#also bet people have written this like a thousand times already

[teddybasmanov]

The villain: *gives the hero, who has finally reached their lair, a scolding on how they've fallen and turned away from the light of their divines by killing the villain's minions and showing anger* The hero: *trying really hard not to laugh and failing harder and harder every passing moment* The villain: what are you laughing at? Have you gone mad? The hero, grinning like a cat: I thought you were supposed to be smart and you bought into everything! All that purity talk is just propaganda for the peasants - "opium for the people" and all that - it's all junk - actual divine powers have nothing to do with it. The villain: *stands there with their mouth open* The hero: I thought you knew - and here you are - mx "I'll kill millions for world domination" giving me a morality lecture - which I didn't care for by the way. If I were you I'd be saying prompt farewells to my head because it'll be departing from your body in the nearest future. The villain: what? The hero, casting a 'divine' light from their hand and cutting the villain's head clean off with one motion: what?

[ferrstappen]

the first time we broke up l Lando Norris

a/n: im sad so I wrote something sad? imsorry lol. feedback is always appreciated, and if you like this please let me know bc this is a story I have a pt 2 in mind <3 also, we are soon to reach 1k? on my side blog? OMG <3

pairing: Lando Norris x female reader

warnings: a teeny tiny mention of sex if you squint real hard, swear words.

words: 2.7k

genre: fluff, angst, everything tbh.

summary: it was easy to remember how you and Lando fell in love, but it kept getting harder for you to remember why you love him.

You didn’t fall for Lando Norris right after you saw him for the first time. 

He was a bit shy, easily flushed, but the glint in his grey eyes never failed to appear whenever he saw you. 

You didn’t meet him with the thousands of people following him, girls trying to get his attention, a garage with his name written in big letters. 

No, his racing career was a bit under wraps in your neighborhood. Yes, everyone knew the youngest Norris boy was into racing and had a promising future, but he still was the boy they’d seen grow up, nothing out of the ordinary. 

You joined Millfield right after he dropped out to focus on his career, but somehow your circles combined and were eventually introduced to each other just as teenagers. 

Lando didn’t exactly chase you, neither did he say anything to you; he was content with the way your gentle eyes met him, eyebrows raised while listening to one of his stories racing. Lando was sure he was sleek, covering his feelings.

Well, it’s not like he exactly knew about feelings. He was a teenager, getting accustomed to the weird twist in his stomach whenever he was told you were coming to a reunion, the inevitable way the corners of his mouth shifted when he noticed you, the glimmer in his eyes when you noticed him. 

You were oblivious as well. Maybe the feelings weren’t as clear as those of the curly haired boy with a passion for racing, but he made you happy as a friend. His presence gave you a tranquil sensation, you could listen to his stories, the drama between his mates on racing, the country he visited last week… you never realized when you began needing those stories, those eyes, those curls, to make your day, your week, your month. 

You remember vividly when he got to the coffee shop where you always met, this time just the two of you, completely unaware your mutual friends denied your invitations in order for either you or Lando to make the first move. 

Only one person in the group bet on Lando, everyone´s money was on you to make the move… if only you recognized the feelings. 

There was an unknown pep on his step when he saw you already sitting on the corner booth, and his smile only grew bigger when you told him you’d already ordered for him. 

His usual. 

You knew what Lando liked. You paid attention to him. 

That realization, that you knew him, you observed him enough to know how he liked his tea, how he always ordered a fresh orange juice because he needed something 

cold. It stirred something in him, Lando couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something shifted; the twisting was more intense, his heart beating faster, his hands getting clammy, his throat blocked because his brain was ordering to let his feelings out in the open. 

But he didn’t do anything until you left the small café, and that’s where you got the answer for his happy and almost childish demeanor.

A black mini, with tinted windows and everything. 

He asked if you liked it, coyly resting his body on the passenger door, keys carelessly dangling on his index finger. You laughed, loudly, asking how was he going to drive if he didn’t even know the street signs.

He shrugged you off, reminding you he’s an almost professional racer. 

Still, you pretended to be terrified when he switched the ignition and the engine roared, driving you home. 

This time, as you watched him drive you through the gloomy English skies, the same twist in the stomach, the closing of your throat, hands itching to touch him.

And you did. 

Lando didn’t try to hide his enormous grin when your hand was placed on his knee, then finding a more stable place over his hand on the stick console. 

He stopped the car in front of your house, the iron gate half covering the large family home, green filled your surroundings. All these details never left you; the humid window, water droplets running through the iron gate, the grass was greener after the rain last night, his shaky hands running through his curls every five seconds, his eyes finding your own as your name left his lips, even if he didn’t exactly know what to say.

Time stopped when you kissed for the first time. 

It was cliché, but it was true. 

The first kiss with someone you liked; the start of something new and exciting, the beginning of your first love. 

And it continued just like that. 

Movie dates, Lando masking his fear when meeting your father when he was just arriving from work, his mum telling you to wait for him upstairs because he was running late. 

Falling in love with Lando was easy, too easy maybe. Lando Norris was easy to love, with his boyish grin, the mischievous glint in his eyes when he made you laugh, the tears escaping his beautiful eyes when something was too funny, the way he clutched his stomach because laughing physically hurt him.

He always went all in, never trying to pretend something he wasn’t, never masking his feelings. 

Lando shared the same feelings, but maybe he fell in love with you before he was aware of it. Perhaps it happened after you dedicated him a bright smile, the way your facial expressions changed when he told you a story, feeling lucky during a weekend trip to Brighton where you let him be the first one to really love you, to truly be vulnerable with. 

Those weekends watching movies and playing Call of Duty, falling asleep with your hand on his hair, waking up every once in a while with your leg over his middle, surprising you on a school day to pick you up on his black mini whenever a race calendar was changed. 

Then, he was offered his first seat in Formula One for McLaren. 

You jumped into his arms, screaming with joy as his parents joined you in the living room, his tear stained cheeks knowing it was official. 

You don’t know how it happened, you’d been together for two years already when he was announced as the new driver, and maybe you were too young and naïve to think the only thing that would change was the distance after he moved near the McLaren headquarters, his calendar messier and tighter. 

You didn’t bother him to ask what you should wear to the first appearance on the paddock. Maybe jeans and a blouse would be okay for Friday, a long floral dress on Saturday to match the warm aussie weather, but Sunday…

When you voiced the concerns to your girlfriends they immediately got to work, marking a date on the calendar to go shopping. Your mum did the same, even offering to take you and the girls to London for the weekend. Money wasn’t an issue, you just wanted to look worthy of being there, the girlfriend of a Formula 1 driver. 

You stayed up all night studying other girlfriends. You checked Isabel Hernáez who always looked angelical and casual, freely using the merch of her boyfriend’s team. Giada Gianni gave you more inspiration with one colored suits, ankle length dresses, white jeans. Cate mas more into black leather, ripped denim shorts and high heels. Maybe you’d take inspiration from a pregnant Kelly Piquet, with cute dresses with denim jackets and jumpsuits.

Getting to know people on the team was easy, everyone was friendly and took time getting to know your name, shaking hands, introducing you to other members, but you didn’t really see Lando. 

Of course you didn’t, he was busy preparing for the race. 

But you didn’t see him afterwards; he didn’t look for you after the press point. At least his parents were there as well and they didn’t know about his whereabouts. 

He arrived to shared hotel room, throwing his body on the bed. You could see him still trying to process his first weekend on F1, not being on the sidelines but a protagonist, a star. 

But you were already wearing your pajamas. 

He never saw your outfit. 

The season went by and you don’t really know the moment where you sighed after not getting a text, a facetime call, an emoji. 

It was blank. 

College was kicking your ass, all of your friends were dealing with the same, and you wanted to lean in your boyfriend, to tell him you were tired, stressed and sad because you missed him, but never really got the chance because most of the time it was his assistant who picked up the phone and said she was going to remind Lando to call you. 

You weren’t oblivious enough to ignore the lacing pity on the woman’s voice, because she did rely the message every time, but Lando forgot every time. 

Or maybe he didn’t care.

The first time it ended, you expected it. It hadn’t been one of those situations where the boy notices his girl is drifting away and by all means necessary tries to win her back or remind her why he was the right guy for her. 

He didn’t even notice your absence in the last races of the calendar. Why would he? He didn’t pay attention to you even when you were there cheering for him, so why would you bother to fly across different continents if you’d only see him on a fancy hotel room where he fell asleep and be gone the next morning. 

Your friends started looking the relationship with other eyes, mixed feelings, not being able to ignore the mood swings whenever your phone vibrated and it wasn’t him. 

They also knew you saw the different fan accounts with his name, posting pictures of different women leaning in his ear and a grin decorating his features. 

It was the same grin, the same twinkle. Maybe he was more confident now and didn’t want to settle, because in your eyes, if he stayed with you he was settling for the easy, the known, the familiar. But maybe he could do better than that, perhaps he deserved the new, the exciting, the adventure. 

You don’t know when you took the decision, maybe when he called to tell you he was home and to come over to plan the Christmas presents.

And it gave you hope; of course he was going to be overwhelmed during his first season, it was a new life doing what he loved, and people seemed to really like him as well. 

He greeted you with a smile and quick peck, lacing his fingers with yours and walking upstairs of his family home. You greeted his family on the way, his younger sister announcing she needed your help with a school project, but Lando told her it was his time with you.

And your smile grew bigger, hand tightening around his.

Nothing prepared you for what was to come, though.

He said it so nonchalantly, like it was nothing, just a small relocation. 

Lando kept walking about thisnew apartment McLaren was paying for him; he could even have a yacht almost parked in front of his new apartment.

It was the dream for any twenty-year-old.

But you knew you didn’t have a part in that, because it didn’t take an expert to know how it was going to end. 

This wasn’t the case where everything would be fine because both people were just so sure in the relationship, not because they loved each other, but because they trusted and complemented each other. 

And that wasn’t the case for you and Lando anymore. So when you told him the words I think we should take some time, he didn’t take it too well.

Lando was blindsided, he felt betrayed and hurt and angry just by the fact you thought of needing some time away from him. He wasn’t aware of everything you’d done to try to fit into his lifestyle; the cameras, luxury, lack of stability. 

He didn’t slow his voice or quiet his tone. No. He got up from his spot on the bed and asked how you could do such thing to him, why if he’s been nothing but a loving boyfriend, and he couldn’t believe how selfish you were being, leaving him because things got harder than expected.

It wasn’t easy to smile through the tears flooding your eyes, even if it was a painful smile, but it was liberating to let him know everything you’d done for him; moving, studying in planes and uncomfortable airports, humiliating yourself with his assistant because he simple didn’t care, the sympathetic DMs announcing he was seen with a girl last night, they didn’t do anything but seemed really close. You got one of those messages every other week when you didn’t join him. 

He scoffed, tried to ridicule you, trying to express his feelings the best way an immature twenty year old could do.

“I don’t want to take some time, I don’t care about that. If you want to break up then that’s what we do. That way I don’t have to wory about giving explanations of whatever I choose to do,” His eyes didn’t meet yours, but it wasn’t because he was sad or anything, it was because he was angry with the situation, with you, and with him, even if he didn’t realize that part yet. “When did you become so selfish, you couldn’t wait a couple of weeks or even days after I got home? You are aware of that, right? I’m home with my family for the first time in fucking forever, and you decide to break up, fuck you.” 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to hold it inside much longer; vision blurry from the tears, lungs trying their best to keep breathing with the thick knot on your throat. 

And that’s when you knew it was over, because you didn’t want to fight. You didn’t want to make your point to him, knowing he wouldn’t understand. 

That was the first time you and Lando broke up.

[halfamask]

Ok idc if I get hate for this but I HATE Sakura haters. “Oh she’s so useless oh she doesn’t do anything she lets naruto and sasuke do everything” I-

Sakura is the only main character we see who’s not overpowered in some way or part of a shinobi bloodline. We know how important those are in terms of powers, allies, mentors, etc. sasuke unlocks the sharingan and gets powerful. Naruto has the nine tails and also incredible heritage. Her best friend ino is from a major clan with special mind jutsu. Everyone else- shikamaru, choji, kiba, hinata and even neji, shino, even gaara + sibs, most of the main characters have some sort of familial/clan support and power. The only other one we see who doesn’t is rock lee but what does he get? The unwavering dedication of guy sensei. I love Kakashi but damn he did Sakura dirty with training when he focused on naruto and sasuke.

So she comes from no shinobi background, masters chakra control before naruto and sasuke to climb the tree, is one of the only if not the only person to solve the written part of the chunin exam without cheating just because she’s so smart, and people have the audacity to shame her? Oh she’s scared in fights YEAH OF COURSE SHE IS? Naruto and sasuke aren’t scared of zabuza and haku and orochimaru but she’s not a 12 year old boy with unlimited power and even more audacity?? She’s a girl who has no special abilities and learned a week ago to climb a tree.

She was done really dirty in shippuden too bc she finally got tsunade to be her master after being ignored by kakashi, mastered healing and was the only one of her disciples to actually master the thousand healings and she’s still relegated to being useless bc she’s not as good as naruto and sasuke. The first arc of getting gaara back shows what she could’ve been as a character: a selflessly brave shinobi who’s intelligent enough to think of new solutions like forming the antidote to sasori’s poison and letting chiyo control her to fight sasori. She’s the one who formulates the antidote to save gaara. Yes she’s manipulative at times and uses Naruto’s crush on her to try to get him to come back to the village but yk what? She’s a fucking shinobi. That’s what she does. She manipulates and fights and uses all her resources to complete her goals.

I’m tired of seeing her called useless bc she doesn’t stack up to classmates with clan support, is weaker than the two overpowered main characters in the show, and has appropriate fear responses to things.

Edit to add this includes boruto era Sakura hate. Ppl hate bc she wears the uchiha insignia UH YEAH she married into the clan and also do you remember what happened to the last kid who was the only person who wore the uchiha insignia hint his pain of being alone got to him and he ran off to orochimaru. Oh but hinata/temari/ino don’t wear their husbands’ clan insignia YEAH BECAUSE they’re already part of powerful clans they can’t switch up on loyalty like that Sakura has no clan so she can. Oh lol Sakura’s the only one who could have an uchiha kid who needed glasses yeah ykw she’s the one who can make her vision perfect with healing I’m betting this comes from sarada’s dad who destroyed and switched up on his eyes like 1836283 times. Also she’s a brilliant doctor and tsunade’s best legacy it’s not her fault that sasuke is an absent husband and father when she’s done nothing but be a present, active wife and mother who doesn’t hold back on her love for her family

[max1461]

Scattered thoughts on "let's have a universal language for the economic benefits".

So like, ok, some object level considerations: languages are not dying out (mostly) in favor of English. Like, English is not naturally becoming a universal language. Languages die out in favor of local majority languages, and there's hundreds of those. I feel pretty confident in saying that the only way to achieve a universal language within a couple of centuries would be some sort of highly authoritarian set of language policies that I think everyone in this discussion is against. So we're not getting a universal language naturally any time soon—in particular, not within the present technological horizon.

I think once we look outside the present technological horizon the issue is probably mostly moot. Like, machine translation is already getting very good. I suspect it will be within my lifetime that the job of real-time interpreters can basically be totally automated, at least outside of particularly high stakes contexts. And maybe in the far future we'll all be a hive mind or some shit, I don't know.

So anyway, I don't think "we're going to get a universal language naturally soon, and that's something that will have large economic benefits" actually stands up very well to scrutiny on the object level. I would bet against this.

Worth noting also that I don't think that at present language barriers are a large source of economic friction in the industrialized world. Like from naive observation that just doesn't seem to be the case. Maybe it is, I don't know. It would be cool if someone had stats on this.

Anyway, I think the large-scale "linguistic homogenization will be really good" thing is probably not likely.

The more thorny issues are local (in both time and space). Being a member of a minority speech community has various economic downsides, and in exchange speakers often report intangible benefits like a sense of pride, a feeling of connection to ancestors, access to works (such as oral or written literature) that are composed in the language, etc.

Obviously I'm a big fan of vague intangible benefits because I'm one of those Gender Havers, and the idea of sacrificing some practical utility in exchange for like, achieving my desired expression is very close to home for me. So I'm always big on defending the value of intangible benefits.

Of course not all members of minority speech communities report intangible benefits. I think this correlates a lot with, you know, ideology, just like gender stuff does. The point is that people have complicated feelings about their relationship with language and you can't always predict what they will be. This is why I compared the ethics of minority language immersion schooling to population ethics questions about ending autism. See that post for elaboration.

Anyway, you could probably predict I was going to say this, but the point I keep coming back to is "languages matter a lot to people, and once they die you can't get them back, so you probably should not throw them away lightly". And when I say that languages matter a lot to people, I don't mean to linguists. I mean like... if you ever listen to someone from a moribund speech community, here in the states at least, the relationship between language and personal identity is something you'll hear about immediately. I've heard some version of "when a people loses their language, they've lost everything" about a thousand times. And like, sure, the concept of identifying with "a people" might not hold much stock for you, but the concept of identifying with a gender doesn't hold much stock for a lot of people. I think it's important to take people's word for the intangible benefits they say they derive from stuff.

So like, I guess the upshot is:

My strong hope is that within my lifetime, redistributive economic policy and the advancement of machine translation will make all ethical debates around language policy absolutely trivial. In the meantime I think it's worth supporting policies that support the existence and continued use of minority languages. Obviously not if it impinges on individual rights—you know, I'm not saying anybody should be forced to speak their parents' language, that's fantastically beside the point.

I'm not just saying this because I'm a linguist and, clearly, find language to have aesthetic value in themselves. Although, you know, I do think that. It's just not the most salient fact here.

[berrypockets]

I promise this is a Tommy Shelby Imagine.

Plane rides aren't really my thing - from watching too much action and horror movies I believed I had developed some sort of aerophobia, or maybe I was just imaging it, I don't know. I've been flying several times a month and look I'm still alive.

"Y/N?"

Yes, that is me. Y/N.

"Y/N L/N?" I haven't been called L/N for sometime now.

"Y/N L/N, it's really you!"

I try to open my eyes. First class should have privacy and not crazy fanboys.

I drag myself to open my eyes only to be met by dark colored eyes similar to mine.

"Yes?" Whoever this person was - I have no idea. He looks neat, sharp in his suit, a killer smile and eyes that I'm almost certain can catch a cabin crew by the end of this flight. A fuckboi.

