#Sorry for the fuckton of tags

[askadrianalucardtepes]

"I spent some time hanging out with my friends recently! It's nice to just let loose every once in a while and just have a little fun. Apparently it's not 'good for me' if I spend all my time brooding and monsterhunting. Who'd have guessed?"

[OOC] Look!! Me and my friends did a Castlevania photoshoot, something I've dreamt of doing for AGES. Most of the pics turned out delightfully goofy, but these are some of the nicest ones we managed to snap. Enjoy! :D Alucard: Yours truly (Check me out on IG at @ ancestorcosplay for more Alucard cosplay content!) Trevor Belmont: @ anubiss.cos on IG Sypha Belnades: @ nalin.cos on IG Go give my friends some much-deserved love!

[hongluboobs]

made a slightly insane person image because I was discussing Hong Lu distortion earlier. spoilers for chinese classic novel Dream of the Red Chamber in here as well as some for lobcorp/LoR and canto 4 of limbus. I'm not elaborating on it rn but i can if asked :)

[gayestcowboy]

astarion and tav (he/him)

[advestager]

A/I STAN IN THE DASH. I REPEAT A/I STAN GOT THROUGH MY FILTERS INTO THE FUCKIN DASH THIS IS NOT A DRILL

[devotedlystrangewizard]

god could you imagine if people focused on the actual golden boy getting like twice as much content as his fellow companions rather than like 2 new lines for one bad guy to make one scene feel more in line with the one other scene with said bad guy

[baphofemme]

sorry for being autistic about earrings i will do it again

[19catsncounting]

I Got Really Into Anti/Proship Discourse And Read +30 Academic Studies - My Findings

(It’s a Yapfest but the whole post is a very long essay and study on morality and fiction and children’s safety and rape culture with a fuckton of freely accessible academic articles and resources on the subject, and I want to talk to other people about it. For a shorter abstract with all the articles and more easily ignored yapping, see my shiny new Carrd:)

It’s been a little shocking lately to have certain discussions with some parts of fandom. I spoke about shipping/harassment and how that contributes to the death of fandom on TikTok assuming that younger folks are just really, really intense about preventing sexual violence, but the more I saw the words “morally wrong” and “disgusting” and “addiction,” the more I thought about this guy-

That’s Jerry Falwell, and I fucking hate this dead guy. You see, Jerry Falwell was a preacher who hated porn, feminism, and homosexuality. And I'm seeing his rhetoric and reworked quotes a lot.

Jerry would say stuff like:

“Pornography hurts anyone who reads it - garbage in, garbage out.”

“Someone must not be afraid to say ‘moral perversion is wrong.’ If we do not act now, homosexuals will ‘own’ America!”

Jerry wanted people to believe that it’s possible to see so much sexual content that it warps your sexuality, because he was gay and wanted to think that was due to thinking about gay sex too much. Jerry did not have a lot of evidence to prove that homosexuality was harmful, so he relied heavily on how “morally distasteful” it seemed to be to suburban Americans.

I spent the majority of my teen years arguing against Jerry’s rhetoric for the right to live as a lesbian online, and I never thought I’d see morality rhetoric in people I’m otherwise very politically aligned with. And I definitely never thought fandom of all things, in all its beautiful subversive glory, would seriously start advocating for censorship, anti-porn, and to consume fanwork with moral purity.

So, I’d like to have a deeper discussion on it, both here on Tumblr and on TikTok, but that does mean checking a few things at the door:

Personal feelings decide your personal life. What you feel is valid for you, not anyone else.

In general, things that do not cause direct and undeniable harm should not be broadly prohibited just because they’re weird or distasteful to the majority of folks. Ex. Loitering does not cause harm and is a tool of systemic oppression.

The discussion of “fictional CSEM” is the most inflammatory fork of this and it is often used to derail these kinds of conversations. This is all I will say on it - the legal status of explicit visual depictions of minors is muddy. In the US, there is just one dude in Utah who pled guilty for possessing explicit lolicon he bought by mail order without also possessing CSEM with real children, and explicit writing about fictional minors has been settled as protected free speech. Dedicated organizations from the NCMEC to Chris Hansen have asked that fictional content is not reported as CSAM as it is not actionable and clogs up finite resources. 90% of NCMEC reports were not actionable last year. There are studies suggesting that virtual CSEM or other non-victim alternatives could reduce actual child harm, but there is need for further research.

We’re all in agreement that untagged NSFW is not cool, and kids deserve kid-only sections of the internet. People who are triggered by or dislike problematic content deserve to be able to not see it. 👍

 (I’ve seen the argument that blocking tags/people should not be required - sorry, PTSD still requires that you manage your triggers, up to and including swearing off platforms just as I have sworn off bars/soap brands/etc to avoid my triggers.)

I have found a lot of accessible and free articles and studies that I will link throughout so that we can discuss the fact-based reasoning, in an effort to have a civil conversation.

(Also because we are not flat earthers, we are Fandom, and if we’re going to be annoying little shitheels in an “Um Actually” contest, we’re going to have the sources to back it up.)

Minors and Explicit Material

I’m not supporting minors engaging with explicit material. I have such little interest in the subject that I’m not even going to bring in articles, but you can feel free to. I personally engaged with explicit material as a preteen of my own free will and did not find it to be harmful, and the majority of people throughout human history have been exposed to explicit material at an early age with varying degrees of harm. There are undeniable legal and harm-driven differences between a 12 year old girl looking at Hustler on her own, a 14 year old boy being sent nudes from a grown woman, and a 6 year old viewing PornHub. (And I think the guardians of that 6 year old should be charged with grooming just like the woman, tbh.)

Personal Disclaimer

I’m an adult survivor of CSA and incest. I’m a happily married adult. I don’t personally like lolicon/shotacon/kodocon. I don’t like kids. I don’t like teens. I’m personally not attracted to underage fictional characters. I have family, the idea of fucking any of them makes me want to throw up and die, so I don’t write or read RPF of my family.

I am really, really fucking intense about preventing sexual violence, supporting survivors, and fandom, which is where this all comes from.

I read and love problematic fiction - my favorites are ASOIAF, Lolita, and VC Andrews. The most “problematic” thing I’ve personally written are Lucifer/Michael fics from Supernatural back in 2012. They are “brothers” in CW Christ, not blood. They do not have any blood.

Gen Z and Online Grooming

In 2002, a survey of 1500 minors from 10-17 found that 4% had been solicited for sexual purposes by an adult online.

In 2023, that number increased to 20%.

While the linked 2023 Thorn report suggests that the vast majority of these inappropriate interactions happened on platforms that allow for interpersonal communication, which by and large minors were greatly discouraged from and had less access to in the early 2000’s, a trauma-informed approach does not allow for blame to fall on the children. The guardians of those children have monumentally failed to restrict and educate before giving children the means to access those platforms.

It is my uncited but personal opinion that the increased rate of grooming, as well as an increased interest in combating rape culture, has led to well-intentioned individuals to become digital vigilantes attacking those who they hold responsible for their traumatic experiences in a search for catharsis and justice denied for themselves as well as a desire to make the internet safer for other children, whom they are increasingly aware are entering online spaces unsupervised at distressingly young ages.

Is harassment and bullying bad for perpetrators of it?

Before we get into how ship-related hate campaigns do not affect predation or combat rape culture, we should acknowledge that it’s actually pretty harmful for the people who cyberbully. Not just in the legal/social consequences, but people who participate in cyberbullying and cyberhate campaigns have higher rates of depression, estrangement from their parents, self-effacing habits, social anxiety, lower empathy, and so forth.

One study suggests that the treatment and prohibitive for cyberbullying, which contributes to a culture of cyberhate and a lower likelihood to report or confront other incidents of harassment or toxicity online, can be combatted with media competency to increase empathy along with other important life skills.

Some Common Pro-Censorship Myths

“Pornography is Addictive/Consumption of Pornography Leads to Increasingly Hardcore Imagery And Ultimately Real-World Violence” - The American Psychological Association does not recognize Porn Addiction as real and the DSM-5 does not classify it as an addiction. Additionally, many methods used in articles claiming that porn is addictive or causes users to seek out more hardcore material were flawed or biased. There is actually some evidence that compulsive porn use, the closest you can get to a porn addiction diagnosis, is associated with shame and the user’s belief that pornography is morally wrong, which sex-negative attitudes encourage.

“Jaws caused shark culling” - That's unfortunately a simplification that ignores a LOT of surrounding context. WW2’s modern naval battles with an increase of ship sinkings and thus contact with sharks prompted the invention and use of shark repellant by aviators and sailors in the 1940’s. The most deadly and famous shark attack of all time was the USS Indianapolis sinking in 1945, which led to 12-150 deaths. The 1974 book Jaws by Peter Benchley, which was the entire basis of the movie, was inspired by One Fucking Dude who started shark hunting tours and overall seemed to have a really immaculate vibe. The interstate highways that finished in the 1950’s increased beach tourism in the 60’s and onwards, inspiring the American surf culture, further increasing the cultural desire to purge sharks for the new swath of beachgoers and their fondness for using surfboards which make them look like seals to sharks. Additionally, 1975’s Jaws inspired a huge desire for education about sharks, and the relationship between problematic media and education will be the core of this yapperoni pizza.

“The Slendermen Killings/Other Fiction Inspired Crimes” - The ACLU states that “There is no evidence that fiction has ever driven a sane person to violence.” Inspired crimes are indeed no less tragic, and thankfully rare, but people who suffer from inability to discern reality and fiction do not necessarily need fiction to commit violence. The “Son of Sam” murder spree was not inspired by a book or movie, but instead Berkowitz’ auditory hallucinations.

“Violent videogames DO cause violence” - After a great deal of funding and study, the American Psychological Association has concluded that teens and younger may have increased feelings of aggression and not necessarily physically violent outbursts as a direct effect, but older teens and young adults do not encounter statistically meaningful rates of aggression.

“Your brain can’t tell the difference between fiction and reality” - Factually incorrect. Children as young as 5 years old can tell the difference, and they can even be more suspicious about “facts” that come from sources they know also host fiction, such as TV shows.

“This stuff shouldn’t be online because it can be used to groom a child” - While I could not find specific statistics on how often pornography is used to desensitize child victims, nor how often that is specifically used in online grooming, and especially not how much of that pornography is made from fictional characters - out of a mixed group of convicted offenders with adult and child victims, 55% of offenders used pornography to manipulate their victim. I would never refute that explicit fanart or fanfic could be used to desensitize a child, but that is by far not the only tool (asking about sexual experiences/identity, making jokes, etc is extremely common grooming behavior), and there is no evidence to suggest that it is used to a statistically significant degree. In my own anecdotal experience, normal vanilla legal pornography is used with far greater prevalence, and there isn’t a similar movement to shame its production for that possibility. Nor should the creators of any material, pornographic or otherwise, share blame in the actions of a predator.

The Fiction Affects Reality Carrd

(No hate to the person who made it, in fact I give props to them for trying to find unbiased sources, I just want to point out that their interpretations of their articles are kinda flawed and one of their studies is a kind of a perfect example on small and culturally biased samples.)

Reading Fiction Impacts Aggressive Behavior - (I cannot access the full study but this article is the primary source used in the Carrd and it goes into detail) - A study showed that 67 university students were more annoyed with a loud buzzer after reading a short story about a physical fight between roommates compared to a story with nonviolent revenge. However, this study was conducted at Brigham Young University, the same campus where we got a whole video series of hot ethical takes like “I’d rather shoot a kitten than drink coffee,” so uh. Yeah. Kind of a prime example on why it’s important to have large and culturally varied sampling. (Another BYU study with 137 BYU students being odd about moral ambiguity in fiction, just because I’m starting to add Dr. Sarah M. Coyne to my list of “Sarah’s That I Dislike.”)

Your Brain on Fiction - a NYT article that describes Theory of the Mind and how fMRIs captured how readers’ minds would light up centers of muscle control when reading sentences like “Peter kicked.” The quote “The brain, it seems, does not make much of a distinction between reading about an experience and encountering it in real life; in each case, the same neurological regions are stimulated” is speaking of motor functions. Emotional centers of the brain were not included in the study.

How Fiction Changes Your World - a Boston Globe article that actually describes how people who read more fiction are more empathetic and tend to believe in a just world. It does not state that the empathy a reader feels for fictional characters extends to corrupting their moral compass. In fact, there’s such a thing as a “fictive license” to explore taboo themes more thoroughly because it is not real - 123 participants were interviewed after watching two actors play the part of detective and murderer being interviewed, and participants who were told it was fake had more varied and inquisitive responses.

The Social Impact of Books - Actually reuses the previous study about the just world, so point remains. Empathy is understanding, not mirroring.

Is Problematic Fiction Good for Survivors of Trauma?

It absolutely depends on the individual.

Writing expressively about traumatic experiences has been shown to be effective to reduce depression, or more effective in reducing dysphoria and anxiety than talking to fellow survivors, and Written Exposure Therapy is broadly prescribed to survivors of trauma, with one study centering on car crash survivors finding that WET resolved their PTSD symptoms and continued to be effective after a year.

In this study, which sadly is not available online but it is too important to leave out completely, survivors of CSA were given fictional novels about CSA and in closely reading and analyzing those stories, were able to understand their own experiences and were indeed drawn to write about their own experiences as well.

Engaging in problematic fiction, like all fiction, allows for consent as well as control. If at any point a survivor does not feel in control or wishes to stop, they can at that instant. They can even rewrite their narratives and take control of their story in fictionalizing and changing the account. They can even try to understand what their abuser felt through fiction, which is helpful considering that the vast majority of survivors had a relationship that had been positive and even loving with their abusers at times.

Is Problematic Fiction Good for Everyone Else?

It again depends on the individual.

Antis might be a little right that most people don't want to read problematic stories. In a study exploring whether fiction can corrode morals, 83% of study participants stated that they would prefer not to read a short story justifying baby murder if they had the choice, even if that exploration isn’t inherently harmful.

This very small sample study of 13 participants discussed how young women interpreted sexual themes in writing, including explicit fanfiction, and how that was beneficial and informative to explore sexual desire and examine healthy and unhealthy relationships in a safe and controlled environment.

This meta-analysis further discusses how problematic and sexual themes in YA literature are useful to illustrate what sexual violence looks like, and begin educational conversations through those depictions to break down harmful myths such as “if she didn’t scream, she wanted it.”

Empowered by the “Fictive License” previously cited, problematic fiction can be beneficial for anyone who desires and is capable of consuming and analyzing it.

This study analyzing abusive aspects of three films - Beauty and the Beast, Twilight, and 50 Shades of Gray - concluded that these abusive themes should be discussed to increase recognition and awareness, not censored based on those problematic themes.

This study of 53 women were asked to read different versions of fictional intimate partner violence flags, or “toxic behavior” like surveillance, control, etc. In every version of the story, whether the female or male had those behaviors either courting or committed, the women recognized the behavior as wrong.

Another study that reading allows for the moral laboratory to explore morality in fiction without decisive impact to corroding moral permissibility.

Is There Ever Any Point Where Fictional Interests Definitively Speak On Someone’s Morality?

In short - not really. Loving Jason Vorhees does not put you at risk of murdering campers as long as you know he’s not real. Writing Wincest does not mean you look forward to family reunions, as long as you know incest isn’t okay in the real world. The real world, where real people are harmed, is where you find the measure of someone’s character.

This Psychology Today article is the best source I could find for quotes from a fantastic book ‘Who's Been Sleeping in Your Head? The Secret World of Sexual Fantasies’ by Brett Kahr regarding taboo sexual fantasies and how they are not only common, but not inherently harmful.

There are people who enjoy problematic media in an entirely nonsexual sense, of course. I myself don’t get off on problematic media - I think it’s just interesting to explore different experiences, and I think that can be revolutionary.

Additionally, fantasies in general have almost always been in the vein of “things you don’t want to really happen in reality.” In a study of 351 asexuals, more than half reported that they fantasize about having sex, but that doesn’t mean that they actually want to. You can fantasize about dating Billie Eilish - it doesn’t mean that you’d be happy dealing with celebrity culture.

