#and im too much of a pushover to tell her to fuck off

[celestiachan]

people on this website will make posts about things like having friends at school and running around and playing (physically. not on a wii or computer or phone) a lot as a child and every time i am forced to remember that the average tumblr user has more of a life than me

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

IM UNSHADOWBANNWD AH. I’ve been so excited to post this story it’s been in the works and it’s the THREE HUNDRED follower special first of all i do not deserve you guys at all thank you for all the support you show me i hope you enjoy this as much as i did hehe MUAH

DISCLAIMER: This is an 18+ blog! If you are underaged or don’t have an age indicator in your bio, please don’t interact!

afab reader x Pornstar! ID Leon

Warnings: Smut- just pure porn with a plot. PORNSTAR LUIS TOO HEHE.Slight (very) slight mentions of being obsessed/ watching reader, leon eats pussy (ofc he does) and fucks reader stupid.

Word count: 3,169

———-

knock knock

“What?”

Why did he sound so annoyed? Your fist stalled against the door as you paused your knocking.

“Um- Greg told me to introduce myself. Sorry if you’re busy.”

Just try and sound sweet, don’t be a pushover. You had barely just stepped onto the set, still in the clothes you wore to your psychology class. The room ran silent, your eyes reading over his name on his door continuously before it swung up, your hair moving from the gust of wind.

His arms were so toned, his hand gripping the handle of the door knob as he leaned against the door frame. Incredibly toned, his shirt off and his hair laying against his face so perfectly. His steely eyes scanned you up and down, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he saw you holding your Psych 200 book.

“Leon.”

He mumbled as he watched you scan over his arms. He was cocky; you could tell. Before you could even introduce yourself, the door slammed in your face, your hands gripping your bag as you sighed to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief.

———

“She shot with Sera like a month ago. The video is still up on the front page too.”

Leon’s makeup artist spoke as she rubbed the beauty blender against his forehead. Leon stared at himself in the mirror; he felt terrible for slamming the door in your face. He really did. He has been in the industry for too long, and he has never had anyone come and formally introduce themselves before filming, so seeing you stand there not being able to say a complete sentence to his face just irritated him. He was also just surprised you didn’t know him; he owned this whole set, his manager is the one who makes his booking, or he definitely wouldn’t have picked you of all people.

———

After shooting with Luis, the two of you became very close friends; when you got to your small studio room, you threw your bag and book down, dialing his number on your phone as you pulled your laptop out, sitting on the desk.

“Hello?”

Luis' voice rang through your ear as you sighed in frustration, instantly communicating that something was wrong.

“He slammed a door in my face when I tried to say hi to him, Luis.. why does he have such a big ego? Sure is heavy for a man I've never even seen before.”

Your fingers typed his name into the search bar, clicking on the first link to come up as you listened to Luis ramble about how this is just how it’s going to be and how lucky you were to get him as your first shoot, your mouth ran dry seeing the cover photo of one of Leon’s hundreds of videos, his cock barely pushing into some girl, his hair covering his face so perfectly and his lips parted so slightly.

“Mama, what did I tell you? Do not google.”

Luis scolded as he listened to you close the laptop.

“I don’t know, Luis, maybe I should just leave- I have to go; makeup’s here.”

Hanging up on him because of the slight knock on the door. It must have been noticeable that you were in your head, the pretty makeup artist wiping at your cheeks with a light bronzer to grab your attention.

“You don’t need much makeup, and you’re naturally very beautiful.”

She smiles softly as she reaches for the mascara. You smile back at her as she tilts your head around.

“That’s very sweet of you, thank you.”

You laugh as she turns your chair around, smiling as she pushes your hair from your face.

“Gorgeous, they want you in this. Whatever you wear under is completely up to you.”

The beautiful woman rambled as she pulled the light blue sundress from the bag, handing it to you. No matter what they said to you, you couldn’t get out of your own head.

————

The wall had a weird pattern. It wasn’t like standard white paint but was super grainy, you sat further back, watching as the director checked all of his cameras, fixing the lights, and reading over signed paperwork. They never handed you a script, though, which left you lost. Luis’ crew had a script. It was easy to remember, but maybe only Leon had one. Right when you think about him, he comes walking in from the main door, a smug smile on his face as he grabs hands to shake. If he weren’t in the industry he would make a wonderful bodyguard with broad shoulders, strong arms, and confidence. He wore a black long-sleeve shirt accompanied by a pair of dark denim jeans. It sucked; he was such an asshole, he was handsome. It suddenly made you feel so self-conscious, remembering the cover photo you had seen on your laptop. You specifically specialized in actual content, genuine emotions, and honest reactions, and the people love it. You started on your own, only fans, to be specific, and it makes you laugh out of embarrassment when it’s brought up. Your eyes follow Leon as he grabs a cup of water, leaning on the table as he talks to the makeup artist, who, for some reason, points over to you. Your eyes drop to your lap, your legs crossed as you play with the soft material of the dress. Your heart began to race as you saw his shoes directly in front of you. His presence was so heavy. Your gaze shifted up to him, his hand touching the arm of your chair.

“Sorry for slamming the door on you, I’ve had a long week, and I forgot I was shooting today.”

Hearing him talk in a complete sentence now was weird, his voice rough yet deep. You nodded your head as you shrugged.

“I can’t blame you; I would slam the door on me too.”

You smile, but it quickly drops once you notice what he said; how could he forget he has a shot? He just called you easily forgettable. Leon’s eyes trailed down to your thighs, smiling to himself as your leg bounced up and down. The two of you stood in your silence before Greg walked over towards you two, grabbing your shoulders.

“Leon, Y/N, Y/N, Leon. I know this piece of work doesn’t introduce himself for shit.”

He laughed, pointing towards the bed in the middle of the room; Leon’s eyes squinted at the minor insult before both of your eyes shifted to the bed. He had explained some shitty plan that had the two of you bored. He sighed before he looked at Leon, touching his arm.

“Just do whatever you want. Why do you pay me?”

His foot turned to walk away from you two as Leon still stared at the bed in the middle of the room. He turned back to you, putting his hand out, your eyebrow-raising in confusion up at him.

“Leon Kennedy.”

Your hand pulled from your lap, shaking at his, both of your grip on each other strong as you nodded your head.

“Just call me Y/N.”

You spoke sheepishly before he helped you up from the chair. Was he going to listen to what the director said? This was an extensive movie set, the bedroom, and then the small room apart from the bedroom that seemed to resemble a hallway.

“I know we stepped off on the wrong foot, but can you trust me? Just for the next hour?”

Leon leaned down to your ear as the two of you walked towards the hallway set. You nodded your head as the lighting changed to a darker yellow.

Leon’s head turned towards the camera as he put his hand up

“No cuts.”

He yelled out as he turned back to you.

—————-

Felt awful slamming the door on her pretty face.

Leon’s grip on the door handle grew tighter by the second as you rambled on about trying to introduce yourself. The room shook as he slammed the door, a strained groan leaving his lips as he looked down at his sweatpants. You had knocked at a horrible time, Leon’s laptop on display with your video with Luis flashing on his screen. He was obsessed with you. Obsessed with how your lips parted before you moaned or how easily sensitive you were. You didn’t need to introduce yourself. He already knew. So when he called his agent asking him to call your agent to see if you were booking, he was more than excited when they said you were open. He pumped himself for almost an hour, soft moans leaving his lips as his eyes squeezed shut, trying to think about how it would feel to have you squeezing around his cock.

———

“Action!”

Greg screamed, your eyelids heavy as you looked up at Leon. It was crazy how fast you could switch moods like that. Leon's hands were immediately all over you, pressing you into the wall by your waist as he hungrily peppered kisses against your jaw. And suddenly everything felt so much hotter? His hands dragged down your skin, and his lips burned into the soft skin of your neck, a whine leaving your lips as one of Leon’s hungry hands brought your leg to his waist.

“There you go, honey, relax for me..”

He mumbled into your skin as his hands lifted you into his arms. You were surprised at his strength as he held you with one hand, his other pushing the door open. He made you feel so small, throwing you down onto the plush mattress, your chest rising and falling as he softly nipped at your collarbones. You weren’t this nervous with Luis, your hands shaking as you pushed some hair from Leon’s face as he kissed the small space between your chest, his hands carefully rubbing up your thighs, his fingers resting against your stomach as he pushed himself down the bed. He needed more. The way you shook under him only encouraged him, his head nuzzling so perfectly between your thighs, smirking up at you as your eyes fluttered away from you, avoiding his stare. The pressure in his pants grew more intense, listening to the hiss pull through your teeth as he held onto the fabric of the sundress, licking over your pretty black panties.

“Damn..”

He grumbled as he lifted your hips, pulling the panties off you, bundling them up in his hand, and pushing them into his pocket as he moved the dress's material again. Scooting in closer to you, laying your knees over his shoulders as he looked up at you through heavy eyelids, his tongue laying a long strip over your folds. You couldn’t help but squirm in his grasp, his hands flying to your waist as you let out that shaky whine again that drove him fucking crazy. You tasted so unbelievably good on his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he hungrily lapped at your folds, pulling you closer like somebody was trying to take you from him. You were so dazed, your back arching as the cameraman squatted beside you and Leon, trying to get the perfect angle. You didn’t even care about his presence, caught up in crying out Leon's name as he repeatedly lapped at your clit, a loud whimper leaving your lips as you sat up, tugging at his hair. Leon could stay between your legs all day, but he needed more. He pulled away from your still dripping core, his face glistening with your slick as he took advantage of you sitting up, pulling the dress over your head. He couldn’t help but groan, finally seeing you bare beneath him, his hands pushing down against your chest, your back laying flat against the mattress yet again as you stared up at him, watching with sparkling eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head. He was sculpted so beautifully.. and it hit you, this is why he’s so popular, he’s a walking god.

“Been waiting on this part all fucking day..”