"It's me, YEx/N L/N." He proudly introduces himself; but introductions are far too gone, I know the man sitting and smiling at me. I know him too well that I'm willing to bet he hasn't changed a bit over the years. "How are you? It's been so long since I last seen you."

"Yeah.." It was all I could say. I try to take deep breaths because in my imagination the plane's air suddenly wasn't enough to keep me alive before we could land.

"20 years," he started. "20 years and you haven't changed a bit."

20 years. I haven't realized it had been that long.

It was a lie, I changed.

"So business or pleasure?" I shot him a look of disgust and he just kept on smiling. "You're going to Boracay, right? So its either of the two: business or pleasure."

I couldn't believe that someone who I haven't seen in over 20 years haven't aged mentally in 20 years. Business on the front and pleasure on the side.

"I'm all about business actually, got an offer I couldn't refuse. It pays well to have connections. I come to the island every once in a while, I'm a consultant for hotels and restaurants."

I never asked yet he tells me his life story. His arse was through the roof, and I could do him a favor if I threw him out the plane just to see if that arse of his have wings. But I chose to be the better person, I decided to keep my silence and nod my head pretending to be amazed by his achievements.

From the side I could see how his eyes would travel up and down on me, until he set sight on a certain thing he found interest to open a new topic on this dreadful flight.

"Big ring," he didn't sound pleased. "Engaged?"

I followed his sight and there it was, a diamond ring and a silver band resting on my left finger.

"Married," I said proudly.

His lips pursed, his eyes looking down on my ring. Disappointment and anger was clearly written on his face, only a idiot head over heels with this fool would misinterpret that look and sympathize for his pain.

Silence was brewing and I knew him too well to know that there wasn't going to be any good in his silence. And I was right.

"With looks like yours and a body like that, you could get any man you want. And by looking at the size of that ring, you've hit the jackpot!"

I didn't know if it was destiny or what but of all the people in this planet, the universe had decided that it would be best to have him seat beside me. I was never the type to make a scene, especially in public, but if it wasn't for the crew announcing the plane would land and everyone must stay on their seats, I would have sworn to the gods that this man would already be dead.

Strangling him wouldn't be enough, stabbing him a thousand times wouldn't be enough, any form of violence and torture wouldn't be enough to satisfy the rotten feelings I harbor for this man.

A bus took us passengers to the port, I had been on this island as it was the starting point of my life, it was also the end and the change. Clear blue crystal waters and fine white sand awaited as the boat crossed the sea.

A five minute sail from the main land to the island and there a shuttle from the hotel awaited at the port exit, and the universe was testing my patience. It seems that he will be staying at the same hotel as I am. 15 minutes of ghastly trip with him seated by my side; I could see how he would turn to smile from time to time or how he would accidentally brush his hands against mine as the shuttle would turn on every intersection.

"Aren't you married?" I asks, as I stepped out of the shuttle. He wasn't amused by my question, as I too with his flirting.

"Unhappily," he says.

I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't. A man who cares about looks and a woman uncontented of anything.

The staff started to unload the luggages from the shuttle to the hotel. The place was breathtaking, from the grand lobby with high ceilings over to the crystal water pool to the white sand beach upfront I could see from where I stand. I had momentarily forgotten a certain someone until I felt a hand grabbed me to which I was pulled back to reality.

"I was wrong," he started. "What I did was wrong and I regretted letting you go. I shouldn't have done what I did, if you could give me a second chance I promise I won't screw up, and I could give you much more than that man of yours can give. Please, give me a chance to fix us."

There was a high pitch sound ringing in my ears, a stinging pain in my hand and as if all the ranging feelings that I had been harboring were slowly escaping my body.

He was stunned by my sudden action, but so was I. It had been one hard of slap for him to keep his hand on his cheeks. A slap was nothing compared to the things he did. Some of the staff and guests were already staring but I couldn't care less.

"A chance is only given to someone who deserves it. The way you looked at me the entire flight and the accidental touch of hands was your way of flirting since then before until now, even when you are married and I told you I was. Do you think you deserve to be given a chance? Even if you did, even if others did give you that chance I. Will. Not.

I gave you chance after chance back then, when you flirted with Gale. When you got drunk and slept with Joan, or when you were forced to kiss Eliza over a stupid game of spin the bottle! You used all your chances and you never got any left since you walked out the door."

He was about to say something but I wasn't through.

"You want to fix us? There is nothing to fix! You left me, remember? You just left without giving a fucking explanation! And I was responsible for picking up the broken pieces of me.

You choose her, because I could never uphold to your stupid explanations and now you see that I'm happy, suddenly you want me back? Don't you think I deserve happiness too?

Do you really hate me that much to want me back and break me again? I never deserved you. You never deserved me and you deserve whatever is happening to you know.

I had always thought that there was something wrong with me, so I changed. I stopped drinking, stopped eating my favorite food to lose the weight, wore fucking dresses and heels to make me more ladylike. I even stopped hanging out with boys even though they were the ones I'm most comfortable with because you always say that people will think that I'm a whore if I continue to be with them!

And I just should have let people call me that; I lost my friends because of you. I lost myself because of you. Some part of me drowned and couldn't be saved because of what you did."

"Then why didn't you fight?!"

He must be joking.

"Fight? Why would I fight in a battle that I already lost halfway? I knew you were seeing her. I knew You. Were. Fucking. Her. And yet I fucking stayed!

So you have no right to ask if I fought, because I did even though I lost. It was you who didn't fight!

You chose Zareena, because she was more pretty, rich, sophisticated, something that I wasn't. And after you left I realized why you chose her, because I was never good enough for you."

People were looking, but I didn't care. I went straight to the bathrooms to fix myself, as I look at the woman in front of me I could say she is damn strong, she's someone I want to be when I grow up. Tears were useless, I already cried for that bastard many years ago and I'm not doing that again.

After fixing my makeup and clothes I went straight to the front desk. Some of the staff were still looking but I confidently made my way, I had carried that weight in my heart for over 20 years wondering what I did wrong, having it all out out was finally shutting the box and throwing it out to sea to drown.

Well of course he will be staying at where I'm staying, I might have forgotten that. I could hear the other front office associates giggling, saying something like how they were excited to work with him.

"I'm looking for Marie," I told the FO Associate.

He must have heard me because he was coming towards me, "If you have trouble with your reservation, maybe I could help you-"

"I'm not." If I did he wouldn't even be an option to ask for help. He must have gotten the message as left going to the other side of the hotel lobby.

"Welcome back Ms. Y/N," Marie, the Front Office Manager came out from the back office; and a dear friend of mine. She was the only one who never made fun of me or called me names when I started as a Hotel Manager in this same hotel, and I made sure to repay her kindness with everything I got. "I already had someone send your bags to your room."

"Mummy!"

A small voice echoes through the entire hotel lobby. I knew it too well that the moment I turned around I see my 3 year old son running towards me with open arms. I scoop him in my arms, and he immediately wraps his arms around me, his head sinking in my neck.

"I missed you, Mummy." He whispers, we only haven't seen each other in two days and my heart would melt on how my son misses me.

"I missed you too, Charlie." I say as I kiss his head and rubs his back.

"I want ice cream."

"We'll have ice cream after lunch. Where's Daddy?"

Charlie then makes this gestures as he brings his hand to his lips and blows an imaginary smoke.

My husband and his habits. He's at the smoking area then.

"Daddy!" I set Charlie down and watch him run towards his father. I couldn't help but laugh as he excitedly announces that we were having ice cream after lunch than tell his father I've arrived.

With our son in his arms my husband came to my side and gave me a kiss to welcome, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Tom." Like father, like son. God I love my two boys.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone, Y/N." Tommy says, he looks over and I saw the person in view. "Love, this is Mr. YEx/N L/N. He's the new hotel consultant."

No wonder those FO Associates were giggling, YEx/N is the hotel consultant who will be overseeing every operations from the front and back.

"Mr. YExL/N, this is my ever beautiful and amazing wife Y/N Shelby and our son, Charlie. My wife is the CEO of the Shelbreeze Resorts and Hotels."

I gave him my most beautiful smile. Oh have the tables turned.

"Welcome to Shelbreeze Crystal Sands, Mr. YExL/N. I'm afraid we won't be needing your services after all." Tommy looks at me with a questioning look, but he knows better. "I'll have Marie send someone to fetch your bags and drive you back to the airport. A ticket will be ready when you get there. I'll assure you that you'll be on the first flight back."

Terrified. That what he looks like. I'll make sure that his connections get burned to ashes and he gets an offer he couldn’t refuse.

"No hard feelings, Mr. YExL/N. I just don't want someone to screw over my husband's company then suddenly leave for no apparent reason. I'm afraid I won't live up to your expectations as your boss, after all I will never be good enough, right?"

Tommy placed his hand over mine and holds it tight. I never told him a name, only the story, and I think he got the message.

"I would appreciate it if this will be the time we'll be seeing each other, Mr. YExL/N." says Tommy.

Marie immediately stepped in and assisted YEx/N on his way out.

"Oh, Mr. YExL/N before I forget," Tommy calls out. "She's more than enough."

Boracay Island is truly an amazing place to be, and I decided to set my story there thinking it would be a perfect place for a Tommy Shelby Modern Imagine.

[ MASTERLIST ]

Note: Thank you again for the 100 followers. I hope you like this story. Comments are deeply appreciated.

[quietbluejay]

Angel Exterminatus 6

Raven Guard daily affirmations we've gotten back into the silly zone also i can't help but think of "hrrrg i'm trying to sneak through the vents but my body is too dummy thicc and my armour too cumbersome and-"

quietbluejay was then shot by a raven guard sniper

not in this universe they ain't

Nykona: I need enrichment in my enclosure. This is why I am sneaking around on the ceiling

aloooone

incredible sharrowkyn batmanning it up like i am darkness i am the NIGHT tarsa: oh hai there

tarsa realizes that to talk to nykona you need to break everything down to small manageable phrases

welp over to the captive Fists again. Life continues to suck for them.

Back to the Iron Hands

ohhh the Drukhari (proto-Drukhari for the pedants) are playing both sides

love this guy explosions and happiness on planet medusa

Sunk cost fallacy? What's that? Is it something you eat? No, that's sand and rocks

oh we're back to kroeger ❤️

i feel like mcneill is perhaps doing a theme here

i've honestly found this character trait of perturabo to be really interesting compared to how I see people talk about him (again I might be missing stuff) (i know a lot of it is memeing but you can meme on chocolate eclair backbone as well!) and yet it's absolutely a core character trait (at least in this book. who knows how he will be written elsewhere) perturabo lacks initiative he does not move unless moved upon he has pie in the sky dreams, but no real ambitions and concrete goals he is willing and able to work towards, no grand strategy this makes it entirely unsurprising that he was basically chilling in the eye of terror for ten thousand years it also makes it unsurprising that his move when he had enough was to just...pack up and nope out there's stuff he wants, but never enough to make a stand and go for it, or to say no.

i am feeling the teenager vibe in this iron warriors ship tonight

you're part of the team now kroeger you gotta go drinking with them

My goodness they're worse than the Thousand Sons

actually, this is basically Kroeger at all times

I like him already OH ITS THEIR WARGAMING ROOM

Kroeger (local jock) got bullied by the nerds to come down and play 40k yes. this is funny to me.

just watch i bet it was Soulaka who designed it

oh nvm Kroeger: can I get a restraining order Lucius: restraints you say fortunately for Kroeger his sempais are here to back him up

bruh??? since, uh, when, exactly, did imperial forces care about targeting the civilian population i mean in terms of "we shouldn't do it"

man this really is peak wargaming

and somehow perturabo and his combat robots manage to jumpscare them so much for astartes senses so they're trying to figure out how to do the siege of terra and their "vaunted" tactical prowess is…human wave tactics

"it's basically impossible" kroeger: nah, I'd win perturabo, showing up out of nowhere:

Kroeger: yep

owo

there's a lot going on here one, this is the big flaw of a lot of the most well-meaning people in the 30k Imperium (the "oh we'll just fix everything after we're done with all the conquests") this works really well as a metaphor for that

the second is how it ties into Perturabo's attitude about guilt

Perturabo is unable or unwilling to make the leap from "a thing once broken will always be broken" to "a thing once broken will always have been broken, but does not always need to remain a broken thing" ... he doesn't know how to recover from mistakes he's basically got gifted kid syndrome turned up to 11 because he woke up with like an entire library of technical knowledge in his brain but no life skills this is why he has all those designs and never builds them and can never be satisfied with all the little quirks that real life introduces to a design

[harryleatherfit]

Upper East Side || A.U || Frankie Morales

Chapter 11: Opening Night

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 7.8K (i was gonna keep going but Warnings: mentions of fucking bad family, unprotected p in v (um), oral f receiving, mentions of sub space (when you squint at the end), spanking, hard fucking, tit sucking, some fluff, performance on stage, lmk if i’ve missed any

Authors Notes: let me know what you guys think! genuinely this is the longest thing i’ve written but i fear i’ll be hated for the next few chapters 😵‍💫 i love you guys ♾️

Chapter Playlist

Jungle Fever- The Chakachas

Somebody Like You- Bree Runway

Lust For Life- Lana Del Ray

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

Opening night, electricity filled your body. You woke up with light peeking through your window, you stared at the dust particles floating around, you wish you could stay here forever. Both nights were sold out, your heart racing thinking you had to be on stage tonight. Performing in front of thousands excited you on second thought. You loved the crowd, the air, the excitement as you smiled. You had gotten leads at UNCSA, but nothing could compare to this. You didn’t know where you lay in the acting world at all, but you had to remember that no matter what you would be yourself on the inside.

You had gotten up before Laylah, Rose, and Hannah, making coffee and staring at the sun. You were hoping Frankie was up looking at the same sun. You did breath exercises, prepping your lungs for the amount of talking you had to do for the next few days. Setting your headspace was most important to you. You were scrolling on your phone and Frankies name popped up in the corner of the screen.

New Message:

Frankie: Can you come early to the theater? Somethin I wanna show you.

You: My call times at 3, want me to come at 12?

Frankie: 11.

You: Okayyy, need me to bring food?

Frankie: No, assistants already brought a shit load, I need to see you.

You: Packing my bags as we speak🥱

“Hey hotstuff,” Laylah walks out of your room, yawning, “Smells good. Ready for your big day?”

“Ready as I can ever be.” You shrug, embracing the heat of your coffee cup. The mornings were always so cold.

“Anything planned for the morning?”

“Well, he asked me to come in early, something to show me.” You whisper.

“Oh shit, damn ok,” They get excited, “Have fun gettin old man dick.”

“Laylah!” You laugh.

“Nah, I bet it’s good. Look at him.”

“Believe me I know.”

“Have you guys fucked yet?” They nudge.

“No, but I'm not even sad. So many times guys just want to immediately fuck and it’s such a massive turn off.” You explain, “He’s soft and gentle with me, never in a rush.”

“Yeah me and Bryce haven't done the deed yet. Have high hopes for him. And he also uses my correct pronouns so yay men!” They cheer.

“Well here’s to fucking men I guess.” You click your coffee in the air, “Is he treating you right?”

“We haven’t done much aside from hangout during rehearsals and stuff, so after we’ll actually have time to be with each other.”

“You should go with him after the show tonight, get dinner and walk around the city.” You suggest.

“I think that’s what I’ll do.” They hug you, “My beautiful astonishing Lady Macbeth, I’ll see you tonight.”

-----

You arrive at the theater, New York Streets bustling with people at this hour. Broadway never fails to have thousands of people in and out. Tonight was going to be a big one. Book of Mormon was on, but that show was always on broadway and Macbeth was only on for two nights.

You wondered how many stars were going to come, how many people you loved that would come to see your show. How many playbills you were going to get to sign.

Your interaction with Wes Anderson made you think about your spine, your eyebrow conjecture, the way you present yourself and your character on stage. Everything had to be different. Mattias had a pep talk with you before you left the theater, no matter what happens on this stage, we both know we have put our souls into this show.

It was true, there’s no need to stress about impressing people.

You set your bad down at the entrance, seats already blocked off, ushers clocking in their hours.

“Hey, up here.” Frankie calls up from the theater's booth, “It’s set up a little differently here, Broadway has way more money than our school could ever imagine,” You walk up the steps, “I know so much bigger than our little shabby room at the school.” You take in the scenery of the room.

“I bet you’ve worked here a lot though, right? I mean this is like your job, to do shows for the college, teach the building basics of theater, and fucking work Broadway shows.” How could he act like this wasn’t a big deal.

“Honey, my job is cool and all but doesn't mean I enjoy it. Long hours, having to meet people's demands, spicy celebrities, whiney actors.” He purrs.

“Hey! I’m not whiney, you’re the whiney one, arguing with everyone who pisses you off.”

You hug him, he’s sitting on a stool in front of the lighting board, “I wanted to be an actor actually, but never went through. I never had the courage to do bigger roles and my dad was always focused on my brother. So I just went into tech, it’s easier anyways.” He mumbles.

“Sometimes I wish I went into tech, being an actor is fucking hard,” You stare at him, “Why’d you quit acting? You could never be second to anyone.” You rub his face, hands lingering on his porno stash, his scruff felt like lightening under your fingers.

“When we were in our twenties, he’s a little bit older than I am, he was breaking through the stock market and everyone was shocked. I mean he broke through after 9/11 so he was everywhere.

My dad was disappointed that I wanted to do theater and acting and not anything business related. I was doing mini side jobs for Broadway and small film roles. I went to Spain for some time. Until I started doing this I was finally important to my family.” You back off from him, circling the room.

He hasn’t talked to you about his family too much, he said he’s an open book but you didn’t want to push him too much.

“Sad boring people want to go into the stock market. Margot Robbie was the only interesting thing about Wolf of Wall Street by the way,” You chide, “You're not a fucking disappointment, you’re motivated. You create worlds for people to see, you have so much passion. I wish I was you.”

He moves from his chair, standing up, he’s way taller than you

“Smart girl, go turn off the lights.”

“Frankie,” You stare at him, “We can’t, you know we can’t.” Even though you fucking want to.

“We’re not,” He laughs, “Just go turn them off, I want you to see this.”

You do as told, flipping the switch and returning to your sanctuary.

“Lay down and look up, cmon I’ll do it with you.” He instructs.

You find your way in the dark, glimmer from the ceiling illuminating the room. You lay down as you feel his body next to yours.