(I personally fantasize about the internet being just for adults, but in practice I think that would be incredibly harmful and isolating for at-risk youth and LGBTQ teens) Fantasies always pluck out only the bits of reality that you want to engage with.

If You Get Off On Fictional Kids, You’re Attracted to Something About Them Being Kids

Not inherently, surprisingly. Wearing a schoolgirl uniform is a pretty common roleplay, and it’s not meant to “fool” the participants into thinking they’re indulging in pedophilia. There’s a wealth of emotional and sexual nuance in that specific kink - innocence and virginity play, tilted power dynamics in ‘scolding’ the uniform wearer for dress code violations, even the concept of a sexually provocative “teenager” can be played with without shame, because the world of fetish and fantasy is separated from condonable actions for the vast, vast majority of adults. (The only study I could find on this is this small study of 100 white guys found on Facebook, which itself states it is not definitive, found that while there might be correlation between attraction to children and interest in schoolgirl uniforms, there is no proof of causation. AKA, the rectangular pedophile might indeed like square schoolgirl uniforms, but not everyone - in fact, the majority at nearly 60% in this very survey - that likes square schoolgirl uniforms is a rectangular pedophile.)

Even sexual age play between adults is not indicative of pedophilia because it exists in a setting between two adults who fully understand that the mechanics are completely fake, allowing the power dynamics that would be abusive between an adult and child to be ethically explored.

I don’t have an official-looking study to cite, but I have asked people who like content about underage fictional characters why they do so. Overwhelmingly, a lot of the ones who like underage age gaps like the fantasy of an older and more experienced character taking a younger one under their wing, to have the opportunity to commit violent and blatantly objectifying harm and yet try to create what inevitably does not truly pass as consent, but seems near enough to the characters. Some think that the characters themselves have an interesting chemistry. Some read underage fic and still imagine the characters as adults. Some like to explore the feelings of shame that the older character must feel and how they mentally compartmentalize to go forward with the relationship, and how the younger character found themself in that vulnerable position - which is exploring a harmful situation through fiction to understand how it could play out in real life.

People who like fictional incest like exploring the shameful components of that taboo relationship - and I have seen a lot of works that compare how bad incest could be to other harms, like the Gravecest route in a game with parental cannibalism. And then there are folks who like analyzing the codependency of having one person fulfill every social need - family, friend, lover, AKA Wincest.

What makes a predator if it’s not just sexual attraction?

90% of CSA survivors know their abuser, discrediting the still-entirely-too-popular Stranger Danger myth. And shockingly, only 50% of abusers are pedophiles.

That means 50% of child molesters do not have sexual interest in children because they are children, but they victimized children because they are more accessible in lieu of adult partners, with increased rates of incest.

While I could not find a specific study on the relation between dehumanization/objectification of child victims and child molesters (and if you find one, please send it to me!), this study speaks on dehumanization as a precursor to adult sexual violence.

This study, conducted on convicted child molesters in prison, showed that child molesters tend to fantasize about children while in a negative mood, further contributing to the theory that child victims are dehumanized prior to abuse.

This very small sample study found that in a mixed sample of internet only/contact crime/mixed offenders, offenders who had contact with children had lower rates of fantasizing about children.

In short, half the time a child predator is someone who wants to offend against a child regardless of attraction to the fact they are a child.

Resources To Recognize Grooming/Abuse Victims/Predators

I would absolutely be remiss to not share my collection of resources to help detect signs of abuse/grooming as well as warning signs of a predator who may be targeting elders/women/teens/children:

Darkness 2 Light is a fantastic resource overall, this page details stages and signs of grooming.

RAINN personally helped me through my PTSD journey, and this article detailing the signs of sexual trauma in teenagers is thorough and non-judgemental

Signs of abuse as well as warning signs of predation that does not use gendered language nor play into the Stranger Danger myth.

Education, not Censorship

I think a lot of the energy against taboo content among young people still has a lot to do with the desire to end rape culture. The tools that we Millennial Tumblrinas gave you Gen Z kids were snatches of leftist theory, deplatforming, and voting with your dollar, so it’s reasonable to think that removing taboo content like pedophilia, incest, rape fights rape culture.

It doesn’t.

Rape culture is fought by education. Comprehensive sex education, education about consent. Talking about what consent looks like, what sex can look like, what rape can look like.

There should be more taboo content to talk about these things, to show all the shades it can look like. From a violent noncon to fics that aren’t even tagged as dubcon yet still are in shades that are hard to suss out, we should talk about it.

A Non-Empirical Example Of Good Media Analysis and Education to Combat Rape Culture

Let’s use the example of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen’s relationship in House of the Dragon. Canonically, in both the book and the show, they have a romantic relationship that appears for the most part to be positive (the show being more contentious but I dedicated an aside to Sarah Hess and our beef at the bottom of my Carrd, but feel free to ask how I feel about writing producers with any variation of the name ‘Sarah’) despite an age gap, a sexual relationship that began while Rhaenyra was a minor, and incest - the problematic hat trick if you will.

I have seen anti-Daemyra shippers condemn Daemyra shippers for “Condoning grooming, age gaps, pedophilia, and incest.” Which is not just a broad, inaccurate, and harmful statement, it’s not at all constructive or educational analysis.

It would actually be beneficial to say “Daemon is grooming Rhaenyra as a teenager with gifts, devoted attention that takes advantage of her isolation and vulnerability, frequent nonsexual touches, the extreme desensitization to sexuality in the brothel visit,” etc etc. And even so, it is not useful to say that people cannot still ship the relationship and acknowledge those aspects. They might want to further explore the issues of consent in their dynamic in fiction, they may want to strip away some of them with narrative reimagining. Some might want to ignore the taboos completely and indulge in the fantasy entirely, and some might find the actors hot as hell - AKA, anyone who watches the show.

It’s honestly a little similar to me in how Jerry Falwell would tell his followers not to watch or read or take in any media that dealt with homosexuality unless it was condemning it - even Will & Grace was on Jerry’s shitlist. And so, Jerry’s followers missed out on a lot of media that could have educated them about queerness, could have humanized queer people for them - and that did not make queers go away. Just like ignoring or shutting out media about incest, rape, and other forms of sexual violence doesn’t make those things go away - it just tends to make you less informed, and little less capable of empathy towards people affected by those subjects.

So let’s stop shaming those that ship a complicated dynamic - you get less fanworks exploring those taboos, and less of a discussion overall. You shut down the morality lab of fiction, and to be honest, it’s wet sock behavior.

Some FanFiction Specific Studies

How dubcon fanfiction can flesh out the intricacies and messiness of realistic consent

A review of darkfic written about Harry Potter in 2005 (which, I will personally attest has never been outdone in how profoundly taboo those works were)

Interviews with 11 Self Insert writers who wrote on themes of rape, abuse, control, yandere, etc, and how that was beneficial to some who had experienced sexual violence themselves

Conclusion:

H…holy shit, you actually read all of that?? Congrats dude! That is a lot of time and brain power to dedicate to any one thing!

By the way, I am not really gifted at writing articles or any of that junk, and I tried to make my hyperlexic ass a little more accessible instead of bringing out all the $5 words. I am literally just an autistic who took a couple technical writing classes over a decade ago and really wanted to sort out my thoughts and try to have a platform for discussion. Also, I am really fucking bad at math. I failed two different college level statistics classes twice each. Gun to my head, I could not tell you what a standard deviation is, which is why I worked entirely with the percentages.

And I do want to have a discussion! I would in fact like to not report anyone for sending me gore or death threats or any of that stuff! I don’t think everyone will agree with me, in fact I’m certain that you could find studies that contradict some of mine, and I’d love to discuss them!

I’m sure it will still be tempting to throw around accusations of pedophilia because sometimes, confronting your previously held beliefs is incredibly uncomfortable. If you could not do that, that would be great? I don’t like being compared to someone who profoundly abused me just because I have a different opinion on how to combat rape culture and empower survivors. If you can do that, I’ll do my absolute best to be cheerful and welcoming and respectful as well. 😁

PS - I’m also not really going to be phased if you call me weird or cringe - I am. Always have been. Cringe, weirdness, and autism have made me do and capable of doing some fantastically neat and impressive stuff. But if you try to say something like “proshippers are too yucky and weird to be in fandom” - I’m going to have to refer you to your similarity to Kate Sanders of Lizzy McGuire fame, you “prEpz >:(“ - [My Immortal, legendary author unknown]

[antimony-medusa]

God, I need to not just dump all of it into atthebell's comments and make my own post, but like, the idea that people mischaracterize for the purposes of shipping is true and a feature of every fandom I've seen, but the idea that that is unique to shipping and gen is somehow protected from it is ludicrously untrue.

I have been in the TRENCHES looking for stuff of my guys that's even reasonably close to character, and at this point it's noteworthy when I run across gen stuff that lets Phil swear. Philza. Mr. "sorry if You're learning english from me I fuckin' swear a fuckton" minecraft. They don't even write Techno as funny. They don't even write Techno as sarcastic. You think platonic beeduo "bee boy" Tubbo on the verge of tears because someone was mean to Ranboo is somehow the peak of characterization?

There are five hundred and thirteen fics in the "baby tommyinnit" tag. There are two hundred and eleven platonic fics tagged both "Philza" and "Daddy Issues". You think gen fics are better at characterization and sticking to canon? Twelve thousand nine hundred and eighty fics in "sleepy boys inc as family", a dynamic that Technoblade actively didn't like and decanonized. LOOK AT ME STANDING HERE IN HELL AND TELL ME AGAIN THAT GEN DOES A BETTER JOB OF RESPECTING THE CHARACTERS.

deep breath

The gen characterization of the majority of DSMP fics is so so far from canon, like— it can still be fun, I can still be having a good time, but it is noteworthy when I hit someone who is characterizing in a way that's true to canon. If you rely on Gen to characterize properly just innately, you simply have only been reading the good stuff. Do you know how many fics are in the tag? Do you know? Do you think they're all the good stuff? Do you think everybody writing "[x] as found family" is paying close attention to character? Are they, perhaps, just writing the stuff that makes them feel happy and the cubitos are just vessels for that? This happens in gen fics and this happens in ship stuff. I feel like my brain is on fire here.

And I've read ship stuff that's really good character studies! The interaction of people's relationships and what that does to their charcter is not like, magically repelled by the presence of kissing. The problem is not "shipping", the problem is "bad writing", or simply just writing that isn't interested in characterization, and that shows up any time you get a mass of writers writing.

[elismor]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: post the last line you have written (or drawn) and tag as many people as there are words to do the same.

Approximately one (1) metric fuckton of people have tagged me for this: @loverboy-havocboy, @marbled-polecat, @valkeakuulas, @cacodaemonia, @greenharrow, @petrifiedforests, @whiskygoldwings...and probably a couple I have left off (sorry!). The *last* line I wrote is only two words (again), so I am going to add the two before it as well. This is alpha draft of something for Day 2 of Cohawk Week. "That kid had more than half a head on him and is built like a tank. That kid is a bully and a bigot. That KID--"

(It's not a line of dialog. I put the quotes in to mark it, as tumblr formatting is giving me fits atm.)

Uno reverse on all y'all plus @aerjnn, @frostbitebakery, and @bilbosmom-belladonna.

[dragonagitator]

The problem with writing an author-self-insert isekai fanfic when you (the author) have read a fuckton of fanfic is that so has your self-insert. I could never figure out how to write my way around that and thus decided to just lean into it.

Excerpt from my House MD WIP:

"I'm sorry, but I'm just having a hard time accepting the idea that I might be nothing more than a fictional character!" Wilson yelled.

"Yeah, well, how do you think I feel?" I snapped back.

"According to you, you're the only real person in this room!"

"Am I?" I asked. "Tell me: How often does a real person find themselves transported into a fictional world?"

"You would be the first," House confirmed.

"Unless I'm not. Because while it's never happened in real life, it's an incredibly common trope in fanfiction."

House looked thoughtful, while Wilson just seemed more flabbergasted than before.

"At least you guys are fictional characters on a primetime network television show! Me, I'm probably just words in some Google Doc somewhere. Or on AO3, if I'm lucky."

Wilson sat back down heavily and drained his drink. House poured him another glass.

"So, for the sake of our sanity, I propose this:" I continued, extending my glass towards House for a top up. "Let's move forward on the assumption that we live in an infinite multiverse, and therefore, it is possible for fiction in one universe to coincidentally accurately depict real life in another universe. You know, an infinite monkeys, infinite typewriters, Shakespeare sort of thing."

Wilson scrunched his face up as he worked out which probability theory I'd just bungled referencing, then relaxed.

"Well, then, here's to the infinite multiverse," Wilson toasted. The three of us clinked our glasses and downed our whisky.

"And if not, let's hope this fanfic is tagged as 'fix-it' and 'fluff,'" I quipped.

And House/OFC, I thought to myself, glancing at House. If I was trapped in a fanfic, I hoped it was at least an E-rated one.

[askadrianalucardtepes]

"Apologies for my recent absence! I've spent some time at a wonderful event, and as you can see I've truly tried to look my best. I hope you all enjoy this look as much as I have.~"

[OOC] I'm back from a convention, so here's some pics. :D Cosplay is mine! Picture by a wonderful friend of mine!

[prolix-yuy]

Hello honey 💕 As promised, here I am submitting my request for the 500 follower celebration!

The list of prompts is amazing. I truly had a hard time choosing one, but after Chapter 2 of Both Side of the Door I need to know what happened between Mando and X'ian or I'll will never be at peace again. So I'll go for Heartbreak of betrayal with the two of them, hoping that you'll give us an insight into their relationship.

Ren's crew sees Mando as a sort of traitor, but I really can't see him act like that (as leaving Quinn behind) out of the blue. So who betrayed who? Who betrayed first? How? Why? And most importantly, what the hell happened on Alzoc III? S1E5 left us with so many questions. I need answers 🤯

Ma Chérie! My wonderful @amban-rifle! I have to start this off with an apology. I have held onto this ask for SO GOSH DARN LONG. This is from my 500 Followers Celebration OVER A YEAR AGO. I'm so sorry have kept you waiting but holy heck, what an ask! The drama! The complications! The holes in canon we all struggle with! Plus addressing one of the most confusing and complicated off-screen "relationships" many of us x Reader writers ignore. I wanted to do it justice, and it took a bunch of research, gorging myself on other Star Wars content, and staring off into space while that Spongebob meme of my brain being on fire danced in my noggin. But! It is here, finally. And for being so patient, it's an absolute monster.

Interlude: Burn in My Bloodstream

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader, Din Djarin x Xi'an

Summary: The Mandalorian has shared many secrets, but his greatest one is buried in shame and blood.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, canonical-type violence, allusions to sex work, rough sex throughout, oral sex (m receiving), gagging, voyeurism, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), anal sex, creampie, choking, degradation, threesomes, semi-public sex, cuckolding, blood and descriptive gore, character death, genocide (what a tag that was to write), suicidal thoughts, a fuckton of angst, The Helmet Stays On and it's a Big Deal, a very toxic relationship dynamic.

Notes: This one was an exercise in researching and complicated storytelling, but now that it's done I am over the moon with how it came out. I know that the Din x Xi'an pairing is not many people's cup of tea, but if you want my take on how it came about and what I think happened to give us The Prisoner, here's it all as best as I can surmise. I'm staying as canon compliant as possible because it's fun to connect a bunch of dots, but obviously this is all speculation with some liberal fudging of timelines.

Takes place after Both Sides of the Door, with much of the story set pre-S1 and spoilers for S1 Ep6 The Prisoner. Our Reader character makes an appearance at the beginning and end, so she'll still have a place in this interlude. The title is taken from Ed Sheeran's "Bloodstream" and if you want to know where my mood was for most of this, that song is a good place to start.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

After you retire for the night, Din contemplates telling you about the other woman who left marks on his life. Omera was easy; wrong place, wrong time, and no right time on the horizon. And if he was truthful with himself, maybe no right time ever. He could have loved her, loved the way she cared for him and allowed a softer life for himself. There are times when he lies in bed and wonders what a world like that might look like for him. 

It’s…difficult. 

