how it’s possible for a guy to feel that big through that many layers of clothing and he can’t stop himself imagining how big he would be if he wasn’t trapped behind those jeans.

Sam grinds their hips together again and ducks his head to nip at Spencer’s neck, sucking a spot into the skin that’s visible above his collar.

“Oh my god,” Spencer whines, and he feels Sam grin against his throat, lips twitching in a smile.

“That feel good?” Sam murmurs against his skin, and when he ruts their cocks against each other again Spencer thinks he might die.

“God, yes,” Spencer pulls Sam’s lips back to his and kisses him hard and messy. Sam’s hands drag down Spencer’s chest and rub over his cock and Spencer’s breath actually chokes off in his throat.

“How far do you want this to go?” Sam asks against his lips, not wanting to break the kiss.

“I– I want…” Spencer knows what he wants but he’s scared to ask for it. He’s never done this before. The making out with a stranger in a dark ally part, or the more than ‘kissing and accidentally coming in your pants’ part. He doesn’t want to do that. What he wants is to drop to his knees and get Sam’s cock in his mouth. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it, so he goes for the next best thing.

Spencer drops to his knees with a thud, and looks up at Sam – panting, waiting.

“Fuck yes,” Sam moans and tears into his jeans, fists his cock out of his boxers and – yeah, he’s big. Shit, Spencer gulps, genuinely salivating at the thought of getting that between his lips. “This what you want?” Sam strokes himself in front of Spencer’s face and he can only nod, fascinated, not taking his eyes off the shiny red tip that is just begging to be sucked. “Alright Pretty Boy, let’s see what you got.”

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All SPN (No Incest): @delightfullykrispypeach @05supernatural20  

[quiet-kunoichi]

[ @suck-my-tomato | Halloween Party Oneshot | verse; highschool ]