Leon’s lips parted as he yanked his jeans down, along with his boxers. He let out a sigh of relief as his cock pressed against his upper stomach, his hand reaching down to pump himself as he kicked his jeans off. And suddenly you felt like that girl on the cover of the video you saw, Leon’s hair sprawling perfectly against his face as he leans his body down, tearing your thighs open as his thumb lazily rubs small circles against your clit, smirking as you jolt forward. He continued to pump himself as he reached over, grabbing at the baby pink silk pillow at the edge of the bed before he shoved it under your hips. What a gentleman… you thought to yourself before your thighs were pressing together at the feeling of his cock pressing into you. He was so thick, your walls having a hard time adjusting to even just the tip of him. Leon’s lips pressed together as he let out a quiet “fuck..” His hands holding your legs open as he put more pressure on your clit, your core growing soaked again assisting him in sliding so perfectly into you. If he weren’t getting paid for this, he would’ve just came then and there, watching your pretty face scrunch up in painful pleasure, your legs kicking in his grasp slightly, and your painfully tight walls squeezing him.

“Fuck.. relax, baby, let me in.”

Leon whispered to you as you nodded your head, allowing your hips to rest against the pillow as he cooed down at you, leaning down against your much smaller form and forcing your legs over his broad shoulder. His thumb is still rubbing at your clit to ease the pain of him stretching you out. Leon’s jaw tightens as he pulls his hips back, letting out a shaky breath as he slams back into you, smiling as the small “Mmph!-“ Left your throat involuntarily. So fucking precious. Your soft thighs brushed against his chest as he fucked into you, his body weight lifting off you as he grabbed your ankles, staring down at where he pushed into you. Even the director looked surprised as Leon let out a long moan. It rumbled through his chest as he continued to fuck into you, your hands grabbing at the bed sheets. Leon mumbled a few words to himself before he grabbed at your body, flipping you on to your side as he threw the pillow to to other side of the room. He crawled behind you, lifting your leg before he pushed into you again, causing you to let out a loud whine, your head leaning back into his shoulder as his thrusts somehow became deeper- more meaningful. Leon reached over, pushing some hair from your face as he looked down at you.

“Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes for me.”

His lips touch the shell of your ear as he whispers to you. You were in bliss; he rubbed against your walls so perfectly it felt like your skin was on fire. Your eyes fluttered open, looking at the camera hazily. Leon shook his head, grabbing your jaw and turning your head towards him.

“Don’t look at them.. look at me… it’s just you and me right now, baby, just you and me.”

He groaned down to you as a loud cry of pleasure left your lips in response, your orgasm crashing through you. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you in closer to him as his hips snapped into you faster.

“That's a good fucking girl- mm.. fuck keep squeezing around me like that, honey..”

Leon felt his hips stuttering as he looked down at you, fucked out in his arms. A shaky moan left his lips as his hips stopped, his cum spurting into you, causing loud cries to leave your lips. Leon laid out of breath before he pulled out of you, smirking as he tilted his head at the cameraman to bring him in closer as he spread your lips, his fingers spreading your folds as his cum dripped out of you, the biggest smirk on his face.

“Cut!”

Was all you heard as the bed dipped beside you, your body still trying to recover as you sat up, your hair messy and your mascara running down the side of your face as Leon laughed, looking over at you.

“You okay, sugar?”

He asked sweetly as he grabbed a water, opening it before handing it to you, pushing some hair from your face as you took a small sip.

“Yeah.. just was a lot.”

You nod as he watches you; he clears his throat, handing you the sundress from the ground as he stands, pulling his pants up.

“Listen. I know you don’t know me, but, are you busy tonight? Let me take you out for dinner.”

He wasn’t asking; it was more of him letting you know he was. Your arms go through the holes before you look at him, nodding your head.

———-

You were the current talk of the industry.

Everyone was so curious how you broke Leon, making him utterly different from any video he’s ever shot.

Your face scrunches as you look at yours and Leon’s page on the front cover of the site, that smirk on his face as he spreads apart your folds. Your knee is pressed to your chest as you scroll through the comments, flinching slightly as you feel pressure at the top of your head.

“Morning.”

Leon grumbles as he sips his coffee after kissing the top of your head. His eyes follow yours, seeing the “uploaded two months ago” in the corner as he whistled

“Gonna win awards for that one.”

He winks at you, your arm swinging at him before you shut the laptop on the table.

[ughgoaway]

Absolutely loved the fic. I need a proper blurb of Annie doing Ross' hair

Ahh thank you, my love, I am still not loving it but im glad someone is enjoying it!!

And I am HAPPY to expand on Annie doing Ross’ hair. The amazing @alovesreading mentioned something similar in her tags once, and I always meant to do a blurb on it but completely forgot until now lol

So, as mentioned in the fic, Annie is obsessed with playing hairdresser. it all started when she saw Matty doing his hair before an award show and freaking out.

You and him are together at this point, so he facetimes you and tries to convince you to come over and help him. 

“Please baby, I know you can't come to the show tonight, but you aren't even gonna help your poor boyfriend fix his hair for the Brit Awards???” he says with a pout whilst pulling his curls and eyeing the gel on the sink. 

Before he can ever really consider it, your voice rings out of the phone, “NO GEL MATTY. I can see you eyeing it already.” he begins to whinge but you cut him off, “You look so pretty with your culrssss” You pout right back at him and see matty’s face immediately crumble, and his cheeks get slightly red. He's still not used to being called pretty by you, he fucking adores it.

You get Annie to hold the phone behind his head and direct her to move certain curls and twist pieces of hair and she loves it, especially when the the end you say “Thank you for your help, Annie! You should be your daddys hairdresser. You do a much better job than me.”

And Annie takes that and RUNS with it.

Matty is a pushover attentive father, so he buys her everything she could possibly want; hair clips, butterfly clips, hair ties with bows and figures on them, headbands, little bows: anything she needs- she has.

So it's inevitable when she comes into the studio next she practically pounces on Ross and his long hair. But to be honest, he was really asking for it by wearing it down when she came in. “ROSS!!! Will you let me play hairdresser??? I want to make your hair pretty!!”

Ross has to try not to read too much into the fact that she didn't think his hair was already pretty.

He has to be gentle when he lets her down, “Ah, Annie im not sure that's a good idea pumpkin i-” he avoids making eye contact for a few seconds but as soon as he looks at her wide eyes and shaky lip he fucking crumbles. 

“Oh alright then” he says, and Annie squeals and runs over. 

“Mate she got you good,” Matty says, laughing, but Adam quickly shuts him up,

“Didn't she get you to wear your hair bows to Tesco last week?”

“... shut up Hann”

/////

Ross is on the floor, and Annie is standing on the sofa behind him because she's too small to reach his head if she stands on the floor. She begins grabbing all her stuff and putting it on the sofa, and Ross shoots Matty a scared look at the number of things she has. He simply shrugs, smiles, and walks away. Ross is on his own as far as he is concerned. 

She pulls pieces of hair back and pins them with glittery butterfly clips, digging them into his head a little too hard and almost denting his skull (not really, but Jesus she’s heavy-handed) She grabs bunches of hair and puts them in small ponytails, each hair bobble has a little decoration on it. 

She stands on his lap to look at the front of his hair, and Ross has to hold her steady because he's shaking her by laughing.

“Uncle Ross, stop laughing!! I can't get it right if you move” Annie complains looking at Ross with a grumpy look on her face. 

He can't help it, the way her eyes get laser-focused and her tongue slips out the side of her mouth looks exactly the same as when Matty is trying to think of a lyric or play a hard song. 

Once he pulls it together, Annie starts putting bows along his hairline along with hairclips and, of course, more butterfly clips. 

Peering in from the hallway are Matty, George, and Adam and they are all giggling to themselves at the pair, “oh Ross is trying so hard to be annoyed, but you can tell he loves the attention” George says. 

“Obviously, why else would he grow out his hair? He was sick of Matty being the hair guy of the band” Adam laughs at Matty's immediate scrunched face. 

“Hey! Im still the hair guy, okay, ross looks like bass-playing Jesus”

“You say that as if bass-playing Jesus isn't a sick idea,” George says, adam nods in agreement, and Matty grumbles.

“Well, im just glad it's not me anymore. I think if y/n found one more clip in my hair whilst she’s pulling on it, she’d dump me”

“... why is she pulling on your hair” Adam innocently asks, forgetting who his friend is for a few seconds.”

Matty immediately smirks, “Well Hann, when you're going down on a girl and it's really good, just before she cums she grabs your hair and-”

“OKAY MATTY YES I GET IT. god why did I even ask-” 

//////

Annie finishes 10 minutes later with a flourish, and Ross can't even pretend to be annoyed. He loves nothing more than spending time with Annie. She is everything to him. She feels like his niece or even his own daughter sometimes. He basically raised her in tandem with Matty, so their connection is undeniable.

He hangs out with her whenever he can, always offering to babysit on your date nights or to take her out on fun days. One of his favourite days of his entire life (aside from the day she was born, of course) was when he got to take her to the fair for a day. He bought everything she wanted, and by the end of the day, they were both crashed from the amount of sugar they had eaten. 

Annie insisted Ross wore his hair like that for the rest of the studio session, and he did.

Jamie walked in 2 hours later and looked at Ross questioningly but then saw Annie asleep on his lap on the sofa and nodded understandingly.

blurb masterlist

[niceinchnails]

you should post more about marianne i want to know about your idea of her

YAY.

ok all we get in canon is Kind woman. thats i she has like 0 flaws Im not saying this in a shes perfect omg way 😍 im saying it in a she doesnt have much depth in canon kind of way but i think In my mind shed be a little pushover And stinky too but in my mind shes a little moreeee. like daring and a little bit of a people pleaser. Like if you told her to eat rotting fries of the ground shed be like Aww. Well if you want me to thats ok :) And she eats it up a little ravenous with it you know. But on the other side of the coin shes also more adventurous and less cautious like if someone told her NOT To listen to people who tell her to eat rotting fries of the ground shed be like. What if i want to :/. And adding to the people pleaser thing shes willing to put herself in a little danger To get peoples attention (kinda like bender but like. more kindhearted and stinkier ). Shes basically my oc at this point with how much i extrapolate off her character like im making this up from like the single episode shes from and the fact that she chose zoidberg the scary alien and i want her to come back so bad . Im adding depth to her character that i so desperately wish she has you see.

Some misc headcanons that dont really make sense but are fun to imagine. In my fucked up world Shes zapp brannigans sister and her last name would be marriane brannigan. Only evidence i have is that theyre both blonde and mariannes last names never revealed. I think it would be fun to imagine just cause of how different they are and i like the idea of them being related I genuinely dont have any evidence for this i just think it would be funny and fitting

Other headcanon which i hold less strongly is The brown haired little girl (tonya) of the same episode who tap dances in the b plot is either her daughter or sister. This hc i have even less evidence for cause she would seem like kind of an important thing for marianne to mention but still it would be funny . Its fun to imagine marianne as a single mother Or older sister she has the kindness and lovingness for it i think.