Even thinking of a little plot of land, a space all his own tied to the earth of a planet, makes him yearn for the skies and space that surround you three on the Crest. He could never truly root in soil, so used to being a seed on the wind. There would always be bounties to chase, duties to fulfill, missions to complete.

Right?

And if he digs even deeper, he might find the clearest truth hidden among the memories.

His heart belonged to you longer than even he knew. 

There were times when he let others touch it. Omera’s hands held it gently, too kindly for him to accept. And to keep it, she would need him to lift the helmet, the one thing he could not give her. Being a Mandalorian is all he knows. So he took his heart with him, and he’s sure she’s better off without it.

But there was another who reached into his chest with claws and teeth and left him bloody from her affections. One he tries not to dwell on as long as he can. A time in his life that brought more shame than any other, misted in blood and sex and credits. 

He wants to share more of his world with you. You deserve to understand exactly why he is the man he is today.

But he does not think he can tell you about Xi’an.

“Got something special for you, Mando,” Karga says when he settles across the table. “You’ve been requested by name.”

Din cocks his head, one hand drumming restlessly. 

“That’s new,” he says. He likes playing mysterious for Karga, embodying all that a Mandalorian is supposed to be, even when some days he feels like a small child wearing his buir’s armor. At least it hides the worst of his apprehension, impassive helmet masking how his eyes constantly dart around the room, legs tense and ready to spring. 

“Ranzar Malk. Leads a small team of mercenaries.” 

Din tips his head back, folding his arms over his durasteel cuirass.

“Didn’t think you liked sharing the spoils,” he drawls, watching Karga carefully. The man laughs, sipping back some spotchka and winking at a woman sitting at his bar. 

“I don’t. I like my work without middle men. But they bring in very, very good credits. A percentage is more for both of us than the handful of riff-raff I could offer you.” Karga leans forward, elbow coming down and speaking lower. “They want the reputation a Mando can give their team. Help them get some bigger and better jobs. You lend them your striking silhouette, and you’ll be in enough credits to buy a whole suit of beskar. And my cut will be…barely noticeable.” The sly smile Karga schools off his face lets Din know it’s a lot more than unnoticeable, but the job intrigues him. 

“What kind of work is it?” he asks. Flashes of memories play at the corner of his mind - Mandalorians coming down from on high to save him, droids shredded in their wake.

“Malk and I have a strict ‘no questions asked’ policy. You do the work, you get paid.”

Din rolls his shoulders, fingers itching to grab onto something solid and deadly. 

“How long do they need my…reputation?”

Karga leans back and sweeps his hands wide.

“As long as you want. Open contract.”

Din considers the offer. Mercenary work has never been too lowly for a beroya, but he’d never done any. Mostly small-time criminals and shakedowns in return for credits. But if the money is as good as Karga makes it sound, it could help the covert ten times over. 

“Deal.”

“You must be the Mando.”

The voice is snarly, raked over a steel timbre. Din turns to see a barrel-chested, long haired man with a thick salt and pepper beard to match. His face is folded into a smile but the light of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Extending a short-fingered hand, he pumps Din’s gloved one vigorously. 

“Karga said you were in need of reputation,” Din says, cooly delivering the lines he practiced on the flight to this no-name hangar in Outer Rim rubble.

“And what are you in need of, Mando?” Malk says, eyeing him with blatant curiosity. Din had planned for this question during his supply run. The covert wasn’t to be named, the last of a culture eradicated. So why was he still traveling, wearing the helmet if he’s not of an unseen world?

“Target practice,” is the dry answer he gives, leveling the helmet at the shorter man. Malk raises an eyebrow before a conspiratorial smile splits his lips. 

“I like you, Mando. Man of few words. You’ll get along with the other chatterboxes I run with.” 

Malk leads him to a hangar pad, small ships in various levels of disrepair scattered across the peeling floor. A sharp whistle brings three people into view, two purple Twi’leks and a human man. 

“My crew,” Malk says proudly, gesturing for them to come closer. The female Twi’lek saunters over with a swing in her hip, the heavy forehead-first stride of her companion close behind. The human throws a grease-spotted towel onto a box of tools and comes to an exasperated stop in front of Malk. 

“Can’t believe you shelled out credits for a tin man. I could have put a bucket on and we’d be just as well off,” the man says. His face is Malk claps him on the shoulder.

“Varlo,” Malk says, nodding to Din. He gives a polite tip of his head back. Varlo rolls his cold blue eyes and turns on his heel. His jaw is sharp and squared, matching his lithe frame as he climbs back into an open access hatch. The male Twi’lek approaches Din, soft footwork with his hands in his pockets.

“Qin,” he offers before Malk’s introduction, nodding his head at the amban rifle slung across Din’s chest. “Is it true weapons are part of your religion? Or is that all bedtime stories?” His smirk is condescending, not even veiled. A simmer of annoyance bubbles in Din’s veins but he tamps it out.

“Among other things,” he says instead, earning a sardonic smile and a handshake from Qin. 

“All weapons?” the female Twi’lek says at Din’s elbow, running her fingers up the length of the rifle’s barrel. Din twists away, visor meeting the sparkling challenge in the Twi’s eyes. 

“My sister, Xi’an,” Qin interjects as she circles Din with roaming eyes. She hisses at him, raising Din’s eyebrows under the helmet, before sharply switching to high-pitched giggles, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever done. 

“Ohhhh, Mando, we’re going to have fun,” she says, finally coming to rest at her brother’s side. 

Din should have walked away in this moment, saved himself a lot of pain and heartache and blood. They were volatile, waiting for a spark to burn everything around them, and Din was only more kindling. 

The jobs were easy to start. Wealthy benefactors needing a little extra muscle to get their way. A handful of runaways returned home. One exceptionally smooth jailbreak. Din’s presence gave them a leg up on jobs, but his skills were where he became integral. Combat all done with the efficiency and proficiency of a Mandalorian, but flying was where he excelled. The Razor Crest, in her infancy when he first shook Malk’s hand, was a deadly bird under Din’s touch. Scrambling signatures aside, with Din piloting it was a ghost on the astral winds. 

It also became a strange cramped home to the five of them while they traveled. After complaints of too many credits spent on lodging, Malk casually inferred that the Crest could be a better home base. “We’re in it more than out most days,” was his dry reasoning, and with four people staring him down Din agreed, pangs of discomfort pushed to the back of his mind. It made sense, after all. The Crest was a cargo ship. Might as well fill it with cargo.

So between jobs and screaming dogfights in the sky, the mercenaries found themselves within the durasteel walls. Hammocks strung along the hold allowed for sleep, belongings mixing and melding to become communal. There was comfort in that for Din. Individuality beaten out of him in training, he preferred not knowing who liked what ration bar or whose ‘fresher items littered the floor. 

In that crush of company, however, he did learn about his family in arms. Not enough to urge him to reveal more of his own past. All of them lived in the present, their histories an inky shadow they let drag behind and paid no mind. He learned instead of their present, trial and error and observation his best tools.

Malk’s connections were far-reaching and unsavory, most bounties questionable in nature but not enough to turn down. He would choose jobs no one wanted, ones that were especially difficult or carried the highest price. A name for himself was the greatest goal, clawing for prestige in how fast, how deadly, how accurate the team could be. Din sometimes caught a feral glint in his eye when they returned, deed done. The crazier the escapade, the more he gloated in cantinas or to his associates. Rarely lifting a finger himself, he worked logistics and timing, connections and credits. And when the job was done, it was only his name that ever hung in the air as they walked away richer.

Varlo was quiet, calculating and cruel. Din thought the standoffishness was a front until he watched the man more closely and realized it was born of a distinct lack of empathy. He could not be bribed, or swayed, or bewitched. While Malk made connections and laid the groundwork, Varlo was the front man on foot. He could talk his way in, execute the seven councilmen sitting at a table full of secrets, and wipe the blood from a particularly valuable one before taking it as insurance. His carefully crafted armor of failsafes and blackmail let him sleep easy every night, no matter the strain Din might feel at the events of the day.

Qin was the strength of the operation. Not bulky like a Devaronian, but leagues stronger and more agile than his body could betray. With enough blaster cover he could incapacitate, maim, and kill anything in his path with his two hands. That surety in his body extended to his place in the world. His smile was always knowing, always scheming something behind the fangs. Time spent across from him could pass pleasantly - Qin could spin you a tale from thin air, wrestle someone into gasping submission, or share silence all in turn - but once he left there was the distinct feeling that he gained more than you meant to give. 

And then there was Xi’an. Qin and her relationship was manic on a good day, volcanic on a bad one. They snapped at each other constantly, enough that Din stopped trying to understand if they were mad at each other or simply passing the time. Where Qin was strength, Xi’an was stealth. Her steps made no sound, the silvery whistle of her knives the precursor to bodies on the floor. The delight she took in her own prowess turned Din’s stomach more than once. Brutal hisses and snarls giving way to raucous laughter and almost childish giggles raised the hair on the back of his neck. She was competent and brash, and Maker help anyone who said no to her. 

Behind all of them was Din, standing silent and glorious. His helmet parted crowds, murmurs and rumors following the swish of his cape. They wondered why he was running with this bloodthirsty lot, a member of one of the greatest warrior cultures. He let them guess. With his contributions his covert would grow, and one day the children - maybe even his children - would be able to stand in the sun on a world that they called home. 

Until then, he hunts.

Din manages to maneuver the delicate balance of this crew living on his ship for over a month before tensions rise. A week without work has made everyone snappish and riled. Malk is hidden away in the cockpit making calls so Din has to remain with them, arms folded as Xi’an needles at Qin. His lip curls into a snarl, and Din braces for a brawl.

“Treating me like your baby sister isn’t going to make the men think you’re tough,” she hisses, sauntering by Qin and circling Varlo. “They don’t care about blood when it comes to close quarters, long hours, pent-up frustration.” She walks her fingers up Varlo’s chest, stroking her pointer along his leather jacket. “Care to blow off some steam?”

Varlo skirts around her touch, dropping down on a crate and leaning back.

“Hard pass, I don’t dip into crazy,” he spits out, Xi’an’s mocking smile chased by a wink of his own. For someone who barely experiences emotion beyond curiosity and satisfaction, he’s good at faking it. With a turn on her heel, she approaches Din instead.

“Ever felt the touch of a woman, Mando? Let someone polish your beskar?” she trills. Din keeps his posture loose, tilts his helmet and sighs. 

“Quit dicking around, I’ve got something,” Malk says as he drops down the ladder. “Decommissioning factory has had some thefts. We’re doing short-term security until we catch the guilty party.”

Xi’an backs off, slumping down across from her brother as Din moves to set the Crest’s course. Out of the thick air of the cargo hold he can finally breathe. 

He’d wanted to rebuff her, brag about the women he’s brought to the heights of pleasure with just his fingers, but it’s a dangerous path to wander in the barrel of rocket fuel the Crest has become. Shifting his hips in the pilot seat, he thinks back to the last time he fucked his frustrations into another person.

A Togruta, maybe? Or was it that sassy brothel worker? 

(a girl on a desert planet that stopped time)

A shiver climbs his spine but he bats it down. In any event it’s been too long since he’s indulged in a soft body. He’ll take care of that after this job, ease some of the stress buried between his shoulder blades. It might make all of this strange arrangement more palatable.

Droids. It had to be droids.

Not the fact that the factory was decommissioning battle droids but that some were going missing, not turning up in the junk pile to be scrapped. The workers didn’t give two shits about it, but because the battle droids were so powerful and dangerous they had to have their chips pulled out and documented for the New Republic. Too many missing chips led to this group striding in like conquering forces. 

The first night is uneventful, Din passing patrols with Varlo and Xi’an. Varlo looks at him like another droid, the cold boredom on his face inexplicably boiling Din’s blood. Xi’an’s constant prowling only makes it worse, still determined to crack his stoic demeanor. He’s tired the next day, body running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. Malk offers him caf that he refuses. He doesn’t like lifting the helmet in front of them.

The second night the issue comes into sharp focus. Not theft, but escape. A droid spray painted in yellow stripes enters the facility to reactivate its brethren. For what purpose they don’t know, and Din doesn’t care. Putting the droid in his sight, muscles tight around the amban rifle, Din squeezes a lifetime of pain behind the trigger. 

A cloud of dust. No more droid.

He thought that would satisfy the roar in his chest, but back in the Crest he’s more of a caged animal than before. Malk tells them to enjoy a day on-world, and Varlo and Qin follow him out to the industrial maze of the city. Din knows he needs something tonight, a fight or a fuck or both, so he gathers enough credits to cover his proclivities and makes to leave the ship.

“Where are you biding your time, Mando?” Xi’an’s voice purrs in the low light of the cargo hold. She’s draped over a storage crate, inspecting her nails and flashing a devious look at him when his visor turns. “Going to finally lose your virginity?”

He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Maybe the constant pressure on all sides, or the neverending sniping at his expense. He knows it’s a mistake the moment he opens his mouth.

“Been a long time since I called myself that.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash up to the visor. It spikes in his stomach.

“I find that hard to believe, Mando, with all the…” She waves her hands around her head, pulling a serious face that she can barely keep on. He should stalk off, leave her to pouting and him to pounding into something softer and sweeter than whatever this was.

But it’s been too long, and he’s itching for confrontation in a way he’s never desired before.

“I’m good with my hands,” he says, one coming up to rest on his belt buckle, tilting his head to the side. Xi’an lifts off the crate, circling him with the serpentine swish of her gait.

“Oh I can believe that. Seen you with those weapons, your ‘religion.’ Man who keeps them that well cared for must be attentive in…other ways.” She slinks around to stand in front of him, dragging her eyes over the broad expanse of durasteel on his chest, flaking paint and silvered scratches. She walks her fingers down his chest, stopping at his trim waist. “But that doesn’t mean you know how to use this.” Her hand flashes out to grope at his crotch but he snatches her wrist, jerking her hands up as she squeals. For a moment he thinks it’s in pain, but the glint in her eyes and the flash of tongue between her fangs reveals it’s excitement. Releasing her, he moves to exit the cargo hold and find something, anything, to calm the rushing of his blood.

“Oh Mando, come on, wait,” Xi’an pleads, skipping back in front of him and adopting an apologetic expression. “We’ve all been cooped up here too long, rubbing each other the wrong way.” This time her hands glances down his side, nails lightly scraping along his hips before she drifts them feather-light over his cock. The electricity of her touch burns in his groin, filling him quickly. “Let me make it up to you, Mando. Rub you the right way this time.”

“This is…not a good idea,” he grits through his teeth, common sense screaming at him to leave, but the many-toothed monster that lurks in the back of his mind drools at the feeling of her fingers getting bolder, now stroking her palm over his stiffening cock. The helmet tips back a fraction as Din’s eyes flutter, excuses melting back into the delicious heat of her touch.

“The best ideas are the bad ones,” she teases, sidling closer to him. Her breath is hot on the edge of his cowl, soft little sighs zinging down his spine as she swipes her thumb over the clothed head of his cock. He tries to suppress the groan but it comes out a whine instead, spurring her on more. “You could use some release. Let me suck your cock, Mando. I’ll trade you for a kiss.” 

This is a monumentally bad idea and his survival instinct kicks in just before the monster waiting in the darkness claws his way to the forefront. 

“The helmet…stays on,” he grunts, backing up a half step. She rolls her eyes but triumph lives there now. 

“Fine, fine, your precious Creed. Then how about I give you a hand, and next time I’m in need of one you return the favor?” 

He struggles to take in a full breath, her fingers now wrapped around him and adding just enough pressure to spark in his pelvis and surge into his chest. He nods, fists clenching, as Xi’an’s smile breaks across her face.

“Oh Mando, how long have you been wanting this?” she purrs, sliding down his body to rest on her knees. Alarm bells sound in his mind. It’s too out in the open, too vulnerable. If Varlo or Malk or Qin, Maker forbid, came back he’d be caught and probably gutted. But the lap of her tongue along his waist as she opens the plaquet of his pants dissolves the worries into heady arousal as the monster he’s suppressed so long rears to life.

“Kriff,” he curses, tilting the helmet down to watch her pull his flushed cock out of his pants, thighs flexing when she coos over it. 