“See the ceiling? It’s stars, they painted stars in here for the actors to relax before shows. I’ve done shows here before and they always help me even before a long tech run.” He whispers, the ceiling reminds you of a galaxy, calming and beautiful. He moves to your neck, smelling your hair. You could bathe in his after shave, bask his cologne. He always smelled so expensive.

“Don’t get too comfortable pretty girl, someone could walk in.”

“Then don’t smell so fucking good.” You shove him away, laughing to your side. The pain in your lower abdomen could never subside when you were around him.

“I have something to give to you now, but would you wanna come over to my place later? We could get food, or walk around, or if you want to go back to your place after the show home then we can go there, orwecanjustleave-”

“Shhh,” You shove your finger to his lips, “I would love to go to your place tonight, please. We can finally be alone. Finally be with each other without anyone interrupting us.”

“Ok, ok.” He shakes his head like a giddy boy, “ Oh baby you’re gonna do amazing tonight.,” He kisses you quickly “Before I set up, I wanted to give you these.” He fumbles into his jeans pocket, pulling out two VIP Caroline Polachek tickets.

“No fucking way, you did not do this. Frankie, you did not spend this money.” You squeal.

“Stop, I didn’t spend any money gorgeous. I pulled some strings and magically got them.”

He hands them to you, they were metallic with black printing of the venue and time, with her name in this beautiful ceryllic, you couldn't imagine being in her presence. You’ve wanted to see her since the beginning of college, but you never had the money to go. Since her breakup from Chairlift, you fell in love with her artistry. She was meticulous about what she exposed to the world and you wanted to be like her.

“A little something for an opening night present, and the concert’s before your recital. A win-win.”He looks at you, “I know her new album came out and I know her producer, maybe you’ll get to meet her.” He winks. Get to meet your fucking idol? You were shocked but it was Frankie, of course he would do something like this.

“Don’t worry about tonight darlin,” He holds you, “This weekend is gonna be amazing.”

------

Is this the real life, is this just fantasy caught in a landslide. No escape from reality.

Bohemian Rhapsody was blaring throughout the dressing rooms, never able to run away from Freddie Mercury.

After your soiree with Frankie, you had gone to freshen up, prep your hair and skin. Ate a protein bar and met with Mattias. You blindly went over your scenes, and then he offered some cigarettes You shouldn’t have, but you did.

You fled out the back, door checking to see if anyone would see you. Not that it would matter but felt too familiar. You found a cozy spot, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket the team gave you and lit one up with him. You felt like you were a teenager in high school again, smoking before a show to ease the nerves.

Passing on local tradition.

“You’ve got any family coming tonight?” He opens his zippo lighter.

“Nah, just my friends, I don’t have family up here. You?”

“Mom and dad, they weren’t too happy I came to this school but it’s starting to grow on them” He taps his cigarette, “Anyone special coming tonight?”

“Something like that. It’s recently new with him and I, but he’ll be here.” You blow smoke,“You?”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend so probably not. We’ll see.”

“Ahh Mattias, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, just means I’ll be clubbing fucking extra tomorrow night at the afterparty, are you excited?”

“Fuck I forgot about that, I haven’t clubbed in years.”

“It’s at this hoity toity place in the Upper East Side, not The Box I promise but it’ll be fun as fuck. The directors are supposed to come, like the whole school is going to show up.”

The fucking Box. Frankie being there.

Flashbacks of Frankie fingerfucking you agasint the bathroom counter race through your mind, you couldn’t understand how bad you wanted him. The one person in your life that has changed your entire being.

You guys finish your cigarettes, small talk with him was so easy. Giggling about the shit you’ve seen in high school and college as theater majors. Mattias knew what the struggle was like, he knew the difference between stage anxiety and general anxiety. You guys were the perfect pair on stage.

“You go head on in Ms. Macbeth, get your shit done and I’ll see you soon sweet cheeks.”

-------

“So at 3 tomorrow the whole cast has an interview with The New Yorker.” Ms. Roylance announces, it’s an hour before show.

“And the main 2 have an interview with Vogue at 5.”

Vogue, what the shit.

Tech crew, all the actors and directors were in a circle, saying a couple final words before curtains would go up.

Across from you, Laylah and Bryce are holding hands and Frankie is talking to Mr Miller.

You were trying to calm your heart rate, you felt comfortable with everyone around you, but if you sit in a dark closet and rehearse for the last hour you would.

“I want us to hold hands, close our eyes and say one word we're feeling, and the last 30 minutes before show we can just roam in the back, hows that sound?” Roylace gages the group. Everyone agrees, clasping hands, shutting eyes and embracing each other's energy. It’s the best you can do.

“I’ll start, pleased.” She finishes.

“Happy.”

“Elated.”

“Horrified.”

“Worried.”

“Terrified.”

“Thrilled.” Bryce bellows.

“Overjoyed.” Laylah says.

“Light.”

“Captivated.” You immediately knew that was Frankie, his voice, the utmost bass in his voice. Shakes you alive. You open your eyes, looking at everyone around you, soaking up your last minutes with everyone before you break apart.

“Wondrous.”

“Flamboyant.”

“Flustered.”

“Scared.”

It’s your turn, you’ve had the whole circle to think about this, “Content.” Your eyes closed, the mid stage lights shining on you, the murmurs from the full crowd behind the red curtain, the smiles on all your faces, you’re ready.

“Happy.”

“Petrified.”

“Euphoric.”

The last words slip into the air, opening your eyes exasperated.

“Places in 40.” Frankie says.

Everyone separates, straggling across the stage, getting to their righteous spots but you stay. It only feels right and you know he will stay with you.

As soon as everyone is out of sight, he gets closer to you, but not daring to touch your hand. You watch him go to the middle of the curtain, he opens it slyly only to peek through to the crowd.

“Wanna come see?” He asks.

You walk downstage to him, setting in stone to his exact steps, letting one eye peek through the red fabrics and the whole crowd is lively, everyone is dressed so elegantly. The laughs, the people finding their seats. Ushers smiling. House lights dimmed sensually. This is what Broadway is about. Your jaw drops, but you wouldn’t let this dare scare your heart, you’re fucking ready for this.

“See, they are all here for you and Mattias, they are here to see the most wonderful production of the year and because of you, you bring the feisty energy they need.” He whispers into your ear. You shudder, almost tears of happiness, you had no stage fright anymore. “Now fucking blow there minds away baby.”

-------

The raven himself is hoarse, that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan, under my battlements. Come, you spirits, that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood, stop up th’ access and passage to remorse, that no compunctious visitings of nature, shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between, th’ effect and it. Come to my woman’s breasts

And take my milk for gall, you murd’ring ministers, wherever in your sightless substances, you wait on nature’s mischief. Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, that my keen knife see not the wound it makes, nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark

To cry “Hold, hold!”

Make me fucking human.

For more or less, there was no crowd in front of you. Just Mattias holding your hand. Rebirth. Refinery. Frankie watching you from the booth, admiring every step you take. Acting is simple, people pleasing is simple, it’s melodic from making up the emotions on the spot and zoning through the waves of the artistry. It’s for the people, acting is a service. You’re giving your heart out to the world.

You follow your footwork with Mattias, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, husband and wife. Forcing your husband to follow through with your plan, killing the king. So detrimental.

You rush to the wings, dipping your newest costume with blood. Lady Macbeth is a woman of thrill and duty, she would do anything for her husband, and you know how that feels. You soak yourself with the sticky substance, getting it all over your face, fingerprints of deadly sins.

Hands so poignant with red, your heart could be falling out and no one would notice. Cue.

My hands are of your color, but I shame, to wear a heart so white, I hear a knocking

At the south entry, retire we to our chamber, a little water clears us of this deed, how easy is it, then! Your constancy, hath left you unattended, hark, more knocking, get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, and show us to be watchers, be not lost so poorly in your thoughts.

You move the rest of the act, sit down through act 4, nothing involving you and finally act 5.

You mess around your hair, flick blood on your lips and action.

Out, damned spot, out, I say! One. Two. Why then, ‘tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Instantaneously you have flashbacks when you were a child. In your cold room alone, dad and mom are fighting. This always fucking happened. The yelling would make you cry, but you learned how to get over it, you accepted that was your life. But now you’re safe, now you’re with people who love you and want the best for you. Men could never have control over you, ever again.

Do you mark that?

The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now? What, will these hands ne’er be clean? No more o’that, my lord, no more o’that. You mar all with this starting.

Go to, go to. You have known what you should not.

She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. Heaven knows what she has know.

The moment you’ve been waiting for,

Here’s the smell of blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand-

You don’t hold back, you dig into the crevices of your voice box, finding every follicle in your body to scream. To scare this crowd. You aren’t a little girl. Lady Macbeth is a story to never be let down. You drop to the floor, shrieking your mind away, begging for air and life. Letting the blood on you trickle with slobber and tears.

The exhaustion mixed with the heat of your scream made your head spin, but the crowd was silent- you lay there hiccuping for a minute, letting the waves of grief pass by.

What a sigh there! The heart is sorely charged.

I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whale body.

Well, well, well.

Pray God it be, sir.

The disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

You shiver, shaking over to the edge of the stage,

To bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come. Give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.

You exit, and the audience erupts in roars. They quickly sit back down, as there’s more dialogue with the doctor and gentlewoman, but not one moment did you hesitate to throw yourself into your monologue. It felt so powerful, unbelievably life changing.

The show finishes, sitting in the wing as your castmates finish the last monologue. Opening night was one for the books. You all line up for bows, tech right behind you, the curtain opens up and finally the moment you’ve wanted. Not the applause, but able to see Frankie in that chair, just staring at you. All you’ve wanted today is to be with him, but your performance was truly dedicated to him, he was the one that shocked your headspace, he’s the one that makes you want this all. You each take your singular bow, your feet wobbling, walking to the end, tearing up with this crowd, the graciousness you felt.

The standing ovation of the crowd was magnificent, every section clapping for minutes, no soul daring to leave their seats. New York, what a beautiful city. The strong whistles, the numerous claps, the chatter warmed your heart. Roses being sent your direction, hearts shown with hands.

Your crew was instructed to go back to your dressing rooms, clean up, hang your costumes and prepare everything the same for tomorrow, then you could go greet people if you wanted to.

Before you knew it, Mattias was dragging you out to the street, to see all the fans lining up on the street waiting to get their playbills signed.

You only wanted to find Frankie and Laylah, but you didn’t have one second to revive for yourself.

Mattias thrashes with your hand, opening the back door to the cold howling air, embraced by cheers,

“We love you guys.”

“I cried at your performance.”

“We’re coming tomorrow night”

“Lady Macbeth saved me.”

“I love you.”

Screams and shrieks were surrounding you, it’s not that you couldn’t believe it, but your heart was overpowered and overjoyed. So much in one sitting, your head turning in every which way, grabbing sharpies and scribbling your name as fast as possible.

One lady stands out, she’s quiet but vigilant, waiting for it to be her turn, and the closer you get you notice,

“Ms. Kim?” You could barely recognize her, it’s only been 4 months.

“My honey sugar, look at you!” She hugs you, tighter than a mothers hold, “Your teacher Mr.Miller gave me a shout and I booked my flight immediately, I couldn’t miss your Broadway performance.” She shakes her head.

“Ms. Kim, you didn’t have to do this, I could’ve sent you a picture, or a notecard, or a playbill.”

“Now that’s nonsense honey and you know that,” She swats your shoulder with her playbill copy, “Besides I know the whole team here, no need to worry I’m here for a week, so a coffee catch up is on your list after this weekend.”

The things that you could tell her.

“I miss you, I miss North Carolina.” You hug her again, breathing down her back, trying to not let people see your tears. She was there for you when you missed your mom, she was North Carolina in a summary, and you missed it so much.

“It’s okay sweetie, you were meant to leave that state it had nothing to offer, look at this,” She pointed at all the people, “This was your destiny.” She kisses you on the cheek, “I’ll text you for a coffee date, but go spend the night away.” She smiles.

“I love you!”

“I love you too honey.”

You leave her in the crowd, finding Mattias taking a picture with a group of girls. You tell him you’re gonna head back in to get your bag, to check your phone and possibly run into Laylah, find Frankie. Unlatching the door, the air rushing in your face, Laylah was already there with Bryce waiting for you.

“You did amazing! These flowers are for you,” They smother you, “The shock in the audience when you dropped to the floor, you stretched all of their hearts out.”

“Thank you.” You laugh, holding their hands, best friends working on Broadway together, your 16 year old selves would be thrashing down right now.

“My guys in the booth couldn’t believe they were at a college show, you and Mattias rocked it.” Bryce says.

“Thank you, that means the world. Seeing all the full seats was just fucking mind blowing and I’ll have to say that a million times to process.”

“We love you, were gonna get dinner now,” They wink, “See you tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

“Same time, same place.” You agree.

They grab your arm, pulling you close, “Get that dick tonight.”

You laugh so loud it refracts around you, we’ll see.

They leave you, content with the night. Smiling dumb because now finally you get to be with the man you’ve been itching to see.

You call him,

“Hey pretty girl, I was waiting to hear from you.”

“Sorry I was out signing playbills with Mattias. Working the night off.” You respond.

“Don’t be sorry, s’busy night for you. How d’you feel?”

“Good, Frankie, I feel amazing.” Seducing him over the phone, itching for him.

“That’s my star girl, shining so bright on that stage.” He smiles in the phone, you can feel it.

“Where are you right now?” You ask.

“In my car, just watching the sky.”

“And where would that be?”

“Behind the theater and the crowd, come find me princess.”

“Ok Playboy, I’ll see you in a second.”

You end the call, chucking your bag behind your back. You slowly walk to the door, finally entering a world you can’t step back out of. Reminiscing when you had no idea what the fuck you two were.

You sprawl out, no one would be here at this time of night. He’s smoking a cigarette, convertible top down. Collar open and his hat is off, puffed locks chasing every direction. He looks up to you.

“Frankie, an Ashton Martin Convertible?”

“Yeah.”

You stare at him, some fucking longer. “I don’t know, just an Ashton Martin roaming the streets, a really nice car I’ve only heard in books.”

“Would you feel better if you knew I saved a couple paychecks for this.” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sure.” So he had money, money. Double shit.

You get in and he stares at you, flickering between your lips and eyes. You could jump him now, but you had to wait. You liked the game.

“Food, bar, coffee, books, my house? What’s your wish tonight?” He holds your hand.

“Hmmm your house remember? Wouldn’t pass that up for a lifetime.” You remark.

He nods, setting the car in gear. You flicker your hands to his cigarette, he lets you take it and the drag of his menthol cigs felt smooth on your throat. Menthol and Frankie just make sense.

He’s playing Pink Floyd, blasting it through the dark streets of the city, and all you can do is smile stupidly. Your hair flying everywhere, hands perpetually finding the power of the wind, eyes closed.

You feel his hand sneak to your thigh, creeping to your body. Speaking to you through your mind. If his hand could do that now, what else would happen tonight? He moves further and further up your leg, eyes shooting open at him.

“What?” He turns to you, stopped at a light.

You grind your teeth, his hand was big enough to almost cover your whole thigh.

“You say something?” He smirks.

You wince as his hand lays on your skin, never moving but lingering so close where you crave his fingers.

A guitar ripple catches your attention from the speakers, he’s strumming to the beat on your thigh, and you can’t move.

“And we’re here darlin, what do you think?”

He parks in front of a modern brownstone, pillars glossing the entrance like a greek house. Bigger brownstone than usual. Everything about him makes sense, the expensive taste made sense, but this house was beautiful.

You take a breath, “It’s beautiful, Frankie. I couldn’t imagine anything different.” You’re scared to get out, but you itch to find what’s inside. He closes the top to the car, running around to open your door.

“Cmon pretty girl, don’t be shy.” He holds your hand out, he walks behind you up the stairs, punching in a code you looked away for.

“3570, didn’t need to look away baby, that codes yours.” He whispers to you, walking into his house.

Your first steps are met with roses, sprawled on the outskirts of the floor. His first floor, open for the world to see. Piles of roses, rose petals begging for your touch, he grabs your hips pulling you to him. “This is all for you.” You stand there with him, holding you. No man has ever gone this far to express something for you.

Grand piano deep into the room, kitchen with a marble island, champagne with two glasses full for you both, one staircase with golden spiraling leading to the top on the side. White columns and archways holding the house.

“And one person lives here?” You poke.

“Yes, but I quite enjoy it,” He lugs you closer to the kitchen to set your stuff down, “This is the house I dreamed of as a boy.”

“Well, it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like this.” You ponder around like a child lost at Disney.

The back archway was all glass, you could see a light on outside to his backyard. His dining table to the wall of glass, next to the greenery. He had a conversational pit as his couch, dark green leather with faux fur overthrows. His TV was massive, and next to it were beautiful oil paintings.

He had shelves as a wall, lined with books and vinyls. Years of purchasing and collecting.

You take a peak, letting your hands run across the dusty spines.

“The Chakachas, João Gilberto…hmm Gerry Rafferty” You laugh, “Your music taste…is sexy Francisco.” He’s watching your every move.

“What can I say, I’m a cultured man.” He smugs a smile. He’s behind you, raining his fingers around your waist, you take Jungle Fever out of its sleeve, placing it on his record player.

“Just to set the mood don’t you think?” You snicker, “Have you seen Boogie Nights? You do look like a young Burt Renolds, scary kinda.”

“I get that sometimes, you like that darlin? Like broad-“ Kiss, “Hairy men?”

You dance with him to the music, listening to the women's moans of the song. Letting the dim lights glisten around his living room.

Moaning in his ear, grinding against him. Melting into his body.

“I love it.” You purr, “He was so sexy, don’t you think? That playboy pose he did made everyone in the seventies go crazy. I’d let him fuck me on spot if I was alive back then-”

He laughs, “Hmp, you wanna get fucked?” His head turns to the side, mouth curving open, with his eyebrows falling inward.

Your mouth falls, drooling over his voice. You hold onto his hair, sheething his body into yours, “Fuck me tonight Frankie, fuck me hard.” You whisper.

A lion raptures through his physicality, lifting you up to the closest thing, the Grand Piano.

“Frankie, we can't do anything here, I’ll break it!”

“I don’t care princesa, I don’t care, I’ll eat you out for hours and it could break, I’ll pay for another one.” He growls, “I need to taste this pussy now.” He set you down, looking you in the eyes as a rabid beast. His eyes were blown black, glaring at you for more.

He pulls your shorts down leaving you in just your shirt, your bottom half bare in front of him. “Mmh, no panties,” He chuckles, “What brought you to do this miel?”

