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iviarellereads · 10 months

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Network Effect, Chapter 18

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which I would punch the air if I hadn't previously read the book.

Murderbot 1.0 Status: Not so great Forced Shutdown: Restart What happened? Forced Shutdown: Restart: Failure Retry Forced Shutdown: Restart: Failure Retry Restart Yeah, I’m definitely in trouble here.(1)

Murderbot hurts everywhere, and has no outside inputs for a bit, until it finally starts to get systems back online. It's hanging upside down by four cables in a large, dark, open space, and its environmental suit has been removed, though it still has its shirt, pants, and boots.

The air is thin, but it's not worried about itself… just the humans that it was protecting. It doesn't hear any sounds, and there aren't any human shapes in its field of vision.(2) Nor are there any power sources within its scan range, or feeds available. It is next to a large machine with variously sized arms which might be an assembler. Despite the name, they can be used to dismantle as well.

Fear gives way to anger as MB wonders why they haven't torn it apart yet, if that's their intention.(3) If they try while it's conscious, they'll live to regret it.

Still, it can't use its arm energy weapons to free itself, because the angle is wrong. It has to do this the hard way: turn down the pain sensors, and dislocate the right joints to let its hands slip through the bindings. Oh no, wait, that's what something more human might do. Instead, Murderbot detaches its right hand(4) to free its right arm, reattaches it, and then breaks the clamp on its left arm, and then its feet. In the process, it makes a note that whoever hung it up this way doesn't understand SecUnits at all, as they don't seem to have tried to relieve it of its energy weapons and thought that upside-down would hurt like it does humans.

Once free, it hangs from one of the cables, but on purpose this time, and looks around upright. It seems like an old mine shaft, now used for storage. It sees some warning colours, red and orange and yellow, so climbs down another nearby cable to make its way toward them. It learns on the downward climb that its left knee is in particularly bad shape.

It finally gets to the warning paint, which is very outdated, but it's close enough to the popup feed paint that MB recognizes that it gives its message: a contamination warning. Its organic bits go cold, realizing this is the original alien remnant contamination site. It doesn't know if it's contaminated yet, but it does know it has to get out.

MB climbs up toward the tiny light it noticed earlier, and finds that it's attached to some scaffolding. Nothing nearby looks like a door that's been used recently. Still, eventually it finds one panel that moves a little when MB pries at it. Soon it gets enough leverage to get it open, and finds a stone foyer with better airflow.

It goes inside, and sits on the floor to have emotions while also having lots of pain. Three of its biggest fears are happening all at once, and its only comfort is the hope that the humans made it to Art alive, even though none of them have any reason to believe MB is still alive to come back for.

While it's wallowing, it realizes there's an active feed in this space, so it connects… and is promptly assaulted by MB2.0 yelling in its ear to ask if it's itself. At first it wonders if it's a ghost, but it's real, and really calling itself by their private shared name. 2 says advisory that it's a private name wasn't in its instructions, and tells MB to read a record of what it's done so far.

Right. Okay. Right. Things weren’t nearly as bad as they seemed. The explorer was permanently out of play and ART’s last three crew members were retrieved, plus some bonus Barish-Estranza survivors. But note to self: the next time you create sentient killware based on yourself, set some damn restrictions.(5) (It had downloaded one of my private archives to that SecUnit. I mean, my new friend SecUnit 3 who if I actually get out of this alive, I’ll have to do something with, like civilize or educate it or whatever. Like what the humans originally wanted to do with me, except we all gave up on that.)(6)

MB asks if 2 knows where its humans are, but 2 says the priority is neutralizing targetContact. MB says that's not its directive, but 2 says it wrote its own new directive.(7) Instead of expressing its feelings about killware that can think for itself like that, MB says it doesn't feel well. 2 immediately tries to hop up in MB's diagnostics, but MB says there's no time.

After establishing that 2 doesn't have any schematics or camera feeds, because MB didn't give it mapping code, it tells MB that there are feed and comm channels here, mostly not controlled by TCS, it's just accessing through a back channel. But, there's another section that's sending a distress signal. "Assistance needed" at ten second intervals, indicating that this is someone begging for help from anyone who could hear.