It was their senior year at last, and Kimiko was not about to let it go to waste. The rest of her high school years had been spent either too insecure to show a little skin, or not single enough to get away with it without some disapproving stares. The tail end of junior year, along with the summer that followed, was spent in a near-lifeless haze: she’d become well accustomed to depressive dissociation and avoidance to the point of self-destructive isolation. Meanwhile, Sasuke likely had the time of his life as a bachelor in the paradise of their recent split: that is, until his chronically-ill brother took a lethal turn for the worse.  Upon hearing about Itachi’s sudden death, Kimiko had lassoed herself back into Sasuke’s orbit  — Invited herself inside ( she never returned the key to his apartment ), ensured that he was taking care of himself in lieu of his recent loss. Additionally, it felt like a loss of her own, too. She’d known Itachi as long as she had known Sasuke, for obvious reasons. As odd as it sounded once her feelings became obviously romantic for the younger Uchiha, Itachi felt like.. a big brother in-law. After all, he bailed her out of her holding cell after she’d caught Sasuke cheating with that bimbo redhead from chemistry. It was a wonder why he kept the kind of company that he did; the run-ins she’d endured over the last few months since her split with Sasuke had soured her to the whole ‘Akatsuki’ gang. Just a bunch of sleazy womanizers.  It’d been quite a few months since that had occured, and Kimiko and Sasuke were growing steadily more attached to one another, once again. Not nearly close to the way they were, before the letters ( still unknown to Sasuke ) and his decision to plant the seed of everlasting insecurity within her by betraying her trust for the opportunity to mesh face with someone new. For a short while before Itachi’s death, Kimi had arrived to parties solely to keep the recently hotheaded Uchiha in line. She was his designated stormbreaker, and was expected to deliver him home safely each night that he took things a bit too far. Those incidents didn’t come without their rewards, such as the few instances in which he’d cling to her in his drunken and drug-addled stupor, apologize profusely and confess his everlasting love.. Just to slip away into sleep seconds afterwards.  Admittedly, Kimiko would entertain the heartache of such a prentendedly wholehearted and pure moment before ultimately lapsing to silent tears and peeling herself from his side to take her quiet leave from his shared home. More than a few times, Itachi and the Tamashi would share a quiet and lingering look across the front room. Now that he’s departed, Kimiko often wishes she would have sat next to him and allow herself a single shred of comfort from the situation she’d found herself in. His stare had always been a little somber: Like he knew all of the things that she was shoving beneath the surface. Was this going to be her lingering reality? Harboring this blood-stained secret, playing guardian angel to a haphazard boy whom broke her heart but didn’t manage to drown her love? Perhaps she should’ve asked the wise Uchiha Itachi, before it became too late. Even if she grew back what was left of her mauled heart to learn how to forgive him, Kimiko knew now that a life of romance and love was never going to be the same, for her. Not with old memories dredged back up and spot-lit like fresh wounds, vague yet promising threats from her imprisoned and somehow still imposing father appearing two more times since that first letter made it to her porch step. Sasuke had changed faces and become someone new overnight; he squandered all of his previous promises of her being his one and only  — and it elicited a violent response that her father had only just forewarned her of inheriting. Perhaps this was just her destiny, after all.  Tonight would be different, in a sense: Kimiko was attending this senior year halloween party solely for herself. She wasn’t trailing in on Sasuke’s colonged scent, nor was she couped up at home until the siren call came and beckoned her to act as ‘Sasuke Uchiha clean-up crew’. She was here to cook up some fun of her own, solely for herself.. Which is precisely what she had told herself at the last party she attended three weeks ago for ‘Homecoming.’ That night tumbled away into a mess of limbs beneath trashed bedsheets: Sasuke and Kimiko had once again found the most intimate form of comfort in one another’s arms, for the first time in.. 8 months. Tonight would be different. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Did she actually just put all of this effort into her costume for the hopes that it would catch his attention above any other girl there? Was she hoping for a similar end to this mixed-bag night as the last party lured them to?  Perhaps. It was mostly for herself, though. Yes, the tight black latex zippered corset, a pair of short spandex that clung to her hips and ass like it was life or death, the heeled boots that cut off just below her knee and the tights that squeezed her curved thighs just at their most voluptuous circumference.. The feathered black wings attached to her back and the headband horns adorning her crown .. All the way down to her perfected makeup, the dark tinge to her lips and the dash of gloss at the very center.. It was all for her. Not to grab the attention of anyone who bothered looking her way, and certainly not to make his jaw drop. Once again, her phone buzzes from its place stashed between her breasts. With a sigh that exhales the last puff of her menthol cigarette, ( thank you, Shikamaru ) Kimi plucks the it from her corset and unlocks the device. A strange twist of disappointment curls her stomach when the texts popping up were just from the girls. Perhaps it was a tad childish to wish upon a ball of gas in the sky that Sasuke would reach out to her: provide some sort of hint that he was interested in seeing her tonight — that he wasn’t already wrapped up in some other nameless skank.  Instead, it was just Ino and Sakura, buzzing at her ear like flies and wanting to know ‘ Where the hell ’ she was. They made plans to pick her up, but Kimi had different plans for herself. Already outside the party house, the fallen angel runs out the cherry of her pregame cigarette against the side of a white Prius. It belonged to one specific redhead from junior year chemistry class. If she knew what was good for her, that bitch would keep a healthy distance from the Uchiha, and a restraining-order distance from the Tamashi herself. The rest of her flask is guzzled with little more than a post-swallow wince: the fire of honey whiskey lit her back to life. She’d shared swigs with the passenger seat of Ms. White Prius — poor decision to leave the windows open a crack. Now that her confidence was rightly bolstered by liquid courage and her anxious insecurities settled with those two cigarettes, Kimiko pulls herself off the car. She throws a single backward kick of her heel and dents the door, donning a wicked smirk as she heads up the walkway and pushes inside. The damn wings of a fallen angel knock against the doorway — but they’ll provide a healthy bubble of distance from everyone else around her as the crowd parts around her. If she learned anything from the parties she’d attended in the last year — it was to make a b-line from the front ( or back ) door straight to the booze selection.

