#the less supportive he is. until eventually they split

[lokh]

If you want the romance with another parent, you could always have his first husband be supportive but tragically pass away -- though maybe having a dead dad would distract from the dead mom trope

ooooo i think it wouldnt take away from it actually it might just be a horrible horrible tragedy that he escapes the dead mom trope but the. dad dies instead LMAO but no yeah it does take the focus away youre right.....

[voxslays]

THANOS AS YOUR BF

BEFORE THE GAMES

When you first meet, Thanos is one thing; hard to get along with. Whether it’s due to his overly large ego—or the drugs affecting his brain, his cocky persona is too much for some people. Including you.

Yet, the purple haired monster persists. He practically begs you for your number, which you hesitantly give. But as the two of you text more and more, you realize how funny he really is, which eventually leads into a long term relationship.

This man’s sense of humor is either dark, sarcastic, or straight up dumb. And no matter how dumb or goldfish-brained his raps or jokes are, they always seem to make the people around him have a good laugh.

This man is not subtle in the slightest with jealousy. He’s not the biggest rapper in korea (or the kpop industry), but he likes to flex like he is. He makes sure to kiss your neck or sing a really cringey rap as a warning signal.

Thanos also makes sure you’re the only one allowed to call him Su-bong. Due to his rough childhood, he finds it hard to be vulnerable around people. And to him, letting you call him his name is huge.

This man is also the most supportive boyfriend in the world. He may be high on…something…but that won’t stop him from nearly making a fool of himself all for you. Similar with his jealousy, he is not subtle about it.

Goes clubbing with you every single weekend. It doesn’t matter if it’s club pentagon or club squid, he loves trying new drinks or high end, designer drugs with you—although, he doesn’t want his addiction to fuel yours, so he keeps them away.

DURING THE GAMES

Thanos, with his goldfish like brain, doesn’t even notice you during the first game. Maybe it’s due to his fear, or the enhanced drugs swimming through his system; but regardless, he’s in his own world.

Yet, when he sees you out of the corner of his eye, right past his buddy, Nam-su—he panics. Thanos immediately rushes over to you saying something stupid like “Señorita, what are you doing here?” As if he didn’t know.

You were here to help pay for his debt. Su-bong would never say it, but he hated himself for putting you into his same situation—which simultaneously makes him ten times more aggressive with MG coin.

During the games, he relatively acts the same; up until the bathroom fight. He kisses you goodbye before going to ‘take a piss’ with Nam-su. Time slowly passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. You get worried and wander off to find your boyfriend.

The guards couldn’t care less as you walked into the ultraviolet bathroom. From the far corner of your eye, you see Thanos holding MG coin to the ground by his throat, no doubt high out of his small mind.

You quickly run over and roughly yank him away, right as a metal fork—the same one from the earlier meals—is stabbed into your hand. Where Thanos’ neck would’ve been. After escaping the bathroom, you can’t help but sob.

But you and your boyfriend are survivors. So, after beating Nam-su to a pulp after the glass bridge game player 456 had mentioned participating in three years ago, you split the money 50/50. You were now free.

AFTER THE GAMES

After being roughly thrown out of your free limo ride and onto the cold, wet streets of a recently stormy Seoul—you clutch onto each other like leeches. Not kissing, just simply sitting there, holding each other as if you were on your deathbeds.

The games truly changed Thanos. He was faced with the harsh reality of his future with addiction, seeing the path his good buddy Nam-su went down (and no he will never get his name right).

The man he thought was his best friend tried to kill him. That’s not something you simply shake off. So, Thanos willingly signs himself up for rehab. It’s hard, you can tell—but after the games, he’s stronger. You can sense it.

After he’s completely clean for six months, the two of you buy a small house right off the coast of Busan together. A place you’ve both always wanted to visit, just never had the money to. Now, you have more money than you know what to do with.

He kickstarts his rapping career again, but instead his songs being about partying and drugs, they’re about hardship, fear, depression, and you. The one constant in his life. His happiness. He starts thinking about life more.

He becomes popular again, but for the right reasons. No longer is your boyfriend shrouded with controversies and drugs. No more girls, no more drinks. Just rapping from his overly large heart (and small goldfish brain).

NSFW

Kind of random, but (prior to the games) he loves snorting coke off your thighs or chest—and sometimes even your lower back depending on the position you two take for the evening. Or he vapes while mercilessly thrusting into you.

This guy probably has a book (or just googles because of the major debt he’s in) sex positions and has you try a different one every single night. Even when you repeat them, it never gets old with him.

When it comes to oral, he definitely prefers receiving. The feeling of your glossy lips around his thick member elicits lowkey pornographic groans and moans from the usually somewhat composed (while not on drugs) man.

After the games, he probably becomes a little more vanilla—but I still doubt he would know a damn thing about aftercare. The most you’ll get is him cuddling you with beads of sweat dripping down his damp skin.

[bad268]

omg I love ur stories so much, can I request a jealous Kimi Antonelli x reader where the reader is slightly older than Kimi and is racing in f2 or f1, reader wins a race and decides to celebrate at a bar or somewhere, then maybe Ollie or some other driver comes to talk to her and flirt, Kimi sees that and gets kinda jealous and when they get home, Kimi throws a little tantrum and reader gets kind of annoyed and calls him childish, and then at the end reader apologizes

In The Wrong (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Williams F1! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I flew through this! I love the angst)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 2589

Summary: Kimi is a little envious of the reader's success.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

You met Kimi back in school before either of you decided to get into karting. You had a shared interest in cars in general, and when you went karting for your 8th birthday, you invited your only friend who was into cars. Then, you started karting professionally. Kimi eventually followed, and you two were in the same categories for the most part since you were around the same age. By the time you hit 13, you and Kimi were split. You had to race with the teens while he still raced in juniors. That never stopped you two from hanging out and eventually making it official when you were 16 and him 15.

Then, you started getting into championships. Kimi was still in karting, but you both supported each other. You two were flying through the ranks quickly, and it was only a matter of time before you were in the same series again.

Originally, you planned to stay in F2 for an extra year. It was your rookie year, and you finished in third. Not bad, but you wanted to continue building your craft. However, as a Williams Academy driver, you are at the mercy of the team, so when Carlos Sainz got a last-minute offer to join Mercedes for 2025, you were forced to move up sooner than you wanted. You were given an ultimatum: either join F1 sooner than you wanted or be out of the academy. You knew you wouldn’t have enough funding to stay in F2 without their financial support, so you reluctantly agreed.

When you told Kimi, you expected him to be a little excited for you. You were always excited for him when something big happened, like when he got moved into FRECA. You were already in F3 at that point, but that didn’t make his achievement anything less than impressive. Or when he skipped F3 and joined you in F2 the same year. You were over the moon for him and expected the same from him.

Boy, were you wrong.

He was a little standoffish at first because he turned down the offer from Mercedes. If he hadn’t turned down their contract, he would have been in F1, and you would still be in F2. Selfishly, he was jealous and a little upset with himself. He was hoping they would promote Fred or Mick to the Mercedes seat and Carlos would stay in Williams. 

It wasn’t until the first race of the season that he finally got over himself. The announcement of your promotion happened over winter break, and you told Kimi a week before it was announced. Still, he needed time to come to terms with it.

You wished him luck before the start of the feature race since he was starting on the front row, and he basically spilled all of his feelings. You understood but were kind of disappointed. The one time something good, in retrospect, happens to you, he gets jealous. You told him you would talk after the races to sort everything out.

Unfortunately, Kimi was tagged into the first turn, and he was unable to continue the race. He got cleared by medical just as you all had to line up on the grid. You were starting just outside the top 10 in 11th. Both Red Bulls, Ferraris, and McLarens were in front of you, along with the Aston Martin of Fernando Alonso, The Mercedes of George Russell, the VCarb of Yuki Tsunoda, and the Haas of Ollie Bearman. You couldn’t be upset with how you placed in your first qualifying session.

The race was like a replay of Australia 2023 but more dramatic.

During the first lap, Checo hit Lewis and collected George and Fernando. All of them had to retire, and in the chaos, you jumped in front of Ollie and Yuki. You went from 11th to fifth in one lap.

Around lap 25, Charles’ engine overheated and had to retire. You were then up to 4th. The only people in front of you were Max, Oscar, and Lando.

The race dragged on a little for you as you kept your nose clean, but after the second round of pitstops, you jumped Lando, putting you in a net P3. Max then had a slow stop, which put him behind Lando. Max got a little antsy behind the McLaren and ended up rear-ending him, spinning them both out.

Then, it became a drag race between you and Oscar after the safety car. There were only two laps left, and on the last racing lap, Oscar made a mistake into turn 9, compromising his exit and positioning into turn 10. You easily passed him and defended against him all the way to the checkered flag.

Your first race was also your first win.

You stood on the top step with a huge smile, Oscar and Ollie beside you, as you looked out at the crowd.

Unbeknownst to you, Kimi was seething below. He, again, was selfish. Kimi was supposed to have this chance, but you got the opportunity first because he denied the contract. He felt bitter that even though he had all this hype to live up to, you were making your name before anyone had a chance to speculate. It caused a fire of jealousy to burn within Kimi.

You went through all of the post-race media with Ollie because he was the closest to your age, and he was one of your closest friends in general. You two had gone through the series together after being teammates in F4, so you two were pretty close. 

Kimi watched from the side as he got more and more upset seeing you flirt and be all touchy with his friend and ex-teammate. On your end, it was just you and Ollie teasing each other as you always did, and you purposely bumped into him with your hip as you walked through the media pen. It was what you always did whenever you and Ollie did when you shared podiums, having started the tradition back in F4. You thought Kimi knew of this. Evidently, he did not.

When you finally wrapped up, you walked toward the car park with Ollie, Jack, and Oscar, where you planned to meet up with Kimi, Jak, and Paul. The original plan was to go out to dinner, but in the high of the podium celebration, you, Ollie, and Oscar convinced Jack to switch sides and go bar hopping instead. This way, it would be four against three.

You walked straight up to Kimi, who was looking at his phone and leaning against the rental car, while Jak and Paul walked over to Ollie and Jack. You quickly wrapped your arms around his waist and placed a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Hey, amore,” you said with a smile, “We were thinking of going bar hopping to celebrate instead of going out to dinner. What do you think?”

“Sounds like something you and Ollie planned again,” Kimi sneered as he put his phone in his pocket and peeled your arms from him. “I’m tired of you and Ollie planning everything, and I’m just expected to follow. I feel like a third wheel in my own relationship! And you probably don’t even care, but I crashed out of the race!”

“First off, Ollie and I don’t plan everything. We thought it would be a fun way to celebrate our first podium and first win in F1. Second, You have never been a third wheel! I always take your feelings into consideration. Hence, I asked what you thought of the plan. Lastly, I did know! If you had listened to my radio at all, you would have heard that I asked about you every ten laps or so.”

“Yeah, your first podium in F1,” He scoffed as he turned to get in the car. You immediately grabbed his wrist before he could climb in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You questioned, trying your best to stay level-headed.

“Nothing, just the fact that you wouldn’t be there if I had accepted the contract with Mercedes,” He snapped back, ripping his arm from your hold. You stood in shock for a second with your jaw dropped. Then, he laughed slowly. “You don’t get it, do you? That Williams seat would have never been open if I hadn’t turned down Mercedes. Instead, I would have been in Mercedes, Carlos would be in your seat, and you would probably still be in a midfield F2 team.”

“Get over yourself! You are such a child, Andrea!” You shouted at him, unable to stop yourself. “You have some nerve telling me that I wouldn’t be where I am if you had accepted a contract. Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m in F1, and guess what! You’re not! I got my first win in Formula 1, and this is how you want to be? I cannot believe you!”

“You will never understand where I’m coming from,” Kimi tried to interject.

“No, you will never understand what it’s like to have the whole world, including your own boyfriend, against you simply because you have a seat in the top 20 drivers in the world,” You seethed as you pushed your body against his, blocking him against the car. “I don’t need your criticism on top of everything else. You may have faced the media last year, but now you’re not the hot topic. There are four rookies in F1 now, and sorry to break it to you, but you’re not one of them.”

“I get it,” He whispered, looking anywhere but at you, “You can stop now.”

“No!” You scoffed, moving to stand within his eye line, “I have celebrated every achievement you reached, but the one time I get something first, you decide to throw a pity party. You have had so much success during our relationship, and I have stood by every time, cheering you on. Maybe I’m stupid to think I could ever get the same treatment back. Maybe I’m stupid to even date a driver in a feeder series.”

With that, you shook your head and turned to walk over to Ollie, Jack, Paul, Jak, Oscar, and Lando (who spawned at some point). They were all staring at you two in shock. They had never seen you two argue or this pissed at each other. Just as you made it to the rest of the group, you looked back at Kimi, who was now sitting in the car.