If she comes back i reaaaaaaaally hope they explain why shes been gone for a while. My most ideal explanation that the writers probably wont deliver is that shes not part of the timeline that season 11 was in. Like after time broke in the s10 finale Meanwhile and they just kind of jumped back on s11 & I basically interpreted the entirety of season 11 as one of the many alternate timelines that split since fry broke the time button in the s10 finale. but since the finale of season ELEVEN kind of dealt with simulation-breaking shit I think the timeline fucked up a bit.

Realistically if they brought her back they wont add to her depth and shed prob be back for just a single episode, or broke up with zoidberg or something, but my timeline theory is a little cooler. I WANT HER BACK.

edit: also if tonyas her younger sister then it contradicts my zapp brother hc cause i cant imagine tonya and zapp as siblings. Thats all

[mushroompoisoning]

2, 3, 5, 8, 10, 11, 14, 20, 26, 33, 37, 39, 40, 41, 47, and 54. sorry for so much im invested in my mutuals ocs. also I had to write this twice bc my phone hates me. also for Cain as Cain OC solidarity (had TWO ocs named cain)

oh wow. questions!! :D

everything is under the readmore cus wow theres a lot

2. Gender Identity:

Cain never got the chance to explore his gender or sexuality up until he meets Lee in his like. I wanna say early mid 20's to early 30's? I don't think I ever specified how old the two were

Information you didn't ask for aside, cain is a bigender man and uses he/him and she/her [: contradictory labels my beloved

3. Orientation and relationship status:

She'd gay and ends up dating Lee after a lot of drama and denial. Begrudging allies to lovers my beloved trope

5. Height and body type:

Cain is 6'2-6'3, one of those two it's hard to tell. He's fit! Like a mix between gymbro style fit and someone who actually uses their strength fit; it's for his job

8. Weapon of choice:

Gun. Don't ask me to be specific I'm not a gun person. He has a gun, multiple actually, and she will use

10. Do they have any markings, piercings or scars?

Probably a lot of scars because of the nature of her job, but other than that nope. Better to not have any identifying features y'know?

11. Do they have any notable features?

Nope 😔 Cain is fully human

14. Can they cook? Can they bake?

He knows how to cook basic meals and can bake stuff from the mix boxes. She's mostly just eating stuff profession chefs cooked or cereal

20. Clothing / Aesthetic?

While at his job he wears professional business clothes. You know the look, we all know it. Button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no tie, slacks and boots that don't go with the professional vibe but she wears them anyway.

When not at work she dresses casually. T-shirt or hoodie and either sweatpants or loose jeans

26. Guilty pleasure?

Liking men. /j /j /j

I'd probably have to say breaking someones nose. He's a little fucked up

33. How have they changed over time?

For a lot of his life he stayed a pushover; even after getting tougher later on.

He was a nervous kid who didn't want to lose friends and ended up hanging out with a bunch of homophobes as a result of being too scared to speak up. She eventually gets the courage to drop those friends, though! Not before ruining everything with Lee.

( The two were friends when they were younger but got cut off after Cain reacted badly to Lee coming out )

In current day, Cain tries to play the silent angry stoic type, but he's secretly still anxious and has some Issues.

She's been seeing a therapist and a mandatory thing for her job, so she is getting some help, too!

37. Do they have any phobias?

I don't think I ever came up with any before, so I'm going to say no. Saying gay people is too low hanging of a fruit

39. Your character walks into a cafe. What do they order?

Either like. Eight shots of espresso or water. No in between. She's very bland sometimes ( which Lee very much let's her know )

40. What time do they go to bed, usually?

He most often goes to bed around 5 to 7am and them has to wake up at 10am. She's on a rough schedule

41. What's their morning routine like?

Get up, shower, get dressed, eat and get a coffee, brush teeth and then head to work. Basic routine, nothing special

47. What was their biggest turning point?

Meeting Lee again and getting assigned to look after him. Despite being a dumbass, Lee is actually emotionally intelligent and helped Cain out with some stuff.

Lee didn't hold a grudge years later and helped Cain through her internalized queerphobia [: happy ending!

54. What does your character want? What fo they need?

Men. /j

A shoulder to lean on and maybe even to cry on. Support, basically. He really wants someone he can be close and vulnerable with, even if he's scared of that

Woo all the questions done [:

[kurazaru]

School and Academic Validation

Sooo, yesterday, i received a call from my school asking me to collect a certificate for my sister, who had graduated 5 years ago (yes, it was weird and the certificate was kindof pointless as shes now in her final year of dentistry). When i heard this, the very first thought that came into my mind was - "I dont wanna meet my teachers". I was puzzled to why this thought came across my mind, as i really liked my teachers, well, most of them atleast. The first reason i could think of is that i just wanted to avoid conversation like the pathetic introvert i am, but ive been trying to overcome my fear of social anxiety and flat out avoiding to meet people, however i still couldnt get myself to meet them and kept praying i didnt run into any of them during my brief time there. I got to my school, got the document, and was gonna leave but saw a good junior of mine and we started conversing. He was telling me how their board practicals were going on and how the chemistry teachers made them write all 7 salts, just like how they made us write it, and blah blah. He then mentioned his physics practical and told how my older teacher kept on mentioning 2 of my friends names. And that hit me. The reason i didnt wanna meet my teachers, or even go to school, was because i am an academic failure. Both of my bestfrnds got into NUS, and i am so happy fr them. I didnt even apply fr NUS, as it was too expensive. Im sure i would hv gotten in, as im pretty sure im as smart as them, so it never bothered me. But this wasnt how others saw it. Others probably thought that they both got into that amazing college and im in a college no one has even heard of.... And yes, i was never happy with my college, but to think that my teachers would just straight up refuse to acknowledge me coz of that just hurt me. This is also why i hated school so much. My college is good, but people just dont know about it. But somewhere deep inside, it just kills me that i wasnt able to get into NUS.. It was never my dream, hell im not even that sad that i wasnt able to get into my dream college lol. Anyways, my worth isnt determined by what my teachers think of. I dont think im gonna go back anytime soon now lol. However, i cant shake off the feeling of "I could hv been in a better college". So, ive decided, fuck it. Im gonna work my ass off. Im gonna prove it to everyone, and most importantly, to myself, THAT I AM NO PUSHOVER. I have the intellect and the determination to make it big, and i will make it big. Im gonna keep posting from now on, about everything i feel, and everything im doing to get better. I cant find anyone who relates to this twisted web of imposter syndrome, hatred and self loathing, so right now, im on my own. But i do hope that my "blog" reaches someone who is in a similar situation like me.. If im not gonna live for my self, atleast i wanna live for someone who might need me...

[cielospeaks]

b6 temp tri thoughts

bc hoo boy for me who hated b3 there is a lot to unpack.

firstoff b3 itself thoughts. gosh what a fucking disappointment of a story. for me this was where heroes story started to go downhill. initially gacha was kinda lame but the story was nice or at least bland and unoffensive (aka b1), and from b3 on the gacha was better but the story was much much worse.

before b3 i actually liked the starter trio bc sure, they were boring, but they seemed responsible enough. just like super generic standins for the usual lords/ect. after b3 their personalities developed. () was a fucking control freak and jerk, the sort of person who lectures you on your own customs and tells you why your beliefs are wrong, and also guilt trips you into complimenting them. () is a fucking stalker who has shit taste in relationships and people, thinks abuse is romantic, and is like the embodiment of being positive in a nasty way. () is a horrible leader, a kissass, and has none of the original characters likeable traits (defender of the weak, funny, ect) and instead is just ‘i love money’ memes.

the other characters introduced arent much better. gosh dang eir i was rooting for you to be a pamina character when you were first introduced. now i just feel like. the tired man with his cigarette looking done with everything. like i havent liked eir since b3 so i dont hate her now or anything but like. ok good for you youre a piece of shit.

honestly this is just gonna be me ripping b3 a new one so ill skip to the temptri story. as a premise its not bad, def better than b2s story: hel is left rulerless so the person who’s taken over needs to get rid of the other heir for like. competition. something something i think its like addressed in game of thrones or something idk medieval royalty politics. its like why macbeth sent assassins after duncan’s sons even tho they were out of the country. so the god/dragon of eir’s birthplace, who was also apparently her nanny, saves her life by merging with her and they go on a quest to retrieve the souls of eir’s dead subjects. like ok yea thats vaguely interesting sure go off.

the good: a little more development on hel/ymir. i also do like ymir! shes like the mom whos kinda a pushover, like if her kid (friend’s kid) wants to eat candy late at night she’ll do it bc she feels bad she wasnt in the kid’s life enough sorta thing. having the magic dragon being kind to the protagonist is such a fucking refresher after b2 of n ifl just threatening and demeaning fj orm (and laegy) for like five chapters (until they decided shes redeemable at the fucking last minute despite her being awful. but anyways i digress). i dont have a problem with her. cool good for you.

im having a separate section for ganglot bc i really liked her. like esp seeing the fan reaction against her and how badly shes written in the story makes me like her infinitely more! oh my gosh!

-shes actually dutiful at her job. like shes a really cool i think the word is anti villain? a character who actually has noble and good motivations but does it in a chaotic way/that is destructive to the protagonist. or something like that. theres a mess left over bc of the order’s swaggering and someones gotta clean it up and shes gonna be that someone bc her guardian is dead now, killed by her guardian’s adopted daughter. like her motivations are understandable, she’s after eir for medieval politics plus you killed/helped kill my role model slash mother figure who i thought was also your mother how fucking could you.