“So you’ve got the goods to back up all that swagger,” she sing-songs, looking up at him through her lashes as blood pumps loud in his ears. The arousal he’s feeling is unlike his usual encounters. In those he’s simmering even when his frustration is at an all time high, his pleasure delayed in favor of watching them writhe and gasp with the force of the orgasms he pulls out of them. It gets him harder than anything else. But now, looking down at someone who makes his blood boil at any given moment, his libido is at a roar screaming at him to fuck and bruise and take. The force of it makes his heart pound, unfamiliar and exciting.

“If you’re only going to look at it, I’ll go somewhere else,” he growls, keeping his voice as level as possible. It does the trick, her smile sly before she licks a long path from base to tip. The shudder is involuntary, a hot wet mouth not something he usually seeks out. He prefers a dripping pussy to bury his frustrations in but the power this position yields makes all the lewd cantina talk he’s scoffed at come into focus. 

“Patience, Mando,” Xi’an lightly scolds, but the thin wire of restraint he was still holding onto snaps. One large hand palms the back of her head, fingers digging into the edge of her head wrap for leverage. Her eyebrows lift in surprise just before Din presses his hips forward, breaching her lips with the head of his cock. He groans at the slick heat and the brush of her teeth over the ridge as he thrusts shallowly against her tongue. He thinks he sees a wrinkle of anger in her brow before her eyes flash with vengeance. She wraps her lips around him, sucking his head. 

“I’ve had enough of waiting,” he grits out, pulling back a fraction before sliding in deeper, pressing her further down his shaft. Her hands come up to his hips, fingernails digging in as a warning. The sharp points of pain focus his arousal, the mix with pleasure intoxicating. “You wanted it so karking badly, you….take it,” he growls, his thrusts deepening again as she takes him even further. Hissing around his intrusion, teeth come down enough to scrape along his cock just shy of unpleasant.

“Oh no you don’t,” he punches out, his other hand pinching her jaw to force her mouth wide. The lack of resistance drives him down her throat, a loud gag heaving her chest. The sound shocks his system, pulling back quickly as drool drips down her chin with her gasps. Uncertainty falls heavy over his libido now.

“Are you…?” he starts to ask, but Xi’an yanks him back to her face, pumping his cock quickly with the thick saliva she’s left on it.

“What’s the matter, Mando? Afraid of a little mess?” she taunts before swallowing him down again, the rough gags of her throat beginning in earnest. He can feel her spit dripping down his length, sliding over his balls as she rolls them roughly in her hand. It’s nothing he’s ever felt fucking a woman before, frustration and anger burning him inside out. He palms her head again, thrusting with her own bobbing rhythm as she hums around his cock. His hips pump, thighs clenching, stomach quivering at the onslaught of sensations driving him closer and closer to his high. Hazarding another look at her, she laughs around his cock before pulling off.

“If I’d have known it would be this easy to make you fall apart…” she begins to say, but Din shoves his cock roughly back into her mouth.

“Shut up,” he pants, fucking into her face in earnest. His orgasm is on the brink, body convulsing around her prone form as the monster ruts and chases his end selfishly. His teeth are clenched so hard he tastes blood, puffing air through his nose and snarling behind the visor. Vision red around the edges, his control is long gone as he fights her sharp nails and encroaching teeth and wild eyes. The tiniest voice begs him to stop, to look at what he’s doing, but when he sees her kneading at her mound over her pants, bucking her own hips in time with his punishing thrusts, everything lets go. He cums with a bellow, holding her there as his spend empties into her mouth. He gasps, sweat rolling down his neck and spine, the helmet almost suffocating with the heat trapped inside. 

When he pulls out Xi’an gasps and the gravity of the moment makes him stumble back. Tucking himself away he watches her cough on her knees, white streaks of his cum dribbling down her face to drip onto the durasteel floor. Once she catches her breath she looks up at him, and in her flashing eyes and feral smile he realizes something dark and devastating.

He wants to do it again.

Striding past to slam open the cargo bay doors, her roughened voice calls after him.

“That’s one on the books for me, Mando. I’ll come calling soon enough.”

His hands don’t stop shaking for hours.

Xi’an is right. It doesn’t take long for her to come to him.

A simple job gone bad, the target fleeing into hyperspace too quickly to follow. Xi’an had been seducing him in a flashy racetrack before he fled. Din had followed as her backup, watching her writhe on the target’s lap and whisper in his ear. Every now and then her eyes would flash to Din, holding the expressionless gaze of the visor as she guided another man’s hand to knead her breast. 

He told himself it wasn’t supposed to affect him. He didn’t care what she did, or who touched her. The scene from that night played in his head wrapped in nausea and regret. No partner he’d ever laid with drew out that much uncertainty and self-loathing, and he wasn’t keen to return to it.

But her curves still called to him, now straddling the mark’s waist. Familiar stirrings pulled up hard against disgust as he pushed the ravenous monster back down. It had gotten louder, fiercer after taking his pleasure so brutally. It screamed to take her again.

All of her work led to nothing. The target caught Varlo stalking up to apprehend him and make a quick exit. Even with four highly skilled mercs after him his resources won out. A faster ship, quicker access to his speeder. He was just within their grasp when he blasted off and into the atmosphere.

Xi’an shrieked her frustration into the air as the team re-entered the Crest. Malk confirmed there was no point following. They’d try again when he showed up at whatever gambling circuit he fancied next. She couldn’t stop prowling the ship, head down, glaring through her lashes. Varlo got a few sharp swipes for giving away their plan, but he threw up his hands and moved into the engine bay to let her cool off. Qin reclined in his hammock, watching bemused as she tried to self-soothe with no luck.

“Mando!” she finally hisses, jerking her head sharply as she strides past him and out of the Crest. His shoulders stiffen instantly, her brother’s hot stare branding his back. Hazarding a look back, Qin’s raised eyebrow and smirk make his face burn. But he still follows.

Xi’an is around the front of the Crest, leaning against the landing gear and seething. Din comes close, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes rake over the helmet, snarl less playful and more agitated. 

“I’m cashing in your debt, Mando,” she says, whipping her belt out of the loops so quickly it cracks. Din’s hands tighten on his, stance faltering.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmurs, bracing for the impact of his words. They land hard on her skin, quick steps bringing them chest to chest.

“I don’t give a flying kark what you think. I gave you my throat to cum in, it’s your turn. Give me your cock.” 

Din balks, trying to disentangle from the swirling vortex of rage, but her hands are small and quick to grab at the fabric around his neck.

“Or you can give me something else, Mandalorian. Show me your face if you won’t fuck me,” she snarls, grabbing for the edge of his helmet. He yanks her arm away, but the other tries just the same. He snags it in his fist, whipping his head back when she tries to knock the helmet off. Both wrists captured he pushes her back, pinning her against the landing gear. Her hips jerk against his own, legs kicking at his shins. Some blows land, leaving dark reminders for days to come. Her bared teeth and hissing finally push him to pin both of her hands with one of his, the other coming to firmly wrap around her throat. 

That finally stops her, eyes fluttering as he puts just enough pressure on her windpipe to quiet her. Hips rolling against his hardening cock, he leans in to crowd her against the durasteel mechanics.

“Is this what you want?” he husks, removing his hand from her throat to shove into her pants. The fit is tight, his thick forearm and vambrace stretching the waistband, but his skilled fingers cup her hot cunt. Even with the gloves on he can find her clit, roughly circling as she gasps and rocks against him. “Needed this attitude fucked out of you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, hooking a leg behind his thigh to pull him closer. He yanks his hand out of her pants and pushes slick-soaked leather between her lips.

“Take them off, or I won’t,” he growls, waiting for her teeth to tug his gloves off his fingers. She stares at the tawny skin, all the silvery lines cross-crossing his knuckles and fingers. He tries not to dwell on this, on how she’s already pushed him past what he knows he shouldn’t do. Jamming his hand back into her pants he buries two fingers in her wet cunt, setting a fast and firm pace that has her crying out against his overwhelming hold. The monster snarls inside him, salivating at the prospect of rucking her pants down and…

“Mando, need your cock, need you to fuck me,” she whines, just short of begging. It knots his stomach that she knows how much she’s making him lose control. The rhythmic slap of his palm on her intimate flesh has him full and hard, grip tightening as he feels her walls spasm around his flexing fingers.

“Cum like this first and I’ll see if you deserve my cock,” he rasps, buying himself enough time to calm his raging libido a fraction. He shouldn’t fuck her, shouldn’t let this go on any longer than it already has, but his body is thrumming, snapping and snarling into her as she beckons him to let go, to find something blinding in her soaked cunt. 

Her orgasm clamps down on his fingers suddenly, the raw shriek making him clap his hand over her mouth. The loss of his hands pinning her wrists gives ample opportunity to rush open his pants and find his weeping cock. A few well-placed strokes has his rational mind dissolving into the single-minded concept of fucking.

He bends her over the landing gear, tearing her pants down over her ass to expose her glistening pussy. Normally that sight makes his mouth water. Instead he tugs on his cock a couple times to prepare. 

“Hurry up, Mando,” Xi’an whines, arching her back higher to present her hole to him. He pushes her chest down hard, a whoosh of air escaping before he sheaths his cock in her tight pussy. The momentary ecstasy of his slick entrance washes over him, planting both hands on either side of her head. His first thrust punches a moan from her lips, followed by a litany of curses and whines as he snaps his hips fast and hard. The loud smack of skin pulls out a thin moan of his own.

“Karking Maker, Mando, you feel so good,” Xi’an croons, a momentary lapse in vitriol. It makes Din chuckle as he grunts at her wet clutch.

“This all you needed? A cock to make you bearable?” he teases, angling his hips to drill into a spot inside he knows will make her scream. She gathers air before he shoves his sticky fingers into her mouth, pinching her jaw open as he penetrates her here too. Everything is dripping and liquid and hard and soft at the same time. His own orgasm is fast approaching, a roar in his ears that he chases with fervor.

“Gonna cum again,” Xi’an gasps around his fingers, slamming back against Din’s thrusts as she chases her own end. Two people so far inside but so far apart.

Din dutifully reaches between her legs and pinches her clit, sending her toppling over into a shuddering orgasm that clenches his cock so hard he has to pull out and cum all over her other tight hole. Lightheaded and heavy-limbed, Din tries to regain a semblance of control over the situation. 

This is just returning the favor.

This won’t happen again.

He doesn’t want this to happen again.

Shuffling back, he uses his bare hand to scrape his cum off her ass and flick it on the ground. Xi’an pulls her pants back up as Din tucks himself away and turns to stride back into the Crest. 

Stepping outside looking to be without a care in the world is Qin, licking Jogan fruit juice off his fingers as he discards the peel on the ground. Din’s whole body locks up, fight or flight response screaming at him to get away. 

“Get a good eyeful brother?” Xi’an singsongs behind Din, walking past him to re-enter the ship. Qin mock-glares at her as she passes and saunters away. When his eyes land back on Din he waits for a fist or a blade to connect with his flesh. Instead Qin just shakes his head with an amused expression and follows his sister.

Dread lands heavy in Din’s belly. His grip is slipping and he’s not sure whether he’ll hang on or fall into something even harder to climb out of.

That was the last time, he says to himself as he leaves a freshly fucked Xi’an in the ‘fresher. 

This time it’s over, he says as he splatters his cum on her tits. 

Never again, he promises after he spills his load into her tight asshole, cursing to the Maker about how good she feels choking his dick. 

He tries over and over to stop it, to tell her no, but every time she whines and needles and baits until he can’t help but bury his frustrations in her body. 

It’s been months since he joined Malk’s crew, and the spoils of their missions were fat in his pocket. He knows he should sneak off to the covert, give them the credits needed to keep them safe. Or to Karga, pay him his cut of whoring out his Mandalorian. It itches in the back of his brain, the duties he’s supposed to be performing.

Instead, he ignores Karga’s messages on his holo. He spends the credits on upgrades to the Crest and Corellian whiskey and brothels. The last is in a desperate hope to rid him of his addiction to the purple Twi’lek plaguing his bed. 

She stalks his days and haunts his nights, rarely away from each other. It makes it easy to let her straddle his waist in the tiny cubby of a bed and ride him until he’s dripping out of her. Sometimes she follows him when they’re on-world to the places where he spends his credits. The first time he caught her he made her watch as he fucked a plain but skilled prostitute. The following times, she joined him in his debauchery. 

He tells himself it’s the last time every time, but the fire always returns. The itch under his skin. The monster that roars under Xi’an’s sharp nails and sharper tongue batters the inside of its cage and howls until Din can leave more marks on her skin. It’s feral and bloodthirsty. Definitely unhealthy.

He still can’t stop.

The bounty they lost finally turns up in a swanky hotel on Coruscant. Xi’an goes to complete the job, her cover not blown enough to approach the target again. Words and drinks pass between them before his hands are groping her beneath the table. They slink away together, Din’s helmet following their heat signatures. The man’s crotch is white fire, but Xi’an’s registers no hotter than her body temp.

Couldn’t even get her wet. He’d have her blazing by now.

Din waits for the signal to apprehend the target outside the closed hotel room. Long minutes tick by, Din’s imagination spinning wildly as he imagines the man’s fingers in her pussy, licking her clit like he can never do, spitting in her mouth like he sometimes imagines with a frightening tightness in his groin. 

A trill sounds. Time for action.

Din bursts in, blaster pointed ahead of him to take in the lewd scene. Xi’an is naked on the bed, the target thrusting into her from behind. Her face is bored until she sees Din enter, lax posture trading for silky and sexy.

“What the kark-!” the target shouts, hands shooting up in surrender. 

“Took you long enough, Mando, I had to put up with this paltry cock for much too long,” she sighs, arching her back and presenting her heavy tits between her arms. 

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” he rasps, modulator hiding the strain in his voice. Xi’an tuts, shaking her head.

“This is my mission, Mando, and I get to decide that.” She cocks her head at him, backing up against the target.

“Does it make you jealous, knowing he’s inside me right now?” she purrs, circling her hips to elicit a choked gasp. Din’s hand tightens on the blaster, forcing his posture to be neutral.

“You did what you had to,” he grits out. Xi’an shrieks out a laugh.

“I didn’t have to fuck him. I wanted to, because I wanted to see what you’d do when another man tries to cum inside me.” 

Din’s arm begins to shake, and the monster snarls inside him. Mine, it roars. My fucked up little thing to break.   

“What are you going to do, Mando?” she taunts, rolling her hips on the terrified man’s cock. 

“What you want.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash in triumph. 

“I want to bring him in cold.”

Din shoots a blaster bolt between the man’s eyes, toppling him over and onto the bedroom floor. Xi’an wastes no time crawling to the end of the bed and turning around, round ass in the air. 

“Fuck him out of me, Mando.”

They pull orgasm after orgasm out of each other with a dead man on the floor. His blood stains one corner of the bedding, crimson as regret. When Din has her splayed out below him, tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts into her abused pussy, she croaks out a request.

“Take it off.”

He stills inside her, fire in his veins replaced by ice cold clarity.

“No.”

Xi’an snarls at him.

“Show me the face of the man that’s fucking me, Mandalorian.”

His hand comes up around her throat, a warning squeeze rougher than the ones he normally doles out. She quiets, but he has to flip her over to drill out his last orgasm. The disdain on her face is too much.

Seventeen missed holos from Karga. Shadows that follow him when he strides through town. And yet Din can’t pull his head above water. The light get fainter every time. During one mission he freezes in front of a snarling attack massiff and for a blissful moment wonders if its bite would kill him if he bared his throat. Varlo fells it instead, giving Din a confused look as they return to the Crest.

“You been sleeping, Mando? You seem off.”

Din bristles, stride widening.

“Don’t pretend that matters to you.”

Varlo shrugs, veering off to speak to Ranzar. The anger masks the anguish until later that night, when Din begs for the thoughlessness of sleep.

“Need some company, Mando?” Xi’an asks, like she does most nights. 

It’s better than guilt, at least.

It’s not long after Xi’an’s hunt that Qin climbs up into the cockpit while Din is piloting. They just entered hyperspace, the streaks of light soothing Din. The quiet sinks into his bones, contrasted against the dread of re-entering the cargo hold. The air is thick with boredom and potential energy waiting for a spark.

