#actually really love this kinds of transition need to do it more<3

[moongreenlight]

I love your work about the 141 gossiping about Ghost, love the concept of him having a “secret wife”.

Please please please write more with “secret wife y/n”, I beg of you. 🙏🏻

ANYTHING FOR YOU, ANON. <3 Ghost and secretwife!reader are my sweet babies I love them so much.

Tw: blond Simon & smiling Simon. Read at your own risk.

If there’s one thing Gaz knows how to do, it’s shut the fuck up. And if there was ever a time to employ that skill, it was now. Now after he’d been frozen watching the two of you reunite after a close call. After he’d discovered your dirty little secret. Suddenly feeling like Icarus after flying too close to the sun. Hurtling back down to earth. He was certain that when he moved there would be a crater under his feet where his stomach dropped.

He’d gone so green that another nurse came up and gently tugged on his arm to see if he was alright. He snapped his jaw shut, nodding and mumbling something that didn’t sound anywhere near reassuring. But he forced himself to leave the medbay. Left the two of you behind the curtain, where in his final glance back he saw that your feet were still neatly on top of Ghost’s big boots. Pushed up on your toes to be able to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He made some excuse not to meet with you that evening. Could barely look you in the eye when you caught him in the hall, looking significantly more cheery than you had been that morning. You pried, asking if he was alright, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand, but he claimed the stress of their mission had just hit him and he really needed to sleep.

It took him weeks to get over the initial shock. Couldn’t stand next to Ghost during conditioning. Made a point of sitting catty-corner to him during meetings and in transit so he had the least chances of accidentally catching his eye. Feeling like he’d deeply bastardized the idea of ‘Ghost.’ Blurred the lines between the man Gaz knew and the man he was in private.

He tried to reason with himself. Keep it fresh in his mind that he’d seen the signs, just hadn’t been able to fully connect the dots by himself. And it was an accident. He’d never intentionally pry into either of your personal lives like that. It wasn’t in his character. There was nothing innately wrong with the two of you hiding a marriage. Probably would have been an HR nightmare. Gotten both of you re-stationed. He was certain you both had a good reason to hide it. And there was no better person to find out than him. He’d actually be able to keep it a secret. Soap would immediately run his mouth. Get on the intercoms and scream the news as loud as he could. Price would pull the both of you aside and try to have some heart-to-heart. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, it just would have felt too forced. Wouldn’t have served any real purpose.

So eventually he gets over it. Never pressed you about your marriage again, and you never seemed too keen on following up his request from months ago. The dust settles in his mind. He shelves the information like an old book. Life goes on.

And then the weather turns. Starts getting colder. The first few weeks of cold after summer where the wind stings a little more. Finds it’s way through jackets and uniforms a little more artfully. Soldiers are catching ill and passing it around like it’s a competition of who can infect the entire base. The medbay is busy, but a different kind of busy than summer when it’s an optimal time to see missions through.

The medics are tasked with rounding up all the soldiers on base and issuing flu vaccines to hopefully prevent further spread. You trudge to Price’s office in the early morning. He notices you look a little pale. The rims of your eyes and tip of your nose are blotchy. A gentle shade of pink that he assumes is from the weather or the cold you were bound to catch. You chat for a bit, catch up because you haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. Let him know that he and the boys need to make their way to the bay for their shots at some point.

You feel a little woozy. Pressing into his doorframe for support, white-knuckling it to keep yourself from swaying in your spot. He looks a little concerned. Asks if you need to take a few days away to recoup. You wave him off, tell him it’s nothing you can’t handle, but he insists on walking you back to medbay. And he’s glad he did because on the short walk back you find yourself having to duck into a dark meeting room so you can vomit into a trash can.

He keeps a steadying arm wrapped around your waist when you stumble back out into the hall. Shaking his head when you profusely apologize. Slowing his normally long strides so you were comfortable. Gently lets you down on your own cot and instructs you to stay where you are while he goes to find a few other doctors that can delegate your work for the day between them so you can have the day off.

He sends you home despite your protest. You’d already gotten your color back. Claimed you must’ve had something off to eat. He wasn’t having it. Said he wouldn’t have his best doctor spreading sick because she’s too stubborn to get off her feet for a few hours. He’s a bit more stern than usual because he knows you won’t listen otherwise, but he brings you a ginger ale and sits next to your bed until you’ve finished it.

Later that day, when he and the boys finally get around to the bay for vaccines, he notices the way Ghost’s eyes dart around like he was looking for something. His shoulders tensing when he sees your station empty, and moments after he’s taken his shot, Price sees that he’s slunk off to a corner to make a phone call.

He doesn’t think much of it. He’s been trying to give Ghost some space. So he just shrugs it off. Let’s him finish up whatever he’s doing before they get back to work.

The boys have gotten in the habit of taking a week off as the snow melts. Just before Spring brings rain and the soft buds of new leaves on the trees. Unofficial tradition proposed early on to have a few more days rest before things inevitably picked up again. Usually gave the boys time to kick off to visit family or get some well needed time away from base. Get in a well needed break because God knew they wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

Soap finds himself a little North of Manchester in his time off. Went out to see his godparents in Bolton for a couple days before getting back up to Iverness to see his parents. Meandering through a supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine for his godmother and a bottle of bourbon for himself. Could have sworn he saw Simon turning a corner at the end of the aisle. Chalked it up to a trick of the light. Seeing things after months of close quarters with his L.T.

But then he saw the man again. Stood in line at the butcher’s counter. No mask, but the same crooked nose and cropped blond hair. Same scar hooking his jaw. Swapped out his uniform and gear for a thick leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. Would have been unrecognizable if Johnny didn’t know him so well.

He was about to head over to say hello. Make some wise crack about Ghost missing him too much, but he was stilled for a moment when a woman approached Simon. Pushed her cart up next to him and nudged his side with her hip. Prompted him to give her a small smile- the only smile Soap had ever seen Simon grace anyone with. No teeth, just a curve of his lips, but it changed his face completely.

Ghost said something to the woman. She reached up to fuss with the collar of his jacket. Johnny saw her shoulders shake slightly and heard the quiet tinkling sound of her laughter. Completely shell shocked. So imagine his surprise when the woman turned away from Ghost and it was you. Only you looked wildly different. He knew your face well enough, but after almost six months not going to the medbay on a weekly basis, something had changed.

Even wearing an oversized sweatshirt he could see the way it pulled taught against your swollen belly. Saw the way your arm was cradling it like second nature. He didn’t even realize that the bottle of wine had slipped from his fingers until he watched Simon’s head snap toward the sound. Ears perked. Tense like he’d suddenly flashed onto the battlefield. His eyes went wild for a moment as he scanned the busy aisle, calmed only a degree when he found you.

It’s like that Spider-Man meme where the three of them meet and point at each other. Johnny’s smiling sheepishly (for once), your jaw is dropped in surprise, and Simon is glaring daggers at Johnny like somehow it was his fault that you were all in the same place at once. You’re the first one to move. Rushing up to him as quickly as you could- now moving a bit awkwardly with the disproportionate weight of your pregnancy on your front. Asking if he was alright. Grabbing his hands to make sure the glass hadn’t cut him.

Simon tailed you like a hulking shadow. Glowering down at Soap something fucking ferocious. Didn’t even give him time to tell you he was fine. Pulling you back behind his arm by the wrists with a kind of gentleness Johnny had never known the L.T. to possess. You twisted your face in displeasure, batting his hands away and stepping back out from behind the wall that was your husband. Ignoring the wine and the soft crunch of glass under your shoes.

And to Soap’s absolute bafflement, Simon stood down. Didn’t try to yank you back, didn’t voice his protest, just drew his mouth into a hard line and let you push past him. He was speechless. For what well may have been the first time in his life, John MacTavish had no words. Couldn’t apologize for the mess. Couldn’t crack a joke. Couldn’t even say hello. He was pure dead at a loss.

Somehow, he allowed you to guide him away from the mess he’d made- staining the waxed tile a muted crimson even after the disgruntled looking employee came over to mop it up. Found his voice in your tugging him along after you and Simon to the checkout where you insisted you’d pay for the bottle of bourbon he’d managed not to send careening to the ground. Tried to tell you no, but you’d already sent it down the belt. And by the time you’d rooted through your purse in search of your card, Simon had already finished paying and was tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

Shuffled out with the two of you into the car park. Making a point of putting distance between himself and Simon who was pushing the cart with one hand and had the other planted firmly on the small of your back. Always walking on the side of oncoming traffic.

Johnny tried to keep up with your conversation. Asking him about his break. Where he was staying and for how long. How had he been. But it was tense. He could feel Ghost’s eyes on the back of his head. Burning through him. Making him feel like he had a target tacked to his skull.

He said a quick goodbye when Ghost helped you into the passenger seat of your car. You said you’d see him soon enough, said if he had any extra time before they went back he’d have to come by for dinner. Simon closed the door before you could say anything else. Looking monumentally irked.

The two men stood in suffocating silence while Simon unloaded the groceries into the trunk. Johnny tried to ignore the glinting of the silver band on the L.T’s finger. Caught the light every time he set a new bag in the back. A little unsure if he was being dismissed or if Ghost was just waiting until he was certain you wouldn’t hear the lashing he was bound to receive.

But it all stayed relatively calm. Maybe the eye of the hurricane. Simon pushed the bottle of bourbon into his chest before swinging the trunk shut.

“Appreciate if you’d keep this between us.”

Ghost spoke first, the words sounding a bit sticky in his throat- like they didn’t want to come out.

“‘Course.”

Johnny’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them shifted on their feet. Not use to this kind of conversation. Uncomfortable being pushed from their usual dynamic.

Simon just nodded, moving to push the cart back to the corral. Johnny followed.

“How long you been keepin’ this in?”

“Which bit.”

His response was flat.

“Dinnae, L.T. Seems yer a man o’ mystery these days.”

Soap prodded, unable to help himself. A smile crept into his voice.

“Don’t push it.”

Simon bit back.

“Bonnie thing for a brute like you.”

“Johnny.”

“Looks ready’ta pop.”

A harsh sigh from Ghost. He reached into his jacket pocket like he was going for a cigarette. Tightening his jaw when his hand showed back up empty. He hummed his agreement.

“Few months.”

They’d reached Johnny’s car by this point. Just a few rows over in the car park. Stood by his driver’s side door shuffling their feet once more.

“Ken it’ll turn out like you?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Never pictured Ghost the fatherly type, but the idea was growing on him now that it’d been planted in his mind.

“Hope not.”

Simon gruffed back. Johnny snorted.

“Boy o’ girl?”

This earned him a nasty look, but he figured he was in deep enough as it was. No harm in asking.

“Girls.”

[irndad]

if you’re still doing flower prompts i’d love either Rainflower or Purple Lilac with spencer <3

a/n: heyyyy im alive! writing from my trip, love you guys, don't know the wc! flower prompts

Rainflower - realizing that you/they love them/you back

It comes on all at once. 

Spencer- he’s never been particularly good at knowing when he’s feeling romantic. There wasn’t any experience with it. He knows that he’s hardly anyone’s dream guy- all awkward gangly limbs, too tall and too full of information that no one wanted to hear.

He’s carved out a little corner of the world that he can be seen in, that he can be loved in- but he’s never really been under the notion that someone could want him. Spencer knows that he’s lucky to have even this- to have people that ignite the prickly and irritating parts of himself and love him despite about this. And while he might fantasize, daydream about a life where he can lace his long fingers with those of someone who sees him only in a loving gaze of joy, Spencer knows that he’s not the kind of person that gets that. He’s being rational about it- most days, he’s able to relegate this desire to be filled with fantasy. 

Except- something has been up lately.

His best friend is probably the best person that he’s ever met in his life. She’s a consultant with the BAU, and it’s been nice to know her, in so many ways. She’s funny and kind in a way that never seems to have a victim. Spencer is not the kind of person that particularly values physical beauty, but she possesses it in such a large margin that it is difficult to ignore. He’s actually distracted by it sometimes, having to take extra mental attention to her words when all he is drawn to is the lovely curve of her Cupid’s bow, and the both light and heavy weight of her gaze in him. I like when you look at me, he thinks. She never makes him feel small. 

When they’d met, he was reluctant to her presence in most regards. Spencer knows that when he is focused, he can be a solitary creature, and that he’s an acquired taste. But she never seemed to need time to acclimate to him. From her first day, she listened to him when he spoke, and god, she squeezed his shoulder when she walked past him. 

She never had to try to like him. He was never a concession to her. 

This morning, she is late to work. He tries not to time it, but he enjoys the ritual of his mornings far more when he’s with her. He makes her tea and greets her first thing, and she asks about his evening the day prior. He tells her about whatever foreign film or Russian book he read the night before, a little too earnestly. She listens with her lovely doe eyes, sipping slowly as she transitions into her day. It doesn’t feel like patience with her- it feels like she actually cares what he has to say. Their routine is a warm radio crackle of familiarity, his favorite part of his day.

But she’s late today.

When she walks in, she’s a little frazzled and  so, so, adorable. She’s in a T-shirt that looks so familiar to him, and a pair of jeans that look lovely on her pretty legs. It’s a pleasure, looking at her. He wish he had more time to do it, wants to leisurely drink in the sight of her like he has all the time in the world, it never feels long enough to look.

Her hair’s frazzled and she’s just about 5 minutes late- Hotch hasn’t even come out of his office yet, but she’s clearly nervous.

“You’re okay,” he hears himself say, as she plunks down her bag on the desk, “I have your tea.” 

He doesn’t expect her to look up, but she does. She looks up at him and beams, and Spencer- his heart swells. She grabs the cup, dainty pretty fingers wrapped around the curve of it, and she beams her so-sweet smile at him, and god, his knees might buckle. Has it always been this way? 

He drinks in the sight of her, as she runs a hand through her hair in a worried, incredibly endearing gesture. She’s beautiful, he thinks to himself. He wonders aimlessly, that she might have been meeting with a man this morning. It might be the explanation for the dishevelment. 

The burning bit in his chest this causes is one that lacks explanation. It hurts in a way that he cannot explain- she is not a realistic dream for him to have. It’s not like he’s never thought about the idea of the two of them together. It’s a fleeting thought, like the consideration if your life if you could fly. It’s not a dream that warrants real consideration. 

But when their fingers brush, her light touch on his hand, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if she wanted him.

“Thank you, Spence,” she says, warm voice dripping with gratitude and something in his heart warms at the nickname, “You’re my hero.”

She takes a sip of it, and closes her eyes in a contemplative, restful moment. It’s unfairly adorable.

He’s never actually thought about it, until this moment. But her beauty transcends just being pure fact, a thing to note about his reality. It would be nice, Spencer thinks. It hits him like a tidal wave, images of her gorgeous laugh washing over him on a Sunday morning, the curve of her cheek, a world where he can hold her by the dip of her waist, where her ever-present kindness meant that she might, could, maybe, love him.

Love him back.

She has whipped cream on her finger. She took the lid of the drink off to have the whipped cream. 

He is so, so fucked. 

“Have I told you that I love you today, boy-genius?” 

Even though she’s kidding, and he stammers out a reply of acknowledgment, it is in this moment he knows, with the certainty of every empirical journal he has ever read. 

Spence Reid is hopelessly in love with his best friend, and there is absolutely nothing he can do about that. 

It’s still nice to want, though. 

[linghxr]

My 2023 in Mandopop/Chinese music (update & recs)

It’s been too long since I last shared some music recommendations/updates on what I’m listening to! Admittedly, I haven’t been discovering as many new artists because I’m busy listening to 薛之谦 on repeat. But we'll focus on the new.

You can check out my Spotify playlist featuring these songs (plus bonus ones). In addition, I’ve included YouTube links below.

五月天 / Mayday 五月天 is a legendary band, so of course I knew of them and had heard a few of their songs over the years. But I never proactively sought out their music until recently. I still haven’t had time to dive into their back catalog, but I’ve already found some songs I really love.

《我又初恋了》 I actually really didn’t like this song the first time I heard it, but it wormed its way into my brain. It’s just a lot of fun! Non-serious songs can be good too.

《转眼》 My favorite 五月天 song <3. I’m probably too young to fully appreciate the lyrics, but they make me feel so nostalgic and bittersweet, like transitioning to a new chapter of life and leaving the old behind.

《因为你 所以我》 This song didn’t stand out to me at first, but it grew on me! I caught myself humming it a lot. It‘s kind of corny, but it sounds so full of hope.

陈奕迅 / Eason Chan I first started listening to 陈奕迅 a couple years ago after my Album a Day August challenge, but I’ve found that his music has grown on me over time. I believe I’ve only mentioned him once before, so I thought now was a good time to highlight my favorite of his songs.