“I figured there's no point, you’d rip them off anyway.” You shrug, head slating on the lid of the piano. Goosebumps rising on your body, the cold of the instrument touching your ass, air meeting the gloss of your entrance.

“Perfect fucking pussy, perfect fucking body. My girls so fucking perfect.” He spreads kisses down to your stomach, leaning when he reaches your mound. You grimace, you haven’t shaved in a long time.

“It’s okay baby, see?” He presses his hand on top of your sex, “Hair doesn’t change a thing how I feel about you. Hair doesn’t change a thing about how I want to fuck your brains out, okay?.” He kisses on top of your bush, shivering when you feel the wet of his lips with his mustache, nose bracing your clit. “I’m the only one that gets to touch your pussy like this, understand?”

You shake your head yes, “Only you can touch me.”

“Look at me, look at me while I destory your fuckin pussy.” He pushes your legs closer to him, eye level with your pussy. You wouldn't believe you’ve gone hours without this, without his tongue. He adamantly drives into your cunt, moaning as he shoves his tongue inside you.

He moans, the usual vibrations of his mouth floating through your lower abdomen. Cells inside your pussy sensationally fucked up from his mouth.

The tip of his nose would rub against your clit, he always managed to do it, but this time he was moving his face. His nose was creating circles against your nub, tongue squeezing the life out of you.

“Frankie- ngh- baby- feels so good- keep going-” You plead. Instead of grabbing his hair, you wrapped your hands around the edges of the piano, keeping your body from contorting due to the immense pleasure.

Your request followed through, he kept circling, shaking his head between your thighs. He would never let up, swallowing everything your cunt had for him.

“Pussy on my tongue, so tight. Pussy walls are quiverin for me baby.” He groans, dancing his hands to your stomach, legs dangling over his shoulders.

“Hold onto my hands dirty girl, I know you’re strong, cum in mouth.”

He raffles inside you more, squeezing his hands so your body doesn’t escape from his touch. Your clit suddenly buzzes, repeatedly shaking. Your walls come crashing on his tongue, he doesn’t stop pushing into you.

You scream for help, violently shaking against his hold. You couldn’t control your voice, begging for more. You can’t do anything other than yell because the movement form his tongue

“I’m gonna cum Frankie, I’m gonna cum on your tongue-” You cry.

“Give it to me, drip into my mouth.” His sinister base flows through your pussy, the room spins and you shriek against the piano. He sucks you clean from your orgasm, releasing his hold from you.

“Breathe baby, breathe.” The fuzziness of the lights die down, and his face comes in contact again.

“Your tongue- is fucking magical.” You drunkenly smile, “But I want more tonight. Please.” He pulls you off the piano, leaving a sweat mark on the top. You plant your feet to the ground, he holds your body up.

He chuckles, “Tell me what you want mi amour, what is it that you want?” He taunts.

“Fuck you, you know what I want.” You seethe.

“Ok,” He nods his head, “If you think I know, then fuck yourself for me. Go down to the couch, take your shirt off, and fuck yourself with your fingers.”

He had your full attention and you feel small, you’ve never done anything like this in front of a man.

“Go on princess, I’ll be right here.”

You faintly walk to his couch, slipping past the steps. You sit down at the edge of the couch, taking your shirt and shifting your bra off your chest. You’re completely naked in front of him, nipples begging for his touch.

“Play with yourself for me, pretty girl.”

You snake your hands down to your entrance, fiddling with your slick. You touch your clit, but it feels nothing like his hands.

“Frankie please, I need your cock.” You whine.

“You should’ve just said that, now look at you, yeah?” He walks to the steps, sitting down, “I need to you to cum on your fingers before I fuck you, I wanna see it.”

You hum, discoing your fingers on your clit, you imagine his cock finally slipping inside of you. What you’ve wanted since you’ve laid eyes on him.

“Push those fingers inside, think of my cock dirty girl.” He growls, looking you up and down.

You plunge your fingers inside, moving your hips against your hand. Wishing to have his thick cock inside you.

“Frankie, I’ll be so good, please. I want you inside me. I want you holding me down, I wanna be filled with you.” You mumble, terrorizing your hand.

“Wanna be a good girl for me? Fuckin tie you down, fuck you until soak me.” You shovel your fingers inside your cunt faster, imagining yourself restrained against his bed. His cock pushing into you at an unforgivable speed. “You’d like that huh dirty fuckin girl. Not able to move while I fuck your cunt, fillin you up til you feel it in your stomach.”

You slant your eyes open,” I want you to tie me up one night Frankie, be your-fucking rope bunny. Want you to use my pussy.”

“I wanna do everything with you, dirty girl, so perfect.”

You feel yourself tightening around your hand, his words making you interclose on your hand.

You would never be able to make yourself cum this fast because of your fingers, but because of him, because of his coaxing words, your own orgasm felt stronger.

“I can it hear baby, I see you leakin, cum for me, let go. Then I’ll give you my cock for as long as you want. Shove those fingers in for me.” He purrs.

You fall back on his couch, wavering your body to your orgasm. You gave a final push, laying stagnant from your orgasm. You watch him stroll to you from his steps.

He’s hungry.

“So gorgeous, so wet for me.” He smirks, “Now what do you want, so perfect and plump for me.”

“I want your fucking cock, I need you inside me Frankie.” You tremble.

He licks his lips, sitting down on the couch, “Don’t wanna do anything you’re not comfortable with pretty girl,” He moves your hair behind your ears, “Is this how you want me? Let me get a condom.”

You push him down, you should use a condom but you couldn’t be less botherd, “You could’ve fucked me in that bathroom and I would’ve cared less Frankie, fucking on this couch will be more than heaven,” And it is, “Don’t worry about a condom, I need to feel you bare.” He goes to object, but you shove your fingers to close his mouth.

Your eyes linger on his cock, he’s already swelling, “I wanna do everything with you Frankie, you could never make me uncomfortable.”

You close in to the crook of his neck, kissing him everywhere, praising him for making you feel so good, “I need you to fuck my brains out, make it hurt Frankie.”

Without blinking, he lifts you to his lap, placing your naked pussy on him. He kisses you sloppily on the lips, holding you close so you don’t fall, he growls possessing more of you.

“My beautiful girl, I’ve been waitin for this to happen, been dreamin of you sitting on my cock. I’m so glad we’ve waited, it’s gonna feel so good baby.”

You rub against him, letting your liquid leak all over him.

“I’ve been so good Frankie, I’ve been trying so hard not to think about your cock, when you were down my throat all I wanted was to be full of you everywhere.” And now-” You shimmy his shirt off, kissing his collar bones, rushing to his belt.

He flings it off slamming it to the ground, you look past it as it impacts the floor, making a hard whipping sound.

“Bet you’d like that naughty girl, fucking whip until you’re red. Tie you up with my belt.” You squirm against him, humping his bulge.

Images of Frankie whipping your ass with his belt, slapping your pussy, makes your brain short circuit.

He pulls his pants down with his boxers, flinging his cock out. You don’t remember it being this big. He was uncut and at least 8 inches. How could he fit inside you? The sight already making your pussy leak.

You rush your hands to his head, dangling your legs on his lap, pussy out for the world to see. You pull his foreskin back letting his precum bead down to your fingers.

“Feel s’good baby, fingers feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He grimaces.

You pump his dick, letting him grow against you, he keeps getting bigger and bigger. His tip was so pink, you wanted to suck him off like a lollipop. You wanted his dick down your throat. Embellishing in every way he can fill you up.

You lick his precum off your fingers, and he shoves his thumb in your mouth, “Suck.” He demands.

You enclose, treating his thumb like his cock. Swirling, letting every part of your saliva coat it.

He parts from you, soon attaching it to your pussy to moisten you up. He was going to stretch you so wide.

“Tell me if it hurts baby, please, I don’t want you to hurt.” He requests.

“I don’t care if it hurts Frankie, I need you to push me open. I need your cock.”

You shift until your lips are hovering over the head of his dick, waiting for him to pump into you. The tension was so thick you could barely breathe.

He carnally anchors into you, his cock magnetizing inside your cunt, the moment he surges into you, holding onto his shoulders stronger, you both gasp from feeling each other for the first time.

“Holy fuck, princesa you’re so tight.” He braces.

You try to move up from him but he attaches his hands to your hips and pushes you up and down. The air is eccentric and you’re so grateful you get to be so close to him, clasping on to his figure as he fucks into you.

He nips at your collar bone, lazily kissing you. Your hair disheveled from your body shaking.

“I love your cock, I love your cock. Oh my god- FuFuFuFuck.” You chant in his ear. The simplicity of having sex made you feel safe, this was more than magical. He was almost fucking your heart. He was so deep inside you, your mound was connecting to his base.

You loved when he was so dominant with you, you loved when he was in control, you loved Frankie.

“Fuck me- as hard as- you can. Use- my pussy.” You yelp.

The more you felt your pussy lips gripping onto his cock, the more you seized. The connection was beyond powerful. He aggressively slips into you, his tip touching that perfect spongy wall that would make you lose all will power.

“God darlin, love watchin those eyes roll back. Didn’t know you’d get this cock drunk baby. You love my cock so much?” He rasps.

“Spank me, please, slap my ass and fucking mark me.” You whine.

He lifts his hand, slapping your ass. He grabs onto your love handles, pulling you onto his dick harder.

“You like that? When my handprints on your ass? You want more?” He grunts.

You shake your head, and he continues, the sting firing your pussy up. His animalistic movements make you worship his soul, he matched your sex energy and you couldn’t be more thankful. You relished this moment, so grateful for Frankie.

He lusted over your tits, he slowed to kiss them, suck your nipples to hardened peaks. Somehow your heart hammered, watching him take care of every need your body craved, made you pussy twitch with his cock inside you. Watching his mouth wrap about your tits intensified your lust for him.

“I want you to do something for me,” He releases, “I want you to spell my name.”

“How-”

“Move your hips, move your hips with my cock still inside, ride me.” He stirs.

He intertwined his hands with yours, you back up from his chest preparing. He doesn’t lose your eyes for one second.

“F” You shake, his dick is everywhere inside your walls.

“R” You whine, the contact so slow and vivid, you could almost hear the colors off the walls.

“Keep going, that's it, just use that dick.” He coaxes.

“A” The tip of the A making his cock arch into you deeper than you could have ever imagined, you yell, soliciting for neighbors to hear.

“N”

“K” The ache in your pussy crying to cum, but you weren’t done. You knew you had to finish.

“I”

“E” You whimper, not able to sit straight any longer.

“Such a good girl, knew you could do it. My good fucking girl.” He kisses you, “I know what that pussy wants, I know she needs to cum. Wanna cum pretty girl?”

“Mhm, please Frankie. I-I was so good. I wanna cum on your cock. I’ll do anything, I’ll be so so good.” You plead.

His cock was intoxicating your brain, oxytocin so high you couldn’t think about where you were, only that Frankie was all you cared about in your life right now.

He aggressively hurls into you again, pinning your hands behind your back as he holds them in place. You couldn’t do anything but take his cock, you had to accept that he was gonna fuck you til you saw stars.

“You can do it baby, pussy’s already leakin all over me and the floor. She’s clamping around me. I wanna see that pretty face when you cum.” He finalized.

“Fran-Frankie keep going, I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum,” You praise.

You couldn’t even process his words, half-lidded and half dazed, all you could focus on was your pussy devouring his cock. Him driving past you until you couldn’t hear. The power to force you knew your voice was giving out. You couldn’t touch him, but him holding your hands back made you grateful, your orgasm so powerful you felt as if you were gonna break his cock.

Your voice box cracks, you immediately fall against his chest, stagnant from movement with the only action you could do was breathe.

He lays there will you, wrestling his heart from fucking you so fast. You couldn’t open your heart, let alone walk.

He picks you up, he leaves his couch area and you sense he’s taking you upstairs. He saunters into a dark room, placing you on top of his duvet cover keeping the lights off. You couldn’t tell what his room looked like, but you felt like a vegetable. He came back to you, cleaning your entrance with a baby soft towel. He has to move your legs, you were unresponsive with the widest smile on your face, eyes slanted to only see that he was getting in bed with you.

He lifts the cover, tucking you in next to him. You snuggle against his chest, embracing your body heat, spooning into him. Your breathing falters, in sync with his.

He rubs his hands through your hair, making you fall asleep faster.

“I love you, mi amor.”

And that's the last thing you remember before sleeping off the best night of your life.

—

i love lady macbeth soooo much. looking into the meaning of her monologues are so powerful and she changed my thoughts on shakespeare 🔁🔁

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taglist: @pastelnap

[bioticbooty]

20 Fanfic Questions

Tagged by @swaps55. Thank you!

Tagging @cr-noble-writes, @theoriginalladya, @ad-astra13 and anyone else who feels so inclined!

How many works do you have on AO3?

9

2. What's your total AO3 words count?

233,7802

This doesn't include WIP wordcounts which are so much higher

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mass Effect primarily. A little Dragon Age from time to time (mostly one shots). I have a Fable III WIP and Stargate Atlantis fic that's only on ffnet (and I refuse to go back to ffnet it's become a trash fire).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Crosshairs - Mass Effect 1 slow burn shenko. (This version will be abandoned as I've been doing The Great Rewrite because the characters and my Shepard have evolved over the years, but I like having the old version up for comparison.)

Lightning - Mass Effect 1 fshenko smut with a wild card Shepard who would blow up a small moon if she was asked to fix a microwave

No Strings Attached - Pre-Mass Effect 1 fsehnko fluff and smut, which started as smutty prompt (what if Kaidan and Shepard had a one night stand on shore leave before ME1) and turned into this Whole Big Thing

Brace for Impact - Mass Effect 3 AU where Olivia Shepard is not an Alliance Marine because Mindoir was never raided so she never lost her family. And yet, fshenko because love always finds a way.

Sine Qua Non - Mass Effect/Pacific Rim crossover with fshenko, Kaidan and Shepard have a service history and then end up on the same Jaegar class fighter in the drift together.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Sometimes it takes a while, but I always respond to everyone before I post a new chapter because I want everyone who took the time to write me something that I really appreciate their words!! I also do it because I miss the old days of fandom community where comments flew around left and right, and I want to encourage that in my own little corner as best I can.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Color the Sky - The Blitz, Shepard is on shore leave with her partner when the slavers attack. This is the story that cements the belief that she's better off alone because the people who get close to her die.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't think anyone is happier in a finished fic of mine than Alexis Shepard and Kaidan in No Strings Attached when the finally find each other again after having pined after the other for literal years.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Only once, and it was transphobic garbage. "It's clunky and bad for reading to use these wierd fake pronouns introduced to make people feel better about themselves." I told them no one was holding a gun to their head forcing them to read the story and then locked the comment thread, because comment section battles with people who are already coming at it from a place of not actually wanting to understand is a waste of my time.

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?

Sometimes, not that often anymore, and part of that is I can never just write smut without their being fluff and emotions and connection (see above: No Strings Attached turning into a 20k+ fic for a one night stand smut prompt). Part of this is because I am ace as fuck and the desire to have sex with people every second of the day because they're hot or whatever is just so utterly foreign to me. It has to feel right in the story. And if I'm gonna write just a smut story, you can bet there are thousands of words of background lore I wrote to make the smut happen on the page.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Very few. I think the only published one is the Mass Effect/Pacific Rim crossover. So by default, that one!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

None translated.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Once, with some friends over a decade ago (on ffnet). It was fun but also stressful, and I probably won't do it again. It really has to be the right people, and this group I did that project with was a good group and also very kind and generous in giving over the reigns to each other. But I've also grown more stubborn as I've gotten older. It can work, but unlikely I'll ever do it again.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Shepard and Kaidan, to the surprise of no one.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I would like to finish Never Surrender, my Stargate Atlantis WIP that is partially published. Part of that will involve migrating it over to AO3. I'm so enmeshed in Mass Effect and The Great Rewrite that I don't know that I have time for that WIP right now.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and combat.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Bridging scenes together. I get way too in my head about it, especially when characters are just sitting in silence for a moment.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I would love to do this and maybe could do it in a rusty, limited capacity with French, but it has been ages since I've spoken it in any useful capacity.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek Voyager. I've long since lost this story, but it was writing a bisexual and (though I didn't have the words for it at the time) asexual Seven of Nine.

Listen, I don't wanna say I was prophetic but have you watched Picard? Case settled.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Choosing is hard!!!! Also I have so much unfinished, unpublished stuff that is my favorite but sticking to things that are published out there on AO3, it would be No Strings Attached. Shepard and Kaidan find unexpected happiness, then pine for a couple years because they were trying to pretend they weren't in love, and then the find each other again on the Normandy. They're nerdy dorks. They get to be the lighter versions of themselves and let go of expectations for a few days with each other and be a little reckless (and deeply, unapologetically romantic).

I also wrote that story in like 6 days while high off my ass on cold and flu medicine with a raging fever of like 102.

[passionateseadruid]

Netflix Death Note Rewrite

Summary:

I’m rewriting the 2017 Death Note Movie

This is the first in a series of Rewrites! Pretty much no one liked the Death Note Netflix Adaptation so I (an actual fan of the series) will try to rewrite the movie to actually make it compelling and competent.

First things first how long would this be? Ideally a mini series of 5-8 episodes maybe around 30 minutes each give or take. But let's say that we only have the original 1 hour and 40 minutes for a movie. Well we better make the most of it then.

~~~~

We open up on an old abandoned church busted pews, broken windows, and a cracked alter. The whole place furnished with old rugs and tarps to cover up the decay of the furniture, thousand of candles everywhere, maybe a mural on the wall of a brunette positioned in a stance with his arms out spread, welcoming the people, yet judging them at the same time.

"Light" Turner (still known as Donn Turner) stands behind the alter talking about Kira.

"Thank you all for coming to honor our savior. Kira the great god of justice, the god of the new world. I notice we have some knew attendants." Donn motions to a couple. Everyone looks to them and Donn motions them up to the front where they complete a ritual, something maybe to do with candles and ending in eating an apple. 

After the ritual everyone leave except for a brunette girl named Mia. She comes up and kisses him on the lips, praising him and his sermon today.

~~~~

The original relationship was very stale and didn't have much weight put onto it. It was also very toxic and the two characters didn't have much in common. By making "Light" the leader of this cult and Mia his pre-established girlfriend in said cult it tells us a few things about these characters already.