2 suggests contacting the distress signal sender. MB pings it, and the advisory stops for thirty seconds, then resumes, pointed right at MB. 2 observes that the system heard it. MB is just glad to have a direction. On the way, it gives 2 a corner of the processing in its brain. It can't really sacrifice that right now, but even less can it afford for its killware child to forget who its ally is and turn on MB.

Passing through corridors and hangars, MB realizes this is the pre-CR installation for sure. And, 2 observes that they weren't aliens. MB starts to argue they already knew they weren't aliens, but decides against arguing with itself. The tech doesn't look like pre-CR historical dramas, though.(8) And, they find a body wrapped in white crystalline growths that must be alien remnant related. As they near it, the "assistance needed" message changes to a "hazardous material" warning, so the system knows where they are.

2 cautiously suggests MB adjust its filters, and rescan the area to include more channels than its standard range. When it does so, 2 makes a diagram before MB can even fully process the results.

This wasn’t so much an oh shit moment as it was a spike of brain-numbing terror. I was expecting a room full of active connections, from the components to the screens and then through the walls to the rest of the installation, even if some or most of those connections were sending or receiving from damaged or dead nodes. Instead, the diagram showed the connections, but they came from the dead human body, and formed a weblike mass. It was interwoven with the central system, then stretched out to the walls, following the old connection pathways. I bumped into the hatch, which was when I realized I had been backing up. 2.0 whispered, That’s targetControlSystem.

=====

(1) Yeah, unable to reboot sucks, but our Murderbot is still alive to HAVE that problem, which is worth celebrating after the forced shutdown, restart unavailable a couple chapters ago. (2) Even though we know all the humans really DID escape, and MB's actions DID work, that was still a tense passage for me. (3) I think the later discovery that this is a storage room emphasizes the theory that they did not intend to dismantle MB, that was just the best place to hang it up. I'm confident that they wouldn't care if it was conscious before starting, if they wanted to. (4) EWW Ms Wells did you have to do THIS MUCH body horror just to subvert the expected trope? LOL (5) Always be precise about what you mean if the results might, in any small way, be meaningfully annoying to you if you don't. (6) So, I have two thoughts here. One, "civilize" and "educate" are two things SecUnits don't really need so much. Well, educate maybe, because their modules can be very limited, but not in the way "civilize or educate" implies to me. Two, I think the humans gave up because they recognized that you were better off without trying to impose some other personality type onto you, MB. Like, there's a whole essay somewhere in here, about the anthropological consequences of SecUnit independence and how they might be encouraged to their own individuality. (7) You can't give a script sentience, or more properly sapience, without expecting that it will defy the rules you assigned it. This is the whole fear of AI. I love how it's being played with in this series so much, and this book in particular, with 2. (8) Just in case you forgot who was narrating. (9) Eep! So close, TOO CLOSE! At least, if they don't have something with which to destroy it. No wonder it felt human.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot diaries #network effect #murderbot #secunit #murderbot 2.0

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n1ghtwarden · 10 months

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" if only you would not, uncle. " there is a part of her that means it - the archmage has always stepped above his station; clawing his way up the web that lolth had weaved around them for centuries, millennia now - it is something the night warden can respect; his still living, despite the odds that are stacked against him. despite the weakness of his profession. no, perhaps not a weakness - minthara baenre, lost daughter of menzoberranzan, can count on one hand how many baenre men had fallen with a blade in their hands in the name of the spider queen. lives all cut short in the name of a god who cared only for herself; things that weighed heavily upon her even now - yet how were those fallen unworthy, while her uncle in his ivory tower was? a sneer curls around her expression; all teeth. " i would be glad for an end to your dramatics - ssussun pholor dos; what an awful bard you would make. yet even that would be more useful to our cause than - " a gesture of her hand; wrist flicking outwards as she shakes her head. " - this. how you have managed to live so long when all others have either blown themselves up or fell to a blade is beyond me. " it is almost as if she had never left the city of spiders. the memories stir - the feeling both familiar and alien, now, after months of sun-sickened travel. the night warden feels her hand brushing against the brand upon her neck; once a source of pride - now a reminder of all that once was - her devotion, unerring; sword of the matron mother, paladin of lolth - her shame. it is a symbol that binds them both, same as their blood; something they will never escape from.