《之外》 This is probably my favorite 陈奕迅 song. The lyrics convey a sense of hopelessness, but the overall song has a smooth, light sound.

《娱乐天空》 You know a song is good when it’s over 6 minutes long but feels like it flies by! It makes me want to get up, get moving, and be productive.

《烟味》 This song is dramatic, and I love it for that. Also has a hint of orchestral flavor.

《淘汰》 One of 陈奕迅’s most well-known songs—for a good reason. It has big Cpop ballad vibes but is definitely livelier.

白举纲 / Bai Jugang You’re going to notice several mentions of 披荆斩棘 in this post. That’s where I “met” 白举纲. I instantly liked his voice and loved seeing him with his “brother” 高瀚宇 and “dad” 张晋! You may also see his music under his English name, Pax Congo.

《被动失控》 This is the only song on the list you could headbang to.

《Shy Boy》 I love this song because it’s cute and includes a children’s rhyme that I learned as a kid: 找啊找啊找朋友 找到一个好朋友.

苏诗丁 / Su Shiding At some point last year I did a one-month free trial of Apple Music. It was an interesting experience because the recommendations were very different from what Spotify tends to show me. I’m glad Apple Music led me to 苏诗丁!

《LUCIFER（傲慢宗罪）》 All I can say is that this song exudes coolness and confidence. It also has a fair bit of English, but honestly I had to look up the lyrics to tell what some of it was.

《梦幻病》 This song is from the same album. It’s dreamlike but gets more frantic as it builds. Overall, it’s just a bit…unsettling.

队长 / Young Captain I learned about 队长 from a random post on Instagram about his concert in Malaysia. I think these songs might have gone viral on 抖音 or something. I was surprised I liked them so much because they both have some rap (I’m not a rap fan), but it was love at first listen.

《11》 I love how this song builds towards the end. I spend the whole song waiting for the crescendo, and it’s great payoff.

《楼顶上的小斑鸠》 This song is like the slightly mellower sibling of the one above. But I ended up liking this one even more.

金志文 / Jin Zhiwen 金志文 was another artist who Apple Music recommended to me. I definitely need to explore his discography more but haven’t had the chance to do so yet. But he has some good stuff so far!

《自娱自乐》 Smooth and relaxing but in a fun way. Simple and no-frills but will put a smile on your face!

《远走高飞》 This one feels like enjoying the breeze on a beautiful sunny day. I also enjoy the duet with 徐佳莹 version.

163braces 163braces started out as a YouTuber posting song covers. I have watched a couple of her covers, but they didn’t leave much of an impression on me. I was pleasantly surprised by her foray into original music. I look forward to hearing what she does next!

《控制》 The song I would want as my “soundtrack” if I were a video game character. It’s energetic and loud.

《murmur》 Honestly this song is pretty similar to the first one. Sometimes I have trouble distinguishing them. But hey, if ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

小鬼 / Lil Ghost 小鬼 did what I can best describe as “pulling an MGK” by going from more rap to kinda pop-punk? That MGK album was my guilty pleasure when in came out, so I’m all for 小鬼’s new direction.

《Last Day》 This song really gave me MGK vibes. It’s about half in English, but I often don't even notice when he switches between languages.

《不良少年》 I just know I would have loved this song so much in high school. It’s an angsty teen anthem. 

《为明天写封信》 I can totally imagine this song playing at the end of a 2000s teen movie! Maybe while showing a montage of the main characters graduating.

《无所求必满载而归》 by 陈粒 / Chen Li This is technically cheating because I have recommended 陈粒 songs before, but it was at least a couple years ago. I heard this song covered on 披荆斩棘的哥哥 and immediately looked up the original. Honestly I should have known it was a 陈粒 song because you can totally tell it’s her style.

《轻红》 by 曹杨 / Young I keep coming back to this song! It’s from a drama soundtrack. I was super surprised the first time I listened to it because I thought it was going to be a typical ballad based on the first ~45 seconds or so—it wasn’t. There is also another version by 陈雪燃 (the king of cdrama OSTs). But I actually prefer the 曹杨 version.

《时光机》 by 吴克群 / Kenji Wu I was introduced to 吴克群 via 披荆斩棘2. He was instantly one of my favorite contestants after his team’s amazing 《新地球》 performance (check it out). This song is bouncy and a little dreamy. I kinda want to hear a remix with Harry Styles’ As It Was. I just wish it were longer than 3 minutes!

My Spotify Wrapped

I have a tradition of sharing my Spotify Wrapped, and I wanted to continue the streak in some form. So here's a quick rundown.

Top genre: 华语流行音乐 Representative city: Taipei Minutes: 21,750

Top artists

薛之谦 / Xue Zhiqian

林宥嘉 / Yoga Lin

五月天 / Mayday

李荣浩 / Li Ronghao

陈奕迅 / Eason Chan 

Top songs

《木偶人》 - 薛之谦

《狐狸》 - 薛之谦

《骆驼》 - 薛之谦

《转眼》 - 五月天

《后来的我们》 - 五月天

Also, fellow Mandopop fans should check out the Mando Gap newsletter. I stumbled upon it this year, and I know it’s going to be a great resource for discovering new artists in 2024!

[weebsinstash]

I just have to say I'm absolutely loving your yandere Thragg & Nolan stuff! Keep it up & I hope you have a nice day!! ♡

Thank you! And, also, gonna be using this post to talk about more yandere Thragg stuff because I was refreshing my knowledge on the comics and my YTShorts feeds are now filled with Invincible lore recommendations and, jesus I forgot how fucking nasty this man is

first off I'm using this image to just help kind of visualize how much of a unit this man is. Like. He's probably something crazy like 6'6 at the very shortest, maybe like 6'8, 6'9. But. Um. He's scary. He's tough. Viltrumites get tougher the longer they're alive and he's, not THE oldest Viltrumite but, maybe he's in like the top 10? But I think there's only something like an odd, less than 50 number of pure blooded Viltrumites left anyways lmao

Which is then my transition to "dealing with yandad Thragg as his child could be an absolute nightmare especially if you don't have powers"

Dying on my hill of "even if you do have powers he's super fucking possessive over who you're choosing as a mate or even just dating" because there's layers of 1. He has his own massive ego and your actions reflect on him and anyone you bring into the family will benefit from his lineage and achievements and he's defensive about who reaps those bounties or may even be suspicious of political intentions 2. If he hypothetically does let you date he needs to pre approve them first and I'm sure you can imagine how that goes and 3. .... you're his widdle baby, can't you spend more time with dad :( shut up about finding love, why can't you crush skulls with him? "Child why can't we go slaughter alien civilizations together like we used to 😩"

The last paragraph made me think of "Thragg with a child Reader who's actually a really spunky tough kid and he like is so proud of you and you guys have like An Actually Good Relationship (for Thragg's capacity to love anyways) but as you get older you start having ideological differences and you want more freedom but he just wants you to be Daddys Favorite Little Killing Machine for the rest of your life". Like you're just giving Thragg the cold shoulder because he won't let you leave the planet without his personal escort anymore and meanwhile here's thragg hovering over you with his arms crossed, internally scowl-pouting as he remembers The Good Old Days when you were like 6 and ran up to him, "Dad, Dad, look!! this is a note from my teacher praising me for how well I beat up another student! She says I'm 'extremely proficient at bludgeoning'! Did I do a good job?" "You did an EXCELLENT job. It says here the boy needed medical attention." "Yeah, he had to be sent to the hospital! His legs were totally bent the wrong ways! He shouldnt have tried to steal my toy!" "Fine work; you should never allow anyone to take what is yours. We shall feast tonight in celebration." And he pet your hair and you flew up to his chest height to give him a crushing hug. And nowadays you're like. The Viltrumite equivalent of being in your early adult years and everything is extremely cold and impersonal and you call him nothing other than Grand Regent and he "maybe" just wants his eager confident prideful Affectionate child back because all he has now is. A child that hates him and will barely make eye contact with him and will never accept his praise or medals for your achievements.

Like imagine being a notoriously powerful Viltrumite and you're actually widely accepted but him being controlling of you throughout your childhood eventually gave you a complex. Thragg summons you to like praise you for like, subjugating a nearby galaxy, and asks what you would like for a reward, and you just coolly reply some shit like "There's nothing you could offer that I want, Grand Regent" like you hate him so much you don't even want gifts from this man

AND THE DELICIOUS DRAMA OF, imagine if he finds out that while you hate him and want nothing to do with him, maybe you've become extremely attached to Nolan or some other older father figure in his place

THE SHIT THAT GOES DOWN IF THRAGG EVER HEARS YOU CALL NOLAN OR ANYONE ELSE "DAD" like the cosmic level beef that goes on, the BLOODSHED. Jesus. Imagine being on Earth and you've got Dad Nolan or he's like declared himself your dad/mentor and he sees you bonding with another human male who's a father figure and you call that man dad, like. That man is going missing and Uncle Sam is erasing his existence from the records just, gone.

Side note actually, idea for something yandere viltrumites do with a viltrumite/hybrid reader: loving to bear hug you super hard? Like almost painfully but they won't break anything. Just. Imagine yandad Nolan or Thragg or Mark with like, a lil sibling/ child/ age regressed Reader or whatever and you're having like, hugging contests to see who can hug the hardest, and play wrestling shit idk. Imagine the infamously grumpy genocidal Thragg and then here's his like 4 year old wanting to play wrestle and trying to pin him and you're no match for him of course but like it's not, real, he's "gently" deflecting you or breaking your hold but still actually praising you in that, Thragg dad way, "your stance is too weak to take down an opponent of my size, but you're improving" " your siblings usually tire by now; you seem to have more endurance than most of my other children your age. Excellent" and then your little baby mouth gives him a kiss on the cheek and he has to go subjugate another planet to feel manly again.

I feel like yandad Thragg and Nolan are unironically those characters that are like, they could be in the middle of a war zone and they're easily winning and you go upstairs to see what they're thinking about, surely they're thinking about something serious, and it's just "I need to hurry this up and get back to my child" or "I wonder what my little warrior is doing right now" like straight up like the father from Father I Don't Want This Marriage

Yandere Thragg and Nolan are all "oh it's part of the Viltrum way to mate and procreate and boost our numbers" and Reader comes along "hey dad this is my new boyfriend--" and suddenly they turn into like, Christian fundamentalists. "Um actually that Viltrumite male is even older than I am 🤓 you are still so young and should be enjoying the fruits of your youth 🤓 you are too young to have children"

I feel like though like if you ever did manage to sneak off and get pregnant or get someone else pregnant that, specifically Nolan would adore his new grand baby and would do anything for this chubby cutie 🥺❤️ also imagine the horror if he's not even your blood dad, just obsessive self proclaimed stalker yandere shit, but you can't run away from him and he's finds you and your baby and instantly declares himself grandpa, like. Now you have to worry about protecting yourself and your baby from "PawPaw"

So like. Future spoilers I guess? Not super significant in my opinion, but, there's a period of time where there's like a truce of sorts between Earth and Viltrum, right, to keep it vague and less spoiler heavy. Imagine being like, Nolan's kid, or adopted kid, or like, neighbor who turned out to be a hybrid that he yoinked into his house or whatever, and like, after there's been some fighting, Thragg is impressed with your strength and potential and seems to be scouting you out a little. Now you've got TWO older Viltrumite males trying to father you, "my apologies Grand Regent but I was just about to take this one out to teach them how to fly better" "that is unnecessary; i shall be the one to tutor the youngling" meanwhile you're just like uhhhhh I'm not actually a big fan of how EITHER of you treat me-"

bruhhhh all hell breaks loose when you finally lose it and fly straight off the planet to try and start a new life elsewhere without them cuz then these two are TEAMING UP and they're feeding into each other, "I bet they were convinced to leave by that one male, the one who we had to warn before" "and that's why you're weak Nolan. I wanted to kill him but you didn't want to hurt the youth's feelings, and now what's happened? They're probably eloping as we speak" "no, I won't make the same mistake twice. He'll die a slow death"

You're on like some alien planet surrounded by like simple little ewoks or some shit who treat you like a water god because you dug a well for them or something and here comes Thragg and Nolan touchdown slamming onto the planet's surface and leaving craters behind, scaring the birds, the animals, your new little cute alien friends huddling behind you for protection, and you're getting SCOLDED SCOLDED. like one minute your new little like moogle friend is teaching you how to bake some kind of bread and the next minute, "AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOURE DOING HERE" and you're jumping to see two pissed pissed PISSED Viltrumites

"O-oh, uh, I thought I made it clear when I left--"

"The only thing that you've made clear is that you're too unpredictable and naive to be left alone"

"What were you THINKING?! You could've gotten lost, hurt, captured, or worse! And leaving Viltrum for, what?! Are these your pets? We can enslave a few and take them with us if you like em so much"

"If you EVER leave without my permission as Grand Regent again I'll reduce whatever backwater rock you stumble off to into nothing more than rubble floating through the stars, is that understood?"

"..."

"Answer him!"

'*sigh* yes, sirs"

"That's FATHER to you"

" - and Dad!"

[weepingchronicles]

I just read your hunter yandere head cannons, it was adorable and beautifully written, good job! <3 My question is: how do you think Hunter would help (y/n) transition into their new life with him?

a/n: eee tysm!! i love this question

tw: kidnapping, restraints, starving, drugging, manipulation

There was a couple of things I left purposefully out of the original post but Hunter originally wasn't going to take the reader that day, at least not till later. The reason he collected plushies from your house was to remind you of your actual home. The room for you wasn't actually finished, we don't want you sleeping on some old mattress now, do we?

But because of how things turned out... his plans were a bit rushed. So, you'll be sleeping on only a mattress for awhile till he saves up. Maybe he'll even clean his room for you to sleep on his bed while he sleeps on the couch. Maybe. It's too risky since the only thing stopping you from escaping is the chain connected to the bedframe.

Once he actually saves money, he'll spend time actually decorating and making your room well, your room! Depends on how cooperative you are of your situation but he will definitely try and ask you what kind of things you want. No, reader you can't go outside I asked what books you wanted-

Anyway, he sees this as making your kidnapping more adaptable since it's just like your old room! Except with chains making sure you can't leave and tons of locks on each door!

Another thing is that he is very patient! Of course you're going to be scared, confused and angry when you awake after being fucking tranquilized! Hunter, he gets mad easily but he never really loses control around you. He is delusional in thinking he is protecting you and giving you a home but deep down, he knows it is wrong hurting you and flipping out is expected.

Once you "settle down" and stop screaming every time he comes in your room, he'll give you certain privileges for good behavior. Oh, you want to watch tv? Then you'll have to eat the food he makes you(most of the time it's drugged).

If you misbehave however, like hurting him, trying to escape or just overall doing what you're not supposed to he'll take away basic necessities. You hurt him badly enough he'll lock you in the room for a day, no food or water. If he catches you trying to pick your chain, oops, you just lost your whole bed for a week. Now you're even more restrained with your hands and feet tied. Which means he'll have to feed you and carry you to the bathroom if you need to go, which is NOT fun.

Soon, you'll start following the rules whether you want to or not. You might still be plotting escape or hating his guts but he doesn't really care.

He'll also be kind of sweet? Like, picking flowers on his way home that reminded him of you or make smiley face pancakes. Getting a cute teddy bear or gum at a corner store. Very dad things. I don't know about you but if you're anything like me, if I hate someone, it's kind of impossible for me to be rude if they are nice to me. You'll begrudgingly accept his gift and mutter a thanks and he's all like :D

[sminiac]

hi bub! hope ur doing well~ do you have any hcs for making out with xikers?

💌 — Hi my sweets ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა‎ !! I am doing well, hope you are too !!<3 and ofc I have some, just for you!

⋆ K. Minjae

He’s very ‘mine, mine, mine!’ when he’s able to just relax into your kisses, which he thinks of as kind of rare, so it’s quite the delicacy. At first he’s very quick tongued and eager, bordering impatient once you have the time to sink into each-others presence without a jarring disturbance, because of this his hands can move quite roughly, careless almost, he’s just so used to running high on a lot of you and not so much time. Wants to feel you up, wants you on him, everything, and normally you’d soften under his skin and allow him to move as he wants, but sometimes he needs a good reminder that he’s not always needed somewhere by someone else. I peg him as someone who is really good at kissing and not needing/wanting anything more, his self control is just mwah!