A. "Light" is very manipulative, and charismatic, while still being the toxic bitch he was to Misa in the anime. B. Mia, much like Misa is very loyal, but she's actually less interested in "Light" and is devoted heart, body, mind, and soul to Kira (You'll get to see more of that later but essentially Mia is a flip of Misa. Misa was first devoted to the idea of Kira and then her devotion turned into an obsession with Light. Mia will be the opposite but right now that's a further plot-point). And C. This takes place after either the Anime or the Manga (though I'm leaning more towards the Mange because the epilogue of that had the set up to this, where there were Kira Cults.)

~~~~

The next scene Donn and Mia enter Lights home and his dad is there preparing takeout.

"Donny! Oh Hello Mia."

"Hello Mr. Turner."

"Do you want to stay for Dinner? Donn made the Honor role again and got a 100% on his recent science project. I ordered his favorite food as a reward! We've got a lot to celebrate!"

"No thanks Mr. T. I should bet home. My step monsters will kill me if I'm out past my curfew."

"Okay, see you at school tomorrow." Donn smiles and strokes her head. He kisses her forehead and she kisses his cheek. 

"Bye love!" she smiles and walks out.

"Love huh? That's a bit soon considering your both still in school."

"Dad-"

"No no! It's fine she's a nice girl. I just don't want you to do something you'll regret,"

"I'm fine! I'll be in my room." He grabs a plate scoops some food onto it and takes it to his room.

"Wait I caught the Grim Angel today! Don't you want to hear about that? Donn? Can You at least take out the trash?"

"I will!" He slams the door. He then scarfs down the food and throws some garbage into the trash including a bag of potato chips. Then he goes to empty the trash. Once outside he throws the trash in the garbage can it starts to rain as a book drops right on Donn's head. "What the hell?" He picks it up and brings it into the house.

He goes up to his room and locks the door. "The human whose name is written in this note shall die. This will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected. If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack. After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds. No way, is this how Kira killed all those people?"

"Yes actually." Donn falls off his chair with a scream. Before him stands a big monster, 8 feet tall and looking like a demon. He had no eyes, and black fungus all over his body. His body itself was a ghostly pale and he had red flame like horns popping out the side of his head crackling and moving in a none existent wind. "Calm down! You have a father downstairs don't you. I'm sure he'll be worried if you start screaming."

"How do you know that? What are you?"

"My my. I thought a fan of our savior Kira would know a lot more about Shinigami."

"Kira? You're a Shinigami?"

"Yes... I go by Justice now."

"What does that mean?"

"I was human once. I was the most devout follower of Kira when we were alive."

"Teru Mikami."

"I cannot say. It is one of the rules."

"So why are you here?"

"I'm here to finish my work. I want you to kill off the remaining criminals."

"Why can't you do that yourself?"

"After the incident there was another rule in place to limit how many humans we can kill a year to just ten."

"Did you choose me? Is that how you know about my family?"

"Yes. I want you to become Light Yagami reincarnated, and for your precious little girlfriend to be the new Misa Amane."

The Shinigami "Justice" would then go on to push light into his first kill. He snuck into his dad's room and pilfered his brief case for the name of the Grim Angel. Damon Cher. Donn pushes him to escape custody steal a bike and ride onto the freeway.

"No one else should get hurt right? That's what it says on one of the rule pages."

"Correct."

About an hour later Mia sends him the news story via text that is identical to what he'd written down in the book.

"I'm a murderer."

"I thought that you were Kira's fan. Don't you want purge the world?"

"No! I just-"

"Lightling... if you don't do this I'll kill you and your girlfriend."

"Why me?"

"You're perfect."

~~~~

Okay that was a lot but it's all very important. Thing is... this is a sequel to the original death note and some of the themes I want to address are imposter syndrome and how you can't live in someone else's shadow. Spoiler alert but both "Light" and "L" are living in their successors shadows trying to live up to the expectation's of someone else. 

I also needed to give a reason why Light/Misa/Mikami wouldn't just rid the world of criminals once they became Shinigami. While I could just wipe their memories that wouldn't really explain why a Shinigami would come to earth other than pulling a Riuk and just having them be bored.

(also yes I know Misa didn't really care about being Kira but she may still want to be with Light in the afterlife.)

~~~~

The rest of that night "Light" killed ten criminals; and the next day he confided in Mia.

"So Justice here is your Shinigami."

"Yes."

"And you and me have been chosen as the new Kira's."

"Yes!"

"Give me the book."

"What? Why?"

"Light sweetie, the book." she holds her hand out.

"Fine. But don't be stupid okay."

"Oh and by the way, heart attacks are so cliche. People are already catching on." She whispers and leaves him taking the book with her.

~~~~

I know people didn't like Mia being the assertive one but she doesn't fit the role of Misa either. This whole movie was flawed to begin with and through these changes you get a story about three people with a mountain of expectations thrust upon them. They aren't Light, Misa, and L. That's the point. If you want these three you should watch the Anime.  ~~~~

A week goes by and the two have already filled ten pages through an assortment of different methods of death.

"According to recent chat logs the general populous think Neo Kira based in New York though a popular theory is that they're based out of Greenland. Okay hand me the book I'll start to focus there. draw their attention their."

"No. If we start to bring attention towards one area in particular it'll let people know that we're onto them."

"What does your dad think?"

"My dad thinks Kira is nuts. He and two other officers are apparently trying to catch Kira."

It's then we cut to James (Light's dad) as he enters his office and sees that it's been trashed. James sighs. "Arata!" A younger man appears. 

"They got you too, huh sir?"

"Chief Turner! There's a visitor here to see you! He says he has information on the Neo Kira case." Another man comes over to see James.

"Thank you Philip, bring him in."

Philip goes and returns with an older man dressed in a trench coat and a fedora. He holds up a silver laptop and a fancy white L on a black screen appears. 

"Chief turner! My name is L." A distorted voice cheers. "I'm here to offer my assistance."

"Why are you coming to me?"

"Because you're the only one who believes that Kira is back as well as being brazen and open that he is evil."

"What would we need to do?"

~~~~

You guys may wonder why I added two original characters. Arata is supposed to be a Matsuda stand in and Philip is just supposed to fill out the rest of the motif I'm working with. Chess pieces.

Light and L are the kings because they are both cowards that are spurred to make moves.

Mia and Watari are the "Queens" because they actually do physical stuff but have very little say in what actually goes on.

Arata is the Rook because I thought "Oh Rook. He's new he's the Rookie. Funny"

The name James has connections to the bible and God according to google. So Bishop because they also have connections to the bible and God.

And Philip means horse lover. That feels self explanatory.

~~~~

We cut back to Mia and Light chilling at home. They are watching the news when an emergency broadcast interrupts them. Several reporters are heard in the background.

"I'm sure you're all wondering who I am. My name is Landon Chef and I have been working with L on this investigation. It is in his expert opinion that these deaths are all coincidental. Kira is not back." The news report can be heard in the background as Mia and Light fight.

"Oh hell no!" She screams. She shoots up from the couch and grabs the notebook.

"Mia what are you doing?!" Light grabs the book.

"He's making a fool of us, Light. He's making a fool of Kira!"

"Don't be stupid! This is what they want!"

"Who care! Let's give them what they want!"

"Mia don't be stupid."

"No Light! We have to do this! For Kira! Kira is our god! He's my life, Light."

"Fine. Give me the book, I'll do it."

"I'm more than capable-"

"Give me the book! You want a new god of justice you'll get one! Now give. Me. The. Book."

She hands it over and he jots down the mans name.

Over in the police department the three men working with L look on in horror as their stand in dies. "I told you that they were in Seattle." L said over the computer.

Over the next few weeks the new Kiras continue to murder. The audience is greeted by a montage of the two killing people. Light writing down names and Mia doing the resaerch. We also see them back at their cult. Light starts to use his new name and Mia dies her hair blond. 

Then back at the police department we see that the three men are preparing to meet L face to face. 

"Hello Gentlemen. Please call me L. I'd prefer if we all used code names. After all we don't know what Kira is really capable of."

"Ehem." Watari clears his throat. "Don't give them to much lee way L."

"Sorry Watari."

"I'll be Rook. That's what most people call me anyways."

"Call me Kelpie."

"Chief." James said

"You can continue to call us L and Watari Respectively." L smiles.

"You probably want more sweets, don't you L?" Watari smiles but it's very clearly fake.

"No I'm..." Watari glares at L.

"...you know what? Sure."

~~~~

This seems a bit weird so but it would come up later in the story. I'm just going through a rough draft with some scenes to flesh out the story a bit. So basically this L is the fourth real L. This Watari was the third real L and was the successor to Near who died young. This Watari is very obsessed with the original L. So much so that he makes this new L dress like him (styling his clothes like how Near described him) and keeps him on the sweet heavy diet.

~~~~

After they meet L closes in on Mia and sends Watari to get information on her.

"And what's the purpose of that?" Philip questioned.

"Perry Ethan was found hanging from a tree with lacerations on his thighs and wrists. He didn't have a criminal record so I traced him back to where he lived and found out he's the step father of Mia Sutton. That’s actually how I found out where to trace the murders to.”

“You can’t go after Mia!” James protested.

“And why is that?” L asked

“Because she’s a good kid. She’s kind and caring and she’s kept my son out of trouble!”

“I’m sorry chief turner but Mia is our best bet at finding Neo Kira. If not her then someone close to her.”

“Does that mean my son’s going to be investigated.”

“If need be then yes. What would Watari say? Ah yes, he’s got a 42% chance of being connected to the murders.”

“I’m not going to sit by and watch as you accuse my son!”

“Then help us find Kira. If you believe that your son is innocent help us find other suspects.”

“…what would you have me do?”

“I need you to pull every file you have on the computer and put it on hard copy. The first Kira was the son of the police chief and he accessed classified documents through his father’s computer.”

“Right! You told us that a decade ago.” Arata said.

~~~~

Yeah so basically this Watari exposed Kiras’ identities and while most people were dissuaded from worshipping Kira. But as we know there were still small groups of people.

Mia is in custody and light comes to save her but she’s is just in holding and they haven’t officially arrested her. They have 48 hours to find evidence and arrest her or else she will be let go.

During this time Light and L finally meet. The next few scenes would be a cat and mouse chase. I’m kinda stupid and bad at writing that kinda stuff, so we’re going to skip that.

~~~~

Later on they choose to charge Mia and Light makes the very smart decision to mind control a criminal to walk into the police station and say that he (the criminal) is Kira and then control him to not speak for his stay at the police station. Eventually dying of a heart attack when he is let go. 

L is still convinced that Mia had something to do with it so she remains in custody.

Light starts to panic as Justice implores him to write down someone in the police station. He chooses the clerk who writes in his own blood that he is Kira reincarnated and that Mia is a stupid mortal woman who had nothing to do with the murders.

Despite this L (with the help of Watari) convinces everyone that the Perry Ethan incident still links Mia to the case.

Eventually Light starts to kill people on the other side of the world and they have to let Mia go.

some stuff happens and Light and Mia argue that what both of them did was stupid and Light storms off in a fit of rage.

~~~~

I’m just going to cut to the end.

~~~~

In a fit of rage Light makes several criminals challenge L. Him and L meet and Light asks Justice for the Shinigami eyes. He writes down L’s name as L tackles him and quickly writes down his and Mia’s names too.