 Although she was already feeling that hot buzz of spirits in her blood, Kimiko needed to secure a drink to clutch for the rest of the night. Any time something stupid was said, any time something unforgivable was done, she would take a drink. And if Sasuke was seen with another girl, after what happened between them at the Homecoming party three weeks ago, and how often she’s been at his apartment and patiently helping him sort through his emotions, after everything that happened between them.. Well, she’d guzzle the whole cup and then someone else’s, too. Maybe crack a skull, pluck a tooth off of the floor for keepsake..  Ino and Sakura have flocked to her side, bubbling with astonished compliments as well as soured remarks on the Tamashi’s disappearance. The familiar crimson of slow boiling rage starts to fade away from the corners of her vision. She’s standing at the kitchen counter, red plastic cup empty and surveying the options. “ Holy wow, Kimi! You look gorgeous. ” Sakura, the little angel of their trio, chimes in at her left. On her right shoulder, Ino the devil shares her opinion. “ Gorgeous? Fuck that. Kimiko looks drop dead sexy. This is definitely an ex-revenge costume. ” Silent as ever ( at least, as she’d become over the last year ) the fallen angel reaches for the rum, rolling her thumb over the cap and flicking it across the marble counter.  It glugs liquid fire into her empty cup while Sakura wraps around her arm and tucks her head against Kimi’s shoulder ( a good sign that she was inebriated, herself ). “ Ex-revenge costume? How’s she supposed to get revenge from an outfit? ” The naive pinkette asks. Ino scoffs, “ Are you kidding me? Do you know how many guys have cracked their necks just to gawk at her? I counted six, just on her trip from the front door to the kitchen. ” Kimiko adds a splash of tequila into the mix, as well as the rest of someone’s open redbull can. Then comes the mixer: some sort of grapefruit soda, and a lime. Like, a whole half. She likes the bite.  “ And other guys looking at her is supposed to be.. revengeful? ” Sakura questions after slipping from Kimiko’s arm, their polar opposite wings knocking against one another in her clumsy step to shoot a questioning look to their blonde-haired and red-clad she-devil. A hand comes up to Ino’s forehead as she sighs. “ Oh my god, I knew you had too much of my Prosecco. ” Sakura makes to protest, and Kimiko ( who has yet to acknowledge them or make an expression of either distaste or amusement ) takes a tasting swig of her drink. It wasn’t bad, but maybe it needs more grapefruit soda. “ The more attention she gets from other guys, the more jealous Sasuke is gonna get. She gives him a taste of what he’s missing out on. ” Ino explains.  Sakura pretends to understand, but she’s never been the type for manipulative revenge schemes. Her payback is served with a crack of her knuckles. Meanwhile, Kimiko uses a healthy balance of the two methods of torture. Even still, as both girls bicker over whether it was a good idea to lure that side out of Sasuke ( especially in lieu of his recent loss ) or to move on like he didn’t exist, Kimiko scanned the crowd for his unforgettable features. They had no idea of what happened between the two at that last party; they didn’t know about his once thorny exterior quickly becoming dependent on her emotional support through this difficult time, nor how she honestly felt concerned and protective over him despite still trying to figure out how to forgive him ( or if she even had the kindness left in her to accomplish such a feat ). At last, they’d found each other through the writhing mass of bodies mingling, dancing, flirting, and drinking in a kaleidoscope of lights. Yellow high-beams meet swimming pools of obsidian over the rim of her cup. The whole world deafens and stills around them: despite the five yards of distance that separated the two, Kimiko swore she could hear his shaky exhale as he drinks in her visage — wonders briefly if he could somehow hear the tripping thrum of her heartbeat as her stare flickers over his own devilishly desirable costume. Pulling her lips from her drink, the fallen vixen swipes bubblegum tongue quickly over her lip and offers a little wink across the room ( unseen from her female counterparts ). Let’s hope this doesn’t backfire.

[ofgentleresolve-a]

*brings cart full of these*: @ @ @ @ @ @ @

positivity for now bc i hate it when ppl say good vibes only ( ft. positivity meme ) || still accepting!

for every ‘@’ sent (anon or not) I WILL mention and post some positivity about a fellow tumblr user

fjskdlfjl thank you so much anon!!

okay!! so alex ( @gwyynbleidd ) is always a wonderful presence on my dashboard!! i love how they aren't afraid to show they are actively interested in their mutuals, just by how they'll spam memes. also they've got an eclectic section of muses- i've never seen a selection more varying in personality, but also backstory and like genre too?? also it's cool that many of them are connected to one another- really makes them feel more real!! also alex?? wonderful personality- super chill, fun, and funny to talk with via dash comm- i also very much appreciate their philosophy on writing... and they definitely practice what they preach!!

do you want chaos? okay about a mun who likes chaos but also is like super sweet and chill? io ( @kwatregats ) was one of the first people i also interacted with when i first came back to rp and i always really appreciate how relaxed and free-flowing they are when it comes to the progression of muse dynamics!! ester is a riot and i love that she along with the rest of io's muses enjoy making trouble ic....it makes my dashboard v entertaining to watch :D

speaking of ppl who i first wrote with, i must talk about cyan ( @bloodxhound )!! ah, yes- the other one of two reasons i initially came back to tumblr rp!! first of all, ray!! i love the gruff detective man who bullies to show love :'D he's so much fun to interact with regardless of WHICH muse i pick...most of if not all of my muses at least know him to some capacity and somehow it is inevitable that ray will be bullying them to some capacity :D ( unless ur mana, mana has rights ). but cyan!! SO SWEET. SO NICE. GREAT WRITER AND ARTIST I WANNA STEAL IT- i'm really the lucky one here to be able to write and plot with her for all these years!! i can't wait to give her and ray more chaos ( or sweetness ) to mess with!!