⋆ P. Junmin

Everything about him is so soft and patient, a meek thing when you’ve got him under your spell, which seems to be all the time- warming him up until he’s impossibly pliable when you’ve set a pace, established habits that he’s cutely trained to keep note of, some he can already wade through without taking the time to bear in mind the pattern beforehand. He knows how many beats to wait until you’re tilting your head to the opposite side of his so the transition is flawless, knows how to keep himself close and open for you without blocking your air. Sweet boy! He’s just so polite ???? Very hesitant with making noise and moving his hands to rest on places other than your waist, or face, so you’ve got to show him a little direction with it!

⋆ C. Sumin

A complete and utter sucker for feeling you up underneath your clothes, and I do mean his hands being on your skin, of course, but,, he’d also like toying with the band of your bra/panties just to tease you, frequently slips the pad of his finger under the band just to run against it. Needs to keep himself physically stimulated so he can focus on the task at hand, if he doesn’t then he’s so hurried in getting you undressed, it’s just so hard to kiss only your lips when you’re so pretty and smell so good, making the soft sounds you do whenever his tongue is playing with yours. Really likes the feeling of your bottom lip being softly bitten between his teeth and sucking on your tongue— really really likes when you suck on his, has the prettiest smile when he can faintly see your pretty lips wrapped around the length of the wet muscle.

⋆ H. Jinsik

#1 gum stealer, and smiler. You just make him so giddy he can’t stop it, sometimes he’ll even laugh a little, it’s never intentional, and he swears that he never feels the big grin that strains his cheeks until it hurts, only when you’re pulling away does he suddenly start to feel how sore his face is, but how could he ever care about being in pain when you’re kissing him in every and all the right ways possible? When he’s feeling a little emotional, more sentimental, the kisses are reduced to a slower pace, the passion and emotion is all still there, just more intensified due to how much he feels his emotions. Cradles your face so gently while simultaneously keeping you as close to him as possible, sometimes tears will slip due to how full he is with your love, how grateful he is for it, other times he starts getting chatty, he just needs you to hear how happy he is, don’t be surprised if a mix of both happen.

⋆ C. Hyunwoo

#1 HATER of chaste pecks on the lips. EVER. Will actually become upset if it’s done more than a few times, now the first few he’ll let slide, he knows how to be lenient, but don’t let it happen too often because then you’ll really start thinking hard about how he should’ve considered an acting career before debuting. He just loooves being dramatic and incredibly loud, lucky for you! making out just so happens to be his favourite! Shuts up immediately when you’re situating yourself in his lap every single time, admittedly he’s still a little shocked by how easily you give in to him, to the point where he forgets about you literally being his girlfriend and he’s just kind of like “Oh!😃” when you’re pulling him into you. A huge fan of hickey’s, giving them, receiving, likes breaking from the kiss so his hands can feel you up and he can suck a mark into your skin wherever he pleases. He’s also so vocal when making out, doesn’t spare you any of the sounds he’s capable of making.

[ultfreakme]

Thoughts on Jessie Gender's video on NATLA

I really admire Jessie Gender's videos usually, she's the one whom I usually go to to see videos on gender and queerness in media. I like her stuff a lot and respect their work.

But the NATLA video left me going "no, wait, that's not what happened" a lot. I can't summarize the video, I suggest people go watch it if they want to know but I disagree with practically everything for the most part.

I'm not anybody on the internet. But what I do have is a lifetime of growing up on ATLA, a degree in Sociology and English Literature, coming from a culture that ATLA is based on, studying about colonial rule, researching the cultures ATLA is based on in my spare time and a love for the original. Does that establish some legitimacy? If for some reason you feel like you need to go hate on Jessie for this, DON'T. DO NOT. This is me just critiquing because I think the video content was biased and I want to honestly engage with the points made because everyone has a tendency to demonize the adaption without looking at it on its own merit. With that said:

Point 1: Sokka's sexism is taken out to make the show more palatable and his arc in the Kyoshi Island episode undermines Suki to prop up Sokka.

She says that Sokka's sexism and him addressing it is a show-long arc, and him deconstructing that is him fighting against the colonial sexism of the Fire Nation.

Sokka's sexism is explicitly dealt with in one episode. He's shown to be overtly sexist in the first 4 and never again except for little comments here and there that every other character makes as well and goes unaddressed. His sexism is not because of the Fire Nation- FN is very inclusive of women as warriors. Sokka's sexism is an anomaly because no one but him cares that Katara isn't just sitting home mending clothes(Bato, Hakoda, none of the men on the ship they are on in S3 say a word and she takes off to join Aang in the Fire Nation islands).

If Sokka's sexism is not systematic to the Southern Water Tribe or caused by the Fire Nation, what kind of commentary on sexism is this?

She also says Suki is played down and demured to give Sokka confidence when she's teaching him, taking away her arc as she pines for the new boy who she likes because he's shirtless. Sokka's throughout the episode shows insecurity and a more subtle form of sexism where he's trying ton prove he's as good as her. He's trying to show off his strength to her, and failing miserably and when he realizes she bested him, he walks away. He goes into it assuming he's better than her but walks away realizing shit she is GOOD. Then he goes to her dojo to observe the practice and follows along, Suki invites him in seeing him fucking up the forms outside and teaches him.

Suki falls for a tackle Sokka does in the og and live action. In the OG, it's shown as Sokka ACTUALLY being better. In the live action? He isn't. One lesson doesn't make him better, she transitions from actually teaching him to kinda flirting until she completely stops. She's not weakening herself for him, both of them are expressing romantic interest. How did Sokka, a boy who that morning was defeated by them, get better than SUKI in a spar she put genuine effort in? I think that's frankly more sexist than the live action take.

Additionally, Suki was meant to be a one-off character meant to teach Sokka that sexism is bad. She existed entirely to serve Sokka's character arc and had no independent motivation in season 1. In the live action, we see her talk about wanting to go into the world, and see her growing motivation through Aang's presence of wanting to not just protect Kyoshi Island, but the world. She became what she is only in season 2 and 3. Sokka's sexism arc didn't even pan out well because he never addressed the issue with Katara after that episode, the first and most affected victim of his sexism.

Sokka wearing the armor in the original, is a joke. Aang calls their uniform a dress while laughing (it's not, like it's not even constructed like one, the bottoms are loose pants called Hakama). He isn't put into the uniform to show solidarity, it's a joke, and we are meant to be laughing at Sokka for the most part. Queer fans have reclaimed and redefined that scene to be like drag, but that wasn't the original intention of the show because we get jokes on Aang's masculinity which never actively get refuted from Toph in season 2. Katara of all people points out Sokka wearing a poinytail in a demeaning manner multiple times, a supposedly girly hairstyle. If the original wanted to honor Sokka embracing gender fluidity, they wouldn't consistently mock him for being choosy about buying a bag and wearing a ponytail(which in-universe has cultural importance to him).

All signs of 'femininity' in Sokka are played for laughs in the rest of the show(down to the scene where he draws a rainbow, and his master Piandao simply rolls his eyes).

Sokka is also never once shown as a better warrior in the live action- his story is the opposite. Sokka yearns here to be an engineer, a scientist tinkering away with new inventions. His father Hakoda and the SWT discourages this because there is no value in that for them. Value is shown for them to come from physical strength, which Sokka NEVER has in live action season 1(him having biceps and being shirtless is not a glorification of strength). He's good, but he's nothing special. His true highlight is in his intellect and the show implies pretty well that Sokka doesn't need to be physically strong or a warrior to fight back against oppression.

That's his defining line in the show teasers "you do not need to be a warrior, to be a hero."

Point 2: The sexism arc isn't replaced by anything more nuanced.

It is! It's replaced by the biases against bending. Sokka discourages Katara from bending because the Fire Nation attacked the SWT to eliminate waterbenders. Both Katara and Sokka hold fear for waterbending, a part of their own culture, specifically because of the Fire Nation's hegemony and hierarchical beliefs. Waterbending = preservation of culture and Katara says these exact words in episode 1. Sokka stopping her is him being under the colonial hegemony of the FN because waterbending is what brought Fire Nation soldiers to their shores to kill their mom. That's the new arc and it has follow through to the end. Instead of Sokka telling Katara to kick ass because he isn't sexist anymore, the live action Sokka says it because he's embraced waterbending and his own culture now through seeing Katara grow and letting her choose for herself what's best for her (instead of smothering in his faux warrior persona, which they literally discuss when stuck in the cave). This arc is exclusive to the show, there's no comment on the cultural significance and erasure of waterbending in the original.

It's made more explicit in Katara's arc, where she needs to get past the fear the Fire Nation has put in her of the dangers of her own bending, and embrace that her people wanted to protect it (Kya sacrificing herself, Gran-Gran hiding the waterbending scroll).

Point 3: Showing the genocide of the Air Nomads is disrespectful

In the original, the Air Nomads are nothing but a memory. At all times. We never see the influence of the Air Nomad culture on Aang, or see them alive and thriving at any point. We see them fight back on the live action, and the actual genocide is a few short minutes, interspersed with Aang sinking. It's not a lingering process and it shows the abilities of Air Nomads. Jessie says this is purely aesthetic and to be cool, but there are significant moments that happen here.

Establishing the powers of Air Benders- this is the first and last time we'll get to see Air Bending on this scale and this shows what they can do

There's a scene where two air nomads nod to one another, and the air nomad switches from defensive to an extremely offensive move. It shows that this isn't typical for the Air Nomads, and that they are being pushed to their limits

This is a festival, they were defending themselves and it's important to show that the Air Nomads didn't just go silently without a fight and were ambushed on an important day.

To show the Fire Nation's cruelty and the extent of their power during the comet specifically.

To give weight to WHY everyone Aang runs into is so critical and hateful of the fact that he was gone, and to also show why Aang never refutes them and the weight of what he's lost (and also that even if he were there, he couldn't have done anything)

It's not just to be cool, it's honestly not cool to watch and taking Gordon Cormier, a child's quote to say that's what everyone's impression is, is disingenuous despite the disclaimer given. The kids' quotes always get taken out of context. Reviewers and Avatar fans who went to the premiere were disturbed overall by the violence. They did not think of the Fire Nation as "cool", they saw the Air Nomads like that. Like don't we want people to think of the Air Nomads in a positive light for fighting back?

Their culture gets little to no expansion in the original, and whatever Aang has left of them is actually slowly stripped away in the original.

Aang is made to okay the destruction and modification of the Northern Air Temple when destruction is shown as wrong during his rage and grief in the Southern Air Temple. The new settlers have used the gliders of Air Nomads to device weapons that fly, which were then sold to the Fire Nation. The Mechanist and his people continue this and create more weapons to fight the war in the temples(albeit this time agaisnt the fire nation but the cycle of violence continues using devices and cultures of a peaceful people). A once-peaceful place, is now a center for war innovation and Aang is told to accept this because he must let go of the past to look to the future.

The above, in comparison to Aang simply saying "I should let go of the past and look to the future" is FAR more disrespectful of Aang's culture and past. The live action keeps Gyatso's memory a constant companion to Aang, he is terrified of letting go of the past and it hinders him from simply living.

Point 4: Violence is shown as good and the cycle of violence is perpetuated.

She says Kyoshi demanding Aang to fight back and hit hard is showing that Aang needs to embrace strength and power. That everyone telling him to fight and be alone means strength is given importance, and that the same is shown when Zuko says "sometimes the weak can become strong, sometime you just have to give them a chance."

Kyoshi is wrong. She is willfully portrayed as powerful, but harsh. Roku(though his screentime was small) disagrees with her and tells Aang to find his own way of fighting and that is ultimately what Aang follows.

Kyoshi doesn't come off as correct, she's demanding and harsh, unforgiving. Aang initially lets her take over because he is scared of the power he holds and she promises she can control it to help others. Aang doesn't want power(he literally says 'I don't want these powers'). In the finale, he gives in to the ocean spirit and does what Kyoshi asks; save everyone, even if it costs his own life. But it is shown as a tragedy. Katara calls back for him and tells him he shouldn't have to sacrifice himself, that he has a place in this world as he is no matter what others tell him and he listens to THAT. He says he will save the world not alone, but with his friends, in the memory of the Air Nomads to ensure it never happens again.

Physical strength is only a priority to Katara's character. Sokka doesn't fight in the end, he's begging Yue to not sacrifice herself and is protecting her. He's not some macho man. Aang is also not embracing power.

Zuko says that line not to show that he can grow stronger, but that people should get second chances. He's a hurt kid wishing his father had the compassion to let him grow. But he doesn't and Zuko walks away from it thinking physical strength and bending prowess is important, crushing his compassion. That line on a meta level isn't even about physical strength. It's about mental fortitude and character, and the strength to be compassionate.

Jet was mentioned as being portrayed as more wrong, but in the original he was ready to sink a village of innocents. in the live action he genuinely helped Katara with her waterbending and was justified in wanting to kill the mechanist(who collaborated with the fire nation) and King Bumi (who is neutral, incompetent and has let the Fire Nation run rampant in the city). He's more sympathetic here because he's doing it with a concrete reason, and he didn't even manipulate Katara the way he did in the original. She was genuinely charmed by him.

A big problem I had with Jessie's video was putting in clips from some right-wing channel between critique of NATLA....which....why? Huh? And these were used to say NATLA is leaning into fascist tendencies and smoothing out any critique of colonialism when it really isn't. I think NATLA is very explicitly saying the same message as the original. Not in the same way, but it is. The show actively engages audiences and the characters in discussions of cultural erasure and the problems of valuing power(the latter especially through Zuko and Azula).

There are million issues with the live action (Sokka's casting, ableism in Zuko's burn scar, the writing issues, pacing issues, the lack of screen time for Aang and focus on the Fire family). The ones Jessie Gender discussed though, are not it.

[mellkellyismyhero]

Jonathan Stroud and Kipps

You know, as a kid reading Lockwood and Co., I LOVED Lucy, George, Lockwood, and Holly. They were all my age! Every time a new book came out I’d imagine Lucy was growing up with me.

But that meant that I didn’t have much of a connection with Kipps, who was kind of L&Co.’s punching bag (affectionate). I liked him, but I never loved him the way I loved everyone else.

Now, I’m older than L&Co. Reading the books and watching the show feels like revisiting my younger self. I was expecting to love the L&Co. trio dynamic- and I did! But one thing I really wasn’t expecting was my newfound appreciation for Kipps.

Jonathan Stroud’s decision to focus on Kipps’ transition from brilliant teen agent to terrified, washed-up adult... It didn’t speak to me as a kid because I was too busy identifying with how cool Lucy’s Talent was. But now that I’m in Kipps’ age range, I identify with Kipps a lot more over Lucy. I can’t really put it in words- this is probably going to be the first of many posts of me spewing emotions and love for Jonathan Stroud’s writing skill- but I’m going to try.

Minor Kipps-related spoilers for L&Co. books under the cut.

Kipps, in the show and books, is 20-22 years old. He’s college-aged. And he cannot do the one thing that he has trained his entire life for, and needs to adjust to that. As a kid, I just kind of saw that as the same kind of “kids rule, adults drool” thing that happens in all kids adventure stories. Can’t have the responsible adults ruining the kids’ fun!

But Kipps was unusual in that you get to SEE him go from ‘competent rival agent’ to ‘technically a useless adult’. He’s straddling the line in the way that other series, where kids get to have magic because they’re good and pure or whatever don’t.

The thing is, it would’ve been easy for Kipps to be forgotten. Just let him fade into the background and never be mentioned again after book 2. But he’s there in book 3, and 4, and 5, still doing his best to fight ghosts even if he can’t see them. As a kid, I was just like ‘huh, okay, that’s a choice’ and kind of ignored him. Who cares what Kipps is doing when Lucy and Holly are having an epic argument that’s going to bring a million ghosts down on their heads?

As an adult, I LOVE that Stroud chose to keep Kipps around. I love that Kipps found a new way to keep fighting (the goggles). I love that Kipps kind of became a member of Lockwood and Co. I love that Stroud made the readers and the characters confront the reality that one day our beloved main characters would lose their Talents too, that even Lucy would go deaf one day, instead of just ignoring the generous but very real time limit the characters had hanging over their heads.

(Side note: part of my love for this series might be stemming from my complicated feelings about the Seven Wonders book series, where a kid is told he has less than a year to live and will likely spend months in debilitating pain and then... spends that year fucking around looking for magical artifacts and not actually having any kind of physical consequences for LITERALLY HAVING A DEADLY ILLNESS-)

Anyway.

Kipps is fantastic. The way he represents the inevitable future of Lockwood and Co... the way he represents the thousands of other agents who grew too old to sense ghosts and couldn’t keep fighting even if they wanted to... the way that he tries so hard to keep the kids he’s in charge of alive but can’t because he’s only one person and he’s losing his Talent...