Everyone mourns. Everyone moves on and there’s no need for a shitty sequel.

~~~~

Okay finally thoughts, I know that it’s not perfect but I really have no idea what to do with this.

I would like to expand the concepts I have about L and Light living in each of their predecessors shadows and how Light both relishes the attention and fame and power but cracks under the pressure, and L trying his best and failing over and over and how he’s in over his head, then ultimately winning in the end with the killings finally stopping. This was his justice to claim, Lionel Morgan’s view of justice.

It’s bad but I wanted to preserve and expand upon interesting concepts that I don’t think were fully explored by the writers. The shinigami pushing light. Him and Mia having a messed up romance. L being emotional over the lives he’s loosing. Light looking for power but not wanting to be a full on serial killer.

Anyway constructive criticism and questions welcome in the comments section. I’m a humble Druid who enjoys the mysteries the sea has to hold and instead of saying goodbye I’ll just wave. (Get it?) 👋

[a-yarn-of-purple-prose]

I'm making a pinned post for my Genshin Impact fics!

Not all of them, just the longer ones. All links are AO3, most are protected/registered only because those weirdo scambots get on my nerves.

Once, under the plum blossoms: T, Childe/Xiao. One-shot. Timeloop nonsense with a happy ending. I had a lot of fun writing this, but it might make you a little confused. The second part will eventually be written.

The shape of things left unsaid: M, Diluc character study told through his past and present relationships. One-shot.

Like soaring on golden wings: T, Xiao/Zhongli and thousands of years of pining (another big contender for a second part, but I have too many WIPs already). One-shot.

Like frost at first light: M, Diluc/Kaeya pining with a happy end. This is hurt/comfort on its heart, but it's also a crime investigation and a hell of an excuse to write some nice Darknight Hero scenes (don't worry, Kaeya gets to be cool as well.) Also, tea and gossip. One-shot.

Haze: E, Kaeya/Eula. The one smut fic I posted, here so you can see that even when I try to write smut it gets too romantic and plotty. One-shot.

Of masks and dances: M, Diluc/Lumine with a side of Kaeya/Albedo and Diluc & Childe QPR thing. It started with a mission. No, it started with a bet. No, it started whenever it was Lumine got too attached to this world and, more precisely, one or two people in it. Ongoing longfic.

Warning: this fic is over 300k and still going. It's got at least 50k more word to go before I can finally finish it. There are many arcs to it, so there are finished plotlines for your perusal, but I'm still on the word mines regarding the actual ending. And I have a lot less free time now than when I started writing it 2 years ago.

You might have noticed I write a lot of exchange fics. That would be because I like when people let me pick a rarepair and a writing prompt. I go wild with those like a tiger with a meat-filled pumpkin.

So, if you're a rarepair shipper in Genshin fandom and would like a fic with a certain angsty romance, drop me a prompt on my askbox. I can't promise I'll be fast about it but I love a challenge.

[thetragicallynerdy]

16, 23 and 29 for the ao3 asks?

Oooh hell yes!!!

16) What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

So I had a bet with myself that it was probably "hurt/comfort" and I was right XD

In 2022 6/11 of the works that got updated or published have hurt/comfort as a tag, followed by "Romance" with 5 works! (Over all the years I've been posting, I'm at 16/39 fics that have H/C as a tag, which again is the top tag lmao. I have a brand!)

23) Did you do any collaborative works this year?

I sure did!!! I have two of the loveliest collaborative writing partners ever, @yerbamansa and @lovewithagirl.

Yerbamansa and I are writing @askmeanythingofmd, a Jim/Olu SMAU. It's been very fun, and will get very sad, and we've got a ways to go yet!

lovewithagirl and I are writing an unpublished extremely long Jim/Ed fic that's so just ridiculously sad. Much hurt and much less comfort for 85 fucking thousand words. It's our second collab together, and because we are us and can't stop generating ideas, we also have the makings for another like, 3 fics after we're done this one (including a demon Ed/demon hunter werewolf (ghost??) Jim)

Also it's not quite a collab fic in and of itself, but lovewithagirl and @nevershootamockingbird and I have a shared headcanon collaborative alt universe that we're all writing ficlets in!! All the fics exist in the same au, we're just writing them separately, which is also very fun.

Honestly I really love writing collaborative stuff, I'm just a very distractable writer so my poor collab partners have to put up with that XD

29) Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

I gave one answer over here already, but here, have another one (okay full disclosure I rarely remember what I've written unless it happened like, this week, so I found this one by peer review method, aka searching in a group chat for all the times people have yelled at me. This one was one of my recent faves sjsksk)

All they can think about is his mouth against theirs, and the sweet smell of dirt when they pull weeds from the ground. They want a simple life. They want the garden they were promised as a child, the orchard they should have inherited.

Thanks so much for the ask friend!!!! I hope you have a good evening <3<3

Ao3 wrapped asks can be found here for the curious!

[reddancer1]

A lot of people are talking about the long piece Robert Kagan wrote in The Washington Post on Thursday about how, as the headline put it, “A Trump dictatorship is increasingly inevitable. We should stop pretending.”

They’re talking about it, I think, for two main reasons. One, it’s interesting coming from Kagan, an influential neocon who has spent his career promoting a hard-line foreign policy. He hasn’t written regularly on such domestic topics as presidential elections, although people this week seem to have forgotten that he’s been a Donald Trump foe since 2016, when he endorsed Hillary Clinton and wrote a Post column warning, “This is how fascism comes to America.”

The second reason is that the piece is gripping, dark, and alarming. The sections on what a second Trump term would look like are terrifying (even if other liberal columnists, including me, have been saying similar things for years). But I want to draw attention to a different section of the piece, where he recounts the cowardice and indifference that enabled Trump’s rise and lays out how the deck is stacked in Trump’s favor as we hurtle toward the 2024 election.

The incredible thing to me is how it’s all happening again. Here are six culprits who seem to think this is just another election.

Republican donors and corporate titans: Maybe that’s two categories, but I’d call them 1A and 1B. Most of these people can’t possibly want Trump to return to the White House. They know who he is; they know what he’ll do. And yet, they really want their tax cuts. They really hate Biden’s love of unions and how his administration is trying to bust up monopolies and oligopolies. Is that more important to them than democracy? I fear the answer is a pretty unequivocal yes.

Middle-of-the-road voters: This is the chunk of the electorate that is not liberal but also not MAGA. From everything I can see, these voters just aren’t alarmed by Trump at all. I think they’re so cynical (and, let’s face it, not well informed in a lot of cases) that they think all politicians have some Trump in them; they all just want to make a buck, and so on. I understand their concerns about inflation and, more generally, just how hard their lives are (a topic for another column that I should write soon). But how they can see Trump as just another pol, albeit maybe a little more so, is something I can’t figure out.

No Labels: It looks like they’re forging ahead. The group’s leaders repeatedly insist that they don’t want to help Trump. And maybe they’ll put forward a candidate who might take votes from Trump—insider betting seems to be moving from Democrat Joe Manchin as the group’s standard-bearer to former Maryland GOP Governor Larry Hogan. But the No Labels scenario for victory is a total fantasy, as No Labels CEO Nancy Jacobson surely knows, and this is no time for fantasy.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr.: Who knows what to say about this crackpot? Recent polls show him breaking 20 percent in a three-way presidential race. They also suggest he may take more from Trump than from Biden, which is fine. But he’s a highly unstable presence in a general election contest. Imagine him on a debate stage next October. Who is he going to go after harder, Trump or Biden?

Cornel West: His may be the most irresponsible candidacy of all, because as he well knows, the only impact he can possibly have on this race is to win the votes of a few thousand young voters in a handful of states and thus help Trump win those states.

Jill Stein: She formally announced her Green Party candidacy recently. We shouldn’t expect more from Vladimir Putin’s dinner guest. She already helped put Trump in the White House once, so why shouldn’t she do it again?

In sum, here’s where we are. One of two people, and only two people, is going to be president on January 20, 2025. You can wish Biden had stood down. Nearly a year ago, I wrote a strong endorsement of him running again. But he has aged in that year. I might now say that on balance, he should have stood down at some point in the summer.

But he didn’t. And that’s that. He may not be fully up to the job by 2027 or whatever, but here are some things he won’t do: He won’t appoint lackeys based on loyalty. He won’t bomb Mexico. He won’t arrest political opponents. He won’t invoke the Insurrection Act to have protesters arrested. He won’t give Putin Ukraine. And we can know to a certainty that he won’t try to make himself president for life.

Donald Trump might do all those things and a whole lot more. And yet, all six of those people and groups I listed above think this is a fine time to ignore all this and/or run a pipe-dream candidacy for president.

https://archive.ph/ivGNM  to read the WaPo article in its entirety

  HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!!!

[theundercoverblogger]

Everyone should have one (a blog)

Hey Micah,

Do you also love the time between 3 and 6am? The early morning when everything feels surreal and which you can only access when you wake up a little too early to get started and a little too late to fully go back to bed. I find this is the best time for me to dream of what life could be. In a time where I often feel I have everything I want, it feels greedy to want more. It was also the time when I would wake up to get a couple extra gaming hours as a kid, especially Digimon World. A couple extra training shifts before my digimon inevitably evolved into a Numemon for reasons too cryptic for an 11-year-old (people are finding out new things about that game to this day).

My new routine is trying to sneak in reading an entry or two of my ex-boyfriend's Tumblr when I wake up at 5:40am. I feel as excited as I was when playing Digimon. The feeling of doing something forbidden that my awake self couldn't, something others wouldn't approve of; the mystery of what will come up "next".

Reading this blog, I have realized 3 main things: 1. I will be stealing and improving on this idea. 2. We should all have a blog. 3. We should be documenting our evolution.

On stealing and improving Stealing gets a bad rap. There's this whole debate of AI stealing the style of unconsenting artists and then using it to create new products that will be sold on their own. My take is tepid and very mid: Artists should not have to fight AI for their livelihood (they should not have to make art to afford to live) and we should improve AI to better track the input, so credit due can be given and so you can explore more of your favorite artist when you come across AI-generated content.

So, since I'm now crediting my latest ex-boyfriend with the Discovery of Tumblr, this is no longer stealing and since I'm addressing a friend in my writing, it's no longer derivative but rather improved. I think his writings died down because he didn't have anyone in mind when he was writing. Even the last one was addressed to a friend long gone, the kind you keep in a snow globe of a city you visited as a kid. However, he did share his blog with me.

I don't know if it was accidental, incidental or an attempt to show me the inner world he couldn't when we were together. I'm betting on the middle one, since he had me as one of his close friends and he wrote the post the day I broke up with him.

Sharing his blog made it come back to life: Someone is reading it. I've read half of it and I'm of a mind to read the whole thing. I've read through most of his Texaversaries, his moving to Austin and have spotted the one line where he acknowledges his relationship of 8 years.

So to make my writing come to life, I'm addressing you, Micah. I always try to address Dodo or Alex, the archetypes of a best friend in my mind. But honestly, I have so many people that deserve the title of "best friend" that I'll just choose one that feels particularly accurate: My writer friend of chance, whom I met on a drunken trip to Prague and who introduced me to Chance the rapper as we were making our way to Cuernavaca on that dark bus ride, 8 years, or so, ago.

We should all have a blog We should all let our inner teenager run wild with theories and musings nobody will ever take seriously, the discoveries that are full of common sense when contrasted to each other's. They are our discoveries and are as personal as a song written using the same chords as thousands before us. It is our blog.

But fuck it, let's rebrand. We should all have an experience--fuck, Airbnb already coined that. We should all have a story? Instagram. We should all have memories? Facebook. What about an Introspection? Or to make it sound fancy, some Selbstbetractung? Ah, nothing like bringing in some European flair to make things sound formal.

[Insert new name for blogs]. Much better. I can't believe we went with the term "blog" for so long. It's perfect early internet slang, but drat, imagine if Shakespeare had a blog!

Meanwhile, the connotation that a blog is a sandbox with toys buried here and there is appealing. A blog should not be a memoir. It should be dirty and rambling and uncomfortably personal. We need more privacy in our lives, enough to let us share the ugly and unkempt.

We should be documenting our evolution Back when I played Digimon World, I would always be annoyed that there was no way to keep track of what you started with. You would get your partner digimon and, unlike other monster collecting games, they would grow, die and be reborn as a completely new thing. But you only ever got one. The same companion to restart the cycle, a spiral that revolves.

I like to think that people are the same. I keep track of a "family tree" of sorts that shows all the different people I've been throughout my life, their influences, goals and passions. My ex, let's call him Lazarus, has clearly changed radically between his teens, 20s and so on. And so have you, Micah. You're still not in your 30s but I can see all your versions as clear as a family portrait: The young one eager to explore the world, learn German and learn about love; the rebellious brother who wanted to start his own company and question his identity, sexuality, even his relationship with his parents; the mature older brother with the ambition to climb the job ladder, with the impressive girlfriend, vision and lifestyle; and now, again, the writer who meditates with friends on a mountain while he dreams of Martian colonies and feuds between dynasties.

I call these versions relays, because they pass the baton of "who you are" at any given moment between them. I will write about it more in depth some day. Maybe I will get to write about the next generation of Micahs.

Looking forward to seeing you and to our South By adventure, Alan

[meshpiner]

Pokertracker pokerstars

#Pokertracker pokerstars software#

#Pokertracker pokerstars free#

Tracking programs allow someone to not only view their raw stat frequencies, but also filter for particular situations. Alone, hand histories made “talking” poker much easier. Those hand histories can then be studied and posted for further review by your peers. MP1 checks, Hero bets $25 and is all-in, MP1 calls $25 UTG folds, MP1 calls $2, MP2 folds, Hero raises to $8, BTN folds, BB calls $6, MP1 calls $6īB checks, MP1 checks, Hero bets $6, BB folds, MP1 calls $6

#Pokertracker pokerstars software#

It gathers raw data from any hand you either observe or are involved in, and then gives multiple ways of using that information.Įvery time you play a hand, the software pools that information and expresses the action in the form of a hand history. Poker tracking software works in several different ways. However, it wasn’t widely circulated and didn’t pack the mainstream punch that Super System did. *Actually, David Sklansky wrote the first true strategy book on poker in 1976 with Hold’em Poker. However, it appears that the golden age of poker development is behind us. Of course, there will always be room for improvement as the evolution of poker continues. Couple this knowledge with the poker boom, and you had a proverbial Manhattan Project when it came to the development of poker theory.įast forward ahead only about 5 years, and by 2012, much of the rapid progress in the development of poker theory was in the past. Simple math could then be easily applied and a sound strategy and counter strategy developed. What poker tracking programs did is add fuel to the fire by giving players the tools necessary to break every aspect of poker strategy down into nuts an bolts. Authors like David Sklansky and Mason Malmuth had begun building upon what Doyle Brunson had started way back in 1978* when he published Super System. Indeed, a string of high-quality books on theory had been written between the late 90’s and early 2000’s. In fact, people had already started thinking deeply about theory years before it even existed. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that tracking software was the sole reason that poker developed into the game it is today. Note: If you play on Ignition, Bovada, or Bodog, P4 and HEM2 won’t work without a converter or card catcher. Or, just go with HEM2, my personal favorite. My advice is to try both and see which one you like more. HEM2 is time-tested and easier to navigate (also cheaper).PT4 is a bit newer with more advanced features.If you are on the fence about which to choose: If you are an analytical player who loves to dive into statistical analysis and break down the game into the nuts and bolts, then Pokertracker 4 (PT4) or Hold’em Manager 2 (HEM2) is for you.

#Pokertracker pokerstars free#

Check the latest price and get a 30-day free trial. I used PokerTracker for a number of years and has a few newer features and updates. PokerTracker 4Ī very smooth functioning tracking software that has awesome HUD and personal study capability. It also has versus hero stats that I love! PT4 does not come with this feature. Choose this one if on a budget as it is priced much more cheaply than PokerTracker4, yet will do basically exactly the same thing. I have spent thousands (yes thousands) of hours using Hold’em Manager, or HEM. Best Programs For Analysis and Advanced HUDs 1. Here are the only tracking software programs that I recommend. If you use tracking software for no other reason, a HUD is almost a must-have if you want to excel at poker. Poker players are creatures of habit, and once you have played a few hands with someone, a heads-up-display (HUD) will give you a really accurate picture of what they are doing at the table. Tracking software allows you to gain powerful insights into what is going on at the tables through statistical analysis. Whether you play cash games or tournaments, analyzing the games of both you and your opponents is an important part of improving as a player.

[miekasa]

six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn​​ for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex. 

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.  

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.  

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team. 

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”  

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”  

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.” 

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

[beskarhearts]

AN INTRUDER (Connection Series Prologue)

Connection series: Prologue

Next Part

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, guns, death, fighting, mentions of past trauma

Word count: almost 11K

Summary: You thought the weirdest thing you would encounter on the desolate planet of Yungbrii would be the Mandalorian intruder you found in your home. That was until you laid eyes on a small green child.

Notes:  I am finally back and in business!! I took such a long break and I have no clue if anyone cares about this story, but I still do. I wanted to start fresh with a prologue for this series before eventually getting to rewriting all the current chapters out and then releasing new ones, a lot of which I already have written or like half written. It might be a slower process because I have school and work, but it will happen! I hope you guys enjoy and please please please tell me what you think!!

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The jagged landscape of Yungbrii, along with the desolate cold that always encapsulated it and seeped into the bones of the few citizens who lived there, was the perfect environment for you. It was barren, with a population so small that many didn't even know a single soul resided there. The days seemingly bled into each other until life seemed like an endless cycle of complete and utter nothingness. It was a depressing planet in all honestly. No communities. No beauty to bewitch any travelers. It was plain, like the few who lived there. That is why it was perfect for you.

It sounded depressing but it was the truth. You weren't nearly old enough to be in this mindset yet but you felt like you had lived a thousand lives in this one and it was a life that didn't have much to offer you but a horrible, aching pain that couldn't be healed. And even though you had that terrible, small inkling of desperate desires inside of you, something that gnawed at you and begged for more than the life you had resigned yourself to, you buried it. Just like the land you lived on got buried in the snow and cold.

Besides you had the necessities. You had food and water. You had a bed. Hell, you even had a mechanic shop and though customers were rare, especially as the days got shorter, that was a lot more than many people in this galaxy had. It was more than you had just a year ago. So maybe this, in the end, was all you really needed. No friends. No family. No life. Just this.

But it didn't stop you from imagining a thousand different scenarios of how your life could go in the dark cloak of the night. It didn't stop you from wishing of leaving Yungbrii, traveling the galaxy or at least finding some semblance of something meaningful. Something that meant anything. But those were thoughts you kept for night, when you were tucked in your bed beneath the sheets. Alone.

____________________

"Darin, you've raised the price for this caf on me every-time I've come in here. This is getting atrocious."

"Caf is a luxury on this planet and if you don't want to pay the price, you can simply not have it." The man responded with a husky voice soaked in annoyance, his face perfectly encapsulating how much he truly didn't care about you. His crusty beard covered a good half of his place, wrinkled face but you could still see bitterness and resentment hidden under the mess.

You let out a sigh, staring at the canister of caf he had sitting on the counter between the two of you. It was the smallest one he'd gotten in also the most expensive one yet. He was robbing you blind but caf was the only thing that seemed to bring you any happiness anymore. And the last time you tried to quit caf, it had graciously cost you numerous migraines until you cracked and slammed four cups of it down in one sitting. You pulled the credits out of your pocket and slammed them on the counter. "Screw you." you muttered.

Darin, the single store owner in the area, gave you an ugly grin. The slimeball knew he had you in a chokehold and you were willing to bet your caf addiction was the only thing keeping him in business anymore. "I'm not here to make friends." he sneered, his grubby hand grasping at the credits as you yanked the caf canister towards you, holding it against your chest like it was a priceless gem. Hell, for that price it might as well had been. It better be the best damn caf you had ever let touch your lips.

"Yeah. No shit." you muttered, shuffling out of the store and into the bitter cold. You knew the comment would probably make the rate go double next week when you begrudgingly made your way back to that store, but it wasn't your day. You hadn't had a customer in weeks. And while you certainly didn't have any regulars, you'd usually have to help one person who found their way on this shit hole planet and needed some repairs.

Your feet dragged against the thick layer of snow that coated the planet, cursing yourself for not wearing your thicker jacket. You used to dream of snow when you were younger. Having grown up on a planet like Jakku, you had never seen it. Had never watched white flakes slowly flitter down, delicately falling into every corner and crevice of a planet. The first time you did see it, it took your breath away. You had stood in the middle of it, finding peace and calm in the silence. Like the snow had stifled every sound, even the constant nagging of your own mind. You had loved it.

Now your love for it was not as prevalent when it was a constant companion. Now it was just cold and reminded you of loneliness, a prospect you already confronted every time you looked around your empty home.

Rounding the corner, you finally laid your eyes on your small abode. You had only walked a couple hundred feet at best, but any walk in this kind of weather felt like it lasted miles. Or maybe you just desperately needed a hot cup of caf.