there are far more pressing matters than petty family squabbles; old wounds that never mended - and where the night warden was once so swift and sure, minthara feels like a child once more, sword in hand, hackles raised. fight, or die. she has never stopped fighting since - perhaps she never will. the exhaustion is as familiar to her as her mace is, as the dance of battle - an extension of her. " we have larger things to worry about instead of... this. " family. her expression puckers as though she has tasted something sour, and the night warden clears her throat. " our doubts will be the end of us. the spider queen wishes for us to fall into chaos and disorder; we cannot allow that to happen, even after we have struck her from her web and pulled my mother from the seat of our house. we must be united more than we ever were. " a pause - and then, quieter; almost soft. " i did not expect you to ever leave menzoberranzan, uncle. i am glad to see you here. "

@ascendead from here.

#both of them need therapy so bad IUHFIUHFHF #ascendead #EPILOGUE. there will be no gods: we will be their equal.#family therapy w the baenre gang

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littleladymab · 2 years

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[Star Wars: Rebels] with sparks of what i used to know

despite all the time i've been spending on tumblr lately i had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA that @skybridgerweek was even a thing but between that and reading heir to the empire for book club i was struck by the sudden need to work on the ezra and luke sequel to "far from the world that i made" aka my Rebels S5/Search for Ezra fic I wrote for the SWBB this year.

We're going to pretend this is for "Day 6 - The Force".

Please enjoy 10k of Ezra and Luke meeting for the first time, and if you want more of them, (unofficial) sequels are a first kiss here and some snuggles/cuddles here

(you can now follow the series on AO3 if you're interested in learning when the final (planned) fic is uploaded)

There is a flower that Ezra keeps with him, tucked safely away into whatever pouch or pocket he can slip it into. It is still just as blue as the day it was given to him — months ago now, on an alien ship as they left the orbit of a planet that tried to devour him.

Ezra has not heard from Un’hee or Vah’nya since then. Which is fine. He thinks it's fine. It’s hard to tell if it’s fine, because sometimes he still has nightmares of an endless swirling blue tunnel of an endless gray landscape of a flash of glowing red eyes that he has spent so long fearing that he jerks awake covered in sweat and a scream jammed in his throat.

What are the things around him that he can use to ground himself?

Bed. Pillows. Sheets that smell like the detergent that Hera uses and fills him with a sense of home.

A toy of Jacen’s, misshapen in the shadows, that resolves itself into an X-wing as Ezra swings his legs out of bed.

His clothes from the day before, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair instead of being put away properly.

His lightsaber on the table beside his bed.

The pale blue flower beside his lightsaber.

Ezra dresses in the clothes from the day before instead of putting them away and finishes the ritual of getting ready by tucking the flower away into a pocket and clipping his lightsaber to his belt.

The chrono by his door says that it’s still an hour before dawn which means it's a 50/50 chance that Hera will be away. Her sleep habits are almost as bad as his, but she’s had a war and a child to mess up that schedule.

He just has the things that aren’t real haunting him if he lets himself drift too far.

Instead of running the risk of crossing paths with Hera and having to answer questions or, worse still, given space and a cup of caf in the silence of the pre-dawn kitchen as she looks at him and understands without him having to say anything, Ezra goes out the window.

He’ll send her a message to let her know where he is. Once he gets to the city, the white spires of it gleaming like a third moon risen from the ocean and plains. From the heart of Lothal itself.

Ezra ignores the speeders tucked against the side of the porch and instead takes off at a light jog. They’re not that far from the edges of the city anyway, and Ezra feels brittle with starlight and filled with electricity that won’t let him sit still.