He’s going through such a major transition and doesn’t know what his place in the world is anymore, and honestly, what early-twenties person does? There’s something there about Talents and childhood trauma and taking your first few steps into adulthood without the tools that saved your life as a child because they don’t work anymore...

In conclusion: Kipps was an amazing character, and I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate him sooner.

[savnofilter]

Makeup Sex HCs

-> dabi/t. todoroki, s. todoroki, e. kirishima & k. bakugo

Dabi | Shouto Todoroki | Eijiro Kirishima | Katsuki Bakugo x [GEN]Reader

CONTENT WARNING(S): sexual content, makeup sex. 🧍🏽‍♀️

COUNT: 1.1K words [1-3 mins each].

READ MORE: masterpost + [students | bakugo | adults masterlists]

A/N: ive been wanting to write this for a hot min and now i finally did sjdjsjdn anyways this will be my last nsfw work for students. pretty anti-climatic but 🤷🏽‍♀️ i will be releasing the rest of my sfw stuff for them somewhere else so stayed tuned for that. 👀 ANYWAYS I AM SAUR READY FOR THE DABI CONTENT IM GONNA BUST 🥰 THANK YOU ANON AND HAPPY YEAR YALL. 🤢🤟🏽🤟🏽🤟🏽

if its serious & Dabi knows hes fucked up, hes gonna force himself to talk about it.

don't think that he’ll be mature 100% but he will communicate with you.

is a little manipulative (don't come at me we know he ain't at therapy) and might divulge to get into your good graces once again.

makeup sex with Dabi entirely depends on how serious he finds the situation.

if it's something super serious (to him) then he will not go for sex and will not want to be touched physically like at all. comfort wise too.

but when it's something where all you two need to do is properly communicate, he's actually more empathetic. you could almost say the makeup sex between you when this happens is more… intimate.

if submissive!Dabi is something you like, here he is!

don't expect him to go full on tho, he’ll just relinquish a bit more of letting you take control as a form of apologizing.

[+] only you have been able to see him in such a position… you better be thrilled.

gets more needy tho? the audacity… if you love brats there here he is.

tries to say stuff to throw you off, shit like if you're teasing him he'll say something along the lines of, “stop playing and come sit on my cock, doll.” or “look at you slobbering all over my dick, you greedy XYZ.”

a little whiney about it too, has no shame whatsoever, though.

if he's the one giving you head, it's very messy and sloppy like he's making out with your nether regions. his goal is to have you c(um)e undone and having you surrender your thoughts to him.

when you two actually get to fucking though, it's really rough and grabby at first. it's as if you two are trying to fight each other whilst also attempting to one up another in pleasure.

very much a lot of rough thrusting, pinning, bite marks, hickies and hand prints galore.

then it soothes out—once all the pent up energy is exerted you two transition into a more, and this is where I talked about earlier, intimate love making.

mumbling apologies, a teary eye if you manage to make eye contact with each other and soft mutterings of how good it feels.

it's like a rollercoaster ride of high and low emotions, the end result being the balance of both.

probably the same kind of style as Dabi.

honestly it wouldn't be surprising if the root of the makeup sex being unresolved things, as in the inner conflicts that you two don't even address.

quiet aggression waiting for its release between you two.

makeup sex would be more like a week or a few days after, where you two are probably having a normal session but then the pent up and forgetting energy comes up and gets released during the deed.

Todoroki grips you way more often and holds you close as if you might disappear in one second.

uses a lot of his hands and probably toys too to let out his pent out anger.

will have you bonded up so he can freely do what he needs to do with having to keep his attention divided by keeping you down and pleasuring you.

a ton of words of affirmation here, both you and him.

that's how it normally is, but he throws in some endearing terms a lot more this time around.

“that feel good, baby?” “who makes you feel good like this?”

his attention is solely focused on you and not so much his.

will probably edge you until the point where you both need to climax as he enjoys seeing you tear up and beg for him.

the makeup sex was probably about jealousy if we're being honest here.

Todoroki is just so emotionally constipated but he doesn't know how else express it.

is definitely working on it though.

probably the most emotional out of them lol.

Kirishima is the type to cry and be a mess, super emotional and empathetic.

isn't doing crazy positions or trying to rough you up, unintentional or not.

very much, “I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry” sort of attitude 😭

feel like when thinking of Kirishima, since he has this hidden, passive aggressive side that it'd transmute into rough handling but no I think he'd let all his barriers down for something like this.

would probably get rougher near the ending tho, like harder thrusts and more bite marks.

he wants to be in your good books again and is doing his best to be that again.

everything is sloppier too, just pure rawness tbh.

the makeup session may take place a few hours later or a day later, if it doesn't then that's how you know it's something serious that can't just be mended with a bit of physical bonding.

so in a way when you two make up like this, Kirishima feels grateful because of the unspoken common rules in your relationship.

he puts his all in to make sure that even with your disagreements he still loves you a lot. :’)

surprisingly so, i honestly believe makeup sex with this man would be soft.

it's passive aggressive at most, the only thing being harsh is the rough grip here and there or a little taunting whisper every so often.

lots of eye contact and just admiring you under him.

likes to be on top so he can shield you from everything else in the room and wants your attention all on him.

make up sex with him is smothering in the way that it's like he's trying to mold himself into you and only you.

doesn't care about what you guys fought about or disagreed earlier, he's more or so focused on the connection this will bring.

Bakugo is more quiet during this time, not really saying much but lets a few noises slip by every so often.

if he does talk, it's not very loud or aggressive, more of check ins like, “you okay?” “you like it when I XYZ?”

it's like Bakugo is treating you in a fragile manner, not wanting to shatter you or startle you. :’)

this is one of the times where his energy level isn't on 1000.

ALSO HAND HOLDING FOR SURE.

prefers to mostly do positions where he can see your face too, wants to make sure you're okay.

he's very mellow and the sort of energy is needed for the mending between you two.

    all rights reserved © do NOT steal, alter or copy this work.

[heartfulselkie]

WIP Game

Thanks @coffeebanana and @rosie-b for the tag, and thank you @kasienda for coming up with this new game!

List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

WIP TITLES

So I'm kind of cheating a bit with my choices here I guess since I have a lot of ideas but not so many actual active WiPs. So some of these aren't actually stuff that has been posted (or not posted in fic form) but they're all what my rodent brain is rotating right now.

Bell the Cat - Ladyblanc Knight AU. Enemies to Reluctant Allies to Lovers. Plenty of angst and trauma to be had in this one!

2. Sad Machine - Not currently available. I'm attempting aiming to have the fic more or less completed before I start posting. Futurist/Cyberpunk-type AU. No Miraculous but there's a dash of vigilantism and mysterious happenings to solve. And some questionable ethics (thanks Gabe).

3. Porceline Girl - Emonette and Badrien (post Paris Special) Oneshot that I'm hoping to finish soon. They're just angsty teens trying to figure out what is love how to be around each other.

4. Kaleidoscope - (not currently a posted fic so link leads to my tumblr tag) Kwami Swap AU with a dose of amnesia! Love Square is a mess in this with a Reunioned Ghostbug trying to solve all the problems. Adrien needs a coffee and a nap. Tikki needs a drink.

5. Citrus and Lavender - Enemies to Lovers AU with Chat Noir being deceived into being on Hawk Moth's side from the very beginning. The kids need therapy and Gabriel needs jail.

UPCOMING

There's is so much I'm looking forward to with Bell the Cat, but with the upcoming chapters I'm excited about introducing some more characters into this world! And of course all the Ladyblanc banter to be had!

2. This is my little pet project at the moment that I am slow roasting in the microwave. There are so many things that I am foaming at the mouth for that I want to just spit the fic out onto ao3 already but I'm trying to go slow with this one.

3. I'm just excited to feed myself more Toxigriffe, even if its in Adrinette form. I have so many ideas for these two but this oneshot is the closest to being finished. I'm excited to have it done (soon! hopefully!)!

4. Another one that's been slow roasting for a bit. I'll admit I'm still undecided with how I want to post this - do I go full fanfic on ao3 with it? Or a webcomic-style on tumblr? Perhaps a hybrid of both? I normally go with writing for longer stories, but this AU really got its interest and following through my random comics of it. It's exciting to think about my options as I could really challenge myself with it (even if opting for a more webcomic style is terrifying in its own way).

5. We're finally reaching the point in the story where Ladynoir are trying to transition from stalwart enemies to shy and unsure partners. All sides of the love square are standing on bambi legs right now as things are very new and scary - but at least they'll slowly learn they have each other to lean on!

I think most of my usual victims have been tagged already - so consider this an open invitation to anyone who wants to do it! I'm tagging you! Yes, you!

[moongothic]

In reference to this post; I was gonna reply in the comments but once again, it got too long, and I figured I might as well make a brief post about this because shit's interesting but the OG post was getting so long I didn't want to extend it any further. So. New post.

But I'm also going to make this a lowkey follow-up to this post, where I briefly talked about whether or not Crocodile is worthy of a redemption. Because I did have multiple people reply to it, mentioning they don't think Crocodile needs a redemption, which isn't wrong. Villian redemptions come down to personal preference (some people like them more than others generally speaking), and the specific circumstances of a character and the story they go through. (Personally, I am a fucking sucker for a good redemption story, and One Piece? Has how many redeemed villians? Kuma, Hatchan and Bon-chan? Perona too? Buggy and Mr 3 if we're generous??? I'm sure I'm forgetting someone, but the ratio is quite low is my point) The reason I want to bring that up again, is that depending on what Crocodile's trauma really boils down to (**since we don't know for sure what it is**), it could go against the very core messages of One Piece if he just dies without that trauma being resolved. And at the same time, if his trauma is what I think it is, then he can not heal from it without being redeemed. And the opposite is true as well, if his trauma isn't what I think it is, then he doesn't need to heal from it, and he doesn't need to be redeemed. I do have a whole separate post slow cooking in my drafts right now so I don't want to go too deep into that subject here and now. But the point is. If we want Crocodile to open up and be vunerable and heal from his shit, it means he's either getting a redemption arc or redemption in death. The latter is way fucking sadder, but again, a whole separate post.

BTW quick apology but I figured since there's a bunch of shit in this post that I've written about separately before, I might as well link to those posts for like context, so people can get where I'm coming from with my nonsense while keeping this post brief-ish

BUT ONTO THE ACTUAL SUBJECT As I have kind of mentioned before, I do think Crocodile probably has multiple layers of trauma going for him

We know losing to Whitebeard Did Things to his psyche for certain

I think it's very plausible he might've been betrayed by his former crew if he ever had one

I think it's likely Dragon didn't take too well to him transitioning

And between that and Crocodile already having tried to kill Luffy multiple times, he probably believes his son would never accept him as his other dad, especially since he already hates him.

(And I do think it's likely he might have some additional early childhood trauma based on how Oda writes these things normally but whatever that could be is an absolute mystery)

And if I'm right and those are (some of) the different layers of his trauma, then for Crocodile to open up and heal from it you'd need to do it step-by-step, layer by layer

I think Luffy accepting Crocodile would be the most important thing, above all else. Because if Crocodile loving and caring about his son is the only shred of humanity left in him, if Luffy is the only thing Crocodile cares about anymore while believing no one else will ever do so for him, then having that feeling returned is the key to getting Crocodile to just start to heal. If his son can't accept and forgive him then what would it matter what anyone else thinks? In my mind, Luffy is The Sledgehammer that can break Crocodile's walls.

But that's the first layer, the first step to getting Crocodile to become vunerable

If he does have that betrayal-based trauma, then I think finding people who would actually follow him and be loyal to him would help him heal on that front. And... This probably sounds strange, but I think Mihawk is the best candidate for it. Not just because he could be to Croc what Zoro is to Luffy (in many ways), and not just because of the Romancing SaGa 2 comparisons, but because Crocodile does already seem to respect Mihawk on some level. Like he specifically invited Mihawk to start Cross Guild with. IDK if they have like shared history before or if it's just because they're Fellow Former Warlords or simply because he knows Mihawk is strong and in a vunerable position (after losing his Shichibukai Rights) or what, but despite Crocodile saying he doesn't trust people, he seems to trust Mihawk enough to invite him. And he seems to respect Mihawk's opinions on things, like he might view themselves as equals. So if Mihawk, The Greatest Swordsman In The World of all people, genuinely expressed faith and loyalty to Crocodile... Yeah, I think that would do a lot for Croc. Especially if Mihawk found out about Crocodile's baggage and chose to follow him despite/because of it.

But if we want Crocodile to Heal ALL THE WAY. He and Dragon need to have a talk.

Which will not be easy, considdering like.

Look at that fucking expression on the panel on the right. Dragon is more than likely beyond furious with Crocodile over what he did in Alabasta. And for good reason. And frankly, I can't tell if they can ever come back from that.

(Sidenote, but this page these panels are from (from Chapter 1058) follows immidiately after the page where Buggy introduces Crocodile and Mihawk to Cross Guild, Dragon's placement on the bottom right of this page matching perfectly where Crocodile was placed in the previous page. So considdering what Dragon says and the expression he makes... Man, if there ever was a way for Oda to tell us what Dragon thinks of Crocodile without explicitly having him say it, yeah, this would be it)

And I'm sure that even if Crocodile got over whatever heartbreak might've happened between him and Dragon and just moved on... The fact that Dragon never called Crocodile and warned him about their son being a pirate, with a bounty, who might be on his way to the Grand Line, where he could stumble his way to Alabasta, where Crocodile was famous for his Pirate Crushing Heroics mind you... Yeah. Crocodile would have a perfectly understandable reason to be furious at Dragon too. He almost killed their son without knowing because Dragon never warned him, never told their son's name to him, never told his OWN full name to Crocodile.

So needless to say.

They have a lot of differences to overcome. Things they've done that they'd both need to look past, forgive and forget. Somehow. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit I'd find it damn near impossible to happen.

But can you imagine, if despite everything, Dragon still loved him? And was sorry about whatever the fuck happened 19 years ago? And didn't want to lose him again?

I think that would be the thing that would help Crocodile heal all the way in the end.

If Luffy is the first step, then Dragon is the last.

[sequinsmile-x]

I physically cannot stop thinking about Emily’s reaction if Jack asked her to officially adopt him and be his mom. I think she’d turn into a puddle of tears omgggg

hiii friend <3

I know this is likely a little different to what you were thinking, but I really hope you like it!

I decided to write it like this because Jack Hotchner turns 18 this month!! Which is insane. So it felt like a nice way to kind of acknowledge that <3

Please do let me know what you think! -x-

Building Blocks

A few months before his 18th birthday, Jack has an important question for Emily.

-x-

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: none!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily sighs contentedly as she steps onto the porch of her home, the thought of an evening with her Hotchner boys, after she’d been away for almost a week, was just the balm her weary soul needed. She digs through her purse for her keys, but the door opens just as she grabs them, her fingers wrapping around the worn and faded keyring that was a photo of her, Aaron and Jack that had been taken shortly after they got together. 

She smiles as her eyes meet her husbands, the sight of him casually dressed in jeans and a polo shirt enough to undo her even after all these years. She was more in love with him today than she had been when they got married. Something about the salt and pepper flecks in his hair, in the deeper laugh lines on his face, evidence of the joy of their lives etched into his handsome face, enough to make her fall for him again and again. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he says, stepping forward to stamp a kiss against her lips as he removes her go-bag from her grasp, slinging it over his own shoulder as he pulls back. 

“Hi,” she replies as she lets him guide her into their house, his hand on her lower back, pressing into the curve of it that had seemingly been made for him, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” he says, stamping a kiss against her forehead. He puts her go-bag down, idly thinking that he’d take it to the laundry room later as he does so, “Jack did too.” 

Her smile gets softer as she thinks of the teenager, the boy who was only a few months off from being a man. It was hard sometimes to think of how many years had passed by, slipping through her fingers like sand as she watched him, her son, grow up in front of her. He’d started calling her mom years ago. A slow transition from calling her Emily into the moniker that meant more to her than she’d ever care to admit. Even now it still warmed her from the inside out, made her feel happy in a way she thought she was never destined to experience. 

They’d tried to add to their family, tried to give Jack a little brother or sister, but it had never happened for them. It still made her sad sometimes, the slightly out-of-focus image of a child that was half her and half Aaron always just out of her grasp. It made her relationship with Jack, the little boy who she knows she couldn’t love more even if she had carried him herself, all the more precious to her. 

“He actually wants to talk to you about something,” Aaron says, a knowing smile on his face that makes her stomach flip. It was how he’d looked at her before he proposed, a nervous edge to it as if he’d thought she’d ever say anything other than yes. She frowns in confusion as he tucks some of her grey hair behind her ear, and it only makes his smile wider, “Come on, he’s in the living room.” 