“I’m going out drinking, and I’ll probably crash in someone’s room for the night,” You said briefly to Kimi before finishing the walk over to the other drivers. “If I see him again tonight, I’m going to say something I will regret.”

“I think you’ve already passed that point, mate,” Ollie replied in shock as he led you, Paul, and Jak to his rental.

The ride was painfully quiet, but Ollie drove to a nearby liquor store instead of going to the bar. You all picked up a drink of choice before heading back to the hotel for a movie. No one was in the mood to go bar hopping after witnessing what they could only assume was the fallout of your and Kimi’s relationship.

You ended up sharing a bottle of wine among the group of you, and by sharing the bottle, it was actually more like you had one glass while the rest of them finished it off. You knew you just needed to take the edge off, but you did not want to get shitfaced. You still needed to face Kimi at some point. If not that night, you would be sitting next to him on the flight to Italy.

You ended up heading back to your shared hotel room the following day after hiding out in Ollie’s room for the night. You needed time to cool off and think about what you wanted to say.

You quietly entered the hotel room, and Kimi was already awake and sitting on the edge of the bed. You closed the door softly, but the noise still had Kimi’s head snapping up to meet your eyes. His were red and bloodshot, and it immediately broke your heart. You walked up, kneeled in front of him, and grabbed his hands tightly. You opened your mouth to say something, but he beat you to it.

“Are you leaving now?” He whispered, closing his eyes and dropping his head. You could briefly see the few tears that fell down his cheeks, and you knew you needed to fix this.

“No, no, Kimi. I’m not leaving,” You replied back in a soft tone as you moved one hand up to cup his cheek and lift his head up. It was just enough to look at him. It was clear that he had been awake and crying for a while if not most of the night. “I am so sorry, Kimi. I never meant anything yesterday-”

“No,” He cut you off, “You were right. I am being childish. I am jealous that you are in Formula 1, and I’m not. I regret turning down the seat, and now there’s nothing left for me to do.”

“Why is all of this coming out now? What brought this on now?” You asked quietly as you slowly ran the hand that was previously holding his through his hair.

“You won your first race yesterday!” He exclaimed as he stood up and passed around the room. “You won in Formula 1, and my first reaction wasn’t ‘Wow! I’m so proud of you!’ It was, ‘Wow, I regret everything that led up to this point,’ and that makes me the worst boyfriend ever. That was supposed to be one of the best achievements in your career, and I was so focused on my jealousy that I ruined it for you.”

“No, Kimi, I said some equally hurtful things about you,” You slowly approached him. You stopped directly in front of him and looked into his eyes, gently reaching a hand out to hold his. “I got heated last night, and I should have never called you a child. I also never should have implied that I shouldn’t be with you. I love you, Kimi, and I could never imagine my life without you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“What you said was right, though, and I see that now,” Kimi replied as he pulled you closer to him and wrapped an arm around your waist. He pulled your intertwined hands up and kissed the back of your hand before whispering, “I was acting like a child, and I was in the wrong. I just needed you to snap me out of it.”

“Can we both admit we were in the wrong and move on?” You chuckled lightly as you leaned into his body more.

“We were both wrong,” Kimi agreed immediately before he leaned in and kissed your lips. It was brief, but it said all you needed to say. When Kimi pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in before pulling back quickly and running around the room, packing up the leftover clothes you had around the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You laughed as you tried to get him to stop.

“We need to get out of here!” Kimi replied as if it were obvious. “We still have a first win to celebrate, and you’re crazy if you think we aren’t starting the celebrations immediately.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[traumawhomst]

Ok but yandere Orcs yes please

Tw: Physical abuse done by a side character, and physical violence to a side character.

(1,300 words)

Part 1

There had been a “War” with the Orc Empire for as long as you could remember, but honestly from what you could tell it was really more along the lines of scattered boarder skirmishes, one side would take ground and the other would eventually get it back.

It wasn’t really talked about much, other than the soldiers who passed through your Uncle’s Tavern, who’d rather talk about cards or romantic exploits.

You’d come home late one night from working, only to one of the barn doors was propped up instead of hanging on the hinges. A closer inspection revealed that it had been pulled off its hinges and then leaned against the other door to make it look like nothing had happened.

It was probably due to the fact that you’d been awake for roughly eighteen hours that spurred you to grab an old carving (probably dull) knife and kicked down the barn door.

The door hit the floor and a thick cloud of dust rose up and around the fallen door. It got in your nose and eyes and you couldn’t help but sputter taking a step backwards.

Your mind froze when you heard another coughing before it then started to think of the worse possible scenario. You wiped your eyes clutching the hilt of the knife and looked into the dark barn.

To find an Orc only as upright as the back wall could support, one hand raised and the other pressed against what looked to be a stab wound. Blood seeped from between his fingers and soaked his shirt and pants.

There was no anger in his eyes, his body loose and defeated. He apologized for the door and the mess he was making, promising to leave as he tried to stand up. He couldn’t get further than a single knee before collapsing again.

You couldn’t speak or move as he tried to leave, your mind struggling to understand everything that happened. Well you didn’t move until he fell again, then you told him to stop moving and you’d be back.

You nor no one else ever said you were smart, and that’s the reason you gave yourself as you grabbed clean bandages and water. You sighed at yourself before also grabbing a blanket as well.

He’d stiffened when you silently approached him until you showed him the water and bandages. He almost laughed when you knelt next to him and started to do your best to clean it. He didn’t fight or argue though, at first watching you before closing his eyes and relaxing.

He was passed out by the time you’d finished, exhaustion and blood loss finally took its toll. You watched for a while making sure his chest rose and fall before you tossed a blanket over him and did your best to prop the barn door back to how it was before.

You overslept the next morning, no time to eat before running to your work much less check on a half dead orc.

You found yourself thinking about him often, wondering how he was feeling. If he was comfortable, if he was alive. The worry was enough to keep you awake for the hours of sleep you’d lost to him.

You took more food than you usually did stealing it off plates where it had been untouched, carefully wrapping it and hiding it before your uncle could see. Just in case.

He was not dead, when you returned and was more than surprised to see you splitting the food you’d brought silently handing half to him before you stood up.

That was the first time he touched you actually grabbing your wrist without any real force. You looked at him and could see a hundred questions swirling in his eyes. Instead of asking those he just asked to eat together. He’s not used to eating alone.

And you do, you sit back down and for the first night you eat in near silence, as you two got comfortable just being near each other. He didn’t stop from leaving a second time.

His face did light up when you wished him a goodnight though

So you fell into a comfortable if odd routine. You’d spend the day working, him trying to heal in your barn and then come together for dinner. You both were orphaned before the start of adulthood, and it was nice to speak to someone about it without worry of how it would spread.

He was funny and charming, you found yourself laughing and smiling more in those few nights than you had in the years since your father died. He was easy to talk to and he seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. It was probably the fifth night when you found yourself excited to go home and speak to him.

You knew that this was dangerous, the longer he stayed the more likely he get caught the more likely you’d be thrown in jail. You told him he could stay as long as he needs to.

On the eighth night you came home later than usual, a bounce in your step that you hadn’t had in years. Even the regulars at your Uncle’s pub had noticed and started to speculate on who or what had made you smile so much. You still had to hide it, any smile would be taken as offense by your uncle who seemed to think he owned your emotions along with your father’s debt.

But tonight you managed to get twice as much as you normally did and you were excited to sit and talk with him.

And he was gone.

Panic clawed at you as you looked hoping to find him in some corner tucked away but no. He was gone. Your heart sunk as you realized there was only two options.

Either he was found by soldiers. Or…

He left without saying goodbye.

Hurt threatened to tear open your chest as stand again alone in the silence. You try to tell yourself you were an idiot to think he’d say before leaving, of course he was always going to take what he could and run. A meaner part of yourself told you that this would happen with everything you loved and enjoyed.

You shoved the food in your mouth, not even tasting anything as you just tried to eat as much of it as you could. Your stomach hurt but you’d manage to stop crying by then. You told yourself how much you didn’t care.

You slept in the barn that night unable to sleep anywhere else.

You’d over slept for maybe the first time in years ending up showing late to your Uncle’s pub. He did not take it well, throwing things and screaming, hitting you more than once.

And then someone pries him off you, and you look up and see a massive figure in armor and boots that added at least three inches. He held your uncle up in the air one hand around his neck. You watched your uncle struggle and turn purple and only then to do you think to move.

You look at the figure again, and realize they’re wearing a helmet made to look like falcon completely covering their face. They turn towards you as you scramble, dropping your uncle to the ground.

You didn’t get very far before, one solid hand grabbed your shirt and yanked you towards him. You tried to fight but they was much stronger than you and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

They pull you to the door where two Orc Soldiers waited and moved when the figure pulling you barked an order.

Three massive horses waited outside and you tried to struggle again, firmly but gently you are pushed on the up on the horse, your captor behind and the four of you were off.

[tsukumomei]

—ADDRESSING THE DIVORCE ALLEGATIONS

ft. Yukimiya Kenyu x Actress! Reader

summary: being in a high-profile relationship brings immense support from fans and the public, but it also comes with its fair share of fake news. While your husband, a perfectly reasonable person, wanted to address the divorce rumors in a straightforward way, you had other plans–that somehow went sideways. cw: a little angst

Y/N L/N is undeniably one of the biggest actresses in this era. Her popularity skyrocketed when she married football star and model Yukimiya Kenyu, quickly becoming one of Hollywood's most favorite couples.

Currently starring as the leading woman alongside Michael Kaiser in the fast-paced police drama, FBI. So it came as a shock to millions of fans when suddenly her beloved character received less screen time, eventually written out of the show, left to “pursue a case” abroad and never returned.

The actress herself has released no statement about her unexpected exit from the show. Her instagram stories and tweets, usually filled with daily updates and lives, have been noticeably sparse.

As far as the public is concerned, Y/N L/N is on an indefinite hiatus.

That was, until you found yourself frozen in the middle of an aisle at the grocery store. You’d just spotted an unflattering photo of yourself on the cover of a popular magazine. It was clearly edited—your under-eyes had been intentionally darkened, making you look more tired than you actually were.

But that wasn’t what caught your attention.

It was the headline, written in bold, dark letters in quote:

“I’M TIRED OF US, IT’S OVER”

Next to it was a floating broken heart, with a photo of you and your husband split in half on either side.

The press really could brew the most bizarre rumors when they had nothing else to scoop. Well, you had basically made yourself an easy target, especially after disappearing without a word. Chuckling bitterly, you called out to your son.

“Kei, we’re going! Are you grabbing anything else?”

Peeking out from behind the magazine rack, you saw Kei reaching for a pack of frozen blueberries, presumably for his father. He was always so thoughtful.

“Just a sec, Mom,” he called back, stretching on his tiptoes to grab the pack from the second shelf. You started to step forward to help him but stopped yourself, remembering the last time you tried. He’d insisted that he was a "big boy" now—at six, he was more than capable of helping Mom. And he wasn’t wrong. Not only did he take after his father in the looks department, but his personality mirrored his too.

Finally, with a satisfied grin, Kei succeeded in his mission, grabbing the blueberries and turning to rush toward you. For just a split second, his gaze flickered toward the magazine you had been eyeing, but he quickly looked away when he saw you noticing.

___________________________________

The moment you pulled into the driveway, you noticed your husband standing on the front porch, dressed in a suit—likely just back from another shoot. He was talking on the phone, a confused expression on his face. When he saw the car, he muttered a few quick words to the person on the other end and ended the call.

He walked toward you, offering to help carry the groceries. It didn’t take long to figure out what had him in such a sour mood. As he took the bags from your hands, you caught a glimpse of his phone screen—it was the same photo you had seen earlier on the magazine cover.

___________________________________

He preferred to shut down the rumors as quickly as possible—but you had other plans.

“Come on, it'll be great!” you said, nudging him with a mischievous grin, trying to convince him to go along with your little scheme. How could he ever say no to you?

With a sigh, he gave in, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t help but laugh, though, knowing you were always the one to stir things up.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

You set your phone up on the kitchen counter, positioning it just right for the Instagram Live. Your heart raced with anticipation—this was going to be fun.

It didn’t even take five minutes before your Instagram Live was flooded with notifications. Your feed blew up with fans from all over the world, all wondering the same thing: where have you been? Why the sudden silence?

The comments started rolling in like a flood:

“Omg, Y/N, what happened?!”

“Are you really getting divorced?!”

“COME BACKKK”

“We miss you! Did you get kidnapped?!”

“If my ship is ending, I won't believe in true love anymore ”

“Did you and Kenyu split up or are you just pulling a dramatic plot twist?!”

“Y/NKen is over?”

“WHAT IS GOING ON??! I NEED ANSWERS”

“Y/N, why are you doing this to us?? We thought you were kidnapped by aliens or something!!”

“Please tell me you’re not turning into a ghost influencer. Don’t disappear for good!”