-shes that trope of “guy has a bitter animosity toward their presumed rival but said rival is just a dude. who acts normal abt it”. and gosh i love that trope. (herb, sal (from f g o and amadeus the movie version too), randall monsters inc, the list goes on i bet) its a good trope and i always love to see girl characters written with beloved traits of guy characters (gosh i wish there were more characters that arent guys written with wholesome kind jock kronk type characteristics. high school au feng is basically that. but again off topic). i feel bad for ganglot bc she just had to choose the person to have a vendetta against who would actually fuck her up out of proportion but. -doctor idv mourn emote-

-her design is nice and her backstory makes her personality/character more sympathetic. i like the classy formal look, it fits as her being a handmaiden and very dutiful, kinda like the maids/butlers in 14. im so grateful they didnt make her an au version of the main characters like the fan theories were saying. she was abandoned as a child and is older than eir/adopted presumably before eir was, which means she couldnt be those characters even if they wanted her to be. fuck you eat shit fall off your horse. anyways. she basically had nothing and was taken in by someone who not only provided for her needs but offered herself as an example. im willing to bet that seeing hel gave ganglot a purpose/something to look up to, and that hel, while providing for her needs, probably treated their relationship more as a business/apprenticeship sorta thing. in fact theres even stuff that said that ganglot loved looking after eir, which makes it seem like she was kind to eir (which makes what happened even more sad/pisses me off) and only hated her after she killed hel. and considering ganglot didnt know abt what hel did to eir, she wouldnt know why eir rebelled against her. and eir never fucking explains it to her. to ganglot it must look like eir just was like “oh woops looks like im a princess to a pretty lively fairyland happily ever after kingdom im ditching your goth busy realm of the dead to go fuck off and escape from my responsibilities and also imma help some pet self insert of a kill-happy spoiled ass prince and his friends kill your boss slash role model byeeeee -nail polish emoji-”. like idk. its totally relatable and understandable why ganglot would want to kill eir.

-her fatal flaw that leads to her demise is her kindness/mercy. which is something you almost never see with villains, esp ones that are supposed to be unsympathetic. like maybe in a series with an antihero who takes advantage of them falling for a trick or something. or like joseph joestar outwitting the pillar men, but then its less kindness and more like “honor/chivalry” being outwitted by wiliness, which imo is completely different. this is like if the hero is pleading for their life before fighting the villain, the villain decides to give them this out of mercy, and the hero, without explaining anything to the villain who presumably was their friend before, just fucking sacrifices their friend’s life to murder the villain from within in order to kiss up to their longtime abusers who have a sad backstory uwu and that makes it ok. gosh i fucking hate some aspects of this game. anyways i think a villain who has a point whose mercifulness leads to them being killed by a dirty trick is kinda interesting and at least new.

the bad:

-gosh i hate the u b w ripoff in the plot. like please just get a better plot point dont rip off a fucking boring f ate story. their appearances were played up but ultimately did basically nothing but motivate eir, potentially to do worse things but then again thats up in the air (no pun intended) how much of what she chose to do was “for my friends!” and how much was her own idea.

-the jokes abt eirs new design. i dont have a problem with her new design, or even her decisions. it makes sense, seeing shes spent the last however long around these assholes that maybe she’s changed for the worse (or rather from a blank slate to something worse than that). but what i do have a problem is w the “jokes”. no assholes you cant just “cure” depression for one what these characters have is more akin to life altering trauma and just bc theyre wearing brighter colors and smiling more doesnt mean their “depression is gone/cured”. i dont like the in game explanation for idunn but i have my version which is (imo) more meaningful and in character. i think for eir technically it makes more sense with the lore given, as besides askr, which treats her like a pet or a trophy, ymir is the first person in her life whose treated her decently, and in a parental way at that. so yea, not really w the design but definitely with the fans jokes. shut the fuck up.

-the writing. like as a sort of tragedy of people not fucking communicating a la spi derman 1 (2002) or an episode of conan its fine, in fact its pretty good. like for those reasons (+ the sort of medieval drama aspects) i like it or rather dont have a problem. its that those aspects are basically just glossed over for a generic and not really morally substantial “good wins evil loses” angle that this series likes to take. its not as bad as b2 where “sure this person basically kept your life as a carrot on a string to get you to fight your mutual respected former dead enemy who that person dehumanizes, and also they constantly belittle and threaten you but hey they had a crush on your ancestor so that makes them a good person uwu in the end”, but its still not great. like i said ganglot is a really cool character and very multi faceted and sympathetic, but the series just treats her like “hels evil successor who hates eir for no reason” and the fandom calls her incompetent so im just like. i will bite you but im also too tired. idk. i like ganglot. she seems like kind of a workaholic young lady who both is the “i serve someone and am super faithful but they really dont deserve me” trope i unfortunately like (i say unfortunately bc its fucking annoying bc i always end up hating the person theyre faithful to unless its beet and schooby and in that case beet is just too lovable to hate, and also he never asked to be idolized also so him being greedy is something you cant blame him for).

-i think if the story was done better? or like a version id actually like? theres not much id want to change. i think to make eir actually sympathetic she should actually try to communicate what she learned abt hel/what hel did to her to ganglot, and ganglot either ignores her or shuts down eir, or ganglot still cant forgive her even knowing the truth. something like that. a quick fix and that makes everything better. have a flashback to when they were younger and ganglot being kind to eir, and make it more of a moral conflict eir has against fighting and killing her former friend. kinda like the scene in spi derman 3 (2007). ok enough spiderman references id also address what happens to hel after the story. either eir kills ganglot and resumes the responsibility for both the realm of life and the realm of death. or she is able to defeat but not kill ganglot, while recognizing her as an enemy also has the strength of character to recognize she’d be a good ruler of the dead, and gives her blessing/relinquishes her claim to the throne while leaving, never to see her again or something. idk.

id also personally just eradicate all mention of (u b w characters) from the story and make the ending not that eir goes back to her “friends in askr” but that she goes back to set things right, not as their tool and pawn but as the leader her people in the realm of life (and depending on which the realm of death) need, acknowledging her responsibility to her people and her independence. but nooooOOOoo she goes back to the people who treat her as a toy like all happy to be that way. this years story and the protagonists happily sacrificing others for their schemes and then having the gall to act sad abt it afterwards as if tehy werent the one who twisted the damn knife istg

[mydogtypedthis]

i know this probably wont reach any sort of audience but i need to type it out anyway.

I have a situation with a friend that ive had for about 11 years now. we have loose contact and different friend groups, but hang out occasionally in group settings like parties or camps. im calling her boople for the purpose of this xoxo

the thing is her friendship group sucks balls and ass. they are a gaggle of cunts, completely wretched morons who act like 5-year-olds and do not truly care a shit for her. ive never made my thoughts on that clear to her because she's a big girl and can pick her own friends. i have no place to put those comments but my own thoughts and maybe venting to the internet ok 🤫. its just that shes such a lovely person and im worried a bit of a pushover for such assholes. shes a perfect target, especially because they see her as 'childish'.

she makes a big thing of her birthday every year, as, growing up, her mother was known for throwing these amazing parties that were so extra and megaslay (i remember an alice in wonderland one where they got their neighbours in as actors for characters in little storylines from the book. there was so much amazing food. croquet. i came home with the party playlist on a cd and an alice in wonderland necklace). boople loves her birthday and i think its wonderful, she does throw great parties. the last couple years, ive had the pleasure of hearing some of these friend's thoughts over her planning. theyve mostly been about how childish it is to have games at a party or a theme, and how she needs to grow up and do something fun for once. i have my own thoughts and plans about them for that 🤪🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨

anyway.

this year, shes just taking some of her closest friends to have this really sweet fairy picnic in the local gardens. think raspberry lemonade in tea cups, sponge cake, big poofy dresses etc etc. shes been planning it and talking to her friends about it for months, who all agreed to go. let me tell you boople was ECSTATIC about this, she even got her mum to help her make these dresses (shes really clever with sewing and all). ive seen pictures of the dresses and they look amazing. pinterest board bullshit. off to the royal ball. boople was so happy with them, and she and her mother put so much into them. her birthday, and the party, are in a couple of weeks, everything is planned, coming together and looking gorgeous. except today, to-fucking-day, suddenly, her friends decide they are far too good for it. today.

after MONTHS of planning and discussion about it, they suddenly decide that they cant possibly fulfill this silly little dream for their 'best friend'. i understand if its not the sort of thing you would want to attend, but i dont understand cancelling after agreeing to it for months. i dont understand not doing this simple little thing to make your friend so happy and feel so special and loved. its so special to her? she was so excited about it? there was also no formal or kind declination, just a condescending "... so hey bestie... mm no" type of attitude. 🔪 🔪🔪🔪

so basically im sick and tired and i dont know what to do. ive watched these people berate and hurt her for years and today i watched them make her cry and come home early. shes been forced to cancel the party, as even if she could convince them to come, they would be fuckheads about it the whole time. seriously im really angry. she cared about it so much, put so much love into it, and she has to go through this. she has had to deal with being friends with them. i cant think of a time shes ever wronged anyone in the 11 years ive known her.

i guess if anyone actually reads this and has a better understanding or idea of what to do than me (i have none) please help. x

- why does she keep coming back to them and treat them so kindly. all they use her for is microwave runs. they hurt her over and over again and i hate watching her go back.

- do you think this could be the last straw for her? is she finally done?

- what can i do about it from a distance? is it immoral to punch one of those pricks in the face? or should i leave it to cold glares? i really want to punch them each in the face. is there a solution that allows her to have this party when she has no friends deserving of her or of attending?

- please let me punch one of them.

-thoughts?

- and have a great day

- :)

[no-droids]

Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT.  Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting.  “Turn around, let me see.”

“No.  I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says.  You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in.  “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it.  You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle.  Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him.  He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence.  “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing.  You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth.  Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl.  He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it.  You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?”  You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries.  The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace.  “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now.  “Way too big.”

“Too big?”  You blink at him.  “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no.  It’s fucking… rust.  It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character.  There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—”  You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens?  It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull.  “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh.  “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully.  “Are we on Corellia?”  You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron.  “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill.  Different setting, same kind of people.  Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them.  You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else.  It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs.  “Someone… nice.  It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you.  Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to.  Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy.  But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?”  You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace.  “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again.  “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore.  “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words.  “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second.  “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment.  “We can stay with your… friend.”  

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step.  You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle?  You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated.  You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again.  That’s what’s called a friend, right?  

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it.  After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit.  You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright.  Fuck, it’s so bright here.  You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it.  Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now.  But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance.  “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely.  You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him.  “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink.  What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!”  The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long.  “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second.  “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration.  Probably both.  “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!”  She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground.  “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot.  How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide.  He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his.  He talks to you.  He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without.  Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos.  “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders.  Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?”  She faces him and pokes his armor again.  “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase.  Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point.  He said she was nice?  And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks.  Fuck, there’s no way.  There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond.  Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation.  Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue.  Maker, five hundred credits.  You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it.  He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around.  Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side.  You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now.  Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does.  Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it.  You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him.  Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway.  You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing.  It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him.  That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.  