She lets him lead her there and she leans into his side, content to let the scent of him and his endless warmth overwhelm her senses, slowly drawing her back into the comfort of their home and away from the work that left her feeling weary more than it didn’t these days. Jack jumps up from where he’s sitting on the couch when they walk in, he looks nervous, anxious in a way that makes concern start to simmer low in her gut, a shake to his smile as he walks over and hugs her as she detaches herself from her husband to hug her son.

“Hi honey,” she says, hugging him a little tighter, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, Mom,” he replies as he pulls back, his eyes flicking to Aaron’s as they exchange a look she can’t entirely read, as if they were privy to a secret she wasn’t, “I got you a gift.”

He leans down and picks up a gift bag that had been on the ground near the couch and he passes it to her. She smiles as she takes it from him, her eyebrows furrowing as she does so.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says as she sits down, her smile turning curious as she sees Aaron smile and nod at their son encouragingly as Jack sits down next to her and Aaron takes a seat in the nearby armchair, “What’s this for?” 

It wasn’t her birthday for a few months, and even then Jack’s was the week before hers, and their anniversary had been and gone. Aaron, and Jack to an extent, had always been big into gift-giving. Her desk both at home and in the office were covered in things Jack had made her when he was young. A pen pot that was rudely painted, a mug that leaked from the moment he handed it to her, a proud smile on his face, and countless paintings he now claimed were embarrassing when he saw them. 

“Just open it, sweetheart,” Aaron says, clearing his throat to smother a laugh when she turns to look at him, her eyes narrowed slightly. She looks back at Jack and sees the matching expression on his face and she rolls her eyes lovingly at them. 

“You two are ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head as she pulls out a double picture frame from the bag, and she smiles widely at the two photos in it. They were both of her and Jack, the first from when she’d just started dating Aaron. It was one he’d taken of the two of them on one of their many weekends at the aquarium. She’d hauled Jack onto her hip as he spoke at her about the sharks they were looking at, one of his small hands tangled in her hair and the other pointing at the tank. She was listening intently as she held him in her arms, unaware that Aaron was capturing the moment she was now looking at, frozen in time and shining up at her from behind glass. 

The other picture is much more recent. It was taken just a few weeks ago at Dave’s house, at a summer barbeque he’d thrown for everyone from the BAU’s past and present an annual event they all enjoyed. Again, Aaron had taken the picture, forcing his wife and son to stand there, their arms around each other, as he got the perfect picture. The juxtaposition of the two moments next to each other makes her ache, the passage of time far too fast for her as she looks back and forth between the two versions of her son. The little boy who had once insisted she carried him around the aquarium and the teenager who was now taller than her. 

“Oh, Jack,” she says, looking back up at him, “I love it. I’ll put it on my desk at work.” 

“Maybe you could replace one of those paintings I did in the 4th grade,” he quips, smiling when she raises an eyebrow at him. He clears his throat, his smile turning slightly nervous again, “There’s something else in the bag.”

She looks back in the bag and sees a manila envelope, she pulls it out and opens it, gentle as she removes the paperwork that was in there. She freezes as she spots the title of the form, her heart seizing in her chest as she struggles to breathe for a moment.

Petition for Adoption of Minor

Superior Court of the District of Columbia 

She was his legal guardian, she had been since she’d married Aaron, but she’d always been careful to not overstep, desperate to make sure Haley wasn’t erased, that she was still part of their lives. It was enough for Emily, and she didn’t need a piece of paper to determine whether or not Jack was her son. 

She looks up at Jack and she lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her emotions overwhelming as they hit her all at once, “Jack…”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he says, swallowing thickly, “I spoke to Aunt Jess and Dad about it and they said it was up to me,” he explains, and she looks over at her husband, unsurprised to see the wistful look on his face, the tears shining in his eyes, “And I just kept thinking about how you’ve always been there as long as I can remember. I love my Mom, I really do, but I barely remember her,” he says, his voice cracking as he talks about Haley, about the mother he never got to really know. Her love for him clear in her sacrifice, “I remember you. You’re my Mom too,” he wipes a tear away from his cheek and she feels her own fall from her lashline, “I want to do it. I’m only a minor for another few months,” he says, shrugging one of his shoulders nonchalantly, “And I want you to be my Mom legally.”

His words hang in the air around them, laying over them like a comforting blanket, stitched together with their love for each other.

“Sweetheart?” Aaron says, his voice soft as he reaches over and places his hand on her arm. The touch brings her back to herself, her chest feeling hollowed out, nothing but love for the family she’d found in the most unlikely of places spreading through her. 

“Yes,” she chokes out, nodding as she clutches the paperwork fiercely in her hand, crumpling it together, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was real unless the paper was all but cutting into her skin, “Of course, I’d love to as long as you’re sure-”

She’s cut off as Jack throws himself at her, his arms tight around her as he hugs her fiercely, “I love you, Mom.” 

She hugs him back and turns her head to kiss his temple, something she hadn’t done since he was smaller, “I love you too.”

Jack pulls away and smiles widely at her, tears still shining in her eyes, “I’m going to go tell, Aunt Jess.” 

He’s out of the room in seconds, all of the previous nerves gone and replaced with excitement, helping him bound out of the room. Emily gives herself a moment to blow out a steady breath, her chin trembling with the force of the emotions she was feeling.

“You ok, baby?” 

She turns to look at her husband and slaps playfully at his shoulder, “You couldn’t have prepared me?” 

He chuckles, and she’s sure it should make her mad at him but it doesn’t, and he stands from the armchair to resettle next to her on the couch. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his side. He kisses the top of her head, his smile so wide she can feel it.

“He swore me to secrecy,” he says, kissing her again before looking down at her, “He was nervous.” 

She hums and leans in to kiss him, a quick thing stamped against his lips, “I…never expected…” 

She couldn’t put it into words, couldn’t express how she felt. Totally floored by the request from her son, and how it felt like a piece of the puzzle she hadn’t realised was missing. The answer to a question she’d never dared to ask.

“I know, sweetheart,” Aaron says, stamping a kiss to her lips again, as aware of her feelings as he always was, “I know.”

___

The adoption goes through two weeks before Jack’s 18th birthday. 

The courtroom was bustling with members of the BAU, both current and from the past, and Jess, all excited to watch as the judge declared the adoption was official. They all cheered, sharing hugs and handkerchiefs when there were inevitable tears from Penelope and JJ, and Emily thinks the last time she’d felt so intensely happy was on her wedding day, another polarising moment from her life that had happened in a different judge's chambers just down the hall. 

Dave insists on hosting a party afterwards, always happy to have an excuse to have everyone over. As the evening ticks on Emily feels herself getting slightly overwhelmed, the emotions from the day catching up with her, snapping at her heels as the party being thrown in her honour only really gets started. 

She seeks out solace in Dave’s home office, looking for a moment of peace, but her solitude doesn’t last long. There’s a soft knock on the door followed by it opening and her husband peeking around it. 

“Are you ok?” He asks, his concern clear as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. 

“Yeah,” she replies, smiling tightly at him as she blows out a breath, “Just…I just needed a minute.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” He asks, and she shakes her head, reaching out a hand to him, inviting him to join her on the couch Dave kept in his office.

“Never,” she replies, smiling softly when he joins her. She immediately leans into his side, seeking out the comfort he always gave her. They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the rasp of the material of her dress as he runs his hand up and down her arm. She wipes a stray tear from her cheek and swallows thickly, making him look down at her. He hooks a finger under her chin and makes her look at him

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He asks, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, “Today is a good day.” 

She nods, chuckling humourlessly, “I know, it’s the best day,” she says, clearing her throat in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the shake to her voice. “It’s just…I’m someone’s Mom.” 

It was something she couldn’t get her head around, something she had once told herself she’d never get. She was someone’s mother, a title that now went beyond the confines of their home, something that would be recognised by everyone. 

“Sweetheart,” Aaron says as he smiles at her and kisses her forehead before he pulls back, love for her, for their family, making tears press at the back of his eyes, “You’ve been his mom for a long time.” 

-x-

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[maximilliansblog]

Trans people! We need to give ourselves clear transition goals! /nf

Because for the past few years that I've been transitioning, I've just said that i want an androgynous look. But what does that actually look like?

See, i'm genderfluid, and i would like to have a flexible look that can change with my gender representation. I would love to just be Bram from Scooby Doo Music of the Vampire (good job if you remember that movie, much less this guy) when I'm masc. Here I'll find a picture of him.

This guy right here. There were like no pictures of him online lol. But this would be a very unrealistic transition goal for several reasons. One: He is like 6 feet tall and I am 5'3". Two: He is skinnier/more well-toned than me. Three: He has this very gothy vampirey look (If you want to know more, he was basically in some kind of acting troupe that did vampire stuff but then he wanted to become an actual vampire so he became a bad guy and kidnapped Daphne as a sacrifice. It didn't work. Sorry for the infodump I literally pretended to be this character so much when I was a kid lol) that I would not be putting on every day, and even if I did, that would not look normal!

So what would be a reasonable transition goal? We should have a clear picture of what we want. There's tons of pictures of people on the internet, so we'll find one. But you have to consider a few things.

1.) Your height (You can only change this by an inch or two with those things you put in your shoes).

2.) Your weight (You can change this, but it takes a lot of hard work. I would recommend making your transition goal just how you are currently, but if your outwards expression matched your internal gender).

3.) Your face shape

4.) Your hair type (I really wanted to be one of those "fluffy haired" boys/enbies from Pinterest, but my hair falls flat on my head and has no texture! I tried to get that hair for over a year, but in the end, I couldn't change my hair type!)

5.) Your skintone

6.) Your muscle tone (You can also change this but like I said with the weight, you want to make your transition goal as achieveable as possible! You can always tone up once you reach that goal).

7.) Your personal clothing style

8.) Oh yeah most importantly, will your outward appearance be masculine, feminine, or androgynous (this can be genderless or a mix of feminine and masculine traits)? It is perfectly okay if you want to go for a look that is not traditional! Like if you're a trans man who wants to dress more feminine or something. That's totally fine!

All of these things must be considered when you find your references. I'm calling these pictures "references", like what artists use to make their art piece.

So for my references, I have to consider that I am 5'3", overweight but not quite plus-sized, I have a round face shape, a very fine and flat hair type, a cool-toned pale skintone, no muscle tone, a casual clothing style, and I want a masculine-leaning androgynous appearance. It would be very hard to find a reference with every single one of these traits! So collect multiple! Find one for your haircut that you're going to get, one for the clothes you will wear, etc. You can also edit images to look more like you, by darkening the skin tone (I don't recommend doing the opposite ^^) or slightly changing the face shape. It is also good to find pictures of fellow trans people with your traits as inspiration.

Here are the images that I found:

I narrowed it down to hair, body type, and fashion, but you can have as many references as you want!

Now of course, you won't look exactly like your references! In the end, you are you! Every person is unique. But hopefully, having a clear transition goal will help you in your journey :)

Have a lovely day you lovely person!

[cousticks]

What's your opinion on Chuuya and Shirase's relationship?

Alright. Alright alright. This is half 'their relationship' analysis and half just rambling about Shirase because that boy runs circles in my head. It got long so I'm putting it under a read more, but I really really encourage anyone to read it if you think about Shirase because I'd love to see others' thoughts too <3

Thank you SO much for this ask in particular, it was the push I needed to ramble about Shirase and was a lot of fun to think about

While Shirase... kind of sucked. He's a teenage boy. He's a really arguably normal teenage boy, with a bit of an ego, as teenagers tend to have. He's a teenage boy who grew up on the streets and had a pretty big lack of security. Chuuya, with all his flashy powers? He offered security. So when that security seemed threatened (such as with Chuuya seeming to join the mafia,) Shirase panicked and lashed out because his stability was threatened. And took it out on Chuuya. Which... trying to kill Chuuya wasn't great, but that's the world they live in. They're just teenagers, but the way they grew up? Teenager drama culminates in people getting really, really, hurt, or dead. Shirase is a traumatized street kid too.

When they first meet, Chuuya is half dead. Shirase offers him food and the Sheep as a whole offer him a place to go. At first, they definitely saw each other as just... kids. Like that's it. They were kids trying to survive together and helping each other do so. But if you think about it, Chuuya was in pretty bad shape when he found the Sheep. I really don't think he got out of the Suribachi explosion unscathed. He didn't know what was food. He probably didn't know much in general, honestly. Chuuya probably started thinking of himself as a burden upon the Sheep before he found his strengths (aka combative ability.) I think its somewhere in that period their relationship got more transactional. Self-fulfilling prophecy style, Chuuya would have stepped up to make up for all the Sheep did for him, thinking he had to do have been worth the Sheep's investment. And I don't think he'd ever say that outright. But he'd still make it pretty obvious that's what he's doing. The Sheep are a band of struggling kids, they're going to tend towards a hero.

Here's the thing about people that get popular. Here's an analogy. Think of some of the more rabid fans of celebrities you can think of, when the celebrity does something they don't like. How they post, outraged, about how the version of their idol in their head isn't matching what the actual person is doing. To a band of kids, Shirase included in this, Chuuya becomes an idol. He has an image to uphold. And these people that mean so much to Chuuya, that saved him, are going to get upset when he goes outside of those lines.

Now, Shirase in particular, I mentioned his ego. Originally, he was the savior. He saved Chuuya. He gave him that piece of bread. Shirase led Chuuya to the Sheep. He found the Sheep's hero, where's his recognition? He's jealous, for sure. And he knows Chuuya's status in the Sheep is above him by that point. So, as a jealous teenage boy with a violent life and an ego, he probably takes it out on Chuuya by pulling the "remember who saved you" card. To put Chuuya in his place, in Shirase's mind. To put Shirase back above, where he thought he was supposed to be.

And... all this kind of sucks. Chuuya is idolized and still talked down to. Shirase is jealous and bitter. But they still clearly have some kind of generally amiable relationship. Shirase approaches Chuuya like a friend first, in the arcade. There's definitely fond memories of Chuuya's transition into the Sheep. Its not all one-upping each other.

Let's go back to what I said about Shirase and security. He lashes out when that's threatened. Well, what happened? Chuuya left (Shirase's plan failed) and the Sheep are forcibly dispersed by the Port Mafia. All of Shirase's world pretty much comes crashing down around his feet instantly. Nothing is the same anymore. He wasn't a gang member ruling the streets of Suribachi anymore, he lost his platform, he was just some punk with a job and a cheap motorcycle. And its obvious he was driven to try to get back to where he was. We see in Stormbringer that he was hoarding supplies to try and recreate the Sheep. He craves that same stability back. The boy lost everything, of course he's upset. And who's been his scapegoat all this time? Who would he logically blame? Not himself, with that ego. He blames Chuuya. Shirase's hostile reaction when they first reunite in the car factory isn't surprising at all, all things considered. But... Shirase plays along anyway, eventually. Because he's threatened. He needs protection, security, and at this point, familiarity. Chuuya offers all of that under the threat of being targeted by Verlaine. I really think its that return to a brief sense of 'normal' that helped their relationship start to heal for Shirase's redemption arc in Stormbringer.

It takes until Chuuya is really under threat and duress and actually showing that he's struggling to break Shirase's illusions. Chuuya is still an idol figure in Shirase's head up until the battles in the lab. Chuuya always just gets up and keeps fighting no matter the situation. That's part of his illusion, the part he's forced to play to keep the Sheep's support that he still carries with him. Shirase had to see Chuuya struggling and showing it in a fight for the gears to finally click back in Shirase's head to the boy he offered a piece of bread years and years ago. I think that's part of how Shirase finally found it in himself to tackle the skeleton and save Chuuya in the lab. Its really a reflection back to their first meeting under the bridge. Its kind of like a reset.

Notice how after that moment they kind of start to get along again. They make fun of each other and laugh like kids again. That reset was what they needed to kind of start to heal it. Chuuya had to stop being an idol, to put his feet back on the ground and for Shirase to get over his ego-jealousy to realize Chuuya is still a kid like him.

They part on good terms. They do a secret Sheep handshake. Things aren't great but... things have never been great before in their lives anyway.

In conclusion, my thoughts are their relationship was bad in the Sheep because Chuuya was this hero-figure King of the Sheep, and the disbandment of the Sheep was the best thing that could have happened to their friendship. I think Shirase has a lot to apologize for, but Chuuya is a very forgiving person when he understands where someone is coming from. Hell, he forgave and didn't hold hatred for Verlaine after he killed the fucking flags. Chuuya forgave Shirase the moment he stepped in to protect him. What constitutes a better relationship is unique to them and the shitty hell situations that have followed their entire lives. They part on good terms. They forgave each other in the way teenagers do, by laughing it off, calling each other a mess, and moving on.