He’s turning to leave, find somewhere to escape for a few more moments of peace, when Qin clears his throat. He stands in the doorway, leaning against it with folded arms. Din stills, a standoff between the two men. He was wondering when he might have to endure this conversation.

“Whatever is going on between you and my sister,” Qin starts, right to the meat of the matter. Din respects that he doesn’t pull punches. “You need to figure it out soon. You may be having the time of your life fighting…and fucking.” He sneers at this, making Din’s face scorch under the helmet. “But the longer she thinks something is going to come out of it, the worse it will be when you tell her no.” Qin shifts to stand chest to chest with Din. They’re close in height but in this moment Din feels small and sacrificial.

“She doesn’t like being told no. I’m sure you’ve seen that.”

He has. The helmet is the symbol of his refusal, and Xi’an seethes at it. More than once he’s had to pin her hands down, too bold in her touches. Some days she playfully grabs at the lip, pulling him down to her level, but doesn’t let go quick enough for Din’s liking. Other times she lays her hands on either side and it feels tender. Her eyes soften, and Din wonders if there’s a hurt girl under all the posturing that wants proof that he cares for her. 

He’d told her once, as they laid in a post-coital tangle. The Creed, the helmet, why it meant so much to him. He didn’t speak of the covert, or of any other Mandalorians. They both have their own secrets.

“It’s a symbol of my fidelity,” he said. Xi’an lifted up on one elbow and studied the sharp lines and curves of the helmet, fingers tracing the impressive profile. 

“How beautiful it must be, to have someone so devoted,” she murmured. “What a gift.”

It’s one he can never give her, and she can never forget it.

“If you aren’t planning on giving her what she wants,” Qin husks, leaning in with a steely gaze. “Don’t drag it out. Make it professional.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, the weight of his words now on Mando’s shoulders. Qin has never been kind, but his ultimatum is a balm to Din’s anguish. He needs to end it. If he believes her to have any gentleness underneath her posturing it would be cruel to continue. There is no room in his devotions for her. 

The monster inside his chest finally soothes, curls into a ball and sleeps.

She doesn’t take it well.

“You want this to stop?” she laughs, lounging against a tree. Din had deigned to tell her away from the others, wanting privacy and space for her anger to hit a flash point.

“We’re professionals. This is too messy,” Din says, keeping his voice as even and calm as he can. Her face changes from incredulity to anger.

“This isn’t over just because you get a crisis of conscience.” She pushes off the tree and stalks towards him, suspicion coloring her demeanor. “Did my brother say something to you?”

That’s a trap he’s not going to walk into.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Din says, holding his ground as she comes chest to chest, much like her sibling. How alike they are in their ruthlessness. 

“Of course you can. You’ve got a perfectly good cock and talented fingers and some Maker-blessed stamina. Plus you’re filthy,” she purrs, raising goosebumps on Din’s neck. “What else does a girl need?”

Din tilts his head, watching her closely as he sees the shroud of the lie settle.

“The helmet,” he sighs, exasperated. His words hit the target. Xi’an’s features twist, shocked out of her feigned nonchalance.

“You’re ending this over a stupid little symbol?” she spits out, circling him like a prowling loth-cat. Din tenses, tempted to follow her path but knowing she’ll take advantage of it. He prepares for a blade. 

“I won’t remove it for you. And I’m done fighting you trying to do it yourself.” 

There’s a moment where he sees the hurt girl he’s trying to spare. It’s quickly raked back with fury. She hisses, digging her fingers into his cowl and yanking him backwards. He stumbles to his knees, his cape now wrapped around her forearms as she cuts off his air .

“All your morals and high ground as you’re spilling as much blood as we are, Mando. Defiling my body as you pray to your Creed. You’ll be crawling back to my cunt in no time, and I’ll slit your throat before I let you make a fool out of me.” Just as his vision begins to darken she releases her hold, letting painful lungfuls of air back into his chest. One boot kicks him square in the back, and he topples forward into the dirt.

“You’ll regret this, Mandalorian.”

She storms off to the Crest, leaving him gasping and coughing. He wishes, not for the first time, that he never shook Malk’s hand, never let them onto the Crest, never let Karga talk him into this. 

He wishes for time to stop, to take back everything the last months had carved out of his soul. For a bed, and a soothing touch.

(where is she now? Could she ever look at him the same way, after all he’s done?)

“New assignment,” Malk calls down, a groan of relief lifting the mood in the hold. “Big yield, and even bigger hush money.”

Qin grins, jostling his sister as Malk descends to them. She nods, listless since their argument. Din prefers that to the rage. It still pulls at a confusing feeling in his chest, something akin to regret.

“Where we off to? I’ve been itching to get out of this karking morgue,” Varlo gripes, taking the holopad from Malk. 

“Cleanup effort on Alzoc III. There’s some mines infested with a local species the mining company needs cleared out. Not sentient, but territorial. Mando, need you in the air. Varlo, running logistics. Qin, Xi’an, you’re with me doing ground work.” 

Din rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. A big haul should set everyone up for a good while. Improve spirits, and maybe give him the boost to break away from this group that only becomes more hostile by the day. His silence will cost him, but with enough credits he may be able to buy himself back into the covert, and the Guild’s good favor. 

Alzoc III it is.

The planet is icy and hostile, vast snow-swept tundras and sharp peaks slicing up into the permanently gray skies. The harsh weather eats up heat from the outside in, the Crest’s life support systems working overtime to keep the interior above freezing. Din had to pull out a heavier flight suit, the other crew members donning furs and goggles in preparation for the mission. Xi’an had taken to glaring at Mando any time he was in the room, so he’d stayed in the cockpit for most of the trip. Malk had scoffed at him, standing behind the pilot’s chair as Din maneuvered them out of hyperspace.

“Women problems, Mando?” 

Din did not deign to give him an answer, but Malk persisted.

“Not a good idea to mix business and pleasure. A man of your experience should be more careful,” he says, clapping a hand on Din’s paudron. He tenses, but Malk releases him quickly after and heads into the tense hold with a snicker under his breath.

Din can’t wait to have the Crest to himself. Months of close quarters were making him itchy with tension, a constant frenetic thrum under his skin that he can’t even fuck out now. Varlo’s company would be silent at least. Plus a simple point-and-shoot mission has its appeal. The rest of the dossier states that the mines are overrun to the point that they can’t send in crews to extract the planet’s precious commodities. 

Varlo plots a multi-stage assault; Malk, Xi’an and Qin would place bombs at mine entrances and pick off anything that could tip off the plan. Once at their sniper posts, Din would aerial attack the mines from above, detonating the bombs and dropping his own payloads to collapse strategic parts of the tunnels. The mining company provided blueprints, and designated the choke points that would create the least amount of cleanup effort for them after the fact. 

In retrospect, when Din’s nightmares push into this shadowy period of his life, it was so well thought out it should have made him pause. They didn’t need highly skilled mercenaries, they needed bodies to carry out this plan. What the company really bought was silence, and anonymity.

Din circles the Crest just out of range of the mines, waiting for the go signal from Malk. Varlo lounges in the jump seat, occasionally speaking through his communicator. Din doesn’t much enjoy conversing with Varlo, so of course this is the time he decides to be chatty.

“So, was she purple like…all over?” Varlo says, raising the hackles on Din’s back. 

“You can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d love to tell you,” Din replies calmly, banking a little harder to the left than he means to. Varlo chuckles low in his throat, his gaze burning into Din’s back.

“I mean I could, but it’s more professional curiosity. I’m surprised she hasn’t gutted you in your sleep yet.”

“Mando, time to shine!” Malk’s voice rings from the Crest’s holocomm.

“Roger,” Din murmurs, the muscle memory of his training kicking in as the Crest dives into the valley. Everything that’s plagued him for months - the loss of control, the cloying atmosphere, Xi’an’s magnetic push and pull - all fades into the background when he’s flying. His shoulders loosen, grip on the controls firm but relaxed. The lift and dip of the Crest is a familiar dance, lapping waves on a beach he’s never visited but somehow always knows. 

Then the first explosion appears through the transparisteel, and he dives into action.

The entire assault lasts maybe a quarter hour. Each explosion triggered by Malk is timed with another bomb Varlo releases out the cargo doors. The more powerful weapons hit their mark, miles of tunnels collapsing with shifting snow to fill in the depressions. Sometimes a small group of moving creatures - barely perceptible - burst from an entry, and the on-ground team quickly eradicates them. Din isn’t even sure he feels the cold creeping into the ship, too wrapped up in the warmth of a skill he’s honed for decades being used to its utmost ability. 

“That’s it, Mando, we’ll bring her down to pick up the rest at the hanger pad.” Varlo indicates a vast stretch of buildings, no doubt some shipping operation, with a generous landing zone. Din wonders how much trade must happen on this desolate planet, and how pitiful their price must be compared to the credits the company rakes in. 

Once landed, Varlo leaves to speak with their contact and provide a final report. Malk gets the payment, but he’ll be a little while traipsing across the frozen grounds. Din takes the lack of anyone on his ship as a brief moment of respite, checking for any potential damage and wandering through the cluttered living space. His annoyance at the mess is less than usual, the silence after a job well done vastly improving his mood. 

Deeper in the ship checking on engine function, Din hears a clatter. His shoulders slump again. He’d hoped for a little more peace and quiet before they returned. Trudging out to the cargo bay, he’s met with an even stranger sight.

Varlo left the cargo door open, the windbreak from the surrounding buildings keeping the elements at a minimum. Instead of the crew ascending the ramp, two furred creatures freeze just inside the warmth of the Crest. The larger one puts its body between Din and the smaller one, four black pearl eyes locked on him. His hand itches to grab his blaster, absolutely certain these are the creatures infesting the mines. They’re supposed to be hostile, ferocious and powerfully strong. He might be able to take one, but two could be a problem. He steels himself for a charge, but the larger one holds up one long-clawed hand, three fingers spread in the universal symbol for wait.

Din stops, confusion and a cold pit of dread opening in his stomach. The larger creature looks back at the smaller one, stroking its face as they make high pitched chirps and buzzes at each other through strange tubular mouths. Their fur is matted white and gray, easy to blend in on the tundra, as they tower taller than most bipedal creatures Din has encountered. The brief conference concluded, the larger creature rummages in its fur.

Din snaps his hand to his blaster, unholstering it in a flash to point at the creatures. The smaller one squeals - Din swears it’s in terror - and the larger one whips its head up to look at Din. It stills, one hand now held out overflowing with baubles. Din’s blaster falters as the creature takes a tentative step forward, offering lustrous milky pearls. His throat closes up, but his training keeps his weapon on them. At his lack of movement the creature looks back at the smaller one, urging it forward. It holds their faces together, foreheads touching as plaintive whines cut through the air. The pearls transfer, and the larger of the two urges the smaller forward. 

Din can’t breathe, chest banded with horror. The littler creature holds out the offering, clicking and chirping as the larger one waits back. It’s all too clear to a man who lost his family in a war he did not understand what this transaction is, and what the consequences of his actions means. He drops the blaster, stepping towards the creatures. They shrink back in fear, but the little one still holds out shaking hands, pearls dropping to clink on the durasteel floor.

“I…” he says, heart hammering in his throat. The larger one - the mother, he thinks - raises its head with something like hope. 

“What the kark?!” Varlo shouts, ascending the ramp. Din tries to speak, to explain that everything has gone so wrong in a handful of moments, but Varlo���s blaster is already out.

Three bolts, loosed with deadly efficiency, and the smaller creature falls, pearls scattering on the floor and rolling away. The shriek of the larger creature will haunt Din for years, as clear as the day he heard it when he finds another pearl lost in the ship.

“No!” Din screams, but Varlo is already turning to the charging creature. Three powerful swipes knock him down, blood spurting into snow, before he fells the creature with another series of blaster bolts. Then it’s just Din, gasping amongst the gore. Sobs wrench his throat, hot tears running down his cheeks as he shakes on his feet.

“Fuck, Mando…need…kit,” Varlo gasps. The creature cut him deep, flashes of white bone peeking through the layers of flesh. Blood dribbles from his lips, teeth stained red as he struggles to breathe. His voice is faraway and tinny, but Din’s body answers. He walks numbly to Varlo’s side, kneeling beside the man’s mutilated body. 

“They were sentient,” he says, and the horror blends into anger, one hotter and more encompassing than any he’s ever felt. 

“Get me a Maker-damned bacta shot!” Varlo burbles, a rough cough spraying blood on Din’s chestplate. He’s not sure when he decided to slit Varlo’s throat, but one moment he’s alive, the next he’s laid out with unseeing eyes, the messy slash of a vibroblade mimicking the brutal claw marks. 

He doesn’t remember moving the creatures’ bodies, laying them down on the icy ground outside the Crest.

He doesn’t remember what he tells the others when they return. Xi’an and Qin stalk by, barely affected. Malk chews the inside of his cheek, staring at Varlo’s corpse for a few moments before entering the Crest.

“Split is four ways now. First come first serve to his things. We take off in 5.”

Din doesn’t recall where his body was during takeoff, or once they got into hyperspace. The events play like a holovid missing an actor, feelings and sensations eerily absent. He thinks he piloted them off world, attributed to muscle memory. He remembers a conversation, but not with who, or why it began.

“The species was sentient. They tried to barter to get on the ship.” 

“Mando….”

“One attempted to sacrifice itself for the other. An animal can’t do that.”

“We got paid not to ask questions.”

“That wasn’t a mission. That was genocide.”

“You’ve done worse, Mando. We all have.”

Except that wasn’t true. In the song of Din Djarin, this would always be his greatest sin. 

One tip to the New Republic was all it took. A set of coordinates and a date and time. Malk wanted to gamble and whore after Alzoc III, and Qin and Xi’an had no qualms. Din only sat silently, the days since the genocide bleeding into one another. Xi’an had tried to tease him about it - seems like you lucked out against those claws - but his cold turn of the head and quick exit quieted her tongue. 

He waited for them to leave, credits in hand, before reporting their whereabouts to the New Republic garrison. He conveniently left himself and the Crest out, detailing his crewmates’ crimes and exactly where they would be. Then he laid low, waiting for enough time to pass so as to not arouse suspicion. 

He would not see Qin or Malk for many more years, though he’d hear of their escape from some Guild contacts. Not much could hold either of them for long. Xi’an didn’t leave him so quietly. 

“Karking traitor!” she screams, leaping on his back outside of the Crest. A blade sinks into his shoulder, ripping a cry from his lips. She pulls it out and drives it back in his bicep, his hands scrabbling to throw her off. She gets him two more times before he crushes her against the Crest’s hull, knocking her grip loose. His left arm is screaming, blood pouring down his fingers. 

“After all we did for you, you turned us in?!” Her knife hits home again, swinging to stab into his calf and the meat of his thigh in quick succession. Din disarms her, skittering the knife away, before landing a blow in the center of her chest that, with a little more force, could have stopped her cruel heart. She lies gasping on the ground, eyes wide and wild as they look at him towering over her. For a moment that uncomfortable feeling pulls at him again, something like regret and remorse and a mourning of what could have been. It weakens him enough to kneel down, body screaming.

“I’m sorry…” he tries to say, the next words lost in his turmoil. Sorry for starting whatever fucked-up thing they had between them? Sorry for not being able to give her what she wanted? Sorry for how it was destined to end?

Another blade sinks into his side, ripping down as she screeches. 

“You are nothing but a traitor, Mandalorian. Betrayer of your allies, of your Creed. I hope your Maker-damned helmet ends up in the gutter with your corpse.”

He yanks the blade free, head dizzy at the realization that much of his blood is on the ground instead of inside him. He puts one hand around Xi’an’s neck and squeezes down. She’s out in seconds, dragged to the hangar entrance for the New Republic guards to find. Safe or not, he takes off with the Crest and manages to close up enough of his wounds with the cauterizer to stop the bleeding, burnt flesh singing his nostrils. He blindly dials in coordinates for Nevarro, barely staying conscious through the jump. Once autopilot kicks in he dips into darkness.