“Did you go on a secret mission and forget to update us?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the chaos in the comments. You had been away for a a few months, but it seemed your absence only made the fans eager—and more creative. This would definitely stir the pot.

Your husband, Yukimiya Kenyu, stood beside you, watching the flurry of activity on your phone screen. He rolled his eyes at the comments but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at his lips. "You really like messing with them, don't you?"

“You know it,” you said, grinning. "It's been too quiet around here. Time to shake things up a bit."

You turned to him with an exaggerated frown, eyes widening in mock concern. "Hey, babe, have you heard?"

He looked at you curiously, his eyebrows furrowing. "Heard what?"

He passed his phone to you with a resigned sigh, clearly not sure what you were about to do next. You took it, squinting at the headline on the screen.

“What’s it say?” he asked, voice dripping with faux innocence.

You feigned a dramatic gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I’m tired, it’s over between us…" you paused for effect, then continued, reading the headline in the most monotonous and nonchalant voice you could muster, “Yukimiya Kenyu couldn’t SEE l/n y/n’s worth.”

You could feel your stomach tense as you held back laughter, but your poker face was on point. You weren’t nominated for Best Actress for nothing.

Kenyu’s face went pale, playing along. His eyes widening in horror as he leaned in to read the screen. "Now that’s just personal.?!" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You took a dramatic pause, then turned to him with a smirk. "I mean, it sounds like a you problem, babe."

He rolled his eyes, trying to hide his amusement. "Oh, come on," he muttered, shaking his head, though he couldn’t keep the smile from forming. "You know they’ll eat this up."

Just then, you saw the comments explode again:

“Is this for real?”

“We need a statement, NOW!”

“I CAN’T HANDLE THIS!”

“Plot twist: They’re both trolling us.”

You both burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all. The whole thing was ridiculous, but you knew the fans would love it. It was a mess, but it was your mess—and honestly, you were here for it.

“Alright,” you said, still chuckling, “Let’s give them what they want. A little clarity."

You turned back to the camera, making sure you were in frame with Kenyu. You were about to hand the phone back to him when suddenly, your teary-eyed son, Kei, appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“You’re getting a divorce?” he asked, his voice small, cracking with emotion. Tears welled up in his big brown eyes as he looked between you and Kenyu, waiting for an answer.

Both you and Kenyu instinctively shouted, “No!” at the same time, but before either of you could say anything else, Kei followed up with the most heartbreaking thing you’d ever heard.

“If you are, I’m going with Dad.”

Your heart dropped. It felt as if the air was suddenly knocked out of your lungs. You hadn’t even thought about how this joke, this silly stunt you had pulled, could affect him. You had never meant for things to go this far.

A lump formed in your throat as Kei’s tear-streaked face blurred in your vision. What have I done? The question echoed in your mind, spinning around like a whirlwind. Why did I think this was funny?

The weight of the situation crashed over you. You’d always been so focused on your career, on keeping up with the demands of the public, of the industry—and even your relationship with Kenyu had started to feel like a balancing act, constantly teetering between love and the pressure of being constantly in the spotlight. But Kei... Your son.

How much of him had I missed?

You hadn’t realized until now how little time you’d spent with him, how much he must have noticed, how much he must have needed you. The guilt gnawed at you like a hollow ache. The past few months had been a blur of shoots, interviews, and late nights trying to keep up with a schedule that never seemed to end. Every time you thought you could sit down with him, be present, something else came up. A new project. A meeting. Another crisis in the media. You promised him you’d play with him today, but you couldn’t even make it past five minutes before getting distracted by a tabloid scandal.

I’m a terrible mother.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. Kei needed comfort, not a breakdown. He needed to believe that everything was going to be okay, and you would make sure of that. But how could you tell him that when you didn’t even know if everything was okay yourself?

“Kei,” Kenyu said softly, his voice low and calm. “You don’t need to say that. It’s not true, okay? Mommy and I are fine.” He gently wiped a tear from Kei's cheek, his touch warm and steady, then took his small hands in his. “You don’t have to choose between us. I promise, everything’s okay.”

Kenyu’s gaze softened, but there was a firmness in his tone as he added, “But you do owe your mom an apology. She’s not the one who made you feel like this, and she’s the one who loves you more than anything. You need to say you’re sorry, Kei.”

Kei noticed your heartbroken face. “I love you, mom. I’m sorry.” He looked down at his fidgeting fingers, nervously twisting them around each other. His voice trembled as he continued, “I only said that because I heard Grandma say you had my little sibling in your belly…” He paused for a moment, then added in a whisper, “I didn’t want Dad to be alone.”

The world seemed to freeze for a moment. You stood there, paralyzed. Kei’s words hung in the air, unsettling yet oddly comforting. He didn’t want his dad to be alone? How perceptive, how caring he was for someone so young. Kei, still standing there, looking up at you with wide eyes, waiting for reassurance. You knelt down to his level, wiping the tears from his cheek, your voice soft and full of love.

“Kei,” you whispered. “We’re not getting a divorce, okay? Mommy and Daddy love each other, and we love you so much. We’re always going to be a family. No matter what, we’re not going anywhere.”

Kei nodded slowly, his small face still clouded with uncertainty, but comforted by the warmth in your voice. You cupped his cheek gently, offering a soft smile, hoping to steady him.

But as you spoke to him, something else dawned on you. Kenyu hadn’t known about the pregnancy. The realization hit you hard—he was just as shocked as you were by Kei’s words. The baby. The little sibling Kei was already so protective of. Your husband didn’t know yet. It was supposed to be a surprise. Oh well.

Your phone, still set up for Instagram Live on the kitchen counter, sat forgotten in the chaos, buzzing with notifications and questions. The fans who had been eagerly awaiting answers? They had their scoop now.

The reason you went on an indefinite hiatus was because you were no longer able to perform the stunts required for your action drama role. You're pregnant after all.

Your son had just given them the exclusive. And that’s what you get for trolling.

___________________________________

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[valenteal]

Oh my god I keep forgetting how some people in the Star Wars fandom see Anakin and then someone likes my long ranting reply and I just get reminded all over again.

And I know. I KNOW that I can’t change everyone’s mind and that it’s far from the most problematic issue I could be debating. But GOD does it piss me off when people say that Anakin was selfish or he should’ve just left the Jedi Order if he didn’t agree with them. Like… did no one ever teach you about recognizing a cult or its tactics? Do people not understand that the Jedi are literally brainwashed and have no “worldly possessions” and that leaving the order means striking out on your own, probably on Coruscant, with no money or job? Have people not payed attention to any of the NUMEROUS red flags? Do people just see that the Jedi staunchly oppose the obviously evil sith and decide they are saints?! Do people not recognize that the Jedi have literally committed genocide??? Like… the Jedi started the conflict with the Sith. They wiped out their entire civilization because of religious dogma. What are people not getting about that!?!?

And Anakin’s mental state. Oh my fucking god! Are people blind to the fact that he’s been groomed and manipulated for years by both the sith and the Jedi and is suffering from a severe mental breakdown during RotS??? Like. Even if you don’t know enough about psychology to recognize and understand BPD and a splitting episode it should still be obvious that he is NOT in his right mind through no fault of his own?!?! He’s traumatized after just coming back from literal WAR, he hasn’t been sleeping because he’s having premonitions of his wife DYING IN CHILDBIRTH EVERY NIGHT, his already feeble support system is in fucking shambles, and a guy he’s trusted for years is suddenly revealed to be an evil mastermind but the person standing against that evil mastermind is someone who has distrusted and scorned Anakin for just as long as the evil mastermind has been his mentor and confidant!!!!!!!!!

I don’t get it and I’m literally crying right now because I just don’t understand how people can’t feel empathy for Anakin and just want to vilify him while putting the people who hurt him on a pedestal. All it took for Anakin to come back to the light was ONE person believing in him. If you somehow missed that the original trilogy is about how love saves people and the prequel trilogy is about how denying love DESTROYS people then I don’t know how to help you.

No seriously I’m crying right now I know people are sheep who want to follow the pretty light and see the people in the marble castle with the gorgeous gardens and peaceful philosophy as good. I get it. But open your fucking eyes!!!!!!!! Being detached from reality and your emotions is not a healthy way to live and I don’t want people like that in positions of power and authority. EMPATHY! COMPASSION! These are the things Anakin embodies that the Jedi largely discard in favor of being cold and distant. The only Jedi who don’t are rebellious af. Qui-Gon (who is still problematic but at least he fucking cares), Obi-wan (was never a fucking golden boy, he almost wasn’t a Jedi and contemplated leaving on MULTIPLE occasions!), Quinlan Voss (no explanation needed here, man wasn’t even raised in the temple), Aayla Secura (Quinlan’s Padawan and the only Jedi we ever see actually contemplating the morality of the Clone War and having a discussion about it and actually LISTENING to what a non-Jedi has to say), Ahsoka (again no explanation needed, she fucking left and didn’t look back), Cal Kestis (has multiple crises about Jedi philosophy throughout the games and eventually decides Fuck It and becomes a much better and less confused person for it)… I could go on but you get the picture right?! You do get this? The Jedi Order was a toxic environment that messed people up so badly and never acknowledged their own flaws until it literally killed them all. Every single tragedy that happened to the Jedi was a direct consequence of their actions and literally all of their biggest enemies originated from within their own ranks!

At least Palpatine was decent enough to put literal red flags all over the Temple when he went and made it his palace!!! Because you know… he turned the Jedi temple into a palace with minimal cosmetic changes and that should REALLY tell you something!

[spinji]

Thinking about the parallels between how much red is in each Todoroki's kids hair and their opinion of the father they got it from.

It's not a direct comparison based on quantity, but that does play a factor. The more key element is the placement.

Shoto's is the most obvious. His white and red hair is literally split down the middle and after his revelations at the sports festival, he starts feeling more torn about his feelings surrounding his father. Eventually settling on seeing him as a good hero but a flawed father that hasn't been forgiven but has room to change.

Natsuo as all white hair, which makes sense. He's the one that's the most vocally critical and hostile to Enji in the household and is never shown to have fond memories of him. The red isn't there and never was, and neither is love for his father. ..or is there.

Natsu did have red in his hair, at least for a time. But I believe it is still there, hidden and tucked away in his current hairstyle. It's always been there, even if it stays a few small strands, care for his father will always be there whether he wants to acknowledge it or not.

At first glance Fuyumi is a similar way, her care about Enji being small and understated. She has less red than white afterall. But Fuyumi has red strands integrated throughout her hair. She is clear that she doesn't support what Enji has done but she has clear memories from before that point and that has colored her perspective. What she wants, more than anything, is for Enji to be integrated back into the family, for the family to be whole. Her red hair is inseparable from the rest of it because to her, more than any of her siblings, their father is an integral part of their family. And she's not ashamed to say it.

And then there's the juicey changes with Touya. He was born with a full head of red hair, very obviously symbolizing his adoration of Enji. He was eager to be the prodigy Enji wanted and their relationship was positive, at least at the start. It's not an accident that Enji commenting on the first few strands of white in Touya's hair comes right before the first time we see him burn himself.

As his relationship with Enji strains, he gets more white hair until there's nothing left, until their relationship has completely decayed and Touya sets himself on fire. It's gone further than Natsuo's aggression and dismissive attitude. And that hatred spreads to the entire family. His white hair isn't enough to show that, so he breaks from the family completely, with pitch black.

But it's not the whole truth. At the end of the day, it's still artificial dye and by removing that dye when he comes clean about his family ties, he also leaves himself open to that family coming back into his life.

I wonder if that red might come back too.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 9 (Part 1)

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, light angst, implications of nudity

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

A/N: I see this chapter as the first half of a two-parter. I split it in half for ease of consumption and because when I originally wrote it, I hadn't been able to post in ages. Enjoy these two little vignettes! You will get two more in the next "half."

___

The Refresher

After your conversation in the cockpit on your way to Trandosha, life aboard the Razor Crest returned to normal almost startlingly quickly. Mando permitted the ship to travel on autopilot for once, allowing the flight computer to calculate your path, and spent hours researching the last known locations, backgrounds, and crimes of the newest batch of bounties he had received from Karga. You fell right back into your routine of splitting your time between ship maintenance and occupying Grogu; the boy seemed positively thrilled to be back in his leather carrier strapped to your back as you puttered around the cargo hold. He was full of chatter, cooing and babbling and squealing more than you had ever heard. Not for the first time, you wondered whether he might eventually speak Basic or if perhaps his species simply didn’t communicate that way, but you decided that regardless, you liked the extra noise. You could almost imagine what he might be saying, and you found yourself filling in his half of your conversations in your mind as you went about your work. It passed the time, and it made you smile.

Now that you felt confident that you would be spending the foreseeable future in this way, with the Razor Crest as your home, it took you less than a week to come up with a draft for your largest improvement project to date.

“Hey, Mando – do you have a minute?” you asked, poking your head into the cockpit where the Mandalorian sat, bent over one of the computer consoles in concentration.