i don't interact as much with leo ( @thereckoniing ) but what i do know is that he's really chill and supportive of his mutuals!! i appreciate the layers that taewon has to his personality and to his backstory and I can't wait to learn more about him- that and i actually really like the himbo energy that taewon exudes around like ray and mana?? great times truly!!

oh yeah!! jiwon's mun ( @interxstitial ) is also super sweet and encouraging just like their muse! we haven't gotten far into our thread yet but i already ADORE the friendship between jiwon and lamon developing...jiwon's sweetness definitely matches well so far with lam's prickliness :'D

on the note of plots and great dynamics tho- you know who's really fun to plot with? yeah that's right, alex ( @jeoseungsaja / @theimpalpable ) is a BLAST to both write and plot with!! and even though i'm throwing different muses at the same muse ( so far ), alex shows such techinque with characterizing saja in each verse that it still feels fresh each time?? reaper and calum- wow that's gonna hurt/be fun when they finally meet via erza. hyuk and patrick - YEAH THAT ALREADY GOT ME IN THE FEELS. but alex!! super sweet and patient- i definitely adore talking with them and i love how excited they get about characterizations and relationships and character development AND how supportive they are of their mutuals on dash!! it's so sweet to see and really just...comforting?? rp can feel a lil' isolating so it's always lovely to see someone who genuinely loves writing and characters for the sake of it!!

another person who's devoted to character development tho has to be lena ( @mythvoiced )!! although i haven't gotten the chance to write with her yet, i do appreciate how much thought she puts into each and every one of her characters so they feel distinct!! i also love the curiosity she shows towards her mutuals' ocs just in how she'll send them hc questions :D also she's super supportive of her mutuals and i love seeing her excitement in the tags- it makes me excited about rp too!! all in all, someone i definitely admire on my dash :D

[hale-13]

Caliber

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 12 - Death

Peter grew up like most American kids running active shooter drills thinking (hoping) it would never happen to him.

Words: 2338, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, Various Midtown Students and Faculty

TW: TW: Gun Violence, Blood, Major Character Injury, Possible MCD (if you choose to interpret it that way)

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Growing up, Peter spent his early childhood in lower level genetics labs with his parents. Part of this was simply because they worked some weird hours at OsCorp but the other part was definitely because they recognized his intelligence and talent early and would give him easy experiments to run while they worked. Safe? Eh, maybe not but Peter had fun.

Well, until they died that is.

After that Peter would spend his time in the hospital daycare or nurse’s break room or sitting at Ben’s desk in the bullpen at the precinct where he worked. Daycare and babysitters were expensive and Peter was having a little separation anxiety from becoming an orphan at six. Peter accredits this formative time in his life to why he has a healthy respect of first responders, why he goes out every night in spandex to help his neighborhood (even if the cops hate him).

After the funeral, after May and Ben went back to work and started taking Peter with them, Ben sat Peter down to go over basic gun safety with him. He can remember that initial conversation pretty vividly: Ben had sat Peter down on the couch and had pulled out his unloaded side arm and the small safe he stored it in. He told Peter just how dangerous weapons could be in untrained hands, how Peter could easily hurt himself or others if he ever touched it, how Ben would always have it locked up but, on the off chance it wasn’t, Peter was to never touch it.

Peter had readily agreed and had steered clear of Ben’s belt and the gun safe next to his side of the bed his whole childhood.

The officers that Ben worked with were, for the most part, super nice to Peter and always took time out of their days to talk to him, bring him snacks and (attempt) to help him with his homework and Peter grew to be the most comfortable in the loud bullpen or the adjacent break room. The summer before he started his freshman year at Midtown, Ben and some of the other officers had given Peter a crash course in gun safety – how to clean, care and shoot a weapon – and it only took one trip to dash Peter’s dreams of working in law enforcement; he never wanted to handle a gun again.

Holding his uncle’s body as he bled out a few months later from the massive hole left in his back by the .45 caliber handgun only solidified that decision.