The Guild takes him back. Begrudgingly. He pays his dues and offers them the pearls the creature spilled across the hold. Their value surprises him, almost annoyed he didn’t save some for himself, but the thought of his own pockets lined with treasures given by the dead chills his blood. He leaves them all with Karga, and waits for the distrust to fade from his face. 

The covert welcomes him back with disapproval. His wounds spare him for a few weeks, sequestered from the rest of his people. It makes him ache, the obvious disappointment of his alor and the wariness of his fellow Mandalorians. The rumors swirl about where and why he was gone so long, why their beroya would betray them. He takes his penance, every blow and setback and humiliation. It is no worse than how he punishes himself.

When he returns to the Crest, tucked in the back of a trusted hangar, the mess strewn about the hold claws at his throat. He removes every memory of those months, setting belongings and refuse outside the cargo doors for scavengers to pick through. Even his own personal items make it into the pile, the memories attached to them too painful. 

He cleans the ship top to bottom. No more hammocks strung from every corner. No more constant noise. No more ever-mounting tension. Just durasteel and silence. 

It takes a full day to bring the Crest back to pre-Malk condition. The darkness surrounds Din, and after weighing the pros and cons of returning in the night he closes the cargo door. Shuttling open the small cubby sleeping space, he crawls in and settles on his side. The door slides shut with the lights dimming soon after.

Din lies there as his body slowly quiets, his armor digging into his sore shoulder, tender ribs and neck. Piece by piece he removes it, laying the shining examples of his honor beside him. The helmet is last, and it’s the first time in months he’s been able to breathe without it inside his own ship. The pillow is measly under his head, but he sinks down with a sigh. Arms tucked into his chest, knees pulled up to his stomach, surrounded by the walls of his ship and nothing else, he lets himself mourn the deeds he’d done. It will be far from the last time, but this is the rawest, the most painful as he let the shame grip him. Once exhaustion wins the hums and whirrs of the Crest lull him to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about Xi’an. It’s a lie of omission - you never prod him on his past, and he rarely asks about yours. There’s no reason to dredge up pain. If you want to offer something you do, and if you truly ask him he’ll offer pieces of his own. But you’re not swapping stories around the fire. So he sees no reason to tell you.

Until one day, he does.

It was the perfect sandstorm of triggers. A child snarling at her brother, then squealing out a laugh that cuts through his head. The singing of blades through the air as some men toss them at a target. A purple Twi’lek between you and Din, reaching out a hand to clap your shoulder. Din’s hurried steps bring him to your side in record time, helmet tilted down in challenge but the Twi just looks at him curiously and takes a step back. Your own brow knits, a bag of supplies in hand. 

He tries to center himself back on the Crest, busying his racing thoughts with jump calculations and messages to contacts about the Jedi. It works until you climb up to the cockpit, leaning against the console as he turns his attention to you.

“Bean found something in the ship, I thought it might be important,” you say, holding out your upturned palm.

A pearl.

He thought he’d found them all, but the child’s nosiness unearthed one last bloody memory. He freezes, hands tight on the console. 

“Been holding onto some treasure?” you tease, but your face is uneasy as you sense the tension in the air. “I’ll put it somewhere safe, maybe we can barter it…”

“No,” Din rebukes sharply, snapping the visor to you. Your eyes widen, chest curling in on yourself. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, hand closing around the painful object. Din slumps, leaning forward and hanging his head.

“I’m sorry, it’s…nothing good will come of that. It was bought with blood,” he says quietly.

“So are most things on the Crest,” you say, wrapping your arms around your middle. Din heaves in a breath.

“Not the same kind.”

And so he tells you the story of Ranzar Malk and his employment, of the acidic crew and the six cloying months he spent with them. Of Xi’an and her allure, and the pain it caused. Of Alzoc III. Of the pearls. 

You listen in silence, watching as Din relates his darkest story. The shame burns his skin, eats at his stomach, sours his tongue. How can he possibly redeem himself in your eyes after this? Would you ever look at him the same again?

Once he finishes, and the quiet of the ship pervades, you move to stand between his parted knees. Two hands settle on his shoulders, and without reservation he wraps his arms around and lays his head just below your breasts. The rhythmic inhale-exhale of your breathing cools his pain.

“Have you seen any of them since?” you ask. Din huffs out a sigh.

“Malk hired me for a job a few months back. Didn’t tell me the mission, just relied on a debt being repaid and the Crest still flying.” Din shifts against you, considering leaning away, but your firm hands keep him held to your chest.

“Was it bad?”

“We were rescuing Qin from a prison ship. Xi’an was there, set me up to be killed by the new team. I left them there.” After the draining retelling, he can’t bring himself to extrapolate on the tense reunion.

Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand.

I did what I had to.

Oh, but you liked it.

You were hired to do a job, so do it. 

Isn’t that your code?

Aren’t you a man of honor?

“Thank you for telling me,” you finally say, stroking your thumbs along the line of his shoulders. “That was…difficult. To tell, I’m sure. It was hard to hear.” Din fists your shirt, squeezing his eyes closed at what will surely come.

“You made decisions and you’ve suffered the consequences of them.” You cup the back of his neck through his cowl. “And if you think I haven’t made a terrible decision about who to trust, I have stories I can share. Later,” you say, lightness in your voice. It makes Din lean back to look at your face. If you could see his, you would know his mouth is dropped open, eyes wide and wet, as you stroke the sharp lines of his helmet. You’re the only one he trusts to touch.

“Did you think I would hate you for this?” you ask, and Din’s nod is barely perceptible but you feel it. “You’ll surprise me, and terrify me many more times Mando, but you’ll never drive me away. The galaxy is only shades of gray.”

He lets you hold him for a time, hands soothing on his worn body. Your acceptance doesn’t heal him. By now he’s not sure anything will. But it balms the wound enough to breathe easier. 

It’s the beginning of letting himself know you, and be known by you. When you say that your best friend taught you how to skip rocks, he asks how you met her. When you look on in wonder as he dresses a piece of game, he explains how his buir taught him survival hunting. And when the child wraps his tiny claw around Din’s thumb and he strokes it gently, you ask him if he has a son somewhere. 

“No,” Din answers, the child warm in his arm and your body close enough to coax into his, if he would dare let himself want it. “But the Creed states the importance of caring for foundlings, and raising warriors.”

You hum and smile, turning back to your task, and for a moment much longer than fleeting, Din lets himself wonder if this is what a clan is supposed to feel like, and when it grew from two to three. 

END

Interlude 2 of the I Think of You series

[roberrtphilip]

tagged by @lumiereandcogsworth 💖💖

the last song I listened to: Must be Love by Niall Horan

favorite color: blue and black

currently watching: nothing because I simply cannot ever sit down and watch a tv show. although I do occasionally go back and rewatch all of kanthony's scenes from bridgerton, so perhaps that counts

spicy/savory/sweet: sweet

relationship status: married to the hit Disney film Enchanted

current obsession: Enchanted 🩵 and kanthony, though to a lesser degree

favorite board game: I used to really love Clue :]

coffee or tea: I recently said I didn't like coffee, but I've changed my mind. if I load it with a fuckton of creamer, it's very yummy 😋

favorite piece of clothing I own: mm probably my checkered Vans hoodie, but I also have this really stupid Enchanted shirt with Robert, Giselle, and Narissa on it that says "Anything's Possible" that cracks me up, so that too.

last movie I watched: The Strangers (2008),,, bit boring ngl but I've heard the second one is better, so I will be watching

dogs or cats: both <3

and I'll tag, errrrm, @madisonrooney @thepurpleandgold @ree-duh @frich @amaliabalash @dearreader @spacealiencafe @impossibledial and uhhh anyone else that wants to do this, sorry I'm terrible at tagging people </3

[daydreamingfuel]

Freak Like Me

Chapter 7

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

AO3 // previous

Y/N has just moved to Hawkins from England with her parents and is starting at the high school in the final term of her senior year. Eddie immediately takes a liking to her and they become fast friends, deciding to take her under his wing and falling to her charms. This is Hawkins however and things are never quite as they seem...

WHOLE FIC TAGS & WARNINGS: gratuitous use of Y/N (I'm not sorry), friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, eventual smut, semi-fix-it-fic, angst, injury, canon dialogue and events used, canon graphic violence, no main character death :)

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Arguing, bickering, banter, mentions of readers dad's job...cause that's not important at all..., the whole gang is in this one so that's fun, platonic Stobin, hints at Stancy, Eddie gets jealous of Steve, slight possessive Eddie, a fuckton of swearing, Dustin is a little shit, as per usual, Steve gets sucked into the Upside Down,

Chapter Word Count - 6.5k

A/N - so this one is up only a week following the last one cause I had a burst of inspiration and confidence in my writing so go me! this is, however, the only good thing to come of this week - my front door lock to my house completely fell apart so I've been dealing with that, and my girlfriend moved back to uni so I'm sad af. But my favourite Dungeon Master always helps.

She was paralysed by fear, déjà vu washing over her as flashes of the argument following Chrissy’s death flickered in her mind. The world blurred around her as she swam after Eddie, who had immediately started to swim back to the boat as soon as Jason dived down to get Patrick's body. Her entire body ached as she moved, catching up with Eddie, who paused momentarily upon hearing her come after him.

“Y/N we need to go, right now, come on!” He called out to her, the panic strong in his shaking voice as he pulled himself back onto the boat.

Still willing her arms to move and her legs to kick as hard as they could, her thoughts spiralled, going through every possible outcome and what she should have done differently before. She had a chance to do it right this time and, whatever the outcome, she would stay by Eddie’s side. Once she was back at back at the boat, and clambered back into it with Eddie’s help, the pair each picked up a paddle to get themselves away.

“We could still plead our case! Jason has seen that you didn’t lay a hand on Patrick - they have no evidence!” She pleaded, in a last-ditch effort as they rowed for their lives towards the shore, but Eddie was practically vibrating in frustration as they pulled themselves and the boat up onto the bank, covered the boat in the tarp and disappeared into the tree line. Eddie tried desperately to call Dustin on the walkie, but the water had seeped into the electrics of the radio and completely broken it.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie exclaimed, the rage spilling over, “Y/N, come on, it doesn’t matter if there’s no evidence, they’re still going to pin this on me!”

“On us.” She corrected, making him stop in his tracks ahead of her, “I’ve been caught red-handed at the scene of the crime, just like you. If I wasn’t a suspect before, I definitely am now.”

He shook out some of the water from his hair and clothes as he processed how much trouble they were in. Stood between the trees with sirens echoing in the distance, but growing louder with each second, he stared at her in bewilderment, unable to conceal his worsening aggravation, “So what are we supposed to do, huh? Got any bright ideas?”

“Hey!” She snapped, “No need to get all pissy at me, it’s not like I’m the one killing people.”

“No! It’s not you or me - it’s a homicidal wizard from an alternate dimension. Let’s go tell that to the police, and get ourselves thrown in the loony bin in the process!” He snapped back, which made her pause to take a breath.

Y/N closed their eyes in thought, calming herself down somewhat. It was a meaningless fight; she knew that she couldn’t go to the police now or she’d be arrested on sight. They both would. She took a few deep breaths and rubbed at her clothes in a futile attempt to get warm, shaking out her hands afterwards in agitation. “Fine. Fine! You win.” Y/N said sharply, letting the ire seep into her words, “But if we are Bonnie-and-Clyde-ing this shit, I need to get a message to my mum.”

As they walked through the forest, night creeping into the early morning hours, they bickered about how exactly they were to get Y/N’s mum a message. At one point they considered finding their way to the house and leaving her a physical message, or talking to her in person, but quickly decided that it would be too risky for everyone involved. She didn’t want her mum to get in any more trouble. Ultimately, as they found a spot to rest for the night, they agreed that they would find a way to contact the others and ask that they deliver the message to her themselves in the morning. Shaking, Y/N slumped against the giant rock formation that Eddie had led her to and passed out, right as the birds started to sing.

Sunlight splintered through the trees, hitting her face in the morning glow, and soon the light was too much to bear, her eyes fluttering open. She woke to discover that she had been covered in Eddie’s battle vest for warmth at some point during the night and the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Panic settled in the pit of her stomach, twisting horribly as thoughts of her abandonment ran wild in her head. She clutched the vest tightly in her hands as she paced the clearing for any signs of his disappearance. The embellished denim was in desperate need of a was, much like everything they were wearing, but she cradled it to herself nonetheless. Subconsciously, she knew that he would never just abandon it or her, but her mind was too clouded with fear to think straight. A snapping twig alerted her to someone's arrival. She spun on her heels to see Eddie emerging through the trees, a new walkie in his hands.

Receiving his vest to his face as it was thrown at him, Eddie was greeted hostilely by Y/N, “Where the fuck did you go?”

“Good morning to you too, sweetheart. The walkie was drowned, I found us a new one,” He held it up as though it wasn’t already obvious in his hands, “I wasn’t gone that long, I was gonna wake you when I got back.”

“Next time, wake me up before you go.” She mumbled as he settled on the floor next to her, in the shade of the giant boulder formation. Finally cognitive, the fear that fogged her mind subsided somewhat, she was able to take in her surroundings and see where it was Eddie had brought her in the early hours of the day “Where are we, anyway?”

He fiddled with the buttons on the walkie as he spoke, eyes laser-focused on tuning into the right channel, “Skull Rock. It’ll do as a hiding spot for the moment, but it’s kinda infamous as a hook-up spot.”

“Oh really?” She questioned and he hummed in confirmation, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, not looking away from the walkie in his hands, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but it’s kinda bad timing.” She teased, though her body did heat up at the thought, from both the exhilaration at the wild thoughts running through her head and the jealousy that plagued her at the possibility that he had been here with other people. She quickly pushed away both feelings, it was neither the time nor place to deal with either of those thoughts.

He snorted and allowed a small smirk to grace his lips, but it fell as fast as it appeared, as he finally found the right channel and pressed the call button on the walkie, “Dustin, can you hear me? Wheeler?”

“Eddie. Holy shit. Are you okay?” Dustin's voice immediately answered through the radio, the worry coming through strong, and Y/N sighed in deep relief.

“Nah, man,” Eddie confessed easily, his nerves still rattling him, Dustin's voice after so long causing the man to crack beside her. He ran a stressed hand over his face as he talked, “Pretty… Pretty goddamn far from okay.”

There was a pause on the line briefly before Dustin asked, “Where are you? Is Y/N with you?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Y/N answered, huddled up to Eddie’s side, and leaning on his shoulder to talk, “we’re at Skull Rock. Do you know it?”

“Uh, yeah. That's near Cornwallis and-” Dustin started but was cut off by Steve.

“Garrett, yeah. I know where that is.” His voice was hushed like he wasn’t right next to the speaker, but standing near Dustin. Knowing he was there, and presumably would be driving, she called out to him, grabbing the walkie.

“Steve wait!”

There was silence for a moment before his voice came back through, “Y/N? What’s up, we don’t have much time.” His voice was dripping with concern and confusion, almost familial in tone – like a stressed dad, so she spoke as concisely as possible.

“Before you come to us, I need you to get a message to my mum.” Before she could be cut off, she continued, “And yes, I know that’s reckless, but I need you to do this for me, please, Steve – tell her to call my dad and his lawyers. And that I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, I’m not sure that’s the best-”

She cut him off, desperate, squeezing the walkie, “Steve, please!”

Her voice echoed slightly, as Eddie pulled the walkie from her hands to grip them tightly, until Dustin’s voice finally responded, “Hold tight. We're coming.” Y/N took a shaking breath, “We're coming.”

The static that followed echoed in the small space beneath the towering rock formation, they would be alone again for a while. Still very much shaken from the previous night, Eddie placed the walkie in the leaves at their feet and re-laced his fingers with Y/N’s. She immediately squeezed back, letting her body melt into his side, head nestled in the crook of his neck, arms wrapping around each other protectively. Eventually, she muttered, “My dad’s gonna kill me before Vecna gets a chance to.”

“Do you think his lawyers will be able to help?” Eddie fretted and Y/N nodded softly, “What does your dad even do anyway? You never talk about him.”