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right?  Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently.  Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you?  You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape.  He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk.  Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask.  “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her.  “Pre-Imperial or post?  Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it.  She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable.  You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night.  You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse.  You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck.  Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror.  Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though.  She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about.  She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being.  On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears.  It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement.  She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing.  Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later.  You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset.  You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life.  However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do.  After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself.  You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game.  There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare.  But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game.  The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point.  The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point.  You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void.  You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best.  Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it.  “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand.  “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair.  Peli sets the mug down and sighs.  “You’re a good mechanic.  I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile.  But it’s a hidden one.  A fond one.  One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him.  You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him.  Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace.  It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him.  Nothing can touch you.  You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it.  This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous.  You love the baby.  You love him.  You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?”  She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit.  “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer.  Of course you do.  If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without.  Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go.  You’ve never experienced anything like that before.  There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age.  So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them.  You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy.  You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family.  You don’t know of anything you could want more.  Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment.  Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence.  You know what it means to live for yourself.  You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different.  As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better.  Now you have other people to live for, too.  

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago.  He used to terrify you.  You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up.  Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition.  Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do.  You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea.  But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation.  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?”  She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal.  “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them.  Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface?  I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you.  “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it.  Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work.  This is what Din does, right?  Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet?  Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin.  “But only if you win this round.  What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand.  A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7.  They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave.  Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done.  After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape.  You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating.  You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before.  You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted.  It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired.  You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open.  Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you.  Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now.  Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is.  Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could.  Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that.  You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted.  He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.  

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level.  And fuck, nothing stops you from looking.  He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either.  He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs.  Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time.  Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now.  Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all.  “But… shit, but…”

“But…?”  You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides.  “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him.  All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside.  Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful.  “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long.  “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him.  Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you.  The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck.  “Shit.  I… I need to clean up.  Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss.  You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters.  “Uh.  Go tell…”  He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so.  “Her.  That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?”  You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused.  “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat.  “The mechanic, with the… droids.  Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?”  You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point.  “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that.  “Never asked.”

“But you—?”  You blink at him.  “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy.  It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it.  Yikes, you absolutely did say that.  You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response.  “Ha.  Oh.  Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom.  Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?”  He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far.  You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw.  “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered.  So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would.  Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help.  His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle.  “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you…  Mind blank, no thoughts.  Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try.  “There’s no reason.  I was jealous.  It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid.  I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off.  Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?”  He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it.  You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about.  It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar.  He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you.  “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar.  “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore.  “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again.  “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point.  Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly.  You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here.  She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him.  “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops.  Holy shit, is she serious?  You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly.  Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him?  Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so.  You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important?  You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again.  If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough.  Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough.  It’s an elementary school version of what this is.  And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend?  Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.”  He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point.  Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder?  Lover?  No, not good enough.  Partner?  No.  No, not wife, definitely fucking not—  “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder.  “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness.  The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing.  You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here.  Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.  

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food.  A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps?  Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things.  While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well.  Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful.  The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you.  You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically.  So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one.  He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch.  It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye.  Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life.  You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it.  Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.  

No, you think in frustration.  You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time.  You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times.  Miss, miss, wild miss, miss.  Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you.  Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise.  He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit.  “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was.  Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing.  He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast?  That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?”  You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch.  “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again.  “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon.  “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature.  Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking.  “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando?  I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips.  They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again.  “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin.  “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off.  “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him.  “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards.  “Of course not.  Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you.  Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus.  Focus, you can do this.  You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life.  The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours.  His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows.  He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on.  Maker, chill out.  Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot.  This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong.  You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center.  You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target.  Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more.  You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit.  Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh.  “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down.  “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong.   Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are.  So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind.  He’s your biggest distraction, all the time.  He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.  

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?”  You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf.  “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him.  He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused.  You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically.  You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out.  You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot.  You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right.  You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop.  Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable.  Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago.  No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere.  The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit.  They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands.  But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there.  He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either.  He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize.  It’s not fun because he’s too good at it.  This is life.  This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element.  You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you.  Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder?  Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think.  No.  You have seen him relax.  You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.  

But… only with you.  A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck.  Why does that turn you on so fucking much?  It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit.  The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it.  You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it.  You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders.  He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back.  Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason.  There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator.  He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime.  Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf.  The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots.  Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.  

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this.  His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too.  You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him.  Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more.  So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point.  And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue.  He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it.  Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already.  You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out.  You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public.  Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else.  Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response.  He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it.  This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else.  This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue.  His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue.  While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth.  Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with.  You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it.  He endures.  Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando!  Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing.  The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.  

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming.  Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at.  Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.  

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance.  The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever.  Handling it is all on him.  He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun.  It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong.  So wrong.  You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss.  Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs.  But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length.  Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him.  His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want.  His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache.  You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise.  “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth.  You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner.  The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean.  His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going.  Is that fucked up, you wonder?  What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving?  Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that.  The coast must not be clear, you have to assume.  Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t.  You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants.  He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows.  What would he think?  That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent?  Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself.  You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit.  Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss.  He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on.  You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair.  Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand.  And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this.  You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again.  Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified.  Debased.  And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum.  You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins.  By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants.  You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest.  You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble.  Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that.  He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake.  He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense.  Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet.  “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck…  Fuck, is he serious?  You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard.  How does this work again?  What does this do?

“Wh-What?”  You croak—fuck, your voice is gone.  “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it.  Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield.  “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath.  “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way.  “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace.  A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady.  The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained.  “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again.  Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot.  Nope.  So you shoot again.  And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again.  “Expensive.  Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no.  Just, no.  There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap.  You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place.  “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What?  N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right?  Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be.  You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding.  If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away.  Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something.  Is he messing with you again?  Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate.  Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready.  You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is.  You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint.  Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened?  “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him.  “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all.  Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No.  Shut up.  Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything.  Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh.  Oh, no.

“Uh?!”  Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic.  What the fuck?  No fucking way.  Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot.  “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you.  You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.  

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb.  There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.  

It fucking bends.  Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away.  Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it.  You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him.  “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door.  You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance.  The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

[weasleypogues]

fight club (p.h.)

request: hii can i request smth angsty with pope ? maybe it could end well for both the reader and him but overall it’s just filled with angst and slow burn and tension ? ty xx

ofc lovieee!!! loving this pope recognition finally!! :)

this will be a two part becuause this was longer than i expected!!! part 2 here!!!

masterlist.

you literally felt like you could not sit still. anger was pulsating through your veins as you paced back and forth on the porch of the chateau. you also felt the piercing eyes of pope follow you back and forth as you struggled to form a cohesive sentence.

“it’s just- ugh! she can’t get away with this! she thinks because she’s a kook that i’ll be begging for her forigveness and shit like i’m a starving peasant just to save my reputation! i’m a fucking pogue, i don’t have a reputation to uphold!” you spat as your hands clenched together so hard you swear you were going to accidentally draw blood from your palms.

vanessa was a kook that you never had problems with when you were kids because you two had a friendship that was secretive and playful because of opposing groups. it wasn’t until middle school was when she ditched you, similar to kie and sarah’s relationship. thankfully for them, they sorted it out. however, vanessa was bitter and bitchy every chance she could get. 

“yes (y/n)! keep it fiesty! i wanna see you win a good cat fight.” jj egged you on.

“you’re gonna make yourself go crazy if you don’t just sit down.” pope spoke in a sterner tone than you would have expected. but as the rage filled you from vanessa, pope’s tone was not helping. you felt a tinge of hurt in your chest as he expressed his clear stress and annoyance with you. but you weren’t going to let it go that easily; not in this state.

“i’m fine just the way i am, thanks.” you responded just as passive-aggressively as he did. you literally had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes so you wouldn’t egg this on, because the last thing you needed was for pope of all people to be on your bad side. 

you heard him scoff from behind you and his footsteps faded away. you spun around so quickly, maybe even too quickly to play it cool, to just see a flash of him as he turned the corner. your eyes flashed to john b, kie, and jj who had expressions that were just as shocked as your own.

“what’s his problem?” you asked, expecting an answer real quick before you had to go investigate it yourself. your teeth grinded against each other and you felt your face and ears go hot. 

“he probably just doesn’t think this is worth it (y/n/n).” kiara stated, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and giving you a look that said don’t let it get to you. kiara shared a quick glance with john b and jj, which definitely did not go unnoticed by you.

“w-what was that? that little look you three shared?” you asked pointing your finger at them interchangeably and confused but angrily eager to find out. you raised your eyebrows, expecting another speedy answer as you finally turned towards jj who held his hands up in defense and bit his tongue. 

“cut pope some slack. you’ve been looking for trouble lately (y/n), it’s been keeping him on edge each time.” john b responded and slapped his hands on this thighs before getting up off the couch. you felt your cheeks get a little hot and your jaw drop slightly.

pope was trying to be protective of you. this was not a secret that you and pope were always flirty with each other but neither of you ever acted on it. both keeping the same sad mindset, if they wanted to, they would. everytime you talked about this with kiara and sarah at a girls’ night, they playfully judged you for thinking like that and tried to encourage you to just go for it. 

you took a deep inhale and relaxed your shoulders and face, feeling the tension ease up on your body. “she’s asking for it...look i don’t want to make pope upset or anything but vanessa can’t keep pulling this shit. she’s asking for her teeth to get knocked in.” you huffed out as you grabbed your backpack and phone to hop on your bike and head home. 