“What is it?” he replied distractedly. He did not meet your gaze and instead remained focused on the screen before him, which appeared to be a topical map of a dense, verdant forest.

You tucked the datapad you were holding close to your chest, rubbing your thumbs over the edge nervously. Stepping fully into the cockpit, you said, “I have a proposition for you. I’d like your support to start on…kind of a big project in the cargo hold.”

That was enough to get his attention. Pausing his perusal of the map, he turned in his chair to face you, planting his hands on his widespread knees. “What kind of project?”

His voice sounded cautious, and you could understand why. Most of the work you had done on the Razor Crest up until this point you had done without his involvement. He had purchased supplies for you when you requested, and he was always happy to review the reports you generated to demonstrate any efficiency gains you had achieved, but otherwise, you each had kept to your own activities. This was the first time you were asking for his blessing on something before simply doing it.

You took a steadying breath and explained, “With both of us living here for the long term, I really think we should invest in installing a fully functioning refresher.” You paused for a moment then added, “And an additional bunk, if I can figure out how to make one fit in the space we have.”

Mando was silent at first, appearing to consider the idea. “Is that possible?” he asked, his helmet cocked to the side skeptically. “The water storage and recycling systems on ST-70s weren’t designed to support full ‘freshers.”

You nodded in agreement. You had thought of this. “Yes. With the size of the water tank we have right now, you’re right – we could maybe support a running water sink and a privy, but never a shower. But I’ve been taking a look at the schematics, and I feel like there’s a better way to organize the forward space in the cargo hold.” You tapped through a few controls on your datapad and pulled up your sketch of the design, which you had laid over a copy of the Razor Crest’s blueprints. You held it out to him to examine. “It would be tight,” you added, “but I think, if you’re comfortable with it, I should be able to rearrange the hardware that is currently there in such a way that would allow us just enough space for a water tank one size larger than our current one and a ‘fresher.”

You watched, your lower lip between your teeth, as Mando zoomed in on your sketch, silently making note of all of the proposed changes. “Sounds…cramped,” he said after a moment.

You shrugged reluctantly. “It would be, a bit. But it would have a fully functioning door, instead of a curtain,” you argued. “We’d have somewhere to actually brush our teeth instead of using those chalky cleaning tabs. We’d have somewhere to store our toiletries. And we could take showers.” You almost groaned aloud at the thought. How long had it been since you had experienced such a luxury? “Actual, real, hot showers.”

On the space station that orbited Chardaan where the workers’ barracks resided, rows of sonic showers in communal bathrooms had been the norm. Sonic showers were efficient and generally more practical for space living, as they required very few resources to power, and at the very least, they removed dirt and oil and kept everyone from smelling like they had been living in a metal sphere with recycled air for months at a time. However, to you, something about sonic showers never left you feeling fully clean, and after months without access to even that, you were starting to feel truly uncomfortable in your own body. You yearned for the sensation of hot, soapy water sluicing down your skin and foaming up your hair, and if that was your experience, you could hardly imagine how Mando felt, wearing that suit of armor all day every day.

The bounty hunter nodded slowly as he silently reviewed your plans. “And the bunk?” he asked.

You grimaced. “That one I haven’t quite figured out yet,” you replied hesitantly. “I’m still sketching some ideas. I feel much more confident about the ‘fresher.”

“Hm,” he hummed, passing the datapad back to you. “Well, I approve of the refresher idea. Your design looks sound. Make a list of the materials you’ll need. I’ll see what I can do about getting them during our next stop.”

“Ugh, thank you, Mando!” You sighed heavily with relief, excitement buzzing in your chest. “You won’t regret it!”

A week later, after a successful first hunt, the Mandalorian returned to the Razor Crest with a large, male Trandoshan in binder cuffs and a repulsorlift sled laden with bins of supplies dragging behind him. It was all you could do not to fly down the gangplank and fling your arms around him at the sight. Instead, you managed to funnel that energy into just bouncing in place on your tiptoes as you began unloading the sled, your fingers positively itching to wrap themselves around your new toys.

You could have sworn you heard a rasping chuckle filter through your companion’s helmet as he watched your unbridled enthusiasm, and although it made your cheeks burn, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

From the time you took your plasma torch to the first piece of durasteel bulkhead to the time the refresher was complete and ready for use ended up being about two weeks of constant labor. But Maker, if it wasn’t a labor of love.

Piece by piece, inch by painstaking inch, you systematically disassembled everything to the left of the bunk, starting with that heinous multi-species vacuum ship head (which you had despised since your first day on board) and going all the way to the forward end of the hull. Water filtration? Enhanced. Clean water tank? Replaced entirely with one of a larger size. Scanners, jamming devices, antennae, even the ship’s headlights – all of it got taken apart down to its components, condensed, rewired, and fit back together to make room for the new space. Aside from the work you had done with Peli on the carbonite unit, it was easily the most challenging work you had ever done on a ship of this age, and you relished every second of it. You had always enjoyed puzzles, ever since you were a small child, and fitting each one of these systems back into the reduced space while still ensuring that everything functioned as it was designed was an especially rewarding puzzle.

Once you felt confident with your modifications, you began installing the refresher itself. Mando had been correct in his assessment when he evaluated your plans – the space was cramped, and due to budget constraints, it was almost excessively utilitarian. You had selected plain durasteel for the walls, privy, and running water sink. A single pane of transparisteel separated the shower from the rest of the room, left open on the far end to allow for easy entry without needing the space to accommodate a swinging door. You had managed to convince Mando to spring for a box of tiles of industrial, anti-slip flooring that would keep you both from sliding around in there, particularly when you were in flight, but other than that minor upgrade, everything you requested was about as economical as you could find.

It was far from glamorous, but by the time you finished waterproofing all of your seals and stepped back to admire your handiwork, you felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight. The Razor Crest was Mando’s ship, Mando’s home, but for the first time, you thought that perhaps one day, she might feel like yours, too.

When you finally felt ready to give everything a true test, Mando was out on a hunt. He had landed the Razor Crest on a remote planet in the middle of a humid forest, well-hidden by a copse of trees hung heavily with vines and moss, and you had neither seen nor heard from him in several days. You and Grogu had just finished your dinner for the evening, and the boy’s wide, dark eyes were heavy with fatigue. Seizing the opportunity, you tucked your little green charge into his hammock above the bunk, gave him a couple of gentle rocks until he began to nod off, and then eagerly dove into the newly-finished ‘fresher.

It was even better than you had expected.

The water from the shower was hot on your skin, almost shockingly so, and steam collected quickly in the cramped space, the fan you had fabricated working overtime to draw the excess moisture out of the room and into the exhaust vents. You had come across a lone bar of soap and a singular bottle of shampoo at the bottom of a storage bin one afternoon, and you used them both liberally. With how long it had been since you had last done so, it took multiple washes of both your hair and your body before you felt fully clean, but you couldn’t say you minded the extra time. It was an unspeakable luxury, to be able to stand under running water like this in a pre-Empire gunship that spent most of her time in hyperspace, and you found you couldn’t begrudge yourself the opportunity to bask in it.

Besides, the soap was clearly Mando’s. It was rich with the warm, spicy, masculine fragrance that you had first smelled in his bunk, and surrounding yourself with it like this had your skin flushing and your nerve endings buzzing. Perhaps you ought to have been embarrassed by your body’s reaction to nothing but a scent, but something about being tucked away in this tiny, little room, with its close walls and its own door that locked, knowing that Grogu was fast asleep and Mando wasn’t on board, had you feeling a bit bold. A bit shameless.

So caught up were you in your own enjoyment that you completely missed the sound of your comm link going off in your jumpsuit pocket, left crumpled in a pile on the bunk. On the other side of the door.

It was several more minutes before you found the motivation to turn off the water and step out of the shower. The prolonged heat (and perhaps also the arousal burning between your legs) had left you feeling a bit light-headed, so you toweled yourself off only briefly before wrapping the soft black material around your body and sliding open the door to get some cooler air.

However, to your great surprise, rather than being greeted by an empty cargo hold, you instead immediately met the impassive gaze of the Mandalorian.

His beskar was caked with mud, though he appeared uninjured, and he was in the process of freezing what looked to be an unconscious female Zabrack in carbonite. The gases were just beginning to dissipate and reveal her serene face outlined in matte gray, and although his body was facing her, his visor was fixed intently on you.

“Mando!” you gasped, your hands flying to your chest to grip your towel.

Silence, dense and significant, hovered between you. The bounty hunter continued to stare in your direction, and you could feel your throat begin to dry out and your heart speed up as you suddenly became acutely aware of your state of undress. Your towel was a little thing, a maintenance rag hardly meant for this purpose, and although it managed to cover from your breasts to the very tops of your thighs, that was hardly comparable to your typical boilersuit. And you had barely taken the time to dry yourself off. Your exposed skin shone in the dim cargo hold lighting; your long, unbound hair dripped a puddle onto the deck near your bare feet.

You felt strangely caught out, almost ashamed, as though the Mandalorian had discovered you in some compromising position.

A familiar, ill-timed wave of arousal flashed through you, raising goosebumps across your body and tightening your nipples as you caught a whiff of the scent that now clung to your damp skin. His scent.

Perhaps he had caught you.

Just when you thought you couldn’t bear the weight of this silence anymore, Mando replied simply, “Apologies.” Even through his vocoder, his voice sounded dry and deep, as though he had pulled the word from the depths of his chest, as though it had been a struggle to do so.

You swallowed thickly and shifted on your feet. “The, uh…” You cleared your throat, awkward and positively burning up from the inside. “The ‘fresher’s done. And the shower’s perfect. You should, uh…you should really give it a try.”

He offered you a single nod. “I will.”

You nodded, too. Your head felt loose on your neck, your mind spinning. “Okay. Good.”

Another silence, and you chewed on your lower lip as you cast your eyes around the room, searching for something, anything to look at that wasn’t Mando’s piercing gaze. Eventually, you landed upon your work boots, stacked neatly at the foot of the bunk, and the rumpled mess of your clothes spilling out of recess in the wall.

“Um. If…if I could just – ” you began, gesturing toward the pile of clothing with a little jerk of your head.

That, it seemed, was finally enough to pull the bounty hunter out of whatever shocked trance your appearance had seemed to inspire. He physically startled, turning away from the bounty in the carbonite chamber and drawing himself up straighter, and he dropped his satchel to the floor with a thud.

“Of course. Yes,” he said curtly, already moving toward the ladder up to the cockpit. “I’ll…start the take-off sequence. Let me know when you’re – ”

You found yourself nodding again. “Yeah, for sure. I’ll meet you up there in a bit,” you replied. Your voice sounded overly bright and forced even to your own ears, desperately eager to move past the heart-racing, thigh-clenching self-consciousness of the last few minutes.  

You watched then as Mando retreated up the ladder with a speed that you had never seen before. Tightening your hold on your towel, you slumped back against the ‘fresher doorframe, weak-kneed, and let the durasteel cool your flushed skin.

You weren’t ignorant to the tension that had been building between you and the Mandalorian over the last weeks, but it had never felt like…that. Like his gaze had been a physical touch on your skin, like your core had melted into liquid heat.

Like the delicious, warm slickness now coating the insides of your thighs.

Nothing had ever felt like that.

___

The Bazaar

Din supposed he ought to have known the question was coming sooner or later, but he still found himself somewhat taken aback the first time you asked to leave the Razor Crest during a hunt.

He had been guiding the ship in a steady descent through the atmosphere of Trevi IV, aiming for the spaceport port outside of Trevi City, when you broached the subject.

“I…really desperately need of some new clothes. And hygiene things. Now that we have the ‘fresher, you know,” you had explained haltingly, a charming flush burning high on your cheeks at the mention of your most recent project. “If you’d be willing to give me an advance on my pay, that is. I won’t need much – promise.”

The Mandalorian had found himself almost needing to bite back a groan at the mention of the ‘fresher. You had been correct, of course – the addition of that space had been a marked improvement to the quality of life on the Razor Crest since its completion, but no matter how many times either of you managed to use it without incident, he couldn’t help but recall the sight of you standing in the doorway – cloaked in steam, clothed in nothing but the mere suggestion of a towel, miles of soaking wet skin on display, and smelling unmistakably of him. The vision had nearly unmanned him in the moment, and still it continued to haunt him, even many days later.

It was entirely unprecedented, the way you had come to affect him. The lilt of your laughter at Grogu’s antics, the scent of your hair on the pillow in his bunk, the strong, capable grip of your hands on your hydrospanner, the dark, glossy shine of your eyes as you ran your gaze over his body when you thought he wasn’t looking. All of it had burrowed into the very depths of him, nestled itself near his heart, immoveable. He had never experienced anything like it in his life.

However, rather than confessing any of that, Din had instead simply nodded.