She sighed and sat upright, picking at her clothes that had half dried and were fitting uncomfortably, “He’s not really allowed to talk about his job, I know the project he was working on was pretty big though, had him staying late and stressed all the time. He had barely any patience or attention left for me or mum, but she got to see him more than I did at least. I know it’s something technical and sciencey, for a subsect of the Government - all very secretive.” She flourished her hands dramatically, before letting them fall back into her lap, “I know he’s good at his job, whatever it is. We were told when he was recruited by this Doctor, that they might need to transfer him temporarily without notice and it wouldn’t be negotiable, which put a strain on my parents' relationship - they’ve barely been apart in 20 years.” Finally, she turned her head to look at him, crossing her legs and resting her cheek on her hand propped up on her knee, “But the security incentive helped. Not just financially but the insurance and the lawyers should anything happen, in case of an emergency.”

“And this counts as an emergency?” Eddie asked her, not quite believing in his own importance. He didn’t need to say what he was really asking, as their eyes locked Y/N could see every emotion swimming in the dark chocolate irises – the distress, the anger, the exhaustion, the anguish. But also, the desperate relief, that she cared about him enough to take his side and stay there. To call in reinforcements on his behalf.

She gazed at him, hoping that he would understand, “Of course it does.”

An hour, then two, crawled by. Hungry, tired, and scared, Y/N and Eddie huddled together under the shade of Skull Rock. They barely talked, too preoccupied with listening out for any signs of life nearby. Steve wouldn’t be able to drive his car into the clearing itself, so their rescuers would be coming to them on foot. But the pair were acutely aware that foes as well as friends were on the hunt for them too. At the sounds of bushes rustling and twigs snapping close by, they tensed and scrambled to their feet, hiding behind the rocks and in the trees. However, their instinct to take cover was quickly deemed unnecessary as familiar voices were soon relieving their fear.

“Oh, boom! Bada bing, bada boom.” Steve, confidently strolled into the clearing, Dustin following close behind, “There she is, Henderson. Skull Rock. In your face, man. In your stupid, cocky little face.”

Dustin checked something in his hand, and looked up at the rock formation in bewilderment, “Doesn't make sense.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolled his eyes and started lecturing the young teen, “Even with it staring you in the face, you can't admit it. Can't admit you're wrong, you butthead.”

“I concur.” Feeling safer amongst friends, Eddie made his presence known, jumping down from the rock he was hiding behind, “You, Dustin Henderson, are a… total butthead.”

Dustin smiled in relief and immediately went to hug Eddie, “Jesus, we thought you were a goner.”

“Yeah, me too, man.” Eddie hugged back, avoiding his backpack, and looking over his capped head past Steve, to where Y/N was emerging from the trees behind Steve, “Me too.”

Scurrying over, Y/N poked Steve in the side, the yellow fabric of his jumper soft under her hands, “Hey stranger.”

“Hey,” Steve wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into a warm hug, “I knew you staying was a bad idea, but I’m glad you’re safe. You are okay, right?”

“As okay as I can be, Harrington.” She assured him with a half smile.

As Steve and Eddie gave each other a cursory nod and smile, Dustin pulled Y/N away for an embrace themselves, and she squeezed him tightly, rocking from foot to foot gently. They laughed lightly, as they expressed their relief at each other’s safety. Robin, Nancy, Lucas, and Max all wandered into the clearing, making Y/N smile more. Calling Lucas over, she gave him a quick squeeze before greeting the others, checking to see if they too were okay. Max had her headphones hanging around her neck, leading to the Walkman clipped tightly to her jeans, just as it had been the last time she had seen her, a look in her eye telling Y/N that she was too deeply aware of the danger they were all in. Robin in her endearing awkwardness, gave Y/N a wave and Nancy stood next to her, gave a polite ‘hello’ before she handed Y/N a grocery bag.

“Thank you, so much, I’m starving- Ed’s!” Y/N interrupted herself, and Eddie perked up at her call, scampering over to her, “Food.”

Eagerly, Eddie reached out and took some of the stuff that the group had brought for them, quickly taking the six-pack of beer that Nancy had, in fact, bought. As Y/N sat to eat, Steve rummaged through a large backpack, pulled out a Tupperware box and wandered over to sit by her. He handed her the tub with a folded-up piece of paper reading ‘For Y/N’ taped to the lid, “Your mom gave me this to give to you. I haven’t read it, swear, but she was shaking a little when she was writing it so I don’t think you should read it just yet. You know, with everyone around?”

“Yeah…thanks, Steve,” Y/N carefully pulled the note from the box and pocketed it, “How was she? Just, like…generally?”

“She definitely believes in you. She was terrified, of course, but, yeah she, uh…she didn’t really question it when we said what you asked, just thanked us, wrote the note, gave us the food and told us to be safe.” Steve seemed baffled by the interaction, standing up to leave her in peace, but Y/N just nodded and laughed lightly to herself.

Lost in thought, she could only reply, “Classic mum.” Eddie plonked himself hip to hip with Y/N as she opened the tub, finding disposable cutlery inside along with Y/N’s favourite family recipe, which she happily shared with him.

The group at Skull Rock gathered to debrief on the events of the past few days as Eddie and Y/N devoured Mrs Y/L/N’s cooking. Steadily, they told their fugitive friends that they had figured out that Vecna was linked to the infamous Creel murders in the 1950s, all the victims killed in the same manner by a mysterious force that was ultimately pinned on an innocent man, Victor Creel, who had been locked up for decades, driven mad by the memories. The previous night while Eddie and Y/N were hiding and running from Jason, they had been exploring the abandoned Creel house. In turn, Eddie and Y/N explained as best as they could what had happened and what they saw, the friends around them hanging on to every detail trying to piece it together with what they had been up to.

“When we got to the shore, I tried calling you guys, but, uh…my walkie was busted, man. Drenched. So, uh, I did the thing that I do now, apparently.” Eddie gave a cynical smile, “I ran.”

Y/N chuckled dryly, “And I followed. Though we kinda figured, it was that or be arrested for murder.”

Eddie hummed in acknowledgement of their brief spat the night before, before taking a huge gulp of the beer that Nancy had ultimately brought him before passing it to Y/N who too, took a swig.

“Do you know what time this was? The attack?” Nancy asked deep in thought, going over all the details. Y/N had heard about her particular proclivity for the details and piecing things together by Dustin, talking about how good his older friends would be at Dungeons & Dragons if they just gave it a chance.

Eddie nodded, “Yeah, no, I… I know exactly what time it was.” He fiddled with the strap of his busted watch, “My walkie wasn't the only thing that got soaked.” He threw it to her once it was off and she caught it easily.

“9:27,” Nancy confirmed her thoughts to the group.

Robin immediately got the hint and added, “Same time our flashlights went kablooey.”

“Which means what, exactly?” Steve, much like Y/N and Eddie, was still rather confused about the perceived link between the events.

Nancy, putting the pieces together, explained, “That that surge of energy, was Vecna attacking Patrick.” She threw Eddie back his watch, and despite it being broken he put it back on, the feeling of it not being there having weirdly unsettled him. It seemed as though a lightbulb turned on in Y/N’s mind as their combined events of the past few days clicked into place.

“Well, we're one step closer.” Robin said, seeing the silver lining to the situation at hand, “We know how Vecna attacks.”

“And where he attacks from,” Lucus added. A small ray of hope started to shine through the cracks, but wasn’t quite bright enough to wash away all of Y/N’s fear.

Max, having been cursed by Vecna herself, and already had an attack attempted on her, finished the thought, “So now we just need to sneak into his lair in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart.”

“If he even has a heart,” Robin added, doubtful, as though she could read Y/N’s mind.

Steve, who was standing by the rock where Y/N was sat, with arms folded across his chest, thought out loud, vaguely confused, “Stake? Is he like a vamp- Is he a vampire?”

Y/N could tell that his question was somewhat genuine, and also felt vague amounts of frustration from the others, so not wanting to add to that, answered, “I think it was a metaphor, but at this point who knows, he could be.” She reached up and squeezed his elbow softly, as she spoke without condescension, which Steve appreciated greatly.

Eddie tried not to pay any mind to how gentle Y/N was with Steve - refusing to let it bruise his ego as he recalled the frequent vulnerable moments she chose to share with him over the recent days - as he suggested, “A bullet should work on him, right?”

“I say we chop his head off.” Lucas offered bluntly, making Y/N nod in agreement.

“I’d say all of the above,” Nancy interjected, trying to stay logical, “but we can't do any of that 'til we find a way into the Upside Down.”

Max, aggravated at how complex the problem they needed to solve was, wished, “We need El to get her powers back.”

“Everything was way easier,” Steve emphasised, then looked down to Y/N and Eddie, “We had this girl. She had superpowers-”

“Superpowers. Yeah, you mentioned her.” Eddie replied, slightly cutting him off as he was distracted, watching Dustin – who had been pacing back and forth behind the little circle the group had formed as they talked, barely paying attention to what had been said. Deeply confused by the young teens' behaviour, Eddie asked, “Hey, uh, Henderson's not, uh, cursed, is he?”

And Steve answered, with an annoyance only known to that of older siblings, at their wit's end with their younger relation, “Cursed? No, no. He's fine. Mental? Absolutely.”

“Boom!” the teen in question finally shouted, turning to the rest of the group at long last, his voice echoing in the trees startling everyone except Steve. As he spoke, he stalked towards his surrogate brother, pointing a knowing finger at him, “Bada… bada… boom. I was right. Skull Rock was north.”

Steve was incredulous, “Seriously? You're serious?” and Dustin hummed in response, nodding with a smug little smirk, so Steve continued, “This is Skull Rock. Okay? You're totally, absolutely, 100% wrong. Right now.”

“Yes. And no.”

“Oh my God,” Steve ran his hands over his face, having to walk away from the boy.

Y/N, holding back a laugh at the brotherly rapport between the two boys, asked in confusion at the sudden outburst, “Dustin, what’s the point of this?”

Immediately, Dustin launched into an almost patronising but still endearing explanation of why he wasn’t wrong, “This compass worked correctly when we left the Wheelers'. Correct when we got in the car on Kerley. But it started to slip the further east we went. Now, it's way off. When I was leading us here, I wasn't wrong. The compass was.”

“So, you're using faulty equipment. You're still wrong.” Steve rebuked.

“Except it isn't faulty.” Dustin insisted before asking, “Lucas, remember what can affect a compass?”

Lucas seemingly understood exactly what his friend was trying to tell them, in a roundabout way, “An electromagnetic field.”

Dustin smiled and confirmed, but Robin asked, needing more explanation, “Sorry. I must've skipped that class.”

“Compasses work through magnetism, they’re built to point towards the magnetic north pole,” Y/N answered, her childhood days of performing little science experiments with her father coming in clutch, and receiving a few surprised looks from her peers as she continued, “But, in the presence of a stronger electromagnetic field, as Lucas said, the needle will deflect towards that power source instead, meaning the compass is technically ‘wrong’.”

“Exactly.” Dustin was practically beaming, “So either there's some super big magnet around here, or…”

“There's a gate.” Lucas realised, and Dustin nodded. A heavy weight settled in the air around them, Y/N feeling as though she should know what that meant with more certainty than she did. As the group theorised how and why this gate may have come to fruition, Eddie nudged Y/N in the side to get her attention. They shared a look that asked if the other was understanding the conversation, only to be met with equal confusion, which made them feel more at ease with their lack of inter-dimensional knowledge. They were broken out of this exchange however by Steve.

“Where are you going?” The question snapped them back to the group, seeing Dustin walking away from everyone, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” He paused at Steve's protests, “Eddie's still a wanted man. And now Y/N is a suspect too. We can't just go for a hike in the woods.”

Dustin, clearly agitated made one final plea, “This little steel capsule might be the key to saving Max, Eddie and Y/N.” He turned to the pair on the ground, gesturing to them as he propositioned them, “What say you, Eddie the Banished? Y/N the Exiled?”

“I say you're asking me to follow you into Mordor, which, if I'm totally straight with you, I think is a really bad idea.” Eddie paused, thought for a moment, before looking over at Y/N, “But, uh, the Shire…the Shire is burning.” As Eddie took Y/N's hand and helped her to stand, Dustin jumped in place excitedly, happy that they were going to test his theory. “So, Mordor it is.”

Steve, bewildered by the exchange and still peeved about Dustin's instance to be right, asked nobody in particular, with only Y/N picking up on it, “What is Mordor?”

“It’s the dark land from The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings- incredibly nerdy, don’t worry about it,” Y/N reassured him with a smile.

Once again, and growing fonder, Steve was grateful for Y/N’s patience after the constant teasing from his younger compatriots. “Thanks.” He whispered, before gesturing to the remainder of the food by her feet, “Get your stuff. Let's go.”

Trekking through the woods, playing follow the leader with Dustin - Eddie right behind him with a torch - Y/N found herself hanging back to talk to Steve, who was bringing up the rear of the party to make sure none got lost or left behind. Steve was familiar in some ways, a reminder of her past, with his previous ‘kingly’ reputation for being a bit of a teenage asshole, but Y/N was more deeply fascinated by his seemingly innate desire to protect the group – particularly the younger teens. Listening intently as he explained as briefly as he could, Y/N quickly learned that, much like herself, he had been caught up in the supernatural by accident, time and time again. He had only been trying to apologise to Jonathan when the Demogorgon attacked the Byers house, he didn’t intend to fight it off with a nailed baseball bat. And win. He had only been bringing Nancy flowers when he was roped into hunting a baby Demogorgon with Dustin, not knowing he would have to fight off an army of them to protect Dustin, Max, and Lucas. Of which he was successful. And he had just been working with Robin, “slinging ice cream”, when Dustin came to him with a weird message he had picked up – it definitely wasn’t the plan to be trapped in a secret Russian base and tortured, whilst still in uniform. Then live to tell the tale. Every time, he fought and tried to protect those around him, regardless of his own safety and how insane the situation was. Y/N decided that not only did she like Steve, but she deeply respected him.

In turn, she reminisced about her family and life back in England, glossing over the trauma quickly before circling back to the past few months since the move. Just as she was starting to gush about how Eddie and Hellfire had made her feel so welcomed, and why the stigma was so frustrating, they came to a standstill. Taking in their surroundings, Y/N felt a cold chill run down her spine.

“Oh, man. You gotta be shitting me.” Steve huffed and Y/N reciprocated the feeling.

“Yeah.” Y/N scoffed humourlessly, “I thought these woods were familiar.”

The sun had set whilst they were walking, and the moon high in the sky was once again reflecting on the soft waves of water in Lovers Lake. Y/N, glared at the water, trying silently to control her breathing so as to not alert the others of her rising panic, though it seemed her nerves were felt as Eddie moved to stand beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and pulling her into his side.

Tuning back into the conversation, she heard Nancy offer up a theory, “Whenever the Demogorgon attacked, it always left an opening. Maybe Vecna's the same way.”

“Yeah, only one way to find out,” Steve said conclusively, then turned to Y/N and Eddie where they were huddled together and asked where they had stashed the boat. With Y/N leading the way, they traipsed along the bank until they found the boat, haphazardly covered in the tree line. Pulling it off, they looked at the available seating, then at each other in confirmation of shared ideas. The older teens and young adults of the group quickly realised it would be up to them to test Dustin’s theory.

Steve and Eddie bickered slightly as they got the boat half in the water before each offering a hand to Robin to help her into the boat. Instead, she elected to use their heads for support as she stepped into the small vessel, thanking them as she passed. Eddie then stood up as Steve kept the boat grounded, both again offering their hands to Nancy as she too stepped in, though she did not notice Steve's offer, only taking Eddie’s hand.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie then gave a saccharine smile as he flourished his hand out to Y/N, trying to ease her obvious panic with theatricality.

She took his hand graciously and winked as she passed him, “Thanks, honey.”

Dustin, who had been watching, gagged, “You two make me sick,” he muttered to himself as he tried to gain access to the boat, but was very quickly stopped by Eddie.

“Hey, hey, hey, you trying to sink us?” He pushed Dustin back to land with a hand on the forehead, “This thing holds four people tops, okay?” Eddie didn’t want to upset Dustin or patronise him, but he also wanted him safe.