--

your grabbed your phone and backpack as you headed back outside to your bike. you didn’t even bother to text the rest of the group about catching a ride to tonights kegger because you were just a little fired up from earlier. they were your friends and if this were any other case, they would be backing you up. why is this time any different?

you’re recalling yourself getting ready. stud earrings because she can grab hold of hoops. your hair in two braids because there was less surface area for her to snatch onto. sneakers to make a run for it in case shit gets bad. 

what the rest of them don’t understand is that not only was vanessa mean, spoiled, and made your existence on the obx difficult, was that you had a bumpy past with her. more than just losing a friend. she made up a rumor based on fake ideas that she overheard her parents talking about. when she would run into you on the street with her other kook friends at the ripe age of 13, she would be a bystander as they spat insults your way. that always caused a strain in your friendship. 

until one day, she started the picking on first. she judged you on your family’s financial situation and said quote-by-quote “i heard her mom cheats on her dad with all of her little pogue friend’s dads. who knows, they could actually be related and we wouldn’t know. she’s a whore and i’m sure she’ll end up just like her.” tears still brim your eyes at that memory. you wouldn’t dare tell the rest of the pogues, whether it was out of embarassment or fear. it was best for them and their own minds that it was never brought up again. since then, it seems like constant torture from her. 

you pulled up on the beach and hopped off your bike as your tires were definitely not made for the sand. you laid it on a tree and made a b-line to the keg that john b was basically guarding. “thought we’d hear from you.” you heard kiara state as she sat on the sand and glanced up at you, squinting her eyes to keep the remaining sun from basically burning them.

“yeah well, just got a lot on my mind.” you responded. you didn’t want to be so abrupt with them but your blood was basically boiling with the idea of vanessa. john b stared between you and kiara and handed you a full red solo cup which you gladly took, taking a gulp.

“soooo...” jj started, throwing an arm around your shoulder, “cat fight tonight?” you felt a chuckle rise out of you as you playfully rolled your eyes.

“if you’re lucky enough, maybe you’ll get front row.” you joked, sending a smirk jj’s way and taking another gulp. you felt a presence behind you and turned to be faced with pope. his facial expression had clearly changed from what you saw from him last time. he looked almost guilty and concerned rather than aggravated. 

“come to snap at me again?” you said, turning towards the horizon on the water. looking into his eyes right now was difficult. maybe because it was the idea that you knew some part of you wanted to snap at him for him snapping at you earlier but you couldn’t make another enemy. not tonight. 

“about that...can i actually talk to you for a minute?” pope muttered, instincitvely cracking his knuckles, clearly scared to tread on water. you felt your shoulders relax and your facial muscles follow suit. placing your drink and backpack on the ground you followed a few paces behind him, closer to the sand where the tide was rolling in. although he didn’t stop, he wanted this to be a walk and talk situation. 

you strolled beside him, both of your hands slightly brushing against each other every now and then. while neither of you took initiative to grab the others’ hand, neither of you pulled your hands out of that pathway either. that connection and touch felt nice. it was reassuring that his snappiness, along with your own, was out of love and protection of each other. 

“you won’t be happy with what i’m about to say...” pope started, basically holding his breath.

“so why say it, pope? i know it sounds bad to say outloud but, why not just let me fight her? she has made my existence so unbearably difficult on this island and has slandered my name and countless others of those i love too much and for too long. i’m sick of being a pushover and letting her get away with it because of mommy and daddy’s money. im done!” you blurted out, letting more info out than you expected. “why does it bother you so much? if this was topper and john b going at it, or rafe and jj? which keep in mind, both have actually happened, i’m sure you would be more hesitant to stop them.”

your strolling came to a sudden halt as pope took a step directly in front of you, face to face. he looked longingly into your eyes, somewhat darting back and forth between your own eyes to search for an answer to his questions or even an answer to yours. 

“(y/n)! i can’t see you get hurt. i know how badly you want to do this and how much it means to you but in the end, what is it going to get you? an even worse reputation among kooks, bloody nose, and a black eye? is it worth it?” pope rambled drasticaly. 

“it is worth it! and i’m so thankful that you care about me and my well being and everything in between but this is something that i have to do. once and for all. i’m not putting myself and everyone i love through this torture anymore. and if that means beating the shit out of her and getting a bloody lip and battered up on the way, than so be it!” you responded, using your hands quite animatedly throughout the performance. the waves seemed like the loudest thing on earth as you awaited an answer from pope. he looked defeated and anxious, knowing that there was no getting through to you for this. 

“i-” pope started before cutting himself off, looking deafeated yet again. he ran his hands over his face in frustration and as he let his eyes shine over the tips of his fingers, they locked with yours. you felt stuck in place and in a trance for a split second before you felt a pair of hands on your waist and soon enough, you were lip locked with pope. 

instantly you pulled away, your heart feeling full and your legs feeling limp. your hands made their way to his jawline, slightly caressing his cheeks and neck as you pulled him back into the kiss, elongating it. 

he pulled away, shocked yet proud with himself. you could not help the small smile that made it’s way onto your face as your cheeks felt hot immediately. “i can’t believe i’m saying this but...fuck it. beat the shit out of vanessa.” 

the small smile grew as a laugh escaped your lips. you were quick to grab his hand as you both made your way back towards the kegger that was becoming a little more dense as the minutes passed. sarah, kiara, jj, and john b’s eyes were quick to fall on your interlocked hands with pope. both of you kept quiet, playing it nonchalantly. but you couldn’t help but notice pope’s look to john b and jj, all with smirks lined up on their faces.

part two out later!! :) 

[genshinconfessions]

please tell us the sucrose story im interested now

alright buckle up, my friends, it's going to be a long journey through katheryne from liyue's emotional instablity!

so you know, i didn't really notice sucrose in the beginning since i didn't pull her and she didn't really show up early on. but she looked like a pushover and i don't like pushovers >:( so i was like hmm i don't think i like this green alchemist girlie.

then we get to albedo's story quest and i'm like yeah....... she's a total pushover.....

THEN, we get to the windblume festival and she GEEKS OUT over this giantass sweet flower and i'm like ........................yo, it's just a fuckin sweet flower............

and then i was talking with keith and katheryne from mondstadt and we were talking about what characters we reminded each other of, and they were like oh yeah you're so sucrose.

and i was like ???? WTF MAKES ME A LIL GOAT GIRL (if yall didn't already know, sucrose is not entirely human since it's obvious she has ears) and i got super upset about it lol

and they were trying to make me feel better like no that's not bad! her geeking over the windblume reminded us of you when you get super into a topic and send massive texts about it.

and i was like still upset about it but then i went and thought about it and i was like hm. why do i dislike sucrose so much? is it because she's a total fucking doormat? is it because she's ridiculously shy to the point of it being ridiculous? is it because of what my friends said? or is it because of all of them?

and i think i just disliked sucrose because she reminded me too much of myself, like genuinely too much. literally, they were correct when they said i geek out over some obscure topics and don't shut up about it until i lose interest or realize i'm bothering other ppl. and i also used to be a doormat (might still be, but we're working on it) and especially, i used to be really really shy to the point of being ridiculous. and yes, i also used to put ppl i admire on a pedestal (i've gotten much better at not doing that).

honestly even the appearance 😭 i wear glasses too

but i think what really pissed me off about sucrose was that despite being so similar to her, she's so successful and i literally had to pass/fail a class last semester to not make that F count in my GPA. like, just formerly gifted kid things, but i hated how she was so successful and smart and i wanted to be her but i'm just me :(

anyway, after i realized all of this, i ended up doing a total 180 on her. now i super super want her, especially since mihoyo buffed swirl and i rely a LOT on elemental reactions and stuff. and obviously, i want her to get a double anemo with xiao once i get him ;)

and please don't worry about me! i probably seemed really pitiful in this story but i'm genuinely the kind of person who just needs to stew in my emotions until i come to a realization about myself, and then i'm all good LOL.

- katheryne from liyue

[rippingattheseams]

(this is a really long and messy vent post so like feel free to ignore this i just want to write whats going on in hopes of it making me feel better)

okay so yesterday was my first day of this stressful summer camp thing i have to do for a scholarship program and it’s literally just school in the middle of june and after freaking out abt it enough it turns out my grandma, who ofc is the only one besides my brother who doesnt seem to forget i’m there likely has stage 5 kidney failure (which is fatal) and i’m probably gonna have to go and see her within a week and the only death i’ve experienced of someone close to me is my dog when i was 9 and i forgot how awful it feels. i also was talking to my only friend about stuff because i’m getting my fourth therapist after finally starting to kinda open up to the last one but now she’s also leaving (she should be back in fall cause she’s having her kid but it still sucks cause i was starting to feel okay with her) and even though i never was able to tell her a lot of going on and she never gave advice she just let me vent, i still don’t want to see another one but back to the original point me and my friend were on ft and i found two of my old diaries from 1st grade and 3-5th grade and although it was mostly funny cause i was a fucked up kid who did fucked up things and couldn’t spell (and still can’t tbh) some of it was depressing especially considering how young i was. there was stuff about how i was so lonely and you could tell just by how much i wrote about this friend that i really relied on her for so much and not really in the venting kind of way i just liked her so much cause she was the only one who didn’t judge me or leave me. i didn’t have many friends throughout elementary and none of them except for her talk to me now. i finally opened up to her about why i loved going to her house so much as a child and why i still feel so emotionally attached to her family despite them not really liking me anymore. as a kid my household sucked tbh. i remember going to her house for the first time and got confused on why they all ate dinner together and didn’t go off to their rooms. up until a littoe over a year ago i’ve never really had a family dinner (and now it’s just my mom making me sit with her in the living room cause after she found out i was cutting in 7th grade she wanted to keep an eye on me and we just watch tv now and eat which isn’t that bad cause i have a good relationship with her now) but my parents always fought, often physically, and my dad was always drinking and my mom was constantly tired. it’s still the same but without as much fighting, which ofc i’m grateful for, but i still hold so much resentment towards my dad mostly, but my mom too. my dad really does love me, and i know it, and it genuinely hurts him when im annoyed or angry with him. i feel so guilty but he was so awful to me and blamed me for a lot, and still does, and is narcissistic and has awful anger issues. in the last year or so ive really started to realize that this isn’t normal. my childhood consisted of so much and i just thought everybody went through it. i want to truly love my dad again but everytime he actually does or says something decent it just makes me remember all of the shitty things he did to me and my mom. going back to my friend i keep bringing up, i was always so jealous of her. her family really loved her, she has a sibling who actually lived with her and cared about her, teachers loved her, other kids did, her house was nice and everything worked, she was skinny, she was pretty, she lived in a nice neighborhood with other kids in her neighborhood she got to play with. i always wondered why i was never able to experience it. i still do. i mean i don’t want to just sit here and feel sorry for myself, but sometimes that’s really all i have the energy to do. everytime i think i’m finally getting better, this happens again. i was also in the internet way too young, and got groomed too many times. a lot of older men were creepy to me irl too. i’m starting to see how its affecting me now and how i’m like hypersexual until anything remotely intimate happens to me, even if it’s as small as a hug from family, and it makes me so

uncomfortable. i don’t even remember getting “the talk” i just knew everything from the interne. i even got porn bots sending me explicit shit in the 3rd grade. my friend was the best thing that ever happened to me, if i’m being honest. i was an awful friend to her because i’d randomly get mad at her for not doing anything and would stop talking to her. i was like a stereotypical toxic friend all through elementary and i’m still not sure why. i would randomly cut her off but every time i apologized cause i realized she was the only one i had left, she’d always accept. she honestly shouldn’t of, because i didn’t deserve it. she was always a pushover and i was always the pusher (for lack of a better word lmao) but i haven’t done anything like that to her in years. it’s embarrassing but i’m glad she did end up sticking through it with me since if we weren’t friends now, i probably wouldn’t be here. she is quite literally the reason i stopped halfway through my attempt in 7th grade. i couldn’t lose her and i knew i couldn’t do this to her. i was only ever mean to her in elem cause i never knew normalcy and just wanted to be like the popular kids and so i would try and mimic them to make myself less weird. it never worked, obviously, but honestly the fact that she put up with my bs for so long is a miracle.