“Sure,” he had agreed. “I need to go to the bazaar district first on a lead anyway. You and the child can join me when we land, get what you need.”

The grateful smile you had sent his way had the Mandalorian feeling his face heat up even under his helmet.

It looked to be around midday local time when the Razor Crest finally landed, and by the time Din was ready to depart, he found you already waiting by the rear blast doors, Grogu strapped to your back in his favorite leather carrier and an eager expression on your face. You had dug an old satchel of his, threadbare and dusty, out of one of the storage compartments, and it hung limply across your body, empty and ready to be put to use. With a wordless nod and a hidden smile, he gestured in the direction of the doors. After you.

It occurred to him as he watched you descend the gangplank that this would be the first opportunity you had had to explore any of the planets he had taken you to thus far. Of course, your time with Peli had certainly been a change of pace from daily life aboard the Razor Crest, but that had been months ago now, and you hadn’t been permitted to leave the hangar at the time. And since then, he had all but insisted that you stay on the ship when he left to hunt. For your safety, and for the child’s, but regardless of how well-intentioned the reason, it wasn’t lost on him how little of the galaxy you had been allowed to see in your life.

Din resolved himself then that although today you would only be visiting a market, only purchasing some necessities, and although he was technically in Trevi City on a hunt, he would not allow you to return to the Crest until you had had your fill of the experience. He was on your timetable today. He would ensure you made the most of it.  

It had been some time since the bounty hunter had made his way to Trevi City, but he found it mostly unchanged as he led you and Grogu out of the spaceport’s docking yards and into the city proper. Trevi IV was a desert world, featuring miles of dusty plains and dramatic plateaus, but Trevi City was an oasis. Nestled against the craggy shores of the largest body of water on the planet, cooling, salty breezes wound their way through flagstone streets and buffeted against sundried brick buildings. Shops, stalls, carts, and tents of all shapes and sizes stretched in every direction, around every corner, and the crush of people was truly remarkable. Merchants – both local and traveling, customers of every age and walk of life, street performers in bright costumes, children and small animals darting in and out of the throng. At first glance, it seemed incomprehensible – the epitome of chaos.

And although Din had never been particularly fond of crowds, he couldn’t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction at the look of pure joy that spread across your face as you took in the bazaar.

First on your list, he knew, was clothing, so with a gentle nudge to your lower back, the Mandalorian steered you in the direction of the textile district – a few blocks down and to the left. The stalls there were draped in sumptuous fabrics, decorated with gold tassels, and staffed by women with sun-worn skin and friendly, welcoming smiles. You looked back at him then, uncertain, but Din gave you a wordless nod and scooped Grogu up and out of his carrier without preamble.

“Go on. I’ll keep an eye on the child. Just explain to one of them what you need, and they will help you,” he said, inclining his helmet toward the line of vendors. He wanted you to feel free to browse, to mingle unencumbered.

After a few halting introductions and some hesitant questions on your part, you did just that. From several yards away, the bounty hunter listened to you describe your needs to one of the women. He watched you tug self-consciously on the collar of your well-worn boilersuit, the olive green fabric now heavily stained with blood and engine oil and Maker knew what else, and he watched as the merchant woman nodded along, kindness in her eyes. Before long, she was looping your arm through hers and leading you deeper into the line of covered stalls, pulling items from racks and tables as she went.

Din kept his distance as you shopped, tracking the top of your head as you wound through the merchandise but never following. Only when you ducked behind a heavily embroidered curtain with an armload of items to try on did he look away, instead finding his attention captured by a display of colorful scarves and handkerchiefs fluttering in the ocean breeze. Before he could consider it further, he found himself in front of the display, running his gloved fingers over assortments of linen, cotton, and silk.

Mere moments later, he left the booth, a cotton scarf decorated with a delicate floral pattern in his pocket and a few credits less in his purse.

By the time you were ready to move on to the next items on your list, your borrowed, threadbare satchel was nearly full to bursting. Your face glowed with pride as you showed him your selections – a brand-new boilersuit (this one in a fetching deep blue), a pair of brown cargo pants and a matching jacket, a stack of undershirts, and two sets of soft, black sleep clothes. Din also tried desperately not to notice the new sets of undergarments hidden at the bottom of your bag as he dutifully handed the total payment over to the vendor.  

He, of course, was unsuccessful. The images of those scraps of fabric, revealed accidentally as you dug through your sack, were now burned onto the backs of his eyelids, ever-present whenever he closed his eyes.

“Hygiene next?” you asked eagerly, rocking back and forth on your feet like a small child. Grogu giggled from his perch in the bounty hunter’s arms, and the latter nodded, clearing his throat.

“Hygiene is this way,” he replied with a gesture to the east.

His voice sounded suspiciously strained even to his own ears.

Your time perusing the toiletry stalls was much briefer than your time with the textiles, but it left Din perhaps even more disquieted. Your first purchase was a pair of full-sized terry cloth towels, which in turn called to mind the image of the miniscule one you had clutched over your breasts in the doorway of the ‘fresher and caused his brain to short-circuit. You also picked up a wide-toothed, wooden comb for your hair, saying casually, “I don’t know if you have hair under that helmet, Mando, but if you do, you’re welcome to borrow it if you need to! You must get awful tangles,” which left him utterly speechless.

However, perhaps the most taxing of all was the booth boasting hand-made soaps and haircare products. The Mandalorian watched, his throat dry, as your capable, calloused fingers floated gently over the many colorful bars and bottles, occasionally picking one up and lifting it to your nose to give a delicate sniff. Without fail, you would always then extend the item to him, placing it directly below the edge of his helmet.

“What do you think of this one?” you asked. “Or how about this? Too fruity? That one’s too much for me, I think. Oh, this one smells like nightblossoms!”

And on and on.

It wasn’t really that he minded being asked for his opinion. On the contrary, he found your enthusiastic chatter pleasant, and something inside him warmed at the idea that you might actually care about his preferences when it came to your body products. However, there was a singular thought that refused to leave him alone every time you asked for his input, one he dared not voice.

On perhaps the tenth bottle of shampoo that provoked a noncommittal response, you sighed heavily.

“Come on, Mando, give me something here,” you whined, clearly exasperated. “You’re the one who has to be cooped up with me on the Crest every day, the one who has to share a ‘fresher with me. I’d think you might care about whether the shampoo I buy gives you a headache or not.”

Din cocked his head, considering. He thought of the dark, blown-pupil looks you sent his way when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the burning flush that extended down your chest coming out of the ‘fresher, the way you leaned into his touch the few times he had dared run the back of his fingers across your cheek.

Perhaps…perhaps you might welcome him being a bit more candid with you than he had been previously.

“Well?” you pressed. Irritation crept into the edge of your voice then, and the Mandalorian found himself nodding.

“Very well,” he murmured, soft and gruff through his vocoder. “Follow me.”

Without another word, he led you to another stall, this one carrying similar products as the previous but with an aesthetic that clearly intended to be marketed toward men. The stall was draped in tactical netting with wares hanging from the ropes, and the tables were dressed with simple black cloths. The various bars and bottles were fashioned in more neutral colors, earthy and cool, and the merchant manning the till was dressed in an austere black suit. He nodded in your direction once but said nothing.

It did not matter. Din knew precisely what he was looking for.

Barely a moment later, before you could give voice to the questions that were clearly in your eyes, the bounty hunter plucked a single bar of soap and single bottle of hair wash off the table and extended them both to you.

You glanced from the proffered toiletries to Din’s face and then back again, your eyebrows raised quizzically. “These? You think I should buy these?” you asked dubiously.

He inclined his helmet in the affirmative. “Yes.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What are they?”

He simply continued to stare at you, silent, willing you to reach out and take them. Eventually, you did. Your fingers brushed his as you took the bar and the bottle into your hands, and if Din did not know better, he would have been certain that he could feel the warmth of your skin through his gloves.

Skepticism still apparent in your expression, you raised the bar of soap to your nose and sniffed lightly. Instantly, your eyes widened, and Din watched with liquid heat in his gut as your pupils expanded.

“This – ” you started, then paused and cleared your throat loudly. “This is your soap.” Your cheeks darkened, your lower lip disappearing between your teeth.

“Yes,” the Mandalorian confirmed.

“You – you think I should buy the same thing? The same as you?” You were stammering, seemingly struggling to maintain eye contact.

“It suits you,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie. As much as he enjoyed the scent on himself, it somehow was only enhanced on your skin, your hair. It was comforting, warm and inviting.

It spoke to a primeval part of his psyche, something that purred at the thought of you being marked as belonging to him. Only him.  

“Well, it’s all I’ve had ‘til now. You don’t think it makes me smell like a man?” you asked with a forced chuckle, a clear attempt to inject some levity into what had suddenly become a very weighted conversation.

At that, Din could not stop himself from taking a step closer, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head back on your neck to keep looking in his eyes. His breath came short in his chest at the proximity, and his voice crackled through his helmet modulator as he replied, “Trust me. There is nothing about you that could be mistaken for a man.”

An almost bashful expression came over you then, and you dropped your gaze. “That a good thing?” you murmured.

The bounty hunter could only manage a nod in response.

You left the booth with three new bars of soap and three bottles of hair wash in his favorite scent, the haul quickly added to your satchel with a secret smile and a heavy blush.

At that point, Grogu began to fuss in Din’s arms, whining softly and smacking his lips in the way that you both had learned meant that he was getting hungry, so the three of you ended the afternoon hopping from vendor to vendor sampling a variety of Trevi street foods. Well, perhaps more accurately, the Mandalorian watched as you and Grogu enjoyed the local fare – he packaged up his own to take back to the Razor Crest.

First, you selected an almost comically large wrap from a stall run by a male Bith – a pillow-soft flatbread wrapped around some variety of savory meat, a relish of pickled vegetables, and a bright orange sauce with a heavily spiced aroma. The sauce left broad, messy streaks across your nose and cheeks as you ate, but you paid it no mind. Instead, you simply laughed and plucked a few choice bits of meat out of the flatbread and passed them over your shoulder to Grogu, who was once again strapped to your back in his carrier. The boy babbled and munched happily, and Din took it upon himself to go back to the stall and request a handful of napkins.

Next, you followed the unctuous scent of fry oil to a tiny cart staffed by a Truishii woman. This one was peddling small paper bags filled to the brim with an assortment of deep-fried vegetables, coated in a thin golden batter and soaking the bag with grease. You groaned under your breath at the first bite, and Din immediately purchased a second bag.

Finally, after a bit of leisurely meandering and browsing, you stumbled across an open-air cantina just as the sun was beginning to set. A hired band played a lively tune from one corner of the cantina’s patio, and barmaids wove gracefully between rickety tables carrying trays laden with tankards. The Mandalorian looked on as you watched the band, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips, your body swaying unconsciously to the beat.

Before he could think better of it, he placed a gentle hand at the base of your spine to get your attention. “Would you like to sit down? Have a drink?” he asked, bringing his helmet down close so you could hear him better over the music.

You startled slightly under his touch, but Din could not ignore the way you seemed to lean into it, or the deep breath you took at the sound of his vocoder in your ear. You nodded silently in response, and the Mandalorian took that as his cue to lead you a table, flagging down a barmaid on the way.

He ordered you a tankard and Grogu a cup of bone broth as you settled into your seat, and the wide-eyed look of overwhelm as you took in the tankard’s contents made Din laugh out loud.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice tinged with awe.

He smirked. “I’m not sure what it’s called. It’s a local brew, made with honey.”

You swallowed heavily, giving the cup one more once-over before taking it in both hands. “Well. Bottoms up!” You inclined the tankard in his direction then brought it to your lips, drinking deeply.

In mere minutes, it was empty, and you were ordering a second, eyes glossy and cheeks flushed.

It was well past sundown by the time Din helped you stand from your seat at the cantina and led you back through the winding flagstone streets to the spaceport. Grogu had long since fallen asleep in his carrier, his little head resting on the back of your shoulder as he snored gently, and you had polished off nearly three full tankards of that honeyed beverage, leaving you giggly and wobbling on your feet. You were singing softly to yourself, humming one of the songs the band had been playing and grinning from ear to ear, and the effect was so charming, it was all the Mandalorian could do to keep himself from joining in.

When you arrived back at the Razor Crest, however, you seemed to have finally burned out all of your energy. You stumbled and lurched up the gangplank the moment it touched the ground, pausing only briefly once inside the ship to drop the bag full of your purchases unceremoniously onto the deck floor. Din called out your name like a question, but rather than answering, you simply removed Grogu’s carrier from your back, still holding the sleeping child, and passed it into the Mandalorian’s waiting arms.

“I have to lay down,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Din nodded and gently steered you in the direction of the bunk. “This way,” he replied, just as softly.