[meiieiri]

Hi! Another person here asking about Water's Edge (sorry). This is kind of an insight into your writing and your life, so if you don't feel comfortable with that or just don't wanna share, feel free to ignore this!

You're thinking of discontinuing the series because of lack in interaction, right? I can't think of a smooth way to transition into my question, so I'll just put it bluntly:

Is writing Water's Edge (specifically) something that you're doing for interactions or something you're doing for fun?

That question alone should determine whether or not you should discontinue the series.

If you're doing this purely for interactions, I'd say that I can't really help you. It's up to you if your writing is purely based on interactions.

If it's for fun, then consider how much fun you're having while doing this. Are you having fun writing it? Does it feel more like a chore than something you'd like to do? If it feels like a burden, then stop. Discontinue the series. If it feels like a burden because of interactions, try and disregard interactions and focus on writing. Never let views, interactions, likes, shares, comments, etc– determine the worth or fun of your writing. Ever. You may already know that, but it's just a reminder. If you really liked where the series was headed, then I'd say finish that chapter and see how things go. If you're happy with it and proud of what you did, then I'd say consider continuing it. If you feel like either a huge burden was lifted after finishing it or just genuinely exhausted, try taking a break or just discontinuing it completely. Personally, I was a really consistent poster once. It got boring and exhausting trying to think of new ideas. I'm now only posting once every 2 months, maybe? I feel much better.

Take my advice if you want, but you don't need to be completely swayed by my opinions or personal thoughts. Just take it into consideration. I personally really like Water's Edge. The storyline is interesting and the formatting is unique. I'd love to see more of it, but it'd be awful if you decided to put your work before yourself. If you do discontinue it, please take care of yourself.

Note: Maybe writing shorter chapters will make it less of a chore? The first two chapters were really long. Idk I'm not a writer. Just an idea.

Sorry this was really long. I hope you have a good day 💕 Sorry if something doesn't make sense or if there's grammar mistakes! I'm writing this on my phone :,)

I actually really liked reading this, damn.

And to answer your question, no, I’m not writing purely out of interactions, in fact, I first started writing this series because I really had a good idea on the top of my head, I just think that, with all my exhaustion writing these longass chapters, it’ll be great to see people actually picking it up and showing appreciation or even hate, lmao. Just something to be recognized would have gone a long way but — that’s something the old me would say. I was re-reading the last few chapters and I feel really bad of having to leave it on the table, completely forgotten, because this fic — writing this fic rather – is the closest thing I have to an actual baby :’3

But you’re right, I did a lot of thinking and I’m guessing we’re back on, this is something I’ll see through to the end. However bitter it may be.

Thanks for this, I needed that.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING HOLY

CHAPTER 6: Pulse

WARNINGS: angst, explicit content

SUMMARY: “If you’re trying to get me to hurt you,” Din grits out, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.” 

Her heartbeat, her pulse—both skyrocket. “Why would I want you to hurt me?” But Nova does. She wants to be annihilated by her Mandalorian. She wants pain from him, pain that drowns out the ghosts inside of her, deep enough that she could rise from the depths anointed. Reborn. Renewed. She needs something holy to cling to, to carve her true self out of.

“You need to come back to me.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HAPPY SOMETHING HOLY SATURDAY!!! me posting the next chapter within a two week span? WILD! i hope you love this one... it was equally fun and painful to write <3

If you're new here, Something More & Something Deeper are the first installments in this series, available on here & ao3!

It’s not morning. It’s never morning. Not out here, in the crush of space. 

They are in a windowless room. They are in transit, in limbo. 

Din’s going stir-crazy. He watches Novalise, steady, eternal. He doesn’t need the mask, not in here, not at all, really, not anymore—the woman sleeping by his side is something so much holier than his Creed. But his fingers are still clutched around it. He’s not sure if that still qualifies as religion. If he can pray to the helmet like he used to. If he can truly pray at all. 

When Din does pray, it’s not to the Maker. It’s not a vow to the Mandalorian Creed. It’s to the stars around him, above him, the ones that surround him now, that Novalise’s head will be safely returned to her body. That she won’t slip away. Not into the ether. Not into the pinpricks of light she’s so devoted to. She shines in the dark, his Nova. His locus, his temple, his fixed luminous point. 

He wants to believe in her the way she does in goodness—steadfastly. Without question. But right now, she’s… altered. Made darker. Flickering around the edges. 

He doesn’t think anyone else has noticed. Wedge probably would’ve, at this point, if he were here. He knew Nova before she was Nova at all, and there’s an inextricable thread that loops them together, that is woven as tight as family. Bo-Katan probably knows, from thousands and thousands of miles away, that something is off. Her sharp eyes are always trained on Nova. Her bloodhound nose picks up signals almost immediately. And Grogu, sweet, eternal Grogu—with his father’s steadiness, with his mother’s heart—touches those little fingers to Nova’s collarbone and can feel it in words that none of them can name. 

Din takes stock of all of this. The room is still pitch-dark. He can see Nova’s outline, shimmering. He’s not sure if he actually can, or if he’s just memorized her shape, but the semantics don’t matter. She’s sound asleep, a tiny whistling noise coming from her nose. And his heart, how it aches in his chest. 

“Nova’s different,” he imagines himself saying. He can’t figure out who. He needs someone like her to take a look, inspect her, interrogate her in a way he can’t. He doesn’t know what the warning signs look like for a Jedi—when they’ve tipped over into another world entirely. But that’s the problem, and that’s why Din can’t ever picture who he’s saying those damning, strange words to—Nova’s always lived in a different world than he has. She’s made of more—of starlight and shine and magic, magic he has never touched, a kind of divinity he used to thrash for, fight for, kill for, and yet—

She’s haunted. But more than that, she’s taken something out of the dark and transfigured it, transfixed it. She’s made it her own. 

And yet, there’s nothing in this galaxy or the next that could keep him from this kind of holiness. Din Djarin has spent this lifetime bringing people to their knees. Cutting off heads of hydras, slashing through blood and flesh and bone, and he’d beg for forgiveness over and over and over and over if it meant he could worship at the altar of Novalise Andromeda Maluev Djarin—savior of worlds, star in the sky, and the holiest thing he’s ever held in his filthy fucking hands. 

There’s something off about her. Something different. 

And yet. 

Din presses his hand into his tired eyes. He’s weary. Beaten-down. He wants to shake something, to take it in his hands and make meaning out of it. To grab the thing haunting Nova by the throat and force it out of her. To cut it down to size, into piecemeal. But whatever it is inside of her, and he doesn’t know if this ghost that’s chasing her around is a Jedi thing, or a Nova thing, and he cannot hurt her or he will blame himself forever. 

A tiny, terrible part of him whispers: Ezra would be able to fix it. The earlier version of that sentence is Luke would be able to fix it, but Din knows Luke, trusts him, knows what he lacks in subtlety he makes up for in flamboyance and kindness in equal measure. Luke Skywalker, according to Nova, according to everyone else in these circles—well, he’s kind of a big deal. Luke is to the galaxy publicly what Nova is to Din privately, and he knows enough about the man to trust him with his kid’s training and his wife’s heart. 

But Ezra Bridger—Din doesn’t know him. Nothing past visions and reverence; mystery and intrigue. He is a man who exists but doesn’t, and he lives in Nova’s head. And as much as Din knows Ezra is the key to fixing so many things, that he’s good, selfishly, irretrievably, he is jealous. It festers inside of him like rusted steel. Like an open wound. He is not proud of it, this enormous, awful feeling, but he cannot tamp it down. 

Din wants to be the only man who lives in Nova’s head. And he is certainly not good. Not pure. Not made out of the light. He is a bullet made of beskar, a steel-sharpened blade. It festers inside of him, an open wound. He wants to be good, to be worthy. 

To be deserving of the prayers that leak out of his covered mouth.

And yet, this impossible quest is now close to home, to something Nova considers holy—the remainder of the Rebel Alliance, her legacy, her roots, and he cannot let this feeling rear its ugly head. Can’t let it out of the cell he keeps it in. He is both jailer and prisoner, and it haunts him. 

Everyone on the Ghost is carrying their own ghosts. And he’s here again, at the intersection of ghosts and religion, of haunting and the Creed. And Novalise, in the middle of it all, in the middle of everything.

Circles. Din’s thinking in circles. 

He needs to get off this fucking ship. 

Nova inhales—sharply—once, twice, and then she jackknifes upwards, waking up like she’s fighting a war. One she’s losing. 

Din is on her in a heartbeat.

*

“Did I wake you?”

In the dark, Din shakes his head. Nova can feel it. She could even without any part of their bodies overlapping, even though they are right now, entangled like roots. She moves in closer, trying to shake the dreams from her head. To come back down to earth. Pressing her hand to the metal above her head, reassuring herself she’s safe, she’s okay, she’s herself— 

“What?” 

That word—it’s so soft. Nova closes her eyes, pressing the heel of her hand to her heart like that can manually stop the racing. She wills it to quiet, for everything to sink back down to normal, but panic is still leaking from her like a sieve, running like adrenaline through her veins. “What?” she repeats back at Din, deflecting. 

“What were you dreaming about?” 

Nova shifts in the vantablack. “That’s always the question, isn’t it.” 

A beat. “Novalise.” His voice is delicate, knowing. 

It makes her want to kiss him on the mouth and shove him away in equal measure. It shocks her, the violence of that—the intensity. In the quiet secrecy of their hideaway, she digs her fingernails into her palm, enough to draw blood, to gore the rest of the darkness out. Nova takes a steadying, stuttered breath. 

“Teeth,” she whispers. “So many teeth.” 

Din is quiet. “Is that a metaphor?” 

Nova manages a mirthless, tired smile, even though he can’t see her. “Most nights, I hope it is. This one? I don’t think so.” 

“Nova,” he says, so quiet. 

Nova sighs, squeezing her eyes shut tight. “It comes in flashes.”

“The teeth?”

The sickening thrash of all of it. That’s her answer. But Nova doesn’t know how to vocalize that—that she, child of the light, has been bathed in darkness, swaddled in it. It’s started to become familiar, and she hates it, but she is so tired of fighting an upward battle. 

“Yeah,” she mumbles, unceremoniously, praying that’ll be the end of it. She shifts closer to him, burying her nose in Din’s neck. He smells like metal and cinnamon, like always, but there’s something else on his skin—mint, maybe? It smells foreign, like the interior of this ship, and decidedly not the Crest, and not Kicker, and that makes her heart ache even worse. 

Din’s quiet. Pondering. Nova wrestles with wanting to tell him everything—Sparmau leaking back into her dreams like poison; Thrawn’s deep, unsettling voice. The ones where she’s fighting the unnamed villains that slice through her head. And the worst ones, the ones that feel so dangerous and raw that it makes her want to claw her eyes out—where she hurts Din. Where she hurts Grogu. Where Nova is not Novalise at all. 

“I can’t… speak it aloud,” she whispers slowly, so quietly it’s just a breath. “I can’t even put words to it. It’s just… darkness.” It’s both the truth, and not, and obfuscating it makes Nova feel sick, but she puts a hand over her stomach and presses hard, forcing herself to swallow it down. “I don’t know what to do, Din.” 

Seven small words; the weight of the world. They settle around Din and Nova’s entwined bodies, settling in like snow. Lethal and cold and dangerous, blanketing them in it. 

Din’s quiet. Observant. Nova can sense it, the feeling of his brown eyes on the side of her face, tracing it from memory. She swallows, trying to keep the tears at bay. She feels—off-kilter. Sideways. Like the version of herself she used to be able to wear like a shield—unbreakable, indomitable Novalise, rebel girl and starchild—was left behind on Mandalore. Like she’s wearing the version of that Nova’s skin, but the second she embarked on this journey, she left her behind. Like she’s possessing herself. 

And Nova can’t undo it. She feels wrong.

“You do what you’ve always done,” Din says, finally, and the words that she used to live and die by feel like a knife now. “You fight back.” 

“I am,” Nova manages, heavily, angrily, “so tired of fighting.” 

Din doesn’t speak, but she can feel his soft exhale in the dark. He moves closer, always closer. Something in Nova flares. She can’t tell if it’s want or anger, and the blurring of that line terrifies her.

“I need you,” Nova whispers, needing the words to be true. She reaches for Din, tracing down the line of his torso, reaching to cup him between his legs.

A hand shoots out to stop her. Lightning-quick. His grip is unyielding. It cuts so deep. Nova sucks in a wounded gasp. “No,” Din says, and there’s no warmth to it at all. “You don’t.” 

Nova recoils, blinking back sudden tears. “Din—?” 

“You are using this,” he whispers, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone, “me, as a bandage for what you’re feeling. I want you in every way but this, cyar’ika. Something is wrong, and you cannot use me to drown out that feeling. It won’t make it go away.” 

Nova feels a knife somewhere through her heart. It surges into her, white-hot panic. “Please—” 

“Novalise.” Her name feels distant, like it’s echoing from faraway, a place that isn’t this ship, a place that maybe isn’t even out in space at all. “Stop.” 

She sucks in a breath, shattered. “Din,” Nova breathes, ragged, heartbeat thumping off something wild. “Please touch me—” 

“No.” 

She pulls away from him. Violently. Nova digs her nails back into her bloodied palm, shaking when she realizes this is real, very much not a nightmare, and the glitter and snap of the jaws of darkness begin crooning at her. She is wrong. Something is definitely, decidedly wrong, and she is teetering on the edge of losing it, and she is exhausted, bone-weary, and there’s flames licking down her throat, between her legs, and she wants to be voracious, to feed, to drown everything else out with the thrush of Din inside of her—

Something snaps. From deep inside of her. A low, keening noise, the one she was making—it dissipates, suddenly. Nova feels—strange. She stands up, stick-straight, sweaty, freezing. 

“Novalise.” 

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. There’s a low scratching sound, coming from inside of her, gnawing. 

“Nova, you need to tell me what was in your dream.” 

She doesn’t move. She feels feverish, but this is a different kind of fever than the one she felt when she was slick with need, wanton, heavy. Nova feels—unhinged. 

“Me.” 

But her tongue—her tongue is not her own. The snarl that rips out of it is something else. Nova can feel it, the taste of it, and it’s wrong and bloodied and so awful that she puts her palm to her hand and screams into it. 

Din is on her in a second. “Baby—?” 

That word—it is not theirs. Not without danger preceding it. Nova thrashes, once, twice—she is undone and desecrated. Her body is not her own, it is a channel, a conduit, and the Not-Nova, the ones from all of her darkest dreams—she is slithering around inside of her, whispering, crooning, seductive, and Nova cannot grab herself, hold the evil at bay. Bring herself back into the light. 

Din surges forward, catching her body, holding her, cradling her. 

“Novalise.” 

She surges back into her body like a crescendo. A wave. An electric thrum exploding. Nova shudders, and Din flips the lights on, and she looks at him in confusion, because they were not on this ship, her soul was on a different plane, like she was caught between worlds, and Din’s holding her in his arms, his bare hands. He is not a Mandalorian, not protected from her in beskar and bullets, not behind a shield. He is a man, and, Nova realizes, sweat-slick and freezing, he is breakable. 

He’s looking at her like she’s—a ghost. 

Nova can feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She’s thankful for them, this proof that she is herself. She is emotional and undone, yes, but she’s not unhinged. She does not belong to the darkness. Din wipes the pad of his thumb across her mouth and it comes back bloody. 

“What,” he repeats slowly, softly, so gently it aches, “happened in your nightmare?” 

“I wasn’t myself,” Nova whispers, “and when I woke up, it stayed.” 

Din blinks. Fear is so foreign in his eyes. She looks up at him, half-lidded, through wet lashes. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she repeats. 

This time, he doesn’t tell her to fight. He doesn’t tell her anything. He just stares, and Nova can tell how scared he is. Unshakable, unbreakable Din Djarin—she’s terrified that she will become his undoing. 

“Nova,” he whispers.

Something else snaps. Thunders. Strikes like lightning. She stands up, stick-straight—like she’s just been blinked back into reality. “What just happened?” 

His eyes, barely recognizable in the dark, widen at her. “You woke up screaming. I asked what you dreamed about. Then you… Leaped out of bed. Onto the floor.” 

Nova stares. “What happened in between?” 

He goes to reach for her, and Nova flinches. Flinches. Not because she doesn’t trust Din’s hands on her—because it’s the only thing she trusts right now, the only thing that’ll keep her anchored. “I didn’t—I didn’t touch you?” Something flares low in her stomach. She thinks, this time, that it’s danger beckoning. 