Luckily, in his tenure as Spider-Man, Peter tended to run into more sub-Ultron and Chitauri fare than the classic handguns and rifles he was familiar with which suited him just fine. When he did come across a run of the mill mugger or rapist who was using a pistol or something similar, Peter took great pleasure in using his super strength to rip it into tiny pieces – destroyed beyond repair and off the streets for good.

This had resulted in some unfortunate bullet grazes and full-on holes in his body that had prompted his helicopter mentor (under the order of Aunt May of course) to force him through another gun safety lecture, complete with a practical portion where Colonel Rhodes assisted in teaching Peter how to properly disarm and disassemble a variety of different sidearms. It was definitely cool to spend time with Actual War Machine but Peter rushed through it as quickly and throughly as possible. He never wanted to have the easy comfort with weapons that Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes had – he preferred non-lethal disarmament when patrolling.

All this said – Peter probably had more experience and knowledge with various weapons (human and otherwise) than he had any right to.

All of this experience, all of his time as Spider-Man, everything he had been through did nothing to help keep him calm and collected when his principal came over the intercom while Peter was in gym class to announce a code red shelter in place order. Like most high schoolers in America, Peter had gone through numerous school safety drills so he, in theory, knew what to do in a emergency.

In practice? Not so much.

Coach Wilson had looked just as pale and stunned as the class but had recovered quickly enough to rush the doors. A few other students had also started moving to gather some of the wrestling mats to roll in front of the doors once Coach Wilson had gotten them closed and locked.

He, unfortunately, wasn’t quick enough.

Brian Anderson, a sophomore Peter recognized from the debate team, forced the door open, brandishing the small revolver in a shaky hand. His face was pale, eyes red rimmed with tears with such a desolate look it made Peter’s own heart clench in sympathy despite his rapid heart-rate.

“Back up,” he whispered, using the gun to gesture for the coach to step away and the man obliged; holding his hands up in surrender and slowly backing away from the door. Some of Peter’s classmates, including Ned who, for once, wasn’t right at Peter’s side in class but across the room from him, had started to cry. Michelle, looking stony faced but terrified underneath it all, was trying to shush Betty Brant who was in the middle of a full blown panic attack and trying not to draw attention to herself.

“Okay,” Coach Wilson said, motioning the class members closest to him to back up with one raised hand, his eyes never leaving the weapon. “You’re calling the shots here Brian.”

Brian sniffled, fresh tears spilling over his eyes and hand trembling as he surveyed the room, eventually moving the barrel to point at Mark Conley, one of Flash’s friends and a notorious online bully. Both boys had gone nearly ghost white and the class seemed to be holding its collective breath.

“Sorry Ben,” Peter thought. “Sorry Mr. Stark.”

“Brian,” he called out, voice sounding much more steady than he predicted it would since he was just Peter Parker right now and not Spider-Man. “You don’t want to do this man.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Brian spit out, anger over-ruling all of his other feelings and his eyes landing on Peter. “You don’t know what I want to do!”

“I promise you don’t want to do this,” Peter said calmly. “I know what they’re like. You think they treat me any better than you? You’ll regret this if you do it.”

Brian snorted out a dry laugh, not looking like he found anything remotely funny. “Then you should want me to do this.” He said, cherry picking Peter’s words.

“But I don’t,” Peter told him, edging closer to the other boy, making sure to put his body in front of Mark as he moved closer. “Do you know how my uncle died?” Brian, eyes locked with Peter’s, shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “He was shot by some guy robbing a bodega. He bled out in my arms before emergency services could arrive.” Peter said bluntly, doing the best to ignore how his heart clenched and his eyes burned.

The barrel of Brian’s gun dipped down to point more toward the floor and Peter took a few cautious steps forward, stopping when he was only about five feet away. “They won’t stop,” Brian whispered, the tears flowing heavier but his finger still in place over the trigger. “It just keeps getting worse and I can’t take it. I can’t do this anymore!”

“I know,” Peter said, voice soft, dropping his hands down to rest loosely at his sides. He really wishes he had his web-shooters, secret identity be damned. He was never taking them off again, no matter what May tried to tell him about work/life balance. “I know what its like and it sucks but they aren’t worth throwing your whole life away. It’s not worth hurting all the innocent people you’ll hurt. You don’t want to do that to your friends and family.”

“I don’t have any friends!” Brian said loudly, raising the gun back up to point at Peter but Peter didn’t move from his relaxed position even though he felt his heart speed up to a gallop. He faced possible injury and death at least once a week but that was always as Spider-Man… never as Peter Parker.