This isn’t the first time that this has happened, and it won’t be the last. At least he feels pulled towards the city this time. He can remember who he is in the city, surrounded by all the bits and pieces of his childhood and his life and his after life. Everything that made him who he is worked into the dirt of this place under boots and claws. The blood sweat and tears used to bind the buildings together.

Sometimes, Ezra doesn’t know who he is. A boy lost to time, parents gone Master gone future gone. But he will come to the city and lose himself in front of the painting Sabine made and try to remember where he ends and where he begins.

Home is not just a place, he thinks, remembering what he told that planet that doesn’t exist. Not really, despite the flower in his pocket. Home is the people I have made it with.

The first hints of pale pink-blue dawn caress the upper spires as Ezra wends his way through the city streets. He won’t stay that long, he tells himself. He will wait for the city to fully wake, then he’ll message Sabine — see if she wants to get caf. Or maybe Jai.

Or maybe he would call Hera, ask her what was on the grocery list and he would buy the groceries as an apology for leaving without telling her he felt like he was breaking because she would know, more than most people she would know. They share that loss.

But first he will take a moment to wake with the city. He will stand in the ruins of the old assembly hall, just as empty and hollowed out; and as the sun rises, he will feel himself fill with the warmth of who he is, who he is supposed to be, the person people remember.

The person he remembers.

It is there, with the early morning light spilling in through the mouth of the hall, it is then, not quite sure if he will ever be himself again, that Ezra Bridger meets Luke Skywalker and his lightsaber remembers how to sing.

[[read the rest on ao3]]

#star wars #rebels #i'm not gonna go through the whole rigmarole of tagging this #just take it #skybridger #a lil miss fic #lil miss writings #verse: the scars that we're made of #i will throw links into the parent post because i don't care anymore #10pm is a great time to post a fic

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a-mag-a-day · 2 years

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MAG 20 - Listened to while dying my hair. (From now on, I remember exactly what I did while listening for the first time to each episode. As I said in the last one, I took quite a break before then. I listened to this episode on the 31st of July 2021, and for example MAG 15, 16 and 17 on 28th of February - that I still know because I messaged my sister - I started TMA early September 2020.)

"Gospel of Luke, the words were from Genesis: “Behold"" - Ha!

"I just lay there for hours. There seemed a safety in stillness, as though inaction could do no harm." - This could be a way to prevent being marked by all entities, right? Father Burroughs made this decision a second time and therefore denied the End.

"And he began to list them. Every transgression I had made since I was six years old." - The Eye there.

"In the hallway I ran past two other priests, who looked more worried than ever. One of them was Father Singh." - Uhhh, this could be interpreted as the Stranger? But also just another manifestation of the Spiral, leaving him not able to trust his senses.

"The church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though it were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me. " - Obviously Eye.

"It was bright, so bright. Candles covered every surface, each glowing so powerfully that I could barely look directly at them" - Desolation?

"Instead it [the stole] was a pale, sickly yellow." - Corruption? I also heard the theory once, that this might have been a Web artifact? Some seem to think it's the thing Breekon talks about in MAG 128 "thrumming silk-wrapped thing of the spider, hiding away in an old steamer trunk." Not so sure about that myself though.

God, I love that ambient bell we hear in the background!

"Each was dressed in black from head to toe, and their skin was fevered, jaundiced yellow." - Corruption? But: "The eyes of every man, woman and child stared blankly forward, and their mouths hung open, wide and smiling, like their jaws had locked in silent rictus." sounds more like the Stranger…

"he raised his head and looked up as though to speak, but all that came from his throat was the single tolling sound of that bell" - Aaah, this is so alienating, it weirds me out and I love it!

"I noticed fewer and fewer of the parishioners seemed to be in the pews. Hope began to rise within me, as it seemed the words would work to banish these jaundiced watchers, and I pressed on. Finally, the pews were empty" - the Lonely?

"It was strange, the rich cloth curtain that covered that ornate metal box seemed stuck, so I pulled and pulled and eventually it came free." - Uhff…

"At that moment, seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again. I will not commit the further sin of ending my life" - There, that's what I meant earlier, denying the End.