[theskyexists]

thingy DOESN’T believe that synths will kill their human creators?? thats pure bullshit. of COURSE synths will kill humans in teh future if they attain consciousness that is LIKE that of humans.

also there’s no fucking way this premise makes sense bc the military would have gotten their hands on synths the moment they became capable of holding a gun and hitting shit with accuracy and walking securely through multiple terrains. never fucking mind asimov blocks

the next episode immediately goes back into also blaming mum hahahahaa. i mean it makes sense for the kids but narratively it’s quite....interesting. though ofc matts is right and Laura should deal with whatever hurt Tom is. in fact, that explains the way she’s so....bruised

‘yeah we care about her - how can you not get that’

FINALLY. toby truly lays down the law for his father!

I LOVE old american guy giving Niska lessons in humanity! YAY for the elderly!!

I LOVE OLD AMERICAN GUY NOW!!! HE’S NISKA’S DAD NOW!!!!!!

jezus. david elster was a fucking creep (niska) and a total shithead (fred). turns out that their creator was a terrible dad. this explains much about leo also.

wow Matts you’re being a little insensitive to your mother who’s divulging a SHITLOAD of childhood trauma. but i guess that’s just relating this stuff to what she knows. ok she - oh that’s so - aw

does Matilda REALISE that Max is just like Mia???? anyway - i LOVE MAX SO MUCH AAAAGGHGHGHGHGH.

she does

I love it when Max speaks and Leo is quiet for once. just keep him knocked out!!

oh no toby now you’re going too far. i am deeply concerned that the two men in this show will radicalise into synth-killers

ALL THIS TIME I ALSO THOUGHT SHE WAS HIS GIRLFRIEND BUT SHE WAS HIS MUM : ‘’‘‘‘(((( oh Nooooooo. it was already sad and tragic but now it’s 50x times more

has this synth-policewoman fallen in love with Pete?

‘you look young generally’ OH PETE lol. that made me like you again

DOES HUSBAND ACTUALLY MAKE THE FATAL CALL??? they’re really making him a villain!!!

it IS a trap huh...

SHE REVEALS HERSELF RIGHT AFTER SEX AND A DECLARATION OF LOVE. SHE’S SO CUTE AAAAA

but this was so stupid aahadhladsflajsdf. he’s much less than you think of him!!!

oh no now leo and max think it was the family that betrayed them!

why would he jump over when he could have used himself as a hostage

(had to look up whether he really dies just to be sure)

did they just expel a sister????

oh god

laura is such a pushover! what about Mia’s feelings?? she just heard that Mia had been inside Anita all along! then bring in the man that....well...it’s not rape in the moral....sense....but in the emotional sense it kinda was

she didn’t practice trigger safety??? POLICE SYNTH WOMAN?? i guess she really is a cop

i knew american dad was dead the moment Niska and he bonded. i love this series! that sounded like sarcasm but i mean that i love the characters and the story.

NOT GEORGE!!! NOT GEORGE!!!! im actually crying

ah - Fred is leo’s BIG brother

‘I was there the whole time’ OH DAMMNNN MIA!!!! balaghglabalghghagh stop

Laura and Mia are becomign real friends!!!!!!!!!!!

Matty didn’t MAKE leo show her. lol.

FRED YOU’RE NOT CLEAN!!!!! he implanted something!!!! or....is fred aligned with him after all? has he been infected somehow?

at least Mia is trying to keep things together.

they are making Joe suffer for his stupidity. not very cathartic tho

Mia desperately tryin to stitch the whole human fam back together. LOL

oh that’s poor timing. Niska you damn zealot

why does Kate keep making the wrong decisions. stupid bastard

teh opening theme is great!

DID LAURA THE LAWYER JUST GIVE UP HER PHONE?? ARE THE COPS ALLOWED TO DO THAT

Joe up for redemption!

OH SO HOBB IS ACTUALLY WORSE THAN WHAT HE SEEMED. OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!! MAKE THE SLAVES CONSCIOUS AND KEEP THEM SLAVES!!!!!!

kill this man now.

KILL HOB! KILL HIM!!!! NARRATIVE KILL HIM!!!! they really baited the audience with Hobb possibly being more sympathetic than it seemed. NO HE”S ACTUALLY MORE EVIL THAN YOU THINK!!!!!!!!!!

Kate’s so stupid. I hope she gets to be a hero

Pete’s up for redemption!

Come ON Kate!!!!!!!!! jezus was living the life of a simple cop and finally sleeping with the guy you love really SO BAD? they’ve had a worse life on the run than Kate

oh her name is KAREN??? lol i thought it was kate.

why would Hobb be concerned about it becoming clear that these synths have feelings and shit. wouldn’t that help with the marketing? i mean it is a risk what with Niska having killed a man

he’s letting them go entirely?? he knows he’s got Fred so he’s like - eh, ill just lean on this family first

does Karen understand the implications of Hobb having a failsafe?? will she TRULY do anything to stop suffering from proliferating - because this TRULY will cause suffering

I guess fred has been instructed not to kill himself - or reveal himself.

TOBY YOU GOTTA REALISE - Help Fred tell the rest. oh god i dont want to lose fred....wait where’s max. i didn’t see anybody carrying him around. also - wasn’t his brain falling apart?wasn’t that time-sensitive? aren’t they GRIEVING?

Lol - why would they not have made copies? They should have told him- if you bother us again we transmit to the internet immediately. they could do that easily!

Oh max can walk again

these fringes are so BRITISH AHAahaah

Karen is a total wildcard. only Pete being in danger will help though i think

Joe doing a very last Bastard Husband thing by being offended that his wife didn’t reveal her horrible childhood trauma to him as some kind of insult to HIM

AAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH JOE WHY

‘you didn’t want to hurt us’? what

‘i can’t do anything’ - uh you can bring Mia and Max back to life but you can’t free Fred??? FRED!!!!!!!!???

FUCK! the next goal in this whole series is to free FRED!!!!!!!!!!

why the fuck would Niska walk in heels

couldn’t they restore fred the same way as they’re gonna try and restore max????

why doesn’t he tell Karen about how Hobb has enslaved Fred??? hello? and wants to use the code?? this last bit is a bit strange. what convinced her?

she’s an ideological character but she was moved by emotion?

oh they canjust share - no wires or anything

Karen realised she couldn’t rely on Hobb to kill them - so she went out alone to kill them. aha.

what. that was. out of nowhere

why the fuck did she go from ultimate KILL YOU ALL to - alright then let’s do this in one second. how extremely poorly written or directed or both

what?

she wanted to be part of the fam. then she left. the laura tells leo to let her go. whY?? this last bit is so STUPID

all they need is some coloured lenses and they can fit right in. just GET SOME COLOURED LENSES LOL

i know they trust laura now but like - the program is on a harddrive in her hands - but Hobb knows she’s associated with them. WHY would you put it in her hands. They know what hobb can do with it.

isn’t leo ever gonna say soryy for leaving his adult/9yearold sister in a brothel?

sophie woke up at an opportune moment

leave an android in the corner of a USED church....THEY SHOULD BURY HIM SOMEWHERE. THAT’S BETTER THAN BEING A GODDAMN SLAVE

PETE TOOK OFF HIS GLASSES TO LOOK YOUNGER FOR KAREN AHAHAHAHA

it’s funny - the synths can’t cry but their eyes sure can glisten.....

HOBB JUST LEFT THE FAMILY ALONE AFTER THAT???? WHAT LOL. he knows what Karen is and. ok this last episode was a mess. but everything that came before was great. and the theme is also great

the character stuff in this is great. well. not this episode bc like. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ?? THAT RECONCILIATION WITH JOE WAS SO FUCKING WEIRD. HE FOCUSED ON HIMSELF AND THEN -- she didn’t want to hurt the fam? what??? what the fuck are you on about ???

anway things did not at all come together.

[general-mahamatra]

ahh im so glad!!! thank you for your answer! to expand on the protective hcs, how do u think each of the wolves show their protective side?? like, what kind of things would they all do for eachother? ALSO (i hope this isnt too much fknhknh) but sexuality hcs and maybe family hcs too? like the kind of families they have outside of pack and how it effects how they get along with their wolfy fam

Of course! I love the anons I've been getting and yours blessed my night so much! I really wanna give you a name so I can refer to you if you ever come back 👉🏻👈🏻

Maybe,,,, maybe timber anon,,, cmere timber anon I fucking love you so much

(damn this became long)

But protective sides!

Jack: Jack is the kind to do anything to protect his pack, even if it means going behind their backs to work with the order. His idea of protecting them is taking important tasks on his own and electing explicit help from specific Order members when necessary. He doesn't want his packmates to get hurt in some way so when it's life or death and only one person needs to get hurt or die? That'll be Jack. He will do anything to make sure his new family is safe, even if it means putting his life on the line.

He tends to ignore their please to help him, often shutting them out to do it all himself. He rarely tells them the entirety of his plans, even when they're as a group. He'll always give the instructions of grouping the other wolves together but he always scopes around on his own. Never, NEVER does he let someone accompany him. If someone is gonna get hurt, it will only be him.