“I’m your friend,” Peter told him, a little desperate but honest. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Brian gasped and let the pistol drop to his side in a loose grip. “Just hand me the gun Brian okay? And then we can talk about it, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Brian sniffed and rubbed his free hand over his face to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Peter confirmed, holding out his hand. Brian nodded and lifted his hand to pass Peter the gun when everything went wrong. Betty, who had been hyperventilating through the entire exchange, finally passed out. MJ tried to catch her but the two of them hit the floor with a echoing bang that startled the whole class. Brian, gun lifted and finger still on the trigger, flinched and jerked to aim back at Mark, shooting.

Everything happened in slow motion for Peter and he grimaced at what he was about to do, saying mental apologies and throwing his body in the path of the bullet, jerking back at the feeling of it hitting him in the chest.

His breath knocked out and his consciousness already becoming more nebulous from the pain that was blooming in his lungs, Peter stumbled forward to yank the gun from Brian’s limp grasp, deftly unloading it with the last of his strength and with shaking hands before throwing the rounds to the opposite side of the gym; collapsing at the other boys feet.

“Oh god,” Brian whispered in horror. “Oh god Peter. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He tried to bend down next to Peter but was swiftly tackled by Abe and Jason where he was wrestled onto his front with them restraining his hands without a fight beyond his gulping sobs.

“You’re alright Parker,” Coach Wilson said soothingly as he rolled Peter onto his back and used his own hastily shed jacket to apply pressure to the steadily bleeding hole in Peter’s chest, causing him to grunt and squeeze his eyes shut in pain. “Thompson! Call 911 and tell them we have the shooter and we need emergency services in the gym. Conley run up to the office and tell Morita what happened!” Both boys jumped into action but Peter ignored it in favor of unsteadily pulling his own phone out of his pocket and sliding it to Ned who had joined the group along with a pale and teary Michelle.

“Call Tony,” Peter coughed out, blood staining his lips and leaked down the side of his face. “No hospital.”

Ned, shaking and crying worse than Peter had ever seen fumbled the phone with numb hands before giving up and pressing the panic button on the side of the phone. Feeling relieved that his mentor was on the way, Peter let his tired eyes close only to rip them open at the flick on his nose.

“It’s not nap time Tiger,” MJ told him, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t want to get detention again.”

“I think…” Peter gasped out, his lungs aching with the strain. “Think this… get me… a permanent… ‘get out of detention’… free card.”

Michelle ran soft fingers through his hair, helping him relax his clenching muscles. He could tell that Ned was on the phone and speaking in rapid, broken sentences. He could kind of hear the sirens approaching, the sound of the building evacuating, crying students. But nothing mattered as much as Michelle. “You just couldn’t help yourself huh?”

“You know… me,” Peter grunted, trying for a grin that didn’t show the tacky blood he was sure was staining his teeth. “No guts… no glory.”

“God you’re a disaster,” MJ said with a watery laugh, a single tear escaping to race down her cheek. Peter wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe it away but his arms were made of lead.

Before Peter could work up the energy to respond, the doors of the gym were blown off the hinges by repulsers as Tony rushed the room, suited up in his full armor and clearly panicked. “Peter!” He shouted as he stumbled out of the suit, falling to his knees next to Peter and hastily began applying his prototype nanotech bandage to the hole in Peter’s chest before rolling him on his side to repeat the process with his back.

Peter gagged at the change in position, his eyesight fading out to a pinprick of light and his hearing glitching out. The voices around him became ever more harried but Peter couldn’t make out what they were trying to say – all he knew was he was really tired. More tired than he had ever been maybe. Surely no one would mind if he took a little nap?

“Stay with me buddy,” he heard Mr. Stark say as cold, hard arms gripped under his back and knees, lifting him and causing him to nearly black out again. “Just a quick little flight to the Tower Petey,” Tony said, voice wavering and not its usual strong timbre. “Just hang with me for a few more minutes and then you can nap okay kiddo?”

“Tired,” Peter gasped out, chest seizing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Tony ordered, frantic and yelling over the wind buffeting them. When had they started flying? “Just stay awake.”

“Love May,” Peter whispered, his vision a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that were rapidly fading. “Love you.”

“Peter!” Tony sounded so far away, Peter thought as his eyes closed against the colors and shapes and lights that were making him feel dizzy and sick.

Just a little nap.

No one would notice.