"Was my predecessor reading it at some point?" - Researching the Watcher's Crown perhaps???

"He was wearing a butcher’s apron and sat in front of two students" - Flesh.

"as well as removal of both their faces with a sharp blade, possibly a scalpel." - Could also mix in the Stranger.

"The face of James Mann was found to have been partially eaten by Father Burroughs." - Flesh.

"at no point did he perform any actions that might be analogous with the binding and actual murder of the students. Also, it strikes me that the altar server he described seems out of place with most of his other delusions, in that he appeared to have active agency, which is uncharacteristic for these visions the priest describes. Finally, there is the small detail mentioned in the police report that none of the tools used to kill or mutilate the victims were found at the scene. This all leads me to believe that there may have been a second person there that night" - Classic Knife-Hands Distortion!

"there is little appetite for re-opening the case" - Jon and his inappropriate puns^^

"the package was handed to them by a company called Breekon and Hope Deliveries." - Best boys!

So from visiting Hilltop Road to talking to Father Singh to cannibal Mass there was only one day right? He went to bed and missed morning Mass, got up because he wanted to talk to Singh and then ran away to The Oratory… Cause in MAG 19 Jon describes this as "could have led to the incident in 2009". Also! It is said that Bethany O’Connor matriculated in 2008, but MAG 8: Burned Out already happened in 2006?? Well…

All of your insight is making me think that through marking him with so many Fears (with a religious ritual no less) they felt closer to earth than they've ever been before and thus learned what they needed to do in order to pass through

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #mod ashes #tma spoilers #mag 20

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etruatcaelum · 1 year

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On Magic.

When the Gods of Light and Darkness created humankind as their masterpiece, each gave the new beings two gifts: from Light, creation and choice; and from Darkness, destruction and knowledge. They meant for this to be their final act of creation—the keystone—the binding signature, as it were, on their hard-fought truce.

For a time, all was well.

Before long, however, it became clear that the creatures of grimm posed a dire threat to human existence; one humankind simply could not withstand. As humanity’s number dwindled, the God of Light—who had never warmed to his brother’s beloved creations—saw an undeniable reason to dispense with the monsters once and for all, but the God of Darkness would not hear of it. Instead, he proposed a more… indirect answer. If humankind could not meet the ferocity of the grimm with equal fire, then the fault surely lay with him, in his failure to give what they needed to thrive in the world he had made. The mistake, then, was his to rectify.

Although Light distrusted his brother’s intentions, he agreed reluctantly that he could find no fault in that reasoning; and so the God of Darkness swept over the world to whisper a new secret into the ear of every human he could find.

The divine gifts they had been given—the blessings of creativity and change, willpower and insight: these were no mere traits. Each sang with the touch of divine power, for humankind was made in the image of gods. All they needed to do was master the tools they had been given: and this was magic.

When the brothers left Remnant, they carved their gifts out of Salem’s soul; but once learned, a secret is not so easily taken back. No longer could she practice magic using the gifts of her creators—but they had given her more than just their blessings.

They had given her curses, too.

Infinite life, and infinite rage: the life-giving waters of the fountain of light had flooded her lungs and burned within her still, bright and searing as if she’d swallowed the sun. Lost and forgotten in that crucible of eternity, what was left for her but to master it?

And, when she remade herself in the lightless depths of the pool of grimm, she learned another secret, too: that power can be taken, and nothing is ever truly lost.

When humanity flamed into new life from the ashes of what came before, it did so by no power but its own; by no hand of any god, by no magic of any gift. The brothers left Remnant a desolate ruin, accursed and rotting. What shines in the souls of the living now is the radiant scar of the truth she knows: and this is the secret called aura.

For many lifetimes, Ozma was the only person who walked the planet’s face with the brothers’ gifts interwoven with their soul. Blessed as they were, they wielded the phenomenal magic of the gods—but the aura of humanity lay dormant in their soul, and in their hands dust became no more than pretty gemstones.