At the entrance to the bunk alcove, you toed off your boots and then, to Din’s great surprise, stripped off your boilersuit, leaving you clad in nothing but a black breast band, a worn pair of gray undershorts, and a pair of crew-length socks. Everything else was left haphazardly piled on the deck, sure to be a tripping hazard when you woke, but you clearly couldn’t be bothered. Muttering to yourself, eyes half closed, you clambered into the bunk.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked after a moment.

“‘M fine,” you murmured, your voice thick and muffled by the pillow. “Never drank that much before. Not allowed in the barracks. Couldn’t afford it when I ran away.”

Din nodded even though he knew you couldn’t really see it. “I understand. Alcohol was discouraged during my training in the Fighting Corps. It…takes some getting used to.”

You hummed in response, snuggling deeper into the bunk’s barren mattress. Something inside him warmed, and he smiled softly at the sight.

The bounty hunter took a moment then to carefully extract the sleeping Grogu from his carrier, settling him in the little hammock he had fashioned for the boy that stretched across the bunk alcove. It was only when he was preparing to walk away and settle himself in the cockpit for the night that he heard you speak again.

“Mando?” you called softly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For today,” you whispered. You were nearly asleep, your words slurred and slow. “It was wonderful. You’re wonderful. Best day of my life.”

[aschermorgan]

Prompt 9 - Parade

prompt from rosekillermicrofics - word count 686 - June 18

James was excited. He was going to his first pride parade today, and while he himself expressed no interest in other men, his closest friends certainly did, so he would be going along to support and celebrate with them.

The list of friends he was accompanying included his mother Effie, who doubled as one of their two designated drivers, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Peter’s boyfriend Gilderoy, who was the other designated driver, Sirius Black, Sirius’s younger brother Regulus, and Regulus’s boyfriend Barty.

The large group had to split into two vehicles and caravan, but the separation didn’t make the twenty-somethings any less amped up about the day’s adventure.

After arriving, the boys’ group became quite popular among the parade’s spectators, thanks to Euphemia’s shirt, and matching cardboard sign, which both read ‘Free mom hugs.’ 

The most interesting encounter didn’t occur until near the end of the parade, when everyone was already at the least a little drunk, and a tall young man, named Evan, walked over to get a hug from Effie, but after he did, he made no effort to move along, instead chatting idly with Barty and Regulus, exchanging the occasional remark with Sirius or Remus.

Eventually, after maybe twenty minutes hanging around the large group, he finally did start talking with James. His first question was expected: “she’s your mom?” James confirmed thoughtlessly that Effie was, in fact, his mother. The question that followed was decidedly less anticipated.

“You’re into guys?”

James blinked caught off guard, while Sirius roared with laughter, casting an arm around his best friend’s shoulders with a wolfish grin. “Nah, Prongs is the odd one out in the group. Mental, he is.” James scowled, and shoved the drunken Sirius away exasperatedly.

“Piss off, Pads.” He dismissed, “I’m straight.” He added for Evan’s benefit, who raises an eyebrow, like he didn’t totally believe that. His voice had gained a playful edge when he inquired further.

“Have you tested that?” 

James sighed heavily as Barty and Sirius sniggered amongst themselves, and even Remus and Regulus were having a hard time keeping a straight face. Effie, Peter, and Gilderoy, thankfully, were preoccupied talking to a small group of trans youths, totally unaware of James’s conversation behind them.

“How do you mean?” James asked reluctantly, his voice dry and mildly annoyed by the subject.

“Have you ever kissed a guy?” Evan questioned shamelessly, his tone clearly playful and suggestive as he leans in subtly closer to meet the shorter James’s eyes. “No.” James denied wryly, though the irritated tenor was softening with time. “Why do you ask?”

Evan grins imperceptibly. Barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth to suggest amusement. “Would you like to?”

The query wasn’t necessarily an invitation. More like a challenge. And James was never one to back down from a challenge, especially when he was tipsy like this, so he shrugs. Nods. Doesn’t even process his own answer, before the blond’s fingers were touching his face, making him look up.

Before he could change his mind, pull away, or anything else, their lips met. James froze, but it was less than a second before he kissed back fervently. 

It took an eternity for the contact to break. For the men to pull away for air, but when they did, James is sporting a rouge blush across his tanned cheeks, and Evan grins in earnest, smug as he asked again. “So, James, are you straight?”

James didn’t even try to collect himself before he answered in a breathless huff. “Absolutely not.” Evan’s grin widened, and Sirius wolf-whistled mockingly, making Effie look up curiously, still completely oblivious to her son’s encounter, but she saw the disgruntled, stunned look on his face, and smiles knowingly, looking away once more.

The following year when the group went to the same parade, they had expanded in number. They now were joined by Evan Rosier, his sister Pandora, and Pandora’s friend/haven’t put a label on it, Lily.

Evan and James both had matching wedding rings on their fingers, and Sirius and Barty would never stop making fun of them for marrying so quickly.

[awesomeferret10]

In your family concept, did Ian and Anthony divorce? Did he see the kids while they were split up? Did they go stay with him?

They were teenagers (16) when they accidentally (trans masc Ian woo) had their eldest (Olivia who’s now like 17) and tried to stick it out for a few years but young parents and bad communication made it difficult so they made the mutual decision when she was 6 to split.

Anthony did his best to visit her a few times a week and call to say goodnight every night but Olivia was stubborn and absolutely not having it. Anthony had been the one too move out of the house so she was determined to think that he was the cause of the family breaking up.

They did family therapy every week but eventually the family therapist basically told Anthony to give her space and take some time to work on the mess that was his own mental health.

So Anthony moved a few hours away and only reached out on Olivia’s birthday and holidays (always sending gifts and his phone number with an offer for her to call or FaceTime him that she never took him up on)

Little did either Ian or Anthony know when they broke up, Ian had literally just gotten pregnant with Damien and Shayne. He did not realize he was pregnant for the next couple of months until after Anthony moved away. When he did realize he told him but the two of them made the decision that since the kids would never know him they’d keep low contact unless they made the choice to speak to Anthony when they got older and Ian would always let them know that was an option.

So that continued for a little with Olivia being 7 when Damien and Shayne were born and Anthony sending money as unofficial child support.

Within two years Ian has Tommy with someone else (this time on purpose, he moved a little too fast and this guy was a scumbag (human version of defy lol) but at least 23 year old Ian is in fact now aware of condoms)

He continued raising the four of them for two more years alone.

Until Anthony moved back.

He reached out to Ian for updates on the kids (which Ian had previously been sending occasionally along with pictures and videos over the years) and they begin meeting up in person every week to talk about the kids and eventually, other things.

They begin reconnecting as best friends.

Olivia (now 10) notices her Dad is a lot happier and that every Wednesday when her and her siblings are picked up from school (and in Tommy’s case daycare, he goes Mondays and Wednesdays to give her Dad a break) he’s a lot happier and less stressed than usual.

She asks him what’s up and thinking she’s old enough he gently explains every Wednesday he talks to Anthony.

This makes Olivia reconsider some stances and so Olivia accepts the request to FaceTime a few months after Anthony moved back.

She begins having visitation every Saturday. Ian is a little wary about Shayne and Damien meeting a parent they’ve never really even known existed (although Ian had done his best to not be bitter and tell childhood stories of his best friend and often let his parents talk about Anthony too all the kids).

Eventually Ian and Anthony fall in love again. They really have to work on building that trust up but they do and from there it moves a little too fast.

Ian takes his time introducing Anthony too all 4 kids as a romantic partner (the one thing he’s appropriately slow and cautious about) but once that’s done and the kids are comfortable with Anthony, they move in together fairly quickly and then pretty soon after that have Chanse and Angela (on purpose, 26 year old Anthony knows how to put on a condom now) and when the two of them are about 6 years old Ian and Anthony get married.

All their children are involved in the ceremony (Chanse and Angela are flower boy and girl, Shayne, and Damien, are ring bearers, Olivia is Ian’s best man, and Tommy is Anthony’s)

I also like too think that these two are literally incapable of not creating way too big of a family and within a few years they also have Erin, Nicole, Arasha, and Trevor. Just. A huge ass family. The last couple of kids are with a surrogate because now they have the money for that with the combined income and also the money for Ian to get bottom surgery.

The timeline is messier than it would have been if I actually thought about this when making the og post but for winging it this is basically my best idea of what the hell went down with Ian and Anthony messy ass family.

[chimonystack]

Alright,

so there's been an Orange Side™ teased for a long time now in Sanders Sides, right? And the common theory is that Orange will be some form of Rage or Wrath, and will either take over or split from Logan, right? Well, I want to voice my opinion on this, because I believe it's extremely accurate, and could also provide an amazing character to the mix to oppose all of the sides (yes, INCLUDING LOGAN.)

So, first point:

This point is very minor, but Logan was the first side to have his name revealed. If Orange is the last side to be revealed, that would mean he'll also be the last one to have his name revealed, which is an interesting parallel.

Second point:

Logan rarely shows any emotions. Yes, he gets excited about Crofter's, he has some small amount of pride whenever he's right, and earlier in the series he feels small amounts of remorse whenever he does something that hurts one of the other sides. But, most of the time, Logan doesn't show any emotions (and in "Alone on VALENTINE'S DAY!" he even says "Call me when you have something a little less feelingsy"). He shows nothing, except for one emotion (which is fairly obvious given the intro to this post, but I'll still save it for later).

Third point:

Logan has had excellent character development since the beginning of the series. In the beginning, Logan only cared about the logical solutions for any of Thomas' problems. He would constantly fight one of the other sides about a problem until one of the remaining sides or even Thomas himself forced him to see what he was doing wrong and concede or compromise. But as the series kept going on, Logan started becoming not just more academically intelligent, but very importantly, more emotionally intelligent. He understands the other sides more, and he eventually comes to realize that every side has their merit, even Janus and Remus.

Fourth point:

Logan often gets ignored or dismissed by the other sides and Thomas himself. Yes, Thomas calls on him for help for several situations, and Logan often saves the day, but even so, he doesn't always get the full credit he deserves. The most notable examples of him being dismissed or ignored are in "Moving On," and "Working Through Intrusive Thoughts." In Moving On, Logan makes a mistake and suggests they go to Patton's room, but once he realizes what Patton's room is actually doing (especially to Virgil), he immediately tries to get Thomas and the other sides to leave. Thomas, Roman and Patton ignore him, and Logan gets frustrated enough to leave. In Working Through Intrusive Thoughts, Logan constantly tries to get Thomas to follow his schedule for the day, but Remus keeps breaking Thomas' focus on his chores. Then, once Thomas finally gets called by Nico, the final thread of Thomas' focus on his chores is broken and he instead decides to go meet Nico to look at art. Despite all of this, Logan still tries to listen to everybody, including Janus and Remus.

Fifth point:

There seems to be a pattern with the sides and whether they're associated with more positive or negative traits. Logan, Patton, and Roman are all positive. Janus and Remus are both negative. Virgil is both positive and negative. If Orange is Wrath or Rage, this creates symmetry on both sides, with Orange joining Janus and Remus as a negative trait. This is also supported in the Sanders Sides Anime Intro (which I'm sure everybody already noticed but it's still worth it to me to bring up).

Now, to bring it all together:

If Orange is indeed going to be Rage or Wrath, it absolutely makes sense for him to either take over or split from Logan, because the one emotion that Logan shows consistently and often is anger. His frustrations whenever he makes mistakes, or when he gets ignored or dismissed, and especially his "FALSEHOOD" are all examples of how he commonly has outbursts (or at the very least, visible) bouts of anger. Logan's eyes glowing orange when he yells at Remus in Working Through Intrusive Thoughts only add to this. If Orange is meant to be a reflection/the opposite of Logan, then he'll likely show emotions constantly, with the only thing that stays the same being the outbursts of anger, just severely intensified for Orange. This also opens the door for the character development that Logan has had being completely reversed (no matter whether Logan is taken over or if Orange just splits from him). All of a sudden, the rest of the sides have somebody that simply does not care about their opinions or feelings. Orange likely will ignore all of the rest of the sides, or even lash out at them constantly, never giving them the time of day. Orange will refuse to see the merit in any of the sides' functions, which is the exact opposite of Logan, who tries to see everybody's merit. The new biggest problem becomes avoiding Wrath, but to no avail, as he keeps coming back angrier every time, until eventually they all realize that, just like with Virgil, they need to try to understand him. The only problem with that is that it's harder to understand and accept Wrath than it was to understand Virgil.

No matter what, though:

I am SO hyped for these teasers to pay off, no matter what Orange ends up being. I have no doubts at all about Thomas' ability to create an amazing and compelling character for all of us to love just as much as the other six sides.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

🐰🧑‍🧑‍🧒

🐻🧑‍🧑‍🧒

Link to the Prompts :]

🐰👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 (the Afton Family; what were they like?)

Bill is divorced from his ex-wife (Maggie Schmidt) and he has the kids on the weekends prior to CC'S death when Mike elects to go live with him full-time.