Din rears back like he’s been slapped. Nova can’t tell if it’s from her flinch—so loud, so bright, even in the darkness—or if it’s from her words. 

“You woke up,” he whispers, “and got out of the bed like it was made of fire.” 

Nova swallows. She can’t get a grip on reality. It’s seismic, kaleidoscopic—she can’t make out what’s real and what isn’t, and she clenches her fingers harder down on her hand. “What happened in between?” She’s repeating herself. She’s not making sense. 

“You told me you dreamed of teeth. That you were scared of yourself. And then you leapt out of bed, away from me.” His voice is low, strained with something. Anger,  Nova realizes, anger, and probably confusion, but he’s schooling his tone to be as neutral as possible. 

“Away,” she repeats, “from you.” 

Din nods. She can’t see much, but if she could, Nova would be watching his jaw clench, the muscle jumping as Din grits his teeth together. 

“And you’re mad at me for that?” She can feel the sick swell of anger taking over her own body, and Nova tries to fight it, shut it out, but it feels—good. Alive. More alive than she’s felt in weeks. Since defeating Sparmau. No—since Din chased her down like prey on Naator. “You’re mad?” Her voice is breathy, low. 

“No.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Nova’s hand reaches out, flicking on the dim light. Din is silhouetted by the bulb behind him, and his face is contorted—with anger, maybe, but also fear. She can smell it on him. She wants to slam herself into him, to have it burn her down, to drown out all of the noise. But she doesn’t move. She just watches him. “I don’t think,” Nova whispers, even-keeled, all ice, “this counts as running from you.” 

It’s not fair. That word carries such a weight. She wants to take it back the second she says it. Nova swallows, blinking, that anger de-crescendoing out of her faster than it spreads. She feels sick. 

“Din—” 

“You want to play it like that?” 

“No.” Nova takes a step backward, clenching her nails back into her palm, feeling fresh blood whisper across the new cuts. “No, I don’t want to play at all. I’m sorry—” 

“I followed you into the darkness,” Din says, and there’s nothing there, no emotion, and somehow that sluices through her even deeper. The blade of his words is so sharp. “You cannot go anywhere I couldn’t find you. That place doesn’t exist.” 

But it does, that monstrous, traitor inside of her whispers, because I belong to something more, and there are places I go that Din cannot follow. 

“Din—” 

“If you’re trying to get me to hurt you,” Din grits out, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.” 

Her heartbeat, her pulse—both skyrocket. “Why would I want you to hurt me?” But Nova does. She wants to be annihilated by her Mandalorian. She wants pain from him, pain that drowns out the ghosts inside of her, deep enough that she could rise from the depths anointed. Reborn. Renewed. She needs something holy to cling to, to carve her true self out of.

“You need to come back to me.” 

She blinks. That cuts, but not with sweet silver blades. With something serrated. Dulled. She steps back as Din steps forward. 

“I haven’t gone anywhere—” 

“We both know,” Din whispers, “that’s not the truth.” 

“Something,” Nova says, “is wrong with me.” 

It’s like those words wake him right up—startled out of a dream. Not the one of her sick reflection in the mirror—something that’s held Din equally as captive. 

“Nova—”

But her name and haunted look in Din’s eyes is interrupted by three sharp knocks at their door. 

*

The door unlatches with a cold hiss. Hera stares at both of them. Din can feel her gaze hanging heavy on Nova, her sweat-slicked skin, her bloodied lips, her hair raging like a wildfire around her face. She is barely clothed and he is helmeted, half-armored, and he knows what this looks like, and it makes him feel sick. 

But Hera just blinks once, twice, then rights herself. She carries herself like both a mother and a soldier. It reminds Din so much of Nova. “I’m sorry,” she says, both crisp and genuine. “I didn’t want to wake you, but we have a problem.” 

Din squares his shoulder. Nova wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. She snaps back into herself—Mand’alor, Jedi, Rebel, all in equal measure. Now that it’s back, written into the code of her DNA, it makes it even more obvious that the Nova he was just interacting with was… wrong. 

“What?” 

Hera swallows, digging her hands into the pockets of her bomber jacket. “You need to come to the cockpit.” They file after her, Din feeling naked and undone without the rest of his armor. He watches Nova as she follows Hera up to the front of the Ghost. She plucks Grogu—asleep—off the copilot’s chair and settles down into it, eyebrows knitted down the middle. 

“Before I play this,” Hera says, “I need you to know that I trust Wedge Antilles with my life at this point.” 

Nova recoils. Din can feel his heart sink. 

“Me too,” she offers up. Din nods once. Sharply, in assent. 

“Great,” Hera says, “but I am also not listening to the warning he explicitly gave me. So.” A pause. She’s watching Nova closely. “And if you want to heed it, you are allowed to. I will walk into this fire alone. I would prefer not to, but I will.”

Din’s frustrated. But Nova—Nova offers Hera a tiny smile, a spark of something he hasn’t seen in days, and he cocks his head to the side, ready to follow her into the flames. All over again. “I,” Nova says, gently, evenly, “have explicitly ignored many warnings Wedge Antilles has given me for the sake of doing something stupid yet necessary. And the last thing I am going to let you do,” she continues, leaning forward to clutch Hera’s hand, which Din just now clocks as trembling, “is jump into that stupid yet necessary thing alone.” She pauses, squeezing down. “What happened, Hera?” 

Hera inhales, exhales. It’s shaky. Din watches her, carefully, through the silent safety of the visor. She leans forward, pressing a button on the screen. Din hears what Bo-Katan and Wedge are saying. He understands the situation—Thrawn’s massive Star Destroyer hanging over Bespin and Hoth like a bad omen—but he doesn’t register how dark it is, how deep. All he can think about is that Bo-Katan—Bo-Katan—is shaking in the blue light, Hera’s hand is cinched so tightly over his wife’s that it’s about to snap, Wedge is telling them it’s a lost cause, and Nova—

Nova’s face is not what he expected. Tears, Din would have predicted—lots of them, silently streaming down her beautiful cheeks. An expression of well-earned grief. For the destruction of a planet she’s considered like home, for the last true active Alliance base, for the people that she’s protected her entire life. But Nova’s face has hardened into resolve—true, unadulterated determination. 

It’s the one she wore when she fought Sparmau. It’s the one she’s worn in every act of Rebellion, every time she’s been a savior. She is a warrior at her core, and the face she is wearing is nothing but fight and glory. She looks like that version of Novalise—her true self—is slowly waking up.

There she is. Then, quieter: Thank the Maker. 

“I know Wedge said—”

“We’re going to Hoth.” Nova lifts her chin. “We’re going to fight.” 

Hera looks at her with fear and relief. Din can’t tell which one is winning. “We need fuel.” 

Nova nods. “Then let’s get it quickly.” 

“I should mention,” Hera says, slamming her finger down on the hyperdrive button, letting the Ghost thud out of warp, “we’re refueling on Corellia.” All of them lurch in the sudden drop, but they’re braced for impact, fortified with the muscle memory of living out in open space. 

Quietly, Din speaks through the modulator: “That’s convenient.” 

A smile glitters across Nova’s face. A true one. 

“I hope you’re prepared to fight Wedge on his warning,” Hera says, lowering the thrusters as they slowly start to sink onto the cesspit named Corellia. “Because when we land, you’re both going to find him and Bo-Katan.” 

Din shifts, refusing to display any of what he’s feeling. He is strong and stoic, a bullet made of beskar. He’s a Mandalorian warrior, and he is not afraid. Except the first time he and Nova were on Corellia, he killed a rogue bounty who would have made shrapnel out of her. And the last time he and Nova were on Corellia, he almost lost her to visions of Sparmau and herself. Death, Din has concluded, is in the air on this stars-forsaken planet. 

Corellia and Din Djarin are, decidedly, not friends. 

He sighs. Nova gleams. She looks over at him—full of knowing, that look, and something else he can’t entirely place—and extricates herself from the chair with the giddy grace only she has ever possessed, slipping back into their room to don more clothes than secondhand baggy trousers and a barely-there tank top. When he turns back around, Hera’s eyes are on his, dead-on, through the visor and all. She doesn’t miss much, Hera Syndulla. Against his permission, Din shrinks and shifts under her gaze. 

“Convenient,” he echoes, finally. “That fuel and the Mon Cala vessel are both down on Corellia.” 

She blinks slowly. “I wanted this reunion to be in less dire circumstances. But, for better or for worse, these are the lives that we’ve chosen to lead.” She sighs. 

Din observes her. Hera carries herself with the same precision, the same rigidity, that he does. What they lack in magic is made up for in skill. “Do you think this is a good idea?” He can’t tell if he means Corellia, or Hoth, or fighting at all, but the sentiment is the same regardless. Wary, murky. 

Hera lifts her chin. “I think this is war, and we can’t play it safe.”

Din nods. “I agree.” Hera holds his gaze, uncanny, those blue, discerning eyes, and he turns away, to go after Nova, to right the wrongness that they both held earlier—but Hera’s soft hand lands on his unarmored arm. He jerks away, like he’s been burned, instantaneously, and she rescinds her touch. Nearly as immediately. Din’s respected Hera from the second she rescued them, but even more so now. 

But her eyes—they burn with grief and loss and it hurts him to look at her head-on. He knows his own eyes burn with the same demons. It’s part of the reason he keeps his helmet on for the most part now. Din doesn’t know how to school his expression in the way non-Mandalorians do. But, he realizes, it doesn’t matter, because everyone in his life seems to see right through the visor anyway. 

“Din,” Hera says softly, “I loved a Jedi, too. It’s…difficult. I know what their world is like, and it’s full of horror and wonder that we cannot understand.” 

He stiffens. “Ezra?” 

A small, sad smile dances across Hera’s mouth. “Yeah. Ezra, too.” 

He pauses, turning back around to fully face her. “What happened?” His question is low, urgent. Probing. He feels like he’s betraying Nova, but he needs to know. “To your…other Jedi?”

Hera swallows. Her face is written with sadness. That’s not something Din normally notices, but it’s like a beacon, like—like the way Nova feels. Full to the brim of emotion, so big that it overflows. “He fancied himself a martyr, too.” A flash of her eyes on his. “Don’t,” she whispers, “let Nova give into that sentiment. The rebellion will live on without her, but it will never be the same.”

“Hera—”

“You love her?” With the weight of this galaxy and the next, he loves her. But Din can’t speak that aloud. He just manages one terse, fervent nod, and knows she understands. “Good,” Hera says, “then you keep that light alive.” 

And with that, she releases him, and the spores of terror that have been festering in Din’s stomach spread and spread. 

*

Nova doesn’t have armor. Doesn’t have anything, really, anything other than her own tank top and the pants Hera lent her, which must not have been Hera’s at all, because Hera’s got curves, but not like Nova’s hips and thighs, and these are belted tight around her waist. Her hair is hanging down her back, braided halfway, the rest of her rogue curls hanging loose out of the elastic. Her skin looks sallow, typical from spending so much time in the vantablack of space. Her lips are puffy, her eyelashes long and tangled, her torso wrapped in a shawl and one of the extra jackets hanging on the back of the Ghost. She smooths her hands over the front of the ill-fitting jacket—cropped above her waist, the sleeves too long—and wishes, for one of the only times in her life, that she did have armor. That she was just a Mandalorian, just the Mand’alor. That her biggest responsibility was uniting a people that had been razed and divided, not given to them in fragments—not this leader that was equal part Jedi and Rebel, with Mandalorian sprinkled in. 

Her reflection—it looks like her. Nova hitches in a breath, afraid to peer too close, afraid to see the Not-Nova looking back. In her dream, she had teeth that snapped and glittered, a gaping maw of horror and half-ness. But the only thing reflected is her face, her body, her eyes. Nova smiles, and it’s soft—echoing glories and morning, sunlight filtering through the cracks. No razors. No darkness. She feels relief spark up in her heart like an old friend, and she touches her fingers up to her reflection, willing it to stay. 

“Good enough,” Nova murmurs, and then she’s out the door. She presses her lips to Grogu’s wrinkled forehead on her way by, squeezes Hera’s hand with a silent promise, and looks up at Din—obscured, always, but she knows his eyes are locked tight on her like a tractor beam, like a place of worship, like… he’s watching her. Carefully. Steadily. Two things she doesn’t feel. “Ready?” For a minute, before he nods, she’s caught in it, suspended, the way he’s holding her hostage, captive. Safe.

“This goes without saying,” Hera murmurs, and Nova’s reverie is broken, “but please don’t take any risks down there. Get out, find the rest of the crew, and get back here.” She swallows. “We don’t have time to waste.” 

Nova nods. “Be safe. Getting the fuel. Corellia is…” 

“This place,” Hera says heavily, slamming her fist to disengage the hiss of the ramp, “is the least of my fears.” And the gangplank lowers, revealing the gray slush of Corellia’s crime-ridden, grimy surface. Nova inhales, exhales, grabs onto Din’s gloved hand, and walks down the ramp. 

Din has the tracking chip in his hand. Nova walks behind him, out into the abyss. His body is tensed, a steel bullet, a weapon of mass destruction. She keeps her face low, obscured from the light, but she can feel the seedy, dangerous gaze of the people that pass by her. She’s got nothing of worth, no pockets to pick, but her sabers are loud and vibrant on her belt. One light, one dark. There’s a metaphor in that, somewhere, but Nova is too busy watching Din as he dances through the low light of Corellia, powerful and precise as a lothcat. 

Once upon a time, she tried to barter with him. Back when he was just the Mandalorian and she was still Andromeda, lifetimes ago, ages back, what feels like years and years. To leave her here. On Corellia. Because she felt guilty—guilty that she wasn’t able to fend for herself, that he picked her up in the Crest, that they were strangers. It feels impossible now. To look at the man in front of her and see anything other than the love of her life, her locus, her true star. 

“What?” His voice is low, throaty. It filters through the modulator, slipping off into somewhere deeper, and Nova shivers. They step through an alley, a slice through two walls, puddles and brick littering the ground around them. “I can hear you.” 

Her eyebrows furrow. Nova takes one step, two, and then Din’s whirled back around, hooking a gloved hand under her chin. It’s bold and determined and vital, and Nova sinks into the black hole of his grasp. Slowly, Din cocks his head to the right and Nova thrills. 

“Hear what?” It’s barely a whisper. 

Din sighs, an exhalation, coming out low through the vocoder. Nova bites down on her lower lip, blinking up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Your thoughts,” he grits out, “are so damn loud.” 

Nova licks out a line over her split lip, and Din sags. Just for a second. Then his arms snap out, bracketing her on either side. She sinks back against the wall, body slamming into the wall with a sick, satisfying thud. “What am I thinking, then?” 

Din doesn’t move. “No.” 

Nova blinks. “No, what?”

Din blows out a breath, again, low and languid like a smoker. Nova’s heart clenches, then something lower, wetter. “You’re being,” he grits out, low, almost angry, “a fucking distraction.” His words cut through, like a knife. Nova loves the way it sings through her. “We have a job to do, Novalise. And we need to talk about what happened earlier. We have other things to finish first.” 

Nova knows. She knows. But frustration and want are pouring free from her, sluicing through her body, desperate and wanton. Din is the only thing that has ever silenced that panic—that’s ever made her quiet. “I know.” 

“People to save.” 

Reality floods back in. Just a little. Nova doesn’t put words to it, because it’s awful, it’s horrible, it’s venomous, the thought. That she’s so tired, tired of always being the savior, tired of chasing an impossible reality. That she wants to be selfish, to feel Din’s hands on her like a salve, like a resurrection. Like she could open her mouth and let him whistle in, dirty, filthy things exhaled, sweat dripping down to the steel floor. Like it could make the visions disappear, like it could flood out all of the weight hanging over her head. 

“I know,” she repeats, dully, but Din’s gaze is still on her, locked-in, seizing her closer and closer. 

“I’m not touching you.” 

Nova’s gaze flickers over him, to the arms that are clenched hard against the wall. “Not even a little?” 

“A little,” Din hisses, “with you, is everything. I can’t stop once I’ve started. And we have a mission to do. I’ll ask you again, Novalise. What do you want?” 

Nova bites down on her swollen bottom lip. Reality is running currents through her. She needs to get her head on straight. To remember what she’s here for—there is a planet at stake, there are people to save, and she is being selfish, so selfish, but the monster inside of her head is purring, and Din’s body is like an oil slick, and she is undone and starving. 