Your home, if you could call it that, was small and dated. No warm feeling of home radiated off the muddled establishment. In fact, it resembled a desolate cave more than any sort of home you had ever pictured in your mind. You didn't bother to talk to people here but you couldn't imagine any person on this planet looked at where they lived and thought of it as home. Things on Yungbrii weren't made with the intent to make you feel welcomed or comforted. The few things that stood on the barren planet were built purely out of necessity by people who had poor enough luck to land on the forsaken planet.

In all honesty, you didn't want to go inside and sit there all day, instead hoping for something of any excitement to occur. But you had nothing else so you neared the door, your numb fingers reaching out for the handle when you paused.

The door was cracked open.

You knew with one thousand percent certainty you hadn't forgotten to close the door. You didn't do things like that. You had ingrained into the deepest recesses of your brain that mistakes as small as this cost. You didn't allow these small slip ups any more. Life was too cruel for one small mistake to be just that. A mistake.

You took in a sharp breath, softly laying the caf canister on the ground as to not make noise and slipped your hand beneath your jacket, to the blaster that was firmly tucked behind you. You had you wouldn't have to use the blaster that you now gripped in your hands, your index finger ghosting the trigger that was cool to the touch. Usually pulling it out was threat enough to you. Hopefully that would still work in your favor today.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. You let your other hand softly graze the metal door, letting it softly push open as to not make any noise. Your eyes peered into the gap, adjusting to the dull light of the room. Luckily for you, or perhaps unfortunately for you, your intruder wasn't hard to miss. You squinted your eyes, a deep furrow forming in your brow as your eyes narrowed in on the large figure whose back was turned to you.

What the fuck was a Mandalorian doing here?

You turned your head to look behind you, finding nobody else and nothing else. It wasn't until you let your eyes wander down that you noticed the large boot prints etched into the snow, leading straight to your door. You cursed yourself for your stupidity, for allowing yourself to be so preoccupied you hadn't noticed them. You had been reckless and look where it had left you.

A clang of metal against metal rang out and you sharply turned your head, back towards the Mandalorian who was still turned away from you. Even though they were now bent over, arms reaching down, you could tell they were a figure to behold. Intimidation seemed to roll off them in waves, with their sleek metal suit glistening in the sparse light of the room. It was alluring in its own way, if you were the kind of person who enjoyed the soft whispers of danger that seemed to encapsulate them. The angles and smoothness of it was contradictory to the figure itself. It was so polished and sleek, like a brand new shiny ship, almost beautiful even, but your grandmother had told you enough about Mandalorians to know the danger they presented. A person of real flesh and blood was under there, even if the outside was so cold and robotic. A person who was now an intruder.

More metal clang together as the Mandalorian stayed hunched over, arms moving around in the item that was hidden behind their hulking figure. But you knew what they were doing. They were in your tool box, rummaging through the tools that were your lifeline and one of the only reminders of your past. You felt this light a fire in you, anger pulsing through you like it was seeping into your blood stream. You should of been more annoyed that this stranger has invaded your space, and while you certainly were, you were angriest that they had the audacity to touch your tool box.

You pushed on the door more, holding your breath as to not even let the smallest noise slip. You knew Mandalorians had weapons, plenty of them at that. And all you had was the outdated blaster you now clutched tightly in your hand. The only advantage you would have was the element of surprise, though you doubted that itself would be enough.

As you finally entered the room, your slow footsteps led you closer to the intruder. You felt as light of a feather, trying your best to be the stealthiest you had ever been. You wondered if the person before you knew you were there, was just waiting for the best moment to turn around and put to play whatever mischievous plan they had.

But that moment seemed to never come, even if it felt like it was taking you minutes to finally come within a few feet of the Mandalorian. You slowly raised your arm, aiming the blaster at their back and cursing yourself for letting your arm shake in the slightest. You needed to be brave. You needed to ignore the terror inside you. You couldn't think about the fact that you were alone, with no one close enough to come help you. You had to ignore how your eyes landed on the vast variety of weapons strapped to the waist and back of the Mandalorian.

You had no one else. It was just you. Even if you were the idiot holding a blaster to beskar steel.

"Don't move." you gritted out, feeling the words barely push past your bared teeth as you continued to hold the blaster as firmly as you could. The Mandalorians body stiffened immediately at the sound of your voice, hands pulling away slowly from the tool box but staying in front of them. A few seconds passed by before the Mandalorian began to move. You gripped to the blaster tighter, finger now resting on the trigger, but they only turned their helmet to the left. You followed its line of sight. "Fuck."

You couldn't even begin to guess as to what it was. It looked like a child but perhaps you were wrong. You had never seen a creature like it at all, couldn't even name a species it had slightly resembled. It was a couple feet tall, if that, in no way appearing to be a threat to you. A large tan coat wrapped the tiny body up, seeming to swallow the creature up so much so that only its head peeked out. You watched its big wide eyes and then glanced over at the large green ears that stuck out of both sides of its head, looking almost comical. Its dark eyes were staring directly at you, a plain face looking between you and the Mandalorian, as well as the blaster you still had aimed at the mass of metal before you.

You felt your breathing quicken, the bravery you had barely been able to muster being sucked out of you by the creature you and the Mandalorian looked at. From the way it peered at the Mandalorian, it seemed to know them. It wasn't some random creature that had happened to stumble into your shop after the Mandalorian. This creature was innocent, that you knew beyond any shadow of a doubt. The Mandalorian, on the other hand, you knew nothing about. Would they bring a child with them if they had planned on doing something grim? Unless this wasn't a child and just resembled one so much.

"Don't hurt the kid." The Mandalorian spoke, the deep voice cackling through the modulator of the helmet with a natural gruffness. It was masculine and simultaneously warm and cold. It was the kind of voice that could strike intimidation and fear into your heart. It was the kind of voice that struck fear in your heart.

You kept your gaze on the child. It was a kid. An innocent kid. And the fact that the Mandalorian didn't turn around and kill you as you dumb foundedly looked down at the kid had to be a good sign, right? Or were you simply being delusional because you didn't want to become the very monster that haunted your own dreams? The kind of monster who inflicted pain on innocent people right in front of their own innocent eyes.

You lowered the hand with the blaster, your finger slipping away from the trigger but now gripping the holster so tightly that your knuckles were surely turning white. The tremor in your arm was getting worse but you pulled it to your side, willing yourself to appear strong and composed. The Mandalorian stayed hunched but completely still, helmet still aimed at the child, who was frozen in its spot and peering up at you, big eyes slowly blinking like he was taking in the moment.

"Stand up." you finally spoke out, backing up as the Mandalorian straightened out, rising from his position but not turning to face you. You had known he would be big but it didn't hit you how large he was until your eyes surveyed broad shoulders and his tall figure. The more you looked at him, the less he seemed like a man and the more he seemed like a weapon.

You glanced back over at the child when a flash of silver danced in the corner of your eyes. You barely had time to look over when you felt a force push into you. You stumbled back, now able to see the Mandalorian reaching towards your arms. You ignored the pain in your chest, yanking your arms back and kicking a leg out to kick at the Mandalorian. You were able to place a firm blow to the chest, the kind that would normally make a man fall back but only made this man slightly waver where he stood. He reached for you again and you ducked down, sliding to the right and pulling the blaster up to aim at him.

He now lunged towards you, hand grabbing your wrist that held the blaster and you grunted in pain. You pushed against him, wrestling with him as he pushed you against the wall. You peered into the visor for the first time, only seeing your face stare back at you. You gritted your teeth, trying to land a kick to his groin but your knee just made contact with his metal codpiece, making a sharp pain run up your knee.

The Mandalorian seemed barely effected by your movements, peering up at you plainly with not a single noise spilling from his helmet. Your chest heaved as he kept you pinned against the wall, your hand still clutching the blaster but your arm being gripped tightly by his warm hand.

"Let go of me, asshole." you sneered, spit spraying from your lips and onto the helmet. But the Mandalorian lacked a response, continuing to stare at you. Was he trying to determine how best to kill you?

You both became distracted when an intelligible noise rang out into the room. You looked over at the child, who was now shuffling towards you. It seemed to struggle due to its baggy clothing but seemed to be determined nonetheless, making its way towards the two of you.

"Kid, stay back." The Mandalorian finally spoke, trying to sound stern but the child paid no mind, seeming insistent with every step it made. It eventually stood right next to you guys, tiny head looking up at you two. The Mandalorian and you both looked down at it, waiting for something you both couldn't name.

A small green hand poked out of the sleeve and you saw small fingers reach towards the Mandalorian's hand that pinned your arm back. You suddenly felt the blaster slip out of your fingers from a force you couldn't name, falling to the floor with a clatter that made you almost jump. The Mandalorians arm then jerked back and he took a few steps back, looking down at the kid.

The arm slowly lowered down, big eyes blinking slowly as if the creature was collecting itself. It couldn't have pushed the gun out of your hand and moved the Mandalorian away, right?

Right?

You looked back over at the Mandalorian, who grabbed the child quickly and held him to his chest place, looking back over at you. You pondered reaching for your blaster again but knew you wouldn't use it, not with the kid here.

"What are you doing here?" you finally spoke, raising an eyebrow as the child turned to you at the sound of your voice and smiled. It seemed like the kid liked you. You hadn't exactly made a good impression so you weren't sure where it was coming from.

The helmet of the Mandalorian tilted and it unnerved you. You were pretty good at reading people and their expressions, even when they had poker face. But you had nothing to go off of with this man. No quirk of the brow or lift of a lip. No scrunched eyes or expression. All you had was his body language which was as rigid as the voice you had heard.

Silence filled the space and you shifted in your spot, bringing your hand to wrap around the wrist he had gripped. It hurt but was nothing to go crying about. You had honestly expected a lot worse. You looked back at the Mandalorian, rolling your eyes when he just continued to peer at you. "You do realize you are the one who broke in, right?"

"This is a shop." he finally spoke, speaking plainly.

You signed. No shit. "It's a mechanic shop. And my house." You then felt silly, explaining yourself to the man who had broken in to your home. "Not that any of this matters because either way, you still broke in."

"I knocked. No one answered." His hand that didn't hold the child lifted to rest on his hip.

"Oh, yeah, I totally forgot that a lack of an answer meant you could break in. Thanks for reminding me, asshole." you sarcastically answered. You cringed as the child looked back over at you when you cursed and gave him a guilty smile. "Sorry."

You were shocked when the kid broke out into a wide grin and... was that a laugh? You couldn't help the small quirk of your lip at the sound.

"I needed tools."

You deflated when the Mandalorian spoke again. You wished the kid spoke basic or any language that was remotely understandable. It seemed far better company than its caretaker (if that is what he was). "So you were breaking in to steal my tools?"

"I was going to use them on my ship and return them."

You couldn't. You couldn't offer your services to the man who broke into your house and then attacked you.

But then again... maybe you could? You couldn't deny it had been way too long since you worked and a few credits in your pocket wouldn't hurt. But even more important to you was the actual action of working on a ship. You loved fixing ships. You loved the metal and the oil and the smell of it. You loved the way your hand would cramp from holding tools all the day, the way your back would be sore for being hunched over a difficult patch of wires all day.

No. No, you couldn't. He attacked you for Makers sake.

But his kid was cute.

Ah, fuck it.

"I'm a mechanic." you stated, reflecting his position by placing your hand on your hip and cocking it out. "What kind of ship is it?"

"You tried to kill me."

You let out an exaggerated scoff, rolling your eyes. "Alright, pal. That is a wee bit dramatic. I just held a blaster to you. And to be fair, I didn't know you had a kid. Also you proceeded to actually attack me in my own home so..."

The Mandalorian cocked his head to the side, as if considering your words. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm a mechanic. And..." you looked him up and down, surveying him. "that suit is pure beskar from the looks of it. All your weapons appear to be high quality as well. Expensive. So, I am going to assume you had the credits to pay for all of that."

The Mandalorian shifted in his spot, hand slipping to his side and his body becoming more rigid, even with the squirming child in his arms. Was it discomfort that made him do that? Did he not like that you had tried to read him? You couldn't tell but it had been the closest he had come to any sort of human emotion.

"I'm not interested." he replied. "I'll pay for your tools."

You glared back at him, eyebrow raised. "Nah. Not happening. Those tools aren't for sale."

"I'll pay for them and bring-"

"The tools aren't for sale." you repeated sternly. "No one touches them but me."

A long sigh was emitted from his modulator, looking down at the child who now glanced back at him. He seemed to consider for a second before looking back at you. "Are you any good?"

This time, you let out an incredibly exaggerated scoff, shaking your head and crossing your arms. The pure audacity of man. "First of all, I am the only mechanic on this planet so you aren't going to find anyone else to help you out. Second of all, I am a hell of a mechanic. The best you have ever met. I can guarantee it."

Yeah, that sounded cocky. But it was probably true.

"How much?"

You smirked, feeling like you were finally inching towards the deal you desperately craved, like the hit your morning caf gave you but much stronger. "What kind of ship is it?"

"A ST-70 Assault Ship."

"A Razor Crest?" you let out a dry chuckle. You had only seen once before. It was what you would definitely refer to as a vintage model. It was pre-Empire, meaning it lacked a lot of new technology that most ships now had. Also mean depending on how well taken care it was, almost all the parts could be original would mean it was incredibly run down.

The Mandalorian paused. "It is well used."

You had been a mechanic long enough to know what that meant. That meant it was a piece of crap hunk of junk. And if it was that old? It was probably be better as a junk pile than a mode of transportation. "What is wrong with it?"

"The hyperdrive won't work."

That was something you could fix easily. Depending on the extent of the damage, it could take longer but no more than a few days as long as you had all the right tools and parts. Ordering tools to a planet like this meant going to Darin, but that was something you were willing to do. For the right price.

"Seven thousand credits. Maybe more if we need to order parts."

The Mandalorian scoffed. "I'll find someone else."

"Like I said, you won't find anyone else. Nor will you find another ship on this damn planet. Or anyway off it without your own." He tilted his head, seeming to not believe you. "Trust me."

"Seven thousand credits is a steep price."

You smirked. "Not for the quality work I provide. But hey, don't pay it. But then you and the kid will be rotting away on this planet for the rest of your days. Hell, maybe we could even be neighbors."

The Mandalorian looked down at the child, a grunt ringing out in the room before he begrudgingly agreed. "Fine."

You grinned, feeling for the first time in weeks the smallest bit of your old self come back to life. You glided past the Mandalorian, bending down to grab your bag and tool box before looking back up at him. "Take me to the ship.”

____________________

You couldn't help the grimace on your face. It looked older than you had imagined it would in your head. And you hadn’t been imagining anything good in your head. It was dated and no attempt had been made to make it look like it wasn’t pre-Empire. It wasn’t falling apart or anything, at least not from what the average Joe could tell. You supposed you could be grateful for that. But you had assumed it would look a little more upgraded than it did, considering the appearance of the Mandalorian himself. But perhaps he was old school, preferring the older aspects of the ship.

The Mandalorian was stood beside you, hands on his hips as his T-visor looked over the ship. The small child was at your side, it’s small hand resting on your calf as you both stood in the snow. The little one had insisted on walking with you the whole way from your home to the patch of land where the Razor Crest resided. Every time the Mandalorian had tried to pick the little one up, he had let out small protests and reached towards you. You weren’t exactly sure where his fascination with you came from, but you felt similarly. You imagined most people were taken aback by the child’s appearance but you were still certain it had been he who had forced that blaster on of your hand and pushed the Mandalorian back. It had to have been.

There was also this inexplicable feeling that rushed through you each time you made eye contact with the kid. He was a total stranger you had only known for about a half hour now, but there was a familiarity in him. A kind of comfort. It made you feel warm and you just felt grateful to have met him.

You looked down at the child who glanced up at you. “Your dad didn’t mention that this ship was older than the galaxy itself.”

"I'm not his father." The Mandalorian quickly corrected, looking down at the kid briefly before looking back up at the ship. You wanted to ask about a million questions. Who was the kid? Why did he have the kid? What the hell were they doing anywhere near this planet? Did he look like the kid under the helmet?

But you could tell that the kid and him cared for each other. You could feel it coming in waves from the child, like this warm feeling bloomed within him whenever he was with the Mandalorian. A warm feeling that could be best described as family. Belonging. You knew that feeling meant more than anything else in the world and everybody, even stone cold Mandalorians, probably yearned for that kind of connection.

Or maybe you were just projecting your desires onto the man of beskar.

"Either way, your ship is a mess." You muttered directly to the Mandalorian.

"It works fine. I just need the hyperdrive fixed." He insisted.

You snorted, looking down at the child to give him a face that said 'Give me a break'. And you swore the child returned the same one to you, like 'You're telling me'. "This ships looks like a flying piece of junk metal."

"Are you going to fix it or not?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. In no way would you consider yourself to be a particularly social person, although you suppose in the past you used to be, but this Mandalorian was really taking the cake. Everything he said was short and clipped, directly to the point. He had never at any point introduced himself, even when you told him your name, or even apologize for breaking in which still irked you.

Let's just put it this way. He should count himself very lucky he had a cute kid. Or maybe you were lucky he had the cute kid.

You strolled up to the hyperdrive, giving it a long careful look. It was surprisingly in better shape than you had expected given its age. You had expected something to be broken because of old age but that wasn't it at all. Something had gotten stuck in the hyperdrive, slamming into the transpacitor and tearing it up. You saw a few other small things, including a tweaked power flux connector that would eventually wear down. But otherwise, it was pretty well taken care of.

"You've got a mechanic, already?" you asked, still peering into the ship and taking a look at all the individual parts.

"Yes." he answered.

"They did a decent job, especially with a ship this old. Something got in your hyperdrive. You are gonna need a new transpacitor. I'm gonna need to order a new one."

"You don't have one?" he asked.

You sighed and looked over at him. "Oh yeah, I always have a ST-70 Assault ship transpacitor laying around because of how common these things are."

"How long will it take to get here?" he plainly responded. You were getting annoyed with his lack of humor. With how bland his personality was, you were probably the funniest damn person he'd ever met. He should be grateful for your jokes.

With a huff, you answered blandly. "Eh, if I order it now, it will probably take a day to find one and then a few days to get here, if we are lucky. Maybe a little longer. In the meantime, I can fix up this connector for you, maybe a few other thi-"

"That's too long." The Mandalorian interrupted, his gaze frozen on you.

Your shrugged. "This is Yungbrii. You can try to fly to another planet without hyperdrive but it will take longer than it would to just sit still and wait for the part."

The Mandalorian let out a loud sigh. "I need to go fast."

You knew that urgency that was laced in his words. You had had that very urgency yourself. The kind that made your skin crawl and puts you on edge. You looked down between him and the child and slowly asked your next question. "Are you two running from something?"

His helmet stilled and you froze in your spot, worrying you had overstepped an unspoken line in the sand.

"No." he said.

You didn't believe him though. You didn't need to see his face to know that he was lying. And while you were curious, it ultimately didn't matter what was going on. If you had to bet your life on it, you had a feeling it had to do with the kid who stood between you two.

So you just let out a curt nod. "Let me see what I can do."

____________________

Darin had been a real dick about it and you about damn near killed the man, but after several very colorful threats, he found the part for you. And he absolutely screwed you over with the price, practically robbed you blind, but he could get it here in two days. A hell of a lot faster than you had hoped.

You made the trek back to the Razor Crest, pockets a lot lighter with all the credits you had paid, a large container of caf, and a power flux connector in hand.

The Mandalorian had stayed in place with the child by the ship, not wanting anyone else to see the two of them. When you pulled up to the ship, you noticed the door to it was open and paused before going up the ramp. You didn't want to invade anyones privacy and just stroll in. But you wanted to share the good news and be incredibly noisy and check out the place.

And hell, he had broken into your home so screw it. You began to make your way up the ramp, each stomp of your foot against the metal ringing out into the eerie silence of the nature that surrounded you. You let out a sigh of relief when you entered. It was cold but a little bit warmer, bringing some life into your chilled joints.

The inside of the Crest looked older than the outside of it, at least from what you could see of the hull. It was a pretty big ship for its age but it was still tight. You saw a carbonite locker in the corner, as well as what you assumed was an arsenal where he stored his weapons. In the opposite corner was a small hatch leading to what you assumed was the cot. The Mandalorian stood in that very corner and looked back at you.

You couldn't help the small chill that ran down your spine as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed and helmet aimed right at you in complete silence. It was eerie, unnerving. You jerked your head towards the carbonite locker. "So you are a bounty hunter?"

You cursed yourself for saying something so dumb and obvious. You blamed it on the fact that you hadn't really socialized with someone in so long but it probably had more to do with how intimidating of a figure the Mandalorian was.

The Mandalorian never asked and you shrugged. "Fair 'nough. That was a dumb question." you stood in your spot, beginning to tap a foot when you lifted your arm up that held onto the jug of caf. "Want some caf?"