He's an okay-to-good dad, actually. He's fun and gets his kids these lavish gifts but he's pretty terrible dealing with emotional problems they might have. Type of guy to get you the new game system but stare at you blankly when you say you feel sad. The Afton kids get more emotional validation out of him when he's in costume.

Maggie is also a decent parent. She's harder on the kids but patient and understanding. She moves a couple towns over and eventually out of state to get away from the absolute mess that is Hurricane and Freddy's after her kids like... die.

Mike didn't take the divorce very well cus he saw his family as picture-esc and he feels weird about that illusion being shattered- Maggie's better than William at actually helping him with that. He still lashes out though mostly agaisnt his little brother. He does love his family a lot though he's tricked himself into thinking he's scaring Nate to "toughen him up".

Lizzie also didn't take the divorce very well but mostly because she wants to spend more time with her dad than she's allowed to. This sorta bubbles into a childish resentment for her mother but it's nothing tooo serious (she still loves her, she still knows her mum loves her, her dad just Gets Her in a way Maggie doesn't).

Nate is a small child and he's generally just confused about everything going on around him. He was a newborn when his parents split so he doesn't really know anything else. He likes his parents cus they're nice to him and hug him when he cries but he's a little scared of bill cus he saw him climbing out of the Rabbit costume once and he HATES THAT THING !!!!! It ATE HIS DAD !!!!! He has the SCARS TO PROVE IT !!! I think he prefers Henry, actually- cus he comforts him when Mike locks him in parts and service. Speaking of.

🐻👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 (the Emily Family; what were they like)

Henry was a shit partner and a slightly less shitty dad. Him and his wife (Eryka) are also divorced but they split before Bill and Maggie did. Henry is very emotionally unavailable (on a good day) and tends to just block everything out when he's too consumed by his work- which is often. He couldn't give Eryka the type of support she needed so they amicably split and tbh Henry hardly noticed. He's trying to be better for Charlie, though. He's still distant but he does things with her and is making a genuine effort. He forgot Sammy existed when Eryka left with him, though. Just completely blocked out his other child.

Eryka is an aspiring author and her leaving Henry and taking Sammy with her is probably the best decision anyone in this franchise has ever made. Her and Sammy just completely dodge all of the shit going on until like... 2017. Obviously she comes back to Hurricane for Charlie's funeral and things between her and Henry are very very tense (him being even more shut down than normal didn't help).

Charlie was a real rough and tumble kid I think. She'd get knocked down and keep swinging till she won. Her and Mike would wrestle pretty often and she'd want to keep going long after he ran out of steam (she'd run and grab him some fruit and plasters after tho :]). She loves her dad and looks up to him a lot but she secretly prefers spending time with Bill. Cus he's funny. She'd go and visit Sammy and her mum monthly :]

Sammy is a lot quieter and more introverted. They takes their parents splitting a little harder than Charlie did cus they LIKED Freddy's and liked hanging out with Nate but... hey what are you gonna do. He grows up to be a school teacher but he keeps up with the goings on in Hurricane. I think they doodle the animatronics every so often. Generally tries not ti think about how fucked up everything that happened was.

[milkyplier]

Rescue Ranch AU - Legend (Mountain)

Legend sits up, and the world swirls around him in smears of blues and greens and blacks. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen to the side until his arm connects with the ground and send shockwaves through his body. Nausea rises in his gut, so he sits there, closing his eyes and trying to take deep breaths to try and tame it. It’s less than effective, with each inhale sending sharp stabs of pain through his chest. Eventually, it simmers back down on its own, and Legend tries again to sit up, much more carefully this time. He’s only sat fully up for a few seconds when there’s a low, familiar nicker and a velvety nose pushing against his shoulder.

“M’okay, Raven,” Legend mumbles, reaching out blindly to tangle his fingers in her mane. “S’okay, lady.”

He takes in a few more barely-steadying breaths. His head throbs badly enough that it’s messing up his vision. Raven brushes her nose against him again, evidently less than pleased with his answer. He touches the right side of his face, and his fingers come away sticky with blood. He winces at the sight, and that is when the anxiety begins to set in. He’s bleeding, probably has broken ribs and a concussion, and it occurs to him that he did not immediately remember what caused it or where he is.

He has no idea how long he’s been out; his lack of urgency was plenty of time for some infected monster to sneak up on him. With that, he gets a better grip on Raven’s mane and uses her to steady himself as he gets to his feet. She stands still, patiently supporting him and shoving her nose against his stomach when he’s fully standing. She probably just wants treats, but Legend leans some of his weight across her face and uses it to catch his breath. Again, she stands still until Legend straightens again, running a hand through her mane and murmuring praises to her.

Now standing, Legend takes a look around. He’s on a mountain, a familiar path he’s ridden a hundred times before. To his left, the path continues, clear, further into the mountains. To his right, where the path would have lead them out of the mountains and onto Legend’s own land, the path is covered in a lot of rocks.

*

A cruel cackles precedes the rumbling on the mountainside, drawing Legend’s attention up. His blood runs cold as he spots the monsters, a Moblin and a Bokoblin, at the top of the slope, pushing and hitting rocks until there’s a full-blown mini landslide rushing down the slope towards Marin and Legend. Legend redirects his gaze to Marin, who’s riding in front of him, and she makes eye contact with him. Her browns eyes are wide with terror, and that snaps Legend into action.

“Run!” He yells at her. “Go, gallop!”

He turns Raven to the left sharply, but he’s unable to bring himself to turn her away fully and start moving—that would take his eyes off Marin. He watches as Marin spurs her gelding forward, and the first rocks begin to smash against the mountain path, spooking the horse. It delays her escape and for a split second, Legend is frozen. Fear, grief, rage and sheer helplessness create a toxic mixture, running like fire through his veins and freezing his lungs. The image of Marin, fighting to guide her horse through the chaos, is the very last thing he sees before pain explodes in his right temple—and the world shatters like porcelain against a black backdrop.

*

“Marin!?” He shouts instinctively, the memory triggering his adrenaline. He forgets instantly how much his body hurts, how very little strength he has to put towards more than trying to breathe through the pain. “Marin, where are you?!”

His voice echoes through the mountains mockingly, and he turns around sharply at the sound of a responding monster’s screech. The monsters that tried to kill him, and they didn’t sound happy that it hadn’t worked. Legend sees a Moblin and a bokoblin picking their way down the steep slope they’d been camped on. The bokoblin reaches him first, its size allowing it to traverse the pathway down with less care than the Moblin.

Legend unsheathes his sword, shooing Raven out of harm’s way and bracing himself against the creature. Legend’s rage and the ‘blin’s reckless strategy of throwing itself repeatedly at him enables him to take if down with relative ease, but he knows the Moblin will be a different story. He’s buzzing with too much adrenaline to feel his injuries, but he knows he’s less than prepared to take on a creature as big as a Moblin—especially when it’s methods of attack are the same as the Bokoblin, just more effective.

That considered, he sheathes his sword and instead pulls out his short shotgun. He waits for the cursed Moblin to get closer before there’s the satisfying click of the safety turned off, and then the blast that reverberates through the valley. In the time it takes the Moblin to recover, Legend has dumped the first two shells and reloaded. Another shot, two more shells, two more bullets, one last shot, and the creature is on the ground, a sizable hole in its gut. It isn’t dead, though, bur Legend’s sword through its throat fixes that.

He sheathes his sword again and watches the monster bleed out until he’s certain it’s dead, and then he looks up and frowns. The pressure of urgency rests on his chest; he was doing something important. The monsters must have distracted him, and now he’s going to get back to what that original thing was…as soon as remembers. He looks back at the rocks in the path, and for the second time that day it hits him like a sack of bricks: Marin.

“Marin?!” He calls again, hurrying towards the rocks. He hears no reply, he searches the pile of rocks and he sees nothing. He looks down into the valley, where the landslide fell, and his stomach twists unpleasantly. He was knocked out fairly early in the rockslide, but if he remembers, Marin was in position to be caught right in the middle of it…he banishes that thought and begins to pick his way down the mountain. He has to find her, he will find her.

And he tries. He really does. The night drags on, further and further, and Legend searches and searches and searches, up and down the mountainside, over rocks and calling out her name, over and over and over again. She never answers, and he never finds anything. Not a lock of hair, not a scrap of her shirt. Nothing.

He climbs back up onto the path for the last time, and he doesn’t realize he’s falling until he’s hit the ground and shockwaves are running through his body. He feels shaky and lightheaded, nausea returning full force. It hurts to breathe, the urge to pant stopped by how painful it is. He groans softly as the full effect of worn-off adrenaline, and the consequences of pushing himself when he should not have, hits him. He lays there for a long and unmeasured amount of time before a hitched breath triggers a coughing fit, and when it ends, the coppery taste of blood brushes the back of Legend’s tongue and he knows he can’t neglect himself any longer.

He sits up, slow and sore, and calls Raven over. He once again uses her to get himself standing, and then he is faced with the near impossible task of mounting her. His body is heavy and protests the movements, and when he swings himself up and settles into the saddle there are a few long sections in which Legend has to just grit his teeth and put all his effort into remembering how to breathe. And with that, begins the trek home, up the slope and around the rocks, and then onwards up the path closer to the mountain’s exit. His chest feels hollow as he leaves, his instincts screaming at him to stop and go back and keep looking until he finds something. But, if Legend were to be totally honest, even through the haze of pain and exhaustion and grief…he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to be searching for.

[cardinal-cassidy]

FULL NAME: Cassidy Bolton SPECIES: Witch AGE: 32 DATE OF BIRTH: March 14 GENDER IDENTITY: Male OCCUPATION: Housekeeper WORKPLACE: Prescott Ranch POSITIVE TRAITS: Intelligent, Protective, Creative NEGATIVE TRAITS: Impulsive, Arrogant, Casuistic, Egocentric FACE CLAIM: Jeremy Allen White

TRIGGER WARNING: Teen Pregnancy TW, Addiction TW, Drugs TW

BIOGRAPHY

Growing up in the Bolton family was a wonderful life, although not rich none of the children needed and/or wanted for anything.  The Bolton family had a wonderful reputation in the town of being good folks, James Bolton the patriarch of the Bolton family working as a firefighter now retired and owning the local pub and the matriarch Evelyn Bolton who is an elementary school teacher.

Throughout his childhood, Cassidy outshone many his age academically, musically and was assumed to be that kid destined for great things.  Not only was he gifted in school, he showed real promise in his magical abilities.  However, life has funny twists.  The girl next door Abigail stole his heart when they were just in diapers.  Growing up next-door, the two were inseparable and became playground boyfriend and girlfriend at a young age and eventually official boyfriend and girlfriend at thirteen.  Abigail and Cassidy planned to go to college and travel the world together.  Yet at the ripe age of fifteen the two paced the floor of his bedroom waiting for the results of the pregnancy test.  Several minutes later the stick turned pink and their plans of adventure went south.  Needless to say, both families were not thrilled at the prospect of their kids having kids.  However, each family was extremely supportive and did their best to help navigate them through the prospects of parenthood.

As Cassidy was supposed to become into the rite of passage of getting a driver’s license, he instead was becoming a father while his siblings off doing their own adventures, Cassidy felt left behind and stuck.  Both Abigail and Cassidy quickly got jobs to support their baby son, while trying to finish their GED.

Who would have thought life as teen parents wouldn’t be easy?  With sleepless nights and being so young the two fought constantly about bills, their son and everything under the sun.  Eventually a year after their son’s birth, the two called it quits and decided to split custody for their son’s sake.  Little did they know what the future would bring them…

After their breakup, Cassidy fell into a pattern of partying and dating several people at a time with little concern of anyone involved.  At least until he met Riley, who flipped his world upside down.  Everything about the woman enticed him; the two started a toxic relationship filled with cheating and drugs.  Eventually, this resulted in twins by the time he was nineteen.  With three kids to support before the age of twenty, Cassidy found jobs wherever he could to try and support the three kids.

However, with his addiction issues it caused problems with his custody arrangement with Abigail and he started seeing less and less of his oldest son Spencer.  In fact, his drug issues started affecting more than just himself. It stretched to his siblings and his parents, he began stealing from work which caused him to lose his job and eventually he got caught stealing from his eldest sibling resulting in the lack of trust with his family and him.

For years, Cassidy would sober up for several months, occasionally getting near a year and then would fall off the wagon, always leaving his family in fear of getting the phone call that he died of an overdose.  At the ripe age of twenty-seven, he met a woman at a party and the two had a one-night stand.  Nothing new for Cassidy, he never thought he would see her again.  Yet, nearly a year later she showed up with a baby named Lily in a car seat and handed the baby off to him and with DNA tests, it proved to be his child.

Currently, he is working as a housekeeper at Prescott Ranch.  Spencer, his eldest son is now sixteen the same age he was when he had him.  The two rarely speak, years of ups, but mostly downs have caused a rift between them.  While his three youngest kids live with him in a small trailer in the trailer park.  Most people who know him, don’t have much nice to say about him given his general attitude towards everything.  But, he loves his kids and is trying to do right by them.