She knows—in the back of her mind, where rationality still lives, she is whispering to herself—Din will not touch her. Din will not drown her like she’s begging to be drowned. Novalise is starving. Emaciated—deprived of touch, touch she had hours ago, because Din’s body is both her heaven and her hell, and she is addicted to it. Addicted to the fix that is her husband, her Mandalorian, her weapon, the love of her life—she has a mission to do, she has the fate of the galaxy on her shoulders, and she’s hungry like an addict, and all she wants to do is feel Din sinking inside of her, rhythmic, seismic, pushing her down, deep enough where the only pain that exists is him, the only salvation is his hands, his mouth, his letting her breathe—

“Novalise.” 

She blinks. “What I want and what I need,” Nova whispers, shaking and undone, “are two very different things.” 

She hears the way Din’s breath catches in the modulator. “Nova—” 

“You know what I mean. We’ve been through this already.” She leans in closer. Her breath fogs up his visor. With the strength of a thousand stars, she wrenches herself free, ducking under Din’s arm and moving out into the maw of Corellia, needing to put distance between their bodies before she does something rash, before she gets on her knees, before she loses sight of her mission— 

“Nova,” Din calls behind her, his voice sharp and heady—needy—and Nova keeps moving, clutching the tracker in one hand, silently blinking out the correct path to Bo and Wedge, away from that dangerous, razor-sharp desire, because she will slit her throat with it if she stays here. She will give into it, into the plunge, and she will not be able to extricate herself. “Hey—” 

His hand closes around her wrist. It’s sweet, sweet relief. She snaps back around, so fast that they almost crash into each other, yanked back into the alleyway. “Don’t hide. Don’t run from me.” 

“I am not running,” she whispers, everything faint against the feeling of his touch against her skin, “I am losing.” 

Losing time, she means. But losing—grip. On herself. On reality. Like she’s been—drugged. Or like she’s living across different timelines, almost identical, but not close enough to match. She blinks, once, twice, and then Din’s surrounding her again, even as she tries to move forward. 

“What is going on?” 

Nova stops—almost letting Din collide with her, beskar and all—but she looks at him over her shoulder, sirenlike, dangerous—and catches exactly where she knows his brown, deep eyes are locked on her, laser-sharp. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know, and it terrifies her, because she is muddied and violet, pitch-dark with desire and shame, and Nova has never felt indecision like this before, this terrible seam ripped open inside of her stomach. She doesn’t know. 

She doesn’t know anything except the basics. She doesn’t want to fight—not anymore. She wants to win. She wants a quiet life with the man she loves, and she wants this galaxy out of turmoil, but the dark thing leaching inside of her stomach wants to be selfish, and it’s terrifying, and she has no idea how to put this into words—to be Novalise, just Novalise, the girl the Mandalorian picked up on Nevarro. Everything flashes before her eyes, lightning-quick, the beats of her life—from sacred touches to low breaths, to commlink calls to tender kisses, to sweat-slick sex to awful rainstorms of tears, to death, to life, to this moment. Can we start over? Nova thinks, reality cold and crisp in Corellia’s mangled air, and then— I feel…wrong—

“I can’t tell what’s real—”

“Wait.” Din steps closer, but the visor is pointed down at the blinking tracker in Nova’s hand, suddenly gone silent. “They’ve dropped off.” He puts his hand to his helmet, and Nova watches him, dazed, shaking, like she’s woken up from a dream, guilt running like ice through her veins. “Bo-Katan? Can you hear me?” 

No answer. Static. Silence. Then—Nova hears it, faintly, the incredulous, frigid voice of Bo-Katan Kryze. It’s one of the best sounds in the universe. “Din?” 

Din’s body sags, just a little, and Nova feels the same sweet relief coursing through her, overriding the sick sense of awfulness she feels—at letting want overtake need, at wanting something selfish rather than something more—and she swallows it down. This is not the place for want. This is the place for fighting. 

Din projects the frequency outward, grabbing Nova and dragging her in close, close enough that the two of them can hear it, but the quickening dark of the heart of Corellia around them doesn’t. “We’re in the middle of the city,” Bo-Katan says, “hiding the best we can. Din, this place is crawling with—” 

“I know.” His voice, low through the modulator, vibrates against Nova’s ribcage with her body pressed almost flush against his. “Don’t move, okay? Stay where you are.” 

“Not an option,” Wedge cuts in, “there’s troopers and bounty hunters everywhere, and the Mon Cala we were with sold us out.” A blaster fires. “Look, we’ll hotwire a ship and come meet you. Where are you located? Still in hyperspace?” 

“No,” Nova says, and there’s yelling and fire through the comm, and panic replaces relief and guilt in equal measure, “we’re on Corellia, we’ll come to you. What’s your coordinates?” 

Silence. 

“Wedge?” 

“You,” he says, sourly, “are a terrible listener.” Someone shouts, and Wedge curses under his breath. “We’re in the middle of Coronet Center. Do not come here—” 

It’s too late. Din clicks the radio off, stifling Wedge’s voice, and then he’s grabbing Nova’s hand in his. She looks over at him, silently resolving to figure it all out later, to pull herself together. His hand clenches in hers, and he nods, and then they’re running, entwined, into the heart of the storm. 

*

Din’s thoughts on Corellia hold fast. This place is crawling with unfriendlies—from the stormtroopers armed up to the nines with blasters and weapons to the bounty hunters with blades of steel to the men who keep looking at Nova sideways. The deeper and deeper they crawl, sinking into the pit of Coronet Center, Corellia’s capital city—it becomes clearer and clearer that no one here has good intentions.

His eyes slide over to her. Too much. Enough to take his eyes off the prize. Navigating this city is a hellscape on a normal day, but with their friends trapped in the belly of the beast and his wife unsure, unsteady—Din doesn’t feel in control.

He’s felt like that a lot lately. Out of control. He can’t figure out why. He wants, and that want pulses low inside of him. The desire to get the hell out of here whispers to him, wheedles, croons. It lives under his skin like a parasite. Back on Mandalore, before they left to go find Ezra, before they left for the Unknown Regions, Din told Nova he wanted to just go back to Naator. But that wasn’t possible. That’s not in her nature. She doesn’t abandon things. She doesn’t give into the same selfish haunts. She’s stronger than that. Than anything, really, even while she’s seeping through the cracks. If a woman could be forged from beskar, it would be Novalise. 

She’s walking like she’s injured something. Din watches her out of the corner of his eyes as Nova steps—gingerly, carefully—across the grayscale streets, littered with scrap metal and trash and terrible things. Needles. Bones. Corellia is a grifter’s paradise, and she does not belong here. Her hip, he thinks, something’s wrong with her hip. Probably still injured from the starfighter crash, and him sinking to the hilt inside of her hours ago probably didn’t help. 

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Nova whispers, but it’s playful. Lighter. 

Din shoots her a sideways look. “I’m not—”

She lifts her chin, swinging her head around to check the alleys behind her. It’s getting darker, and on Corellia, that means more dangerous. Nova’s hand finds her belt, where her yellow lightsaber and the Darksaber hang. She palms her own, then the Darksaber. Din watches this too. “I know where your eyes are at all times, Mandalorian.” Nova smiles, and, Maker, Din’s stomach lights up with butterflies. “Even under that helmet.” 

“You’re hurt.” 

Her face shutters. Just a little, but Din’s an expert in Nova’s micro-expressions. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

He tilts his head to the side. “Can you please tell me what your dream was about?” 

Her face contorts. “It’s not related.” 

“Novalise,” Din sighs, “you are the worst liar I have ever met.” 

She narrows her eyes. “Me. Okay? Like I told you. I was myself, and then I wasn’t, and I keep hallucinating things, and the reason I need you to keep touching me is because it’s the only real thing I can hold onto.” Nova licks over her lip, tongue lingering over where it split back in the crash. Din wants out. He wants to gather Nova in his arms, jet out of here with the pack strapped to his back, shoot his way to Bo and Wedge from the air. He can feel eyes on them from the shadows, though, and anger flares in his chest. 

No. Not anger. Something worse.

Fear. 

“Nova—”

“No,” she whispers, but she grabs his hand for a second, squeezing down, “not here. We’ll talk about it all later, I promise—” 

He hears it before he sees it. A blaster, drawn out of his holster. Din ducks and yanks Nova down to the ground alongside him, razor-sharp and quicker than breathing. She doesn’t yell—in fact, she goes quieter, and when the shot ricochets off his armor, Din’s already got his own blaster out to return the fire. He doesn’t have his vibroblade, but he wishes for it; to sink between the notches of armor and sear into the trooper’s skin. 

They weren’t shooting at him. They were going for Nova. 

Her hand is already at her waist, but Din moves faster. He cuts forward, steel toes light against the Corellian ground, and he’s on the trooper before another shot can even hit the barrel of the enemy’s gun. He fires, once, twice, then kicks the dead trooper to the ground. Nova’s watching him, wide-eyed. 

“There’s more.” 

He whips back around, ready to fire. He doesn’t need to, though. 

Nova’s hand pulses over the sabers hanging on her wrist, and without a second’s hesitation, she’s ignited the blade.

Corellia doesn’t glow yellow. 

No. It flickers with the angry, pulsing energy of the Darksaber.

*

The Darksaber used to be heavy. Like it was resisting her. Not anymore, Nova realizes, as stormtroopers pour out of alleyways like ants, storming across the ground around them. Din’s quicker, a soldier—but she has a weapon in her hands that’s meant to be wielded. Once upon a time, killing was a haunting, awful thing. She still aims to stun, to disarm—not to cut down. But she could. With this blade in her hands, Novalise could bring an entire city to its knees. She moves like a Jedi and fights like a Rebel, and she cuts forward like Mandalorian. Simply. Like it’s written into her DNA. 

Din, in her periphery, is dropping trooper after trooper. But there’s… there’s more, coming out of the cracks, incessant. Nova knows that something is amiss. She can taste it in the air, heavy and metallic, the tang like blood. Corellia is crime-ridden, yes, but this is different. And then there’s other people, not troopers. 

Bounty hunters. 

“Din,” she calls, and he turns to look at her, and Nova can feel the panic flash, white-hot through her veins. They’re surrounded. Completely. She feels like she lost time—she was just cutting them down, cleaving through the air like it was nothing, leaving the troopers’ forces scattered. But she blinks, just once, and she’s surrounded, but white masks and evil eyes alike, and Nova feels adrenaline and fear slice her clean through. 

“Nova!”

But he’s choked out by the thrush of troopers, hundreds of them. Nova loses sight of him. She tries to cut through, and then a bounty hunter flashes his teeth at her, and she stumbles, the blade of the Darksaber snarling as Nova falters. 

“I thought you looked familiar.” 

Nova clenches her jaw. “I don’t think we’ve met.” But he looks familiar. His expression does, at least—darkness gathering there. 

He laughs, an evil smile curling across his face. She can feel the ranks closing in behind her. Nova lifts her chin, holding the weapon higher in her hand. “Oh, we’ve met,” he says, cocking his head to the side, a sick glint emanating from his eyes. “You’ve done a good job transforming yourself—Novalise, is it now? Come a long way since you were tied up like a prize on that ship.” 

Nova’s stomach clenches. “You—” 

“Shame Jacterr didn’t like his things to be touched.” He surges forward, hand outstretched to caress her body. “But he’s not here now, is he?” And Novalise explodes.

Fury swings forward, flooding everything else out. Nova screams out, cutting, cleaving, using the Darksaber as it was intended. A weapon fit for a king—in the hands of something more than that. Something stronger. Nova slices and knifes with the blade until there is blood on the ground and pink mist of a man in front of her, and she feels nothing. Just anger, red-hot, pulsating like lava, and she cuts through stormtrooper after stormtrooper, until she can see Din again, surrounded by bounty hunters.

“Hey!” Nova screams, loud enough to echo across the surrounding buildings, “Mandalorian!” 

Din’s head doesn’t fully turn—he’s blasting with one hand and choking out another trooper with the other—but the side of the helmet flashes her way. 

She holds up the Darksaber, blade still ignited, transfiguring everything into greyscale, and shouts again. “Catch.” She tosses it through the air, high above everyone’s heads. Din’s gloved hand snaps out to catch it. Perfectly. Like it has been his all along, like it belongs to him. Like it’s craved his touch, like it’s breathing a sigh of relief to be reunited with his hand. Nova offers him one radiant, glowing smile, and then she’s ignited her own lightsaber, turning everything to yellow, then to ash. 

Together, slowly, Din and Nova clear a path through the thrush of troopers and hunters, cutting fast and hard and away, and then—

Something happens.

She can’t see it. But she can feel it. Nova stutters—like her body stops working. She can’t describe it—this feeling. A shuddering. It rips through her like fire and shutters her defenses, and even with the saber in her hand, she feels—depleted, suddenly. Hair’s standing up on the back of her neck. 

And a second later, she knows why. Din cries out, a noise that she’s only ever heard him make when he’s wounded, a soldier cut down in battle. There’s a bounty hunter trying to pull his helmet off, another one gripping his neck, exposed, now, his tan skin a beacon in the dark. And even though Din is allowed to be Din now, Nova’s anger roars through her, the weight of an exploding star. She surges toward him, troopers crawling over her like vermin, like bugs, but she will not let anyone in this world take Din’s autonomy away from him, not again, not ever— 

“Novalise.” 

It’s her own voice. 

She turns. “Not now,” Nova whispers, cutting through white armor with her golden blade, trying to let everything drip out of her, trying to tap into that sense of magic that runs like a current through her bloodstream. 

“Novalise.” 

She turns. It’s not the version of herself from the nightmares. It’s the version of herself from the future, the one gilded and saintlike, untouchable—holy. 

“Help me,” she whispers. Bring me back, she means to say, and this version of herself smiles, reaching out to touch her face. “Get me closer, help me—” 

“Novalise.”

Exasperated, exhausted: “What?”

“You have all the weapons you need.” A beat. “Call it by name.” 

Nova closes her eyes, and when she reopens them, it’s like lightning has surged through her veins. Back when she was fighting Sparmau, all the Jedi had told her don’t throw it away. This was an echo chamber of that, a repeated cycle, an endless paradigm—call it by name. 

It’s one word. Her name. “Novay’lain.” It’s a whisper with the force of a scream. And all the light floods back into Nova’s body. Everything that was dimmed, covered in gasoline, or nightmared into reality—it stands no chance. To radiate. To shine. 

She tears through the rest of the troopers and hunters like an asteroid. She is singular, Rebel girl with the Force aerating through her bloodstream. She’s on Din faster than any of the rest of them can, and she’s swinging and cutting her blade through the air, white-hot and gilded. All of the darkness settles into her bones, the light shooting to the surface. She could wield the weight of the sun if she needed to, to get to him. The hunter prying Din’s helmet off is cut through the middle. Sawed off. Torso in two pieces. Nova doesn’t even blink. 

“Come on,” she whispers, dropping to her knees beside him. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Din spits something out onto the ground, splattering over the armor of the dead trooper at his feet. Blood. It looks like blood. He yanks his helmet back down, the illusion of the untouchable snapped back into place, and then he shakes his head at Nova, sighing. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Electric, white-hot—that’s how she feels. Illuminated, yes. But on fire. Nova is moving with adrenaline that doesn’t feel borrowed. Not anymore. She is supercharged, a yellow blade, surrounded by silver and nettle, divinity and blood. 

They’re firing like bullets down alleyways. Din doesn’t have the tracker out anymore. She doesn’t have a hard and fast map of where Bo-Katan and Wedge are, but Nova doesn’t need it. She feels them, can hear their heartbeats, can sense their wounds. She turns, frantic, down another alleyway, and then Din’s hand slips out of hers. 

She stumbles, catching herself on either side of the alley’s walls. “Come on,” she whispers, gently, turning around to face him. “We have a mission to complete, remember?” 

“Nova—” 

“They’re right on our tail, Din,” she says, blinking rapidly, heart hammering a brutal rhythm out against her ribs. “Come on.” 

“Wait, no—” 

“Din,” Nova says, out of breath—why is she suddenly out of breath? She sags back against the wall, the light inside of her chest rapidly dwindling. Her vision is flickering. “Din—?” 

“Cyar’ika,” he whispers, “stop.” 

Nova does. She looks down. 

Impaled in her stomach is a blade. “Oh,” she whispers. Her vision blurs further, and then her knees are buckling, collapsing—

“Novalise—” Panic flashes through Din’s voice. “No, don’t you dare—” 

And then, like a dying star, everything goes pitch-black. 

*

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AHHHH I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!! this was such a headrush to write. i am SO excited to share this one, and i hope you're ready for the next chapter. i've already started writing it and man… i cannot wait to share it!!

thank you, as always and eternally, for reading, for being here, and for sticking with me <3

CHAPTER 7 COMING SOON!!! for day-to-day updates, follow me on tiktok @ padmeamydala :)

xoxo, amelie