The Mandalorians head angled in on you more, tilting slightly. You cringed at the movement. "I don't know what I said wrong that time."

"I don't take my helmet off. This is the way."

Your eyes slightly widened and you lowered your arm back down, pulling the caf into your chest like a security blanket. This is the way? What the fuck did that mean?

Instead of asking more questions, you looked down at the floor to find the kid sitting there, playing with a small spherical metal bulb in his hands. It was the furthest thing from a proper toy but the kid looked absolutely enthralled by it. He lifted his hand up to show you the ball and you gave him a small smile. "Hey kid, want some caf?" you joked.

"He can't have caf." The Mandalorian stated matter-of-factly.

You now let out a Mandalorian-esque sigh, giving him a tired expression. "It was called a joke. Get a sense of humor."

You tried to relax, twisting open the cap to your bottle and taking a big sip of caf. You felt the hot beverage course through you and let out a content sigh, a soft smile etching into your face at the taste of such wonder. You turned back to the Mandalorian. "You ought to consider yourself lucky to have met me. Transpacitor will be here in two days, which is practically light speed compared to how long things take to get here."

"Did you mention us?"

You quirked your head to the side, shaking it slowly. "No. Seemed like you guys wanted to stay incognito."

"Good."

The Mandalorian stomped away from the corner, making his way towards the arsenal and looking at his guns. You wondered if maybe his was uncomfortable. Or if didn't realize how awkward and unwelcoming he was. Either way, you felt awkward and also neglected. You had just given him good news. Hell, great news for a planet like this. He couldn't even bother with a response that consisted of more than one word.

"You know you could thank me for helping you." you muttered out, looking down at your feet. "I had to threaten a man to get that part here this fast." You decided it much better to not mention that threatening the disgusting guy had brought you much joy. You figured it would be counterintuitive.

The Mandalorian didn't turn to you but nodded to himself. "Thank you."

You took that as a small victory, figuring something like that wasn't common for a man like that to say. You looked at the kid, as if to say 'Hey, look at the neat trick I just did'. He just shook his head back at you and looked back down at his ball. You felt your shoulders slump, feeling deflated. You supposed a simple thank you wasn't that much a win. Actually just the bare minimum.

Usually, this was when you would walk off and start replacing the power flux connector. In all honesty, that is what you just should of done. But you felt some need to try to make conversation with the Mandalorian. He would be hanging around for the next couple days and you'd be working on his ship. A simple conversation wouldn't hurt.

You also credited this desire to the kid. You felt like the Mandalorian was important to the kid, and you found yourself really liking the kid. You didn't even know why you did as much as you did since you had just met the thing. But you felt a connection to him, like you had met him before. He was also stinking adorable and you wanted to squish his little face, but that was a thought far too embarrassing to admit out-loud to yourself and certainly not to this tin can over there.

"So, you have a name?" you asked.

The Mandalorian now turned to face you and you felt yourself clam up at the position you were in. You were embarrassing yourself, trying to make conversation with a guy who would probably be doing anything other than talk to you. So instead of stopping, you decided to ramble. "It's just, y'know, I told you my name. And it is typically courteous to give somebody your name when you introduce yourself. Not that you even bothered to do that but whatever that doesn't really matter."

The Mandalorian stayed quiet and you felt your face slightly flush in humiliation. But once again you let your lips open again and felt more words you couldn't even control spilling out. "I don't usually talk this much. Like at all. I think the kid is making me do it."

You felt silly blaming the kid, especially when he looked up and let out a small patoo that sounded just as innocent as you knew it would.

"You can call me Mando." the man finally spoke and you shook your head.

That was enough discomfort than you could handle in one single conversation. "Great. Cool. Okay. I am going to go work on your ship."

You quickly turned around and proceeded to slam into the wall, not paying attention to the fact you were in a small hull of a ship while trying to rush out of it. You let out a small groan but threw a thumb up and made your way down the ramp. "I'm good. Not that you care."

And you swore you could hear the child laugh as you made your way down. Little womprat.

____________________

You didn't know why but you had spent the following two days constantly in the company of the Mandalorian and his child.

Actually you knew why. Cause his kid was the cutest thing you'd ever seen and your new best friend. And the Mandalorian was a tweaker who would never allow the child out of his sight, especially not when he was with you.

You probably should of been insulted by the fact that he didn't trust you, but to be fair, you didn't give him much to trust you with. Not that he had tried at all to get to know you or talk to you. He would just stand afar, hand always carefully placed on his hip, mere inches from his blaster, and his T-visor trained on the child and his surroundings at all times. It was like he was always on, never having a moment to be human because he was constantly on edge. You understood that feeling, had for a long time now.

In fact, the thing that had made you feel the most human in a long time was the tiny booger sitting next to you in the snow that was slowly melting in small patches. You had busied yourself for two days, fixing things on the ship. It was wonderful. You were keeping your hand and mind busy, not spending long days alone, hoarded up in your room with only a cup of caf to look forward to. It was also nice to have company.

You couldn't speak to the child, or rather you could but you weren't sure if he could understand you. But for some reason, you had a feeling that the child understood a lot more than one would guess. You would talk to the kid, telling him what you were doing on the ship or just telling him random stories, and it seemed like sometimes he would respond to you. He would blabber away in his own language, tiny noises spilling from his lips that you couldn't understand but you hooked onto, listening intently like you were having a real conversation. And maybe you were. Maybe that is why the child would always chuckle when you respond to his foreign language like you were the silly one.

The child would spent most of his day with you, until eventually he got grumpy enough he would start whining and pouting his tiny lips. It was then that the Mandalorian would come scoop him off the ground, giving you a nod as he took the child away to take a nap or feed him.

It was getting to that time today, the big eyes of the small creature starting to droop slowly, a dazed expression of sleepiness taking over. As if on cue, you heard the crunch of the snow as the Mandalorian marched over, each step of his boot leaving a pronounced print in the thin layer of snow. "C'mon, kid."

You looked up at the two as he held the child in his arms and couldn't help the small smile that danced on your lips. They were a family, for better or for worse. A bizarre one at that, but did it really matter who was in your family or what they looked like when you shared that kind of bond? You could tell in the way that the Mandalorian would allow the tiny green hand of the child to wrap around one of his fingers and the way the child would settle into his chest, nuzzling into the chest plate of armor as if he had done it countless times.

"Does the kid have a name?"

The Mandalorians head slowly looked over at you. "Not one I know."

You nodded. "I've been calling him womp rat and he seems to like it."

Even in his half asleep haze, you saw the child smile softly at the nickname. Oh boy, you were becoming a sap for the little guy with the way it made your heart melt.

The Mandalorian nodded, as if taking your joke seriously and giving the nickname consideration. You didn't bother to say much else of anything when he walked towards the entrance to the ship on the other side, rounding the corner and disappearing.

You looked down at the snow, where the soft imprint from where the child had sat was etched into the white blanket. You felt stupid, feeling so close to the creature but it felt like you couldn't help it. Today the transpacitor was supposed to show up, meaning the Mandalorian would leave with the child in tow. And you would miss the company.

You were zoned out when the Mandalorian returned and your head jerked over to look at him, eyebrow raised. He usually stayed with the child in the ship while he napped but he had probably come asking about the ship.

"I should probably head to the shop right now. The part should be in by now." you explained, grabbing your bag off the ground you brought with you everywhere and slinging it over your neck.

"You are good with the child."

You couldn't help the shocked expression on your face, looking into the T-visor of his helmet as if trying to make eye contact. You wondered if you were, if his mysterious eyes were looking into yours. "Thanks." you hesitantly said, not sure if it was a compliment when he more stated it as if it was just a fact.

"You have children?" you assumed it was a question, even though it said it very similarly to his previous declaration.

You couldn't help snorting. "Oh Maker, no. I have nothing."

You froze up, not realizing why those words had slipped off your tongue so easily. It was true, but it wasn't something you had to advertise. You pulled yourself back together, both hand clutching on the strap of your back as you squared your shoulders back. "I'm going to go get the transpacitor. Be back."

You didn't wait for a response, not that you expected one, and moved hastily towards the store. The Mandalorian made it clear he needed to get moving quickly and in the end, you were only a mechanic who was going to make good on your promise.

You approached the rackety small storefront, pushing the metal door open with a shove and stumbling inside. A stale smell enveloped your nostrils, just like it always did, and you scrunched up your face. The lighting in the store was dim but you looked around, locking eyes with a pair of men in the corner who looked back at you intently. They were shady looking figures, wearing numerous scarves and cowls probably in the name of warmth. But you were willing to bet those were for more nefarious reasons. You turned away from them and paid no mind. Yungbrii wasn't sprawling with model citizens. People on this planet were here for a reason. They either wanted nothing to do with the galaxy and the politics that came with it, or they were running away from something. You were in the latter group and tried to reserve any judgement you could.

You strolled up to the counter where Darin was looking down, seemingly invested in a card game he was playing with himself. “Hey, my part come in yet?”

Darin didn’t bother to look up, holding up a grubby finger to silence you as he stayed peering down at his cards. You let out a sigh, feeling impatient after only waiting a few seconds. “You are playing against yourself for Makers sake. How hard can it be?”

Darin let out a growl, shaking his head as he looked up. “You made me lose concentration.”

“Oh shit, you are probably gonna lose against yourself again.” You sarcastically muttered.

Darin rolled his eyes, jerking to grab a box off the counter behind him. “Why you in such a rush for this part?”

“Just hand it to me, Darin.” you plainly stated, trying to ignore the way you could feel the eyes or the two men in the back corner staring right at the back of you.

He placed the package on the counter, shoving it forward towards you but not letting go of it, even when you began to tug at it. “Can I help you?”

“You just haven’t had a customer in a long while is all. And I haven’t seen any new faces around the shop.” He gruffly stated. You noticed how his eyes briefly flitted with the men in the corner, who seemed very interested in your conversation. You didn’t like the way he was speaking, as if in code for the ears of the men in the back.

“Well I’m just flattered to know after all this time you have cared about me and my business so deeply.” You said, quirking an eyebrow and narrowing your eyes. “Now can I have my part?”

“I heard it was one of them Mandalorians.”

You jerked around when you heard a slurred voice in the corner. To no surprise, it was one of the men. Looking them square in the face as they slowly approached you, you could see they were brothers of some kind. And very drunk.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” you asked.

“We’ve just heard something is all.” the other brother responded.

You didn’t like this. You felt a pit in your stomach form. You certainly as hell hadn’t told anyone about the Mandalorian or his child. The Mandalorian hadn’t left his ship and certainly wouldn’t have shown up here with the child in tow.

Meaning someone was keeping an eye on the Mandalorian. Which meant they probably knew of the kid as well.

You chose not to answer them or threaten them, instead giving all three men a curt nod. “Have a good one, boys.”

You pulled the box in to your arms, trying to appear as cool as a cat, relaxed and calm as you slinked out of the store like you hadn’t a single care in the whole galaxy. You exited, letting the door softly close behind you and taking precise steps until you were far enough away from the store to show your discomfort. You then began to quicken your speed, rushing towards the Crest and checking behind you occasionally for any unforeseen visitors.

When you finally approached the Razor Crest, you hollered out the nickname you had been given for the first time. “Mando!”

You heard footsteps quickly stomp down the ramp of the ship and the Mandalorian came into the light, looking at you.

“You’ve got any friends I should know about?” You asked, dropping the box down on the ground softly as you breathed in small huffs.

He didn’t respond but his hand dashed towards his hip, fingers grazing over the blaster and that was answer enough.

“There were two brothers at the shop, real nice looking ones too, asking about you. I haven’t told anyone about you which means we have an uninvited visitor at some point.”

"How quickly can you get us out of here?" The Mandalorian asked directly.

“I can swap this out in probably an hour, have you up and running then. But you’ll have to fully hook it up once you land where you are going next.” You felt your cheeks flush at the urgency of it all, trying to ignore the pit that had settled into your stomach.

"I'll give you ten thousand credits if you can make it half an hour."

You felt your mouth dry up. Not because of the amount of money even though it was obscene. But because you knew this meant this was bad. Worse than you had feared. And it probably meant the kid was in trouble.

Mando shook his head, beginning to open the box. You quickly rushed forwards, grabbing the transpacitor out of the box as soon as it was opened and rushing towards the ship. The Mandalorian rushed towards the open door to the ship, joining you moments later with the child in tow. You felt better being able to see the kid, who was safe and sound. The child looked at you both with a confused expression and you were wondering if it was because his nap got cut short or because he felt it too.

A chill ran down your back as you tugged the old transpacitor out, tossing it to the ground and taking the new one from the Mandalorian. He then reached into your tool box, handing you each tool as you called out for it. You’d normally yell at someone for touching those tools but you figured right now wasn’t the time.

“I need a five milimeter bolt.” you called out, head practically shoved into the hyperdrive, your hands toggling at something. When there was more clanging of metal and a longer wait, you pulled your head out and looked down at the Mandalorian who was digging around in the box.

“You don’t have one in here.” Shit. You of course left that one at the shop. “I have one in the ship. Give me a second.”

He stomped out with the child in his arms, out of sight. You tried to get back to work but couldn’t help how unnerved you felt by not being able to see the two of them in front of you. They were just on the other side of the ship but this bad feeling in your bones told you to check on them.

You pulled away from the hyperdrive, pulling the blaster off your hip that you had eventually retrieved again and clenched it in your hands. You slowly crept in the snow, trying your best to prevent making any unnecessary noises. You followed along the walls of the ship, delicately making each step until you rounded the corner.

Sure enough, the bad feeling you had was right. One of the brothers was inching towards the entrance of the ship, blaster raised in front of him. This wasn’t just a drunken man with a blaster. His arm was steady and his focus was sharp. He had purpose. He was there for a reason.

And you felt your blood freeze when you realized the child was in there.

Don't let anything happen to the child.

You didn’t have time to yell out a warning when the Mandalorian, child still in his arms, came into the light, visible to you and the man with cruel intentions. Or maybe you did have time but couldn’t find it in yourself to yell. You couldn’t tell when it felt like everything moved at light speed.

Instead of second guessing or worrying, you did what you knew you had to do deep down. You finally pulled back on the trigger and saw the flash of light before you had time to fully process that you had actually done it.

Your arm jerked back at the force of the blaster and you clamped both eyes shut, not wanting to see if you had been too late. You didn’t even open them when you heard footsteps rush towards you and a hand grab your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” the voice sounded and you let yourself let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding when you realized it was modulated. Slowly, you let your eyes open and blinked slowly when you saw the helmet of the Mandalorian tilting down at you, only inches away.

You felt his hand push you slightly, as if trying to jerk you awake but you just dumbly looked up at him. Were your ears ringing from the shot or were you just in shock? You slowly looked away from the helmet that intently looked down at you, eyes landing on the figure a few feet away from you. It was a limp figure, laying haphazardly in the snow like it was a doll that had been thrown onto a child’s floor. Like it was meaningless and nothing. Certainly didn’t look like a real life human.

Your hands began to violently shake as your chest began to heave, the blaster slipping from your fingers and landing with a soft plop on the snow. It landed so delicately like it was a weapon that could cause such life changing events to occur. You blinked quickly, fighting back tears bit you saw the outline of the Mandalorians figure begin to swim in your eyes.

“You need to breathe.”

Why did he sound so distorted? His voice was always modulated but it was usually so clear. Now it sounded muddled and like you were hearing it but now actually hearing it at all. Like a broken recording of it.

A small boise broke you out of your trance and you began to slowly blink, feel the air return to your lungs. It was until the shaking had mostly subsided and you felt like you were no longer drowning that you felt the small warm hand on your arm, patting at it softly.

You looked into the face of the child, who looked up at you softly and felt a wave of comfort wash over you. He was the reason you had done that. You didn’t know what had urged you to do it or what had told you, but you knew deeply and definitively that the child was important. That he needed protecting.

You had done the right thing.

“You okay?”

You finally looked at the Mandalorian and felt like you were getting your first real look at him. His chest was moving faster than you had ever seen it before, even when you two were fighting. Small puffs of air were just barely escaping from his modulator, so quiet that you could only hear the do you his proximity. His gloved hand that wasn’t holding the child was clutching onto his blaster like his life depended on it. It was the most human he had seemed.

“I’m okay.” you finally answered, your voice sounding firmer than you had initially expected.

“Thank you.” he spoke and this time, you knew he meant it.

You nodded and stepped back. “Do you have the tool?”

“The what?” Mando spoke, seeming genuinely confused.

“The bolt.” The man nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a rusted bolt that he held out to you. You clutched it tightly in your hand and nodded. “I’ve got to get you guys out of here.”

You were on autopilot, making your way to the new transpacitor and getting working on it immediately. You would have to deal with the consequences of your actions later. For now all the mattered was getting them out of here.

Later you would ask yourself all the questions bubbling in your head that you were ignoring like why were they here? What did they want the Mandalorian for? What was going on? Later you would have to deal with the other brother who would surely want to know who killed his kin. Later you would face the fact that you had actually killed someone, taken another’s live into your hands, and squashed it. But that would be for later.

For now, you were going to do what you did best. Fix things.

It took a couple minutes but you finished the last completely necessary touch. It need more work, some finishing touches, but this would be enough for now to get them out of here and far away. You grabbed your tool box and tore around the corner, finding the Mandalorian standing at the entrance of the ship with a blaster held firmly in his hand.

“Where is the kid?” you asked.

“Inside. Safe.”

You nodded, feeling peace at the words but also a pang of pain in your chest. You wanted to say goodbye but you didn’t want to waste time or put the kid in danger. You supposed this would be it. The end.

You knew it was coming but it someone hurt more than you had expected. You didn’t know how the child had managed to snag such a big chunk of your heart in two days but he had, enough so for you to kill to protect him. But you knew deep down, in your bones, the child was special. He had a power, one you could probably guess as to what it is, but one you couldn’t possibly fully comprehend.

You let out a small sigh. “You guys are good to go. You should get out of here before the brother comes.”

The broad helmet tilted, his T-visor trained on you. “He will come for you.”

You knew that was true. In all honestly, you’d probably given yourself a death sentence. But there wasn’t much you could do about that, nor would you change anything you had done in the last few days.

“I’m tough. I’ll be fine.” you insisted, giving him a hesitant smile.

“You didn’t have to do what you did.”

You paused, thinking a moment before saying the words you truly meant. “I did.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” you said, beginning to step backwards. “Tell the kid I said bye.”

You began to turn around and walk away when his voice rang out again. “The ship will need more work soon.”

You turned, tilting your head and nodding slowly. “Yeah.”

“And you are sure there is no way off the planet?”

You were confused, eyebrows scrunching up. “Your ship can run and go into hyperdrive. Last you long enough to get to your mechanic. I did a good job.”

“I meant for you.”

“Oh.” you sighed out loud and shrugged your shoulders. “No. But I’ll be fine.”

The Mandalorian nodded, turned around and beginning to walk up his ramp, into the ship. You turned the opposite direction, beginning to walk towards your home. You probably shouldn’t go there, considering the fact that Darin knew where you lived and he would probably tell the brother of the man you killed.

But you had no where else to go. So you would go home, maybe make a cup of caf, and wait.

The thud of the Mandalorians stepped paused and you also stopped in your tracks, not turning around but listening.

“Get on the ship.”

Your whole body whipped around, finding the Mandalorian facing you. He stood confidently in his spot, as if what he just said was something he fully supported. Like he had just proposed something atrocious.

“What?” you choked out.

“You saved the kid. I can’t leave you here.” The Mandalorian explained before giving you another firm, “Get on the ship.”

You looked behind you, to the path you were just about to take home. But you froze at the thought of home. Yungbrii wasn’t home. It was hollow and cold and desperate, just like your life had become. You hadn’t felt at home in a long time and the first thing to give you the tiniest sliver of comfort that came with the idea of home was the soft smile of the child.

So for the first time in a very long time, you let that little bit of hope that bloomed in your chest every night like a siren call burst into a fiery flame. You didn’t feel like burying it away this time and succumbing to the life you had settled for. You had felt more alive the past few days than you had in a long time and that feeling alone was worth stepping outside of the tall walls you had put around yourself.

And in the end, the Mandalorian was only offering you a ride. Maybe whatever was next to follow would offer you something so much better. So much more meaningful.

You felt yourself nodding, hands clutching onto the strap of your bag. You already had everything you absolutely needed in there.

What was stopping you?

You felt one foot step forward and when the act made you feel lighter, you continued on until you reached the ramp and faced the Mandalorian. “Let’s go.”

You both moved into the foreign ship, watching the door close on Yungbrii.

But it didn’t feel like the door was closing. It felt like one was opening.

____________________

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