HEADCANONS

Eldest Son (16) - Spencer

Twin Daughter (13) - Devin

Twin Son (13) - Patrick

Youngest Daughter (4) - Lily

A little bit of a clean freak

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Mother of his eldest son

Older brothers

Older sisters

Best friend from high school

Friend with benefits

[mariacallous]

In Donald Trump’s first term, he reinvented many things about how the job of President was done. The strictly scheduled day of his predecessors—the rigid procession of fifteen-minute meetings, the early-morning starts—was not for him. Instead, much of his “executive time” was spent in the small dining room off the Oval Office—a place eventually made infamous by his decision to spend a large part of the afternoon of January 6, 2021, there watching a mob of his supporters storm the Capitol and refusing to do anything about it. He would sit there and watch cable television, then tweet about something he saw on TV, and then watch the coverage of his tweet. Having spent years observing that behavior, a former White House official from Trump’s first term once told me that it was as though the President looked at his job as an extended tryout for the role of Mike Teavee, the television-addicted American kid in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” In the film, the boy jumps inside an actual television and finds himself split into millions of pieces, then shrunk into a tiny version of himself. Wonka’s Oompa Loompas stretch him back out on a taffy puller, and sing of how television turns the brain into goop.

In Trump’s case, his second term has demonstrated another thesis—that the President of the United States can spend so much of his day on camera that it is as if he were live-streaming his tenure and not merely obsessively watching it play out on TV. Hardly a day goes by when Trump does not summon the White House press pool—now handpicked by his staff rather than independently chosen by the media itself, as it was for more than a century—for an announcement, a visit with a foreign dignitary, or merely to get a few things off his chest. Sometimes, this happens multiple times in a single day. These Oval Office rambles have largely replaced the more formal press conferences in the East Room which he held during his previous term. And with no more elections to run, Trump has mostly eschewed the big rallies that were the hallmark of his campaigns, preferring to spend time at the White House or at his own private clubs in Florida and New Jersey; one analysis found that, on forty of his first hundred days—and twelve out of fourteen weekends—he spent time at his personal properties.

When he is in the White House, the trademark image of his second term has become Trump at the Resolute desk, with a rotating cast of admiring Cabinet members and other characters behind him, while he talks and talks and talks to the cameras and jostling questioners arrayed in front of him. Trump has not yet reached full dictator mode with these appearances; the late Venezuelan strongman Hugo Chávez used to have a weekly show, “Aló Presidente,” that lasted from 11 A.M. each Sunday until whenever Chávez shut up, which was often four to eight hours later. But, increasingly, they are the signature of Trump’s Presidency.

On Thursday, the press pool was summoned at 10:48 A.M. for what Trump had billed as a “very big and exciting” announcement of a new trade deal between the U.S. and the U.K. Reporters arrived to find the President already on speakerphone with the British Prime Minister, Keir Starmer. The deal, it turned out, was somewhat less than advertised—an agreement in principle, after years of talks, and with many details to be finalized. Trump is nowhere near meeting the goal of “ninety deals in ninety days” that his trade adviser promised, after the President’s threat of “reciprocal” tariffs in his April 2nd “Liberation Day” speech shocked the world economy. Still, it was something, and Trump, with all the zeal of a used-car salesman, plumped for the agreement, though he admitted it wasn’t quite done yet. “In the coming weeks, we’ll have it all very conclusive,” he vowed. His Commerce Secretary, Howard Lutnick, praised the boss as “the Closer.” “He gets deals done that we could never get done,” Lutnick said.

As Lutnick said this, I thought of Trump holding forth in the Oval Office just two days earlier, during a visit with the new Canadian Prime Minister, Mark Carney, who was elected largely on the basis of his promise to push back against Trump’s threatened trade war. With Carney at his side, Trump had called the trade agreement that he signed with Canada and Mexico during his first term merely a “transitional deal,” billing it as a convenient way to get rid of NAFTA, “the worst trade deal in the history of our country, probably in the history of the world.” Transitional? Back in 2020, when Trump signed the pact, he proclaimed it “the largest, most significant, modern, and balanced trade agreement in history.” Poor Keir Starmer. There are many words that come from Trump’s mouth, and few that he will not renounce when they are no longer convenient.

As for words on Thursday, there were a lot of them, many having little to do with Great Britain or global trade. In the course of his on-air comments, Trump talked about knowing the late Sean Connery. (That was sort of Britain-related.) He explained that he invests in golf courses only “if they’re on the ocean.” He complained, once again, about the chairman of the Federal Reserve, Jerome Powell, refusing to lower interest rates, even after Trump very nicely said he was not planning to follow through on his many threats to fire him. “He doesn’t want to do it—probably he’s not in love with me,” Trump posited. Later, and, as far as I could tell, apropos of nothing, he mocked the Senate Democratic leader, Chuck Schumer, saying that Schumer, who is Jewish, is so sympathetic toward Palestinians that he is officially becoming one; maybe, Trump said as someone—I wasn’t quite sure who—laughed raucously, there would be some sort of “ceremony” to welcome him.

Asked about a disastrous breakdown in the air-traffic-control system at Newark Airport, Trump complained about Pete Buttigieg, the Biden Administration’s Secretary of Transportation, and explained that he would soon be buying a “brand new,” “state of the art,” and “incredible” system to replace the old one. He added that he had personally given his Transportation Secretary, Sean Duffy, a crash course in how to negotiate a good deal. “I’ve given him a ten-minute lesson in buying,” Trump said, “and he’s become really good.”

Nearly an hour into his talking, Trump dropped an unexpected bit of news—that he would drop the nomination of his controversial choice to be U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, Ed Martin, after a key Republican on the Judiciary Committee had said that he wouldn’t go along with the choice of Martin, who helped organize the Stop the Steal movement and embraced conspiracy theories about what happened on January 6th. Trump suggested that there just weren’t enough hours for him to defend Martin amid all the other important things he’s doing. “I’m only one person,” he said. “I can only lift that little phone so many times in a day.” At first, it wasn’t entirely clear that he was actually dumping Martin, but then he shook his head and indicated there was no other choice. “That’s the way it works sometimes,” he said.

By the time Trump stopped talking, at 11:53 A.M. on Thursday, it had been an hour and five minutes since the press pool had been summoned. But Trump, it turned out, was hardly done. At 12:13 P.M., the pool was called into the East Room, where Trump began another televised event, a rare joint appearance with First Lady Melania Trump, at which he bragged about “tremendous things happening on trade, the likes of which we’ve never seen before,” and, on the eve of Mother’s Day, made some eyebrow-raising observations about his own mother, who was “such an angel” but also “could be very tough,” he said, adding, “she had her tough moments, some difficult moments she had.”

Even that awkward commentary, however, was not enough to get Trump to stop for the day. After a private meeting with the golfer Tiger Woods, who is now dating his son Don, Jr.,’s ex-wife, he unexpectedly came out on the patio next to the entrance of the West Wing to talk to reporters again. The big story, it turned out, was not his deal with Great Britain but the selection of a new Pope, the Chicago-born cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, who will now be known as Leo XIV. Trump wanted a piece of the news cycle. “To have the Pope from the United States of America,” he said, “that’s a great honor.”

And so a day in the live-streamed life of Donald Trump ended as it began, with confirmation of a lesson learned many times over these past long few years: there is nothing at all for which he cannot claim credit. 

[rainbow-okapi]

was absolutely devastated by machina's hands when i read it with my friend (represented by the orange cat) so i made this LMAO https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxFpxfGOBnc&feature=youtu.be

*Intense wheezing* I- I was not expecting y'all to love these fics when I posted them, I was kinda just shitting out writing on the high of hyperfixation- bUT- I SEE Y'ALL. and YOU! I almost just spit out my coffee. Thank you omg. I've been having a rough... year or so, been in and out of the hospital, the Urgent Care, my doctor's office- ya da ya da. But I still see all the comments and love, even if I seem a bit radio silent online. I do- have several documents of stories/chapters started; I just prefer to have the whole story completed when I post. Here's a snippet though, from my longer Warforge WIP "Learning to Lie Again" just for y'all! I don't know how long it's gonna take for me to finish this, but just know I *will* be posting eventually.

[...This was only the first day of you wearing the new shell he had made for you. The bright feeling of seeing you. Seeing the person he grew up with, face to face again. Seeing you express how you felt outwards- even anger, discomfort, tension- had yet to make him any less proud. When you turn from him back to the vanity mirror, Percy can see the visible pain lance your face. His question being answered. How your eyes break away suddenly from yourself. Stay cast down from the reflection. When Percy rests his other hand onto your shoulder for support, he continues to be in awe of the sights. Your perspective shifting from self-inspection onto him. The single action brings awash relief to your features. Brows raising and changing the taunt neutrality to a pleasant smile. A barest upturn. You reach a hand across yourself to hold his own. Metal fingertips covering his. Soothing your thumb across his knuckles. The action smoothing your own features into something sweet and bashful. The other hand leaves the book on your legs as your fingers touch across your defined face. Expression attempting to tighten as you truly give yourself a good look. Incapable of turning to true sadness when Percy gives your shoulder a squeeze in assurance. When you go to speak, Percy watches the reflection with rapt attention. Watching the way your lips part to mimic the words. How he can see the thin line of your jaw hinge split just the smallest amount as it opens to project voice. 

“Sorry… I don’t- I don’t feel any facial shifting so I can’t physically tell what kind of face I’m making…” 

At this, your bashfulness does turn somber. The hand on your face making a contemplative stroke from the outer eye corner down to your cheek. Like you might feel the illusion itself and smooth it out. All you feel is metal gliding down metal. If you focus enough, you think you might feel the obscure magic. A shimmer of something. It stays just out of reach of your perceptual grasp. Drapery that flows like water around you without the damp clinging. It’s you though. Percy knows you never linger too hard on sad stuff until later. When it’s the only thing to occupy your mind. You huff exasperated at him. Eyes crinkling genuinely with a full humorous squint to match him. Percy gently shakes your shoulders to jostle you in an affectionate display of rubbing out the jitters. His voice having not lost any jovial quip.

“That’s alright. You’ve only had this body for a few hours time. I’m sure once you’ve had time to properly attune to it, you’ll be able to manipulate it to fit.”

He holds nothing but sincerity for you. Still taking a long moment to gaze at the two of you together. He makes no move to pull you to dinner which you know shall be soon. Percy knew best to take respite after gifting you the new shell. Not to thrust you into any serious interactions for a few hours so you could acclimate to a new perception. So you could process the start of something new. A change for the better. 

So he had delicately pulled you from the sun room he had called you to before. Back into your barren shelter for books and quiet time. Soft company before dawning festivities that were to come. As far as you knew, the rest of Vox Machina did not know of this new body. This new person that they were to witness. You give a long look at your stately armor next to the vanity. It might make things easier for them to see your familiar dress. But you need small steps now. You were not dressing for war. You were dressing for family. The only armor you needed was Percy at your side. Thoughts broken as he leans in close. His body bending to you.

Percival does not stop himself from leaning down and pecking the top of your forehead. His hand gliding up seamlessly to tilt your head. Straightening your posture. Allowing an easier action. 

His cockiness elevates your spirits. Trailing his casual step back while taking grip on his shoulder to retain him in your orbit. Book being set onto your seat. Matching his height is easy. You don’t even have to rise to your toes to smooth your palm flat. Pressing yourself up to that last perfect inch and grazing your lips across his cheek. A first kiss given on your part. Chaste and hesitant of pressure. Sparing a glance back into the mirror again, Percival sees bright eyes. A coy smirk. Offsetting the smooth caress of metal you could only give in the place of pursed lips. Magic creating the feeling of mist across his skin that passed through the dew thin image. Even as the reflection held nothing but an open illusion of feelings. A hearty darkening of your cheeks. Cheeks lined by a tight smile. Eyes half-lidded. He sees his own skin taking rosy hues. 

A groan of relief and delight. A hand circling your waist and holding you to him in turn. Dipping his head into your shoulder to hide his face. You hold him firm. Bracing the back of his head and toying with his silken locks. His shoulders shake with mirth. Feeling the rumble in his chest reverberate between you two. Your voice, his joy.

“Oh, was that alright? A bit ticklish?”

One of his hands snakes to press between the indent of your crafted shoulder blades. Pressing the fabric of a tailor gifted shirt flat between his palm and you. Surrounding you with warmth front to back. Perhaps you are feeling a bit adventurous. A bit bold. Nuzzling your cheek into his hair and focusing on how your body tries to translate it’s softness through metal. Feeling the magic shift like a gentle river stream as his short cut scratches at you. An all but purring groan dipping into the room as he boyishly tries to deny the soothing action without moving away. You match his lax sigh. Inhaling the smell of ash, parchwood, cologne. Just Percy...]