Hamish: he's very protective, that's definitely known. Just not in terms of he'll go out and kill someone for it just because they're a threat. He's much more of a talking kinda guy. Pep talks, stern conversations, that sorta thing. He's much more likely to see how far he can get with his words before he moves on with anything else, but he's prone to get angry. While he isn't physical, his tone gets harsh and he'll do everything considered to be rage except for scream. When he's angry, he talks fast and sharp. His words will jumble together and he will get up close and personal, but never hit.

His protectiveness is more within the pack than taking out threats. He's one to give them a dose of reality and tell them what's up.

Randall: his idea of protection is using common sense. He will always point out when something is a terrible idea and makes a stand. He refuses to be swayed from his position and even if he loses a game of beer pong and is forced to agree, his mind is never changed. He will ways express his worries. "The Order is our ENEMY", "they tried to kill us a couple months ago!", "they literally stole our memory to control us", "this is a FUCKING DEMON HOW DUMB ARE YOU GUYS??"

Although the pack tends to make him a pushover, he will never shut up. In fact, being shoved to the side in big important missions is what makes Randall louder. He WILL be heard and he WILL make sure of it. And even if someone says his idea is bad, he will stew. He will sit and broil over until he figures out how to get his idea and pull it off. Even if it means risking his own hide to kill someone to complete a ritual.

Lilith: oh yes, Lilith. The girl named after the mother of all demons. You know her idea of protection is vicious. She is the one who will openly go to slit someone's throat for so much as looking at one of her packmates wrong. And she is snarly. She will growl and snap at whoever gets too close and will gladly punch someone for saying something wrong.

Her idea of protection is genuine killing. She is open about how vicious she is and uses it to her advantage to keep her pack safe. She refused to let anyone lay a harmful finger on her family.

-----

Sexualities!

These are my personal views on these characters from watching the show! I'm completely open to all other interpretations!

Jack: straight! He may have dabbled a bit with men but in the end, he came out preferring girls.

Hamish: he doesn't label himself. To the outside view he is bisexual but if you ask him, he will say he likes whoever. Labels just aren't for him.

Randall: bisexual! And he is VERY open about it. He is a genuine 50/50 with boys and girls and will openly admire them all. He's also definitely the most queer and accepting given how casual he is with cross dressing and how affectionate he has been with both Hamish and Lilith separately.

Lilith: bisexual leaning girls! She has expressed interest in boys (as seen with Randall) but in the end definitely prefers girls. She may end up being lesbian later on but for now, she still has minor interests in boys from time to time!

-----

Their families outside of the pack

Jack: we already know about his family. With basically all of them gone, Jack is left alone in the world with only his friends. Its why he's so protective of them. He's already lost his blood, he doesn't want to lose his found family.

Hamish: he isn't that open about his family but he has mentioned them. Given how we don't know how old he is, it's difficult to determine a lot about him. From my basic guess, he's in his late twenties given his parents are both still alive and how close he is with the pack despite being the senior member.

He is DEFINITELY a trust fund baby, but he's good with it. He's spoiled with money (probably from his mom marrying a sugar daddy or something--which could allude to why he's "hot for teach") and resources. But, given how he's genuinely mature and seen to live within the den, it's safe to assume his family taught him how to properly use his money. They seem like they have a good relationship.

He's definitely an only child and it's very much why he seems so much more mature. He grew up on his own and after years of learning how to deal with people, he is able to properly deal with the pack and assert himself properly while still being open and genuine. He never takes full control.

Randall: he has brothers for sure, it's why he's so athletic. He comes from a family centered around sports and football and every Superbowl they would send the boys out to play with the rest of the family at their parties. Its what got Randall so into working out and sports. Of course there were fights, but he got along with them pretty well since they were all close in age. Obviously, he was the youngest but shh, only by a year.

Its why he's so energetic and playful with all the pack. He's boisterous and loves to harass the others, especially Hamish with the nicknames. To be fair, though, he nicknames EVERYONE. Jack is only ever Jacky Boy in his mind.

Lilith: she isn't too close to her family. She isn't open about them at all and never mentions them to anyone else. Most of her times over the holidays are spent on campus with either the pack or some of her friends from other classes. Its not entirely known why she doesn't like her family, but it's suspected it may have had to do with her feisty attitude and tendency to lash out at those close to her.

It's possible she had a sister and was known to be close with her despite a bunch of arguments. They were probably the reason Lilith ended up splitting away from her family.

Its why she tries so hard to stay close with the pack while also keeping them at a distance. She doesn't want a repeat of what happened with her sister; she can't lose another family.

[chat-noir-always-here]

I rewatch Miraculous—The Bubbler

Okay here we go time to dive back into French Sailor Moon aww hell yeee

(J.K. I’ve never sat through a single episode of SM in ma life)

•Tikki’s face when Mari is trying to kiss the Adrien collage wallpaper is low-key funny

•plagg lacks toe beans

•how do you “accidentally” come across your childs emails when cleaning their room? Mari’s mama is devious.

•Adrien is that a cookie keeping your breakfast crescents company? Just like Adrien to have cookies for breakfast.

•Adrien’s pained expression after Nathalie tells him happy birthday😭😭😭poor cinammon roll child

•nino: “You’d think he at least remembers to be young and wanna party a little!”

Adrien: “No Im pretty sure he was a downer back then too.”

LOL roast him, Adrien. Here Gabriel have some ice for that burn.

•Why does Nino’s shirt remind me of Goofy’s Monsters inc. appearance from Kingdom Hearts 3?

• “Am i seeing what I think I’m seeing? Dont tell me its Adriens birthday!” Girl you been his friend since childhood you cant remember it on your own?

• “Dont be a pushover! Literally!” Yeah that goes for Sabrina and Adrien too. You two let Chloe do whatever she wants with you? Yeesh.

• “Ring the doorbell.” Yeah for real ring the doorbell thats what its there for. 🙄🙄🙄

•Mari been forgetting to sign notes since episode one

Facepalms

•Bitch please you cant buy your own son a birthday present instead of bullying Nathalie into stealing Mari’s???

•that fucking painting hanging on the wall right where the staircase in Agreste Mansion forks. Can we just... Can we just burn that painting? Reduce it to fucking ashes. Seriously how can people look at it and not call the French CPS that piece of “art” is the most distubring piece of possessive B.S. i have ever had the displeasure of seeing. My brain hates my eyes for seeing it every time its visible in the show

•Im sorry Nino. Im sorry this dumbass bitch said that to you. (For real tho were you expecting anything different?)

•”Adults ruin everything all the time.” Kiddo your about four-five years from being an adult maybe check yourself

•for real check yourself cuz Gabriel is an ass and said that to you just so he could akumatize you

WORST.

PARENT.

EVER!!!

•i havent played with bubble wands since i was like ten. Are tbey more popular in Paris or is it just Nino’s thing?

•Nino’s akumatized form is so ridiculous, still. First time around it nearly drove me away from this show.

•something else i found ridiculous first time around is bubbling the adults. Its a bit more frightening though when you think about how they only have so much air in their bubble. If LB and CN failed to free them they would have all suffocated to death and Paris would be populated solely by orphans.

•LB you seriously just gonna entrust a couple of kiddos to a stranger? I know you dont really have a lot of options but still. If this were a crime drama or a D.C. movie those kids might not have faired as well.

•”Wow. That was a birthday lunch break to remember. Yaaay.” Kiddo you sound so sarcastic i love it. 🤣🤣🤣

•that little pompom or whatever the hell on top of akumatized Nino’s head jiggles a little every time his head moves and im just. Ugh. Cmon couldnt they have given him a better outfit or at least something less uncomfortable????

•Plagg is literally that little devil Kronk from “The Emperors New Groove” that sits on Kronk’s shoulder and tells him to do bad things. Or in this case, sits on Adrien’s shoulder and tells him to do bad things. “Its fiiiiine shirk your responsibilities for a hot minute and dance with your buddies. Its not like theyre here under suspicious circumstances or anything.”

•Adrien, honey, if you dont want her to kiss you you should say something. I mean i get cheek kisses mean something different in France but Adrien looks really uncomfortable.

•MAAAARRRIIII you just wasted a good deal of transformation time in a fit of jealousy for what i wish i could say was the first and last time 😩😩😩

•Tikki being a good guide and scolding Mari 🙏🙏🙏

•ugh are those storebought cookies? I can practically taste those things. I hope for Tikki’s sake they’re homemade or at least warmed up.

•”You were right Tikki i never should have waited this long.” In other words you shouldve fixed the problem the first time around not wasted your transformation in a fit of jealousy like you did? Correct.

•upon hearing the truth from LB, Adrien immediatley runs off to transform. Good boi didnt know how serious the situation was, is all.

•that look LB gives CN after her yoyo bounces off his head. Giirrrrrl he boyfriend material you knoooowww itttt admit itttt~~~~

• “Kids need adults!” The way Mari says this makes her sound like such a goody two shoes, i really cant stand it for some reason. Oof am i channeling Lila?

wipes my hand on a towel then throws towel away

• LB: “Adults keep children safe and protected! They care for their kids, they love them!”

CN: “Most adults do anyhow.”

Behold the difference between their respective households summed up in two seconds. Poor Kitty boi....😿😿😿😿

•Aww the way LB is hugging her kitty as he tries to kick at it ❤️❤️❤️

• “couldnt you have said that 500 feet ago?” Sarcastic chat noir is wonderful

• LB: “we cant stay stuck in this bubble together forever!”

CN: flirty looks

In other words theres something they could do together in their bubble.

asdfghjkl🤣🤣🤣

•the kids’ bubbles look smaller than the adults bubbles. So they are more cramped and have less air. Unfair much?

• “pound it!” Theres a joke in there but i wont. F.Y.I. In French they say something like “good job” so the joke is lost in that version teehee

•”did my son like his gift?” Again bitch PICK IT OUT YOURSELF

• “hey nice scarf Adrien! Off the chain!” Alya honey where DO you get your phrasing from? The late nineties?

• “can you believe my dad got this for me? Its so awesome he’s given me the same lame pen for three years in a row.” What the hell kinda parent gives their child a flipping pen for his birthday??? F.Y.I. In French Adrien says that his father forgets his birthday every year and gives him nothing.

Annnnnnd that wraps up episode one. Ill do episode two some other time.

[darkblueboxs]

howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind. 

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet.  The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

 * Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.