Seeing Eddie’s tactic to keep the children on land, Nancy assured him, “It's better this way, okay? You guys stay here with Max. Keep an eye out for trouble.”

“You keep an eye out.” Dustin snapped back at her, “It's my goddamn theory.”

Robin piped up, trying to establish some form of authority, “You heard Nance.”

“Who put her in charge?”

“I did.”

Nancy held her hand out to Dustin, “Compass.” He huffs in a small tantrum for a moment before handing it to her, with Nancy passing it to Eddie to hold as she got resettled on the bench. Once the four on the boat were sat somewhat comfortably, Steve stood up, threw Dustin's backpack at him, and pushed off from the bank, taking his seat next to Nancy as Robin and Eddie started to row.

“You said four!” Dustin called out, annoyed.

Steve whisper-shouts “Sorry,” back at him as they drifted further from the bank.

“Bedtime at nine, kiddos,” Robin shouted, baiting those still on land. Dustin flipped her off as Max rolled her eyes, Lucas just watched in vague amusement, “Miss you already!”

The row out to the middle of the lake was slow but steady, as Nancy watched the compass to make sure they were still heading in the right direction. Once they were far away enough from the shore that the young teens who stood on the bank looked like toddlers, Nancy called out for them to slow down. Stopping their rowing, the group turned to look at Nancy and the compass in her hands, which was flicking back and forth crazily.

Their stunned silence was interrupted by Dustin over the walkie, “Guys, what's going on? Come on, talk to me. What's going on?”

“Uh, Dustin, your compass has gone from kinda wonky to wonky with a capital ‘aah!’” Robin, hesitantly answered, awestruck.

Y/N emphasised, “It’s like the needle doesn’t know where to point - like it’s overwhelmed with electromagnetic energy. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

As Y/N talked, Steve started taking off his shoes and socks, confounding his friends in the boat. When questioned by a concerned Nancy, he replied, with a certain authority, “Somebody's gotta go down and check this out. Unless one of you four can top being a Hawkins High swim co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years, then… it's gotta be me. No complaints, all right?”

“Hey, I'm not complaining,” Eddie reassured him, “I do not wanna go down there.”

Y/N nodded in agreement, peeking over the edge of the boat to stare at the water and shuddering, “Yeah, I’ve already been in this lake once in the last 24 hours, I’m not exactly desperate to do it again.”

Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a shopping bag with only a carton of cigarettes and a lighter in it, and emptied it into his lap as Steve stood up and took off his jumper, revealing his toned and hairy chest. Y/N glanced up at him from the movement, looking away before registering the sight. Once she did, her eyes widened slightly as she did a small double-take, and slowly blinked to fully process it. Having clocked the cogs turning in Y/N’s head, Eddie cleared his throat to snap her out of it, possessiveness bubbling up under his skin. He raised an eyebrow at her in question, which she vehemently ignored, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, and just shrugged in response. Nancy, however, was outright staring in awe at Steve’s body, despite having a boyfriend herself, which only Robin noticed, though she said nothing, smiling to herself instead.

Eddie, slightly aggravated, wrapped the now empty shopping bag around the torch he had been carrying through the woods and handed it to Steve, “Hey. Good luck.”

Steve took the not mostly waterproofed torch, looking over his shoulder at him, the light hitting his handsome features just right, eyes intense and focused, “Thanks.”

‘Damn.’

‘Wait, are you attracted to Steve?’

‘No…surely not.’

Slightly hating how the moonlight making Steve look ethereal made her feel, her heartbeat picking up somewhat, she looked over at Eddie as a welcome distraction. And though she should have expected it, Y/N shocked herself with how it didn’t help much with her heart rate, but instead increased it. Eddie had a cigarette hanging from his lips, the light reflecting on the water casting a beautiful shadow over his cheekbones and jawline. Y/N reached for the lighter in his hand and ignited the flame, reaching up slightly so he’d have to lean down to her if he wanted his cigarette lit. The glow of the fire shone in his eyes as he stared at her through it.

“Gross.” The moment was broken by Robin as she took the cigarette from Eddie's lips and threw it into the lake. In sync, Eddie and Y/N turned their heads to stare at her, mystified. As her eyes locked onto Robins, she tried to send a telepathic ‘what the fuck dude?’ her way and knew she had succeeded when Robin rolled her eyes with a small, victorious smirk.

Steve stood at the edge of the boat, breathing steadily and mentally preparing himself to dive down to the lakebed.

“Steve?” Nancy called softly, making him turn his head to look down at her, “Be careful.”

An apprehensive look flashed in his eyes, almost like guilt, as their eyes locked, but he nodded nonetheless and dove gracefully into the dark water. They sat in tense silence as Steve swam further and further down, with Nancy counting the seconds on her watch to make sure that he wasn’t submerged for too long.

Robin, growing more and more agitated, asked, “Where we at, Wheeler?”

“Closing in on a minute.” She replied, not taking her eyes off the watch.

Robin nodded, “Okay.” She made a noise of discomfort feigning ambivalence, obviously very worried about her friend. Y/N offered a hand for Robin to squeeze, which she grasped tightly.

Just as Eddie cleared his throat, uncomfortable in the silence, it was broken completely when the water gushed loudly as Steve resurfaced, making everyone on the boat exclaim in surprise, even more surprised when Steve said, “I found it.” He panted through his confirmation when Robin asked for it, leaning on the side of the boat as Nancy pulled wet strands of hair from his forehead with deep care.

“Dustin, you are a goddamn Einstein.” Robin said excitedly into the walkie, “Steve found the gate, we have a way to Vecna.”

“It's pretty wild.” Steve said through pants, still trying to catch his breath, arms holding him up on the edge of the boat, “It's more a snack-size gate than the mama gate, but still, it's pretty damn big.”

Right as he stopped speaking, he dropped off the side of the boat momentarily, like something was pulling him down. Everyone lurched forward in shock, but they all regained composure quickly and waited with bated breath to ensure he was okay and wouldn’t happen again. For a moment all was calm as they scanned the water before Steve was fully dragged under without a second to react. The group dissolved into chaos, all shouting after Steve, but it was pointless. He was unreachable.

“No! No!” Eddie protested, deeply stressed, “What the hell was that man?”

Robin was intensely distressed, staring back and forth between the dark water and Nancy beside her, leaning over the edge of the boat “Nancy, really, what happened?”

Nancy, however, ignored all questions and stood up, determined to go in after Steve, much to everyone else's panic. At the sounds of protests, Nancy could only tell them to wait where they were before diving in and swimming down to find Steve.

“Fucking hell!” Y/N cursed loudly, shaking, and running her hands up and down her temples as Eddie loudly swore to himself. Unbeknownst to them both, Robin quietly and carefully sat backwards on the edge of the boat, preparing herself to search the lake herself.

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” Eddie faced her, hands held out to stop her if he had to, “What are you doing? She said wait.”

Robin stared back at him, dismissively, her mind already made up, “Yeah, I heard her.”

“She's in charge,” Eddie tried, grasping at flimsy straws.

Robin scoffed and shook her head, “Are you kidding me?”

Y/N placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “Eds she was bullshitting, and you know it. Nobody’s in charge.” Her voice was trembling slightly, barely more than a frustrated whimper.

“Don't you go. Don't you—” Despite his thinly veiled threats, Robin fully ignored Eddie and fell backwards off the edge of the boat and into the water.

Eddie immediately stood up in anger and fear, “Goddamn it! Son of a bitch!” he paced the small space of the boat as much as he could, staring at the water and contemplating what fate was worse, “Oh, this is so stupid.”

“This is really fucking stupid,” Y/N could only agree.

‘Don’t be a pussy.’

‘I’m definitely gonna regret this.’

In his blind panic, Eddie didn’t notice the cogs turning in Y/N’s mind until it was too late. She was standing, prepared to dive. “Y/N! No, not you too. Sweetheart, please!” But she was gone with a loud splash, “Shit!”

Swearing profusely as he questioned his own existence, Eddie’s mind was filled with paralysing fear. Thoughts of her drowning, being pulled apart, sucked into an alternate hellish dimension, tortured, and broken, flashed through his raging mind. Before he could register his own actions, Eddie dove beneath the water, his only tether to reality being the hope that she was still alive.

previous

[aropride]

wrt that poll abt tone indicators thats going around.w ell first of all tbh i think some of the hatred for them comes from cringe culture. but second of all. some of the criticism is totally fair like there are a fuckton of tone indicators and sometimes . there really dont need to be. and the abbreviations can be confusing i try to type out ones that arent s srs or j. tho i feel like most of the newer ones were popularized on twt so itmakes sense they wouldnt be written all the way out

like i think my prolem is when theres SO many and theyre redundant. i found a carrd with a fuckton of them that im gonna comment on To entertain myself sorry

like these 3 all feel redundant .. why do u need a different tone tag for Mostly joking than Half joking ? or for a Coping joke ? just use /j or combine with with like, /neg or something to get the tone across yknow? and /ji - first of all looks like /ij (inside joke), second of all why not just use /j

and like. why half serious or mostly serious or not serious when /j or /hj exist ? why /ns when it looks so similar to /nsrs, which means the opposite ? ive been using /s since like 2015 and /srs since like 2018 so ivegot those down and dont confuse them but i see why could be for some one who hasnt used them b4, why make it more complicated?

i like /g or /gen in theory- ppl have said its confusing bc gen could be general which i get, but for ppl familiar w tone tags tend to know what it means. genq is one ive used just bc. its fun to type tbh. and i think ppl get what it means but its not really Necessary. BUt genep and genc feel unnecessary when /g and /srs exist, and /gene is just, a word. that's just a word ! 😭

ojh my god. i should do a tone indicator tier list

as you can see my adhd meds are working

/nbr is funny bc half the time when some1 says theyre not being rude they definitely are. also there's already /g /srs and /lh. /nm is either helpful or deeply confusing Bc i try to take it at face value but sometimes i see it and im like. Why would i be mad ? and i start overthinking. but thats a me problem

i like this one i use it when i complain a lot Bc i dont want ppl to think im vagueing them i just love complaining

i love these ones. tone indicators for Being Mean To Someone. dunno if its on this list but ive seen /pa and /sbh (/passive aggressive & /somebody here, respectively) which is SO funny. i dont think theyre helpful really though except /neg Bc again. these all mean very similar things !!! why not just clarify extra things with a parenthetical

THESE R ALL THE SAME TONE !!! why not jsut use one single tone indicator for this !!! or none at all and just type the word !!!

need /nfl on a shirt in the aro colors so poeple know im not fucking interested in them. that aside. 1. whywould u need this ever !!! why not use again just /j if necessary.and 2. isnt the nfl a football thing

these r similar but i do like them, i think typing out a whole word again is a better solution so u dont have to scavenge google for the meaning but i think its helpful to clarify this and isnt synonymous with /j or /s or /lh

i think these ones are almost all just from the op's discord server or w/e, i won't bash that cuz if it works for them it works, that being said i dont think This many tone indicators for these types of things r helpful outside of that specific context yknow? also, /fx is really funny

ok i wont say that typing tics dont exist bc tics can be complex and vary by situation etc so im sure they can, but is that happening That much that u need a tone tag for it ? and also like. for /unin just delete the msg or say "oops sent too early hang on" or smth.. and as for vocal stim. first of all why is it /vt ? and second of all . why ... would u need that to type out ? bc if ur vocal stimming that would be. out loud? i.e. not in a chat where youre typing ???????@????>?,//???? BAFFLING. also in what situation is /gib necessary i genuinely cant think of one

ANYWAY.

None of this is to rag on tone indicators (/genuine) i think they can be helpful + i am always being gensrs when i use them. i just think some r a little silly & a lot from longer lists are unhelpful Bc theyre supposed to make communication Easier and Clearer + haveing So many tone indicators with Different Implied Tones WITHIN the indicators !!! makes it harder imo. bc if theyre to clarify tone why should i have to fight for my life deciphering why someone went from /mj to /hj yknow.

like this is all my Opinion and imsure these r all helpful for Someone otherwise they wouldnt exist but i rly feel like the system could be condensed a bit yk.

do i have a system in mind to suggest here ? well.

(also. this whole post is /genuine, /lighthearted, /not upset, and /not passive aggressive. and a bit /silly)

[guppygiggles]

((Oh shoot I was mid-ask and pushed the wrong thing and I’m not sure it sent so starting over 😅))

Anywho hello hi there I really hope you don’t mind the like spamming (and interactions in general from nsfw blogs); I just really couldn’t help myself bc I’m resonating so much with your content and tags and you seem like a genuinely lovely human with absolutely adorable artwork so I wanted to show you some appreciation 🥺💗 It immediately comes across how much you love and care for your OCs via the lore you’ve created and the utmost tender way you talk about them and the way they interact with each other ?? 😭 it’s impossible not to fall in love with them too. I also hope you’ve heard copious amount of feedback about how brilliant your writing is - so detailed, so warm, so intimate…it’s extremely flustering and endlessly endearing and I’m so grateful you share your gift with all of us on here! In particular, I’m positively fascinated with Avery’s backstory and anatomy and am loving discovering the depth of the layers of thought that you put into composing him. Excited to learn more 🥰

((((I’m also approaching my third decade of life next year and it’s always nice seeing rep for folks my age in the community who are still enjoying and exploring their relationship with this “kink”(using this term lightly bc I know everyone may not consider themselves to fall under that umbrella). I too met my partner on here, and it’s beautiful to hear that things can work out in the long run so thank you for that tidbit of reassurance 💗 sending wishes of happiness for you both!!))))

Sorry again for this long winded ramble I was just inspired and wanted to send the warm vibes I received while perusing your awesome blog back your way!!! Hope you have a lovely day 💕

-🐰

Anon... my god! 😭💙 /very positive

Crying into my tea on a Sunday morning... god, I am so touched by this, I'm just falling apart...

Let me respond to this sequentially, so I don't just get flooded with emotion (and if you've been watching how I post, you already know this is going to be long as fuck... Sorry! 🥲)

1. I am absolutely okay with NSFW blogs interacting with me, and spam interactions don't bother me at all! The only interactions I don't want are from minors and dickheads, haha. No worries on this, peach.

2. Fewer people interact with my fic than with my art, but when I tell you I treasure every single thing people say about my fic... god, there's just nothing like it. My fic is so, so close to my heart. I've been a writer much longer than I've been an artist, so I feel like I can really express myself through writing in a way I can't with art... I'm trying, but I'm not quite there yet! God, thank you so much for your kind words... I am so grateful that the warmth and love I feel when I'm writing is felt by others, too. I really try to capture the very essence of how these characters and their emotions feel in my mind and heart.

And you like the lore, too? 🥺 My long-winded rambling? My wordy expositions? God, my heart! 😭💙

3. I am so happy to know you met your partner in this community, too! I am really wishing the best for you, and yes, it absolutely can work out! My spouse and I are very different from each other, but we are still best friends after six years, and I don't see that changing any time soon.

4. I feel like this community tends to be younger, especially here on Tumblr, so it's kind of refreshing to hear from someone in the same phase of life as me. If there's anything I didn't expect, it's that I would still be exploring my feelings about tickling (and, well, intimacy as a whole) well into adulthood. It's funny how things come back around, though... I was making tickling doodles in my diary when I was just a kid, but I stopped (and, stopped drawing altogether, really) after high school. Had to work through a ton of shame, religious trauma, and just a metric fuckton of other shit, all to come right back around to doing tickling doodles again, haha! I was delighted to find that, at 30 (and with a whole lot of new experiences and context), it still makes me just as giddy now as it did then.

All of this is to say... There may be common threads throughout one's life, but we aren't really set in stone the way people think. You can absolutely discover, and rediscover, yourself and what brings you joy over and over again as you grow and have new experiences. If I can give any advice on this, it's this: Don't close yourself off. You only have this one life, so use it to experience all you can. Even if you're shy, like me... do your best to lend a kind word, an ear, or a hand as often as possible. You never know who, or what, is gonna set your soul on fire.

Anon, thank you so much for this ask... And if you ever want to chat, I'd be more than delighted. 💙