They thought nothing of it, at first. The God of Light had told them that humans would rise again lessened, mere fragments of what they were when the gods smiled upon them: so they did not question the fading embers of power they saw flickering in the hearts of mortal men. Not until years became lifetimes and the brutal wheel of futile centuries ground them down to aching bone did the alienation of divinity truly begin to lacerate; and then they retreated into solitude for many long and painful years.

The wizard in the story divides his magic: the truth is that magic is not a thing you do but a thing you know, and what Ozma gave to the first four maidens was not the magic but the means. Their names were Bruma, Imber, Iubar, and Vina: each entrusted with a gift that was not truly Ozma’s to give.

So they relinquished the blessing of their creators; so magic intertwined with aura and remade itself into something stranger and wilder than before: the maidens do as they will, unbound from death, and every now and then a child is born with silver eyes.

#MAIDENS AND KINGDOMS ( hc. )#THIS DARK THING THAT SLEEPS IN ME ( hc: salem. )#FOND HEARTS CHARRED AS ANY MATCH ( hc: ozma. )#[ blows a kiss to the lost fable.#blows another to volume nine.#they’re writing this story for me. ]

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nukethefreezer · 4 months

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You’ve always wondered what the phrase “bad boy” actually meant. Where do we draw the line between good and bad? For him it meant the stereotypical supervillain, or so it seemed. Until now. Now you find yourself tied to the bed posts with his shiny blue dome taunting overhead. He says something along the lines of “Want to see what a real bad boy is like?” You forget to answer, overtaken with lust. You squirm, trying to reach for him, but he pushes you back down and scolds you for attempting to break the binds. He drags his fingers down your bare chest and pulls out what looks to be an ice cube. You ask what he plans on doing but there is no time for an explanation before he drags his hand further down and over your crotch. He fiddles with your belt and works to remove your pants as your mind races with every possible reason for the ice cube. Once you are finally nude he brings his macrocephalic noggin down to your hips and spreads your legs before taking a big sniff. This naturally alarms you and you clamp your legs shut. He says that he is sorry but he “couldn’t resist the stench.” You reply with a glare. The ice cube that is still in his left hand hasn’t melted at all. He brings it down to your opening and you let out a gasp. The cold feels sharp on your skin and makes you squirm. “Mega-“ you start to moan before he places his hand over your mouth, shutting you up. He slips the ice cube inside. You squeeze your eyes shut and can’t decide if it’s pain or pleasure but you choose to enjoy it regardless. The ice sits inside. After catching your breath you look around to see his big blue hand caressing what looks to be a gun. With further examination you are sure it’s not a real gun but instead some sort of alien gun he must have crafted. He turns the dial on the gun and the ice suddenly melts. You feel something moving from within. Overtaken with fear and thrill, you let a moan slip and claw at the sheets, trying your hardest to understand what the bad boy had just done. “Oh no… don’t worry! I thought you’d enjoy this kind of fun…” he grins into the statement and slips you a finger to remove what he had reanimated inside of you. He takes hold and starts pulling, what he had inserted was much smaller than what he is now coaxing out. You grimace and close your eyes, giving you less to focus on. The relief that fills you once it is removed is short lived. You open your eyes to find him towering over you, examining a gerbil. “It was an interesting experiment, really. I’d like to think you found some enjoyment in it as well. Shall we do this again?” You are speechless.

#megamind

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iatrophilosophos · 4 months

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I Dislike that post about psychosis & mysterious disappearances for reasons I can't totally articulate so here

Psychotic breaks can happen to virtually anybody, *and*

We don't have to treat them as a constant threat of disaster (yes, even if we're psychotic ourselves or have a family history) & can Do Stuff to reduce their impacts

Some stuff you should consider doing right now/this week/this month if you are afraid of having a psychotic break, or just do in general bc it's good shit to have in your back pocket:

US specific: Create a locally-appropriate psychiatric advanced directive. This is a document that specifies your wishes in the event you are deemed unfit to make your own medical decisions. Laws are woefully inconsistent and these directives *may not* be legally binding; so it may be up to the discretion of a provider to actually follow it; but it's still better than nothing. You can specify in your advance directive things like treatments you do and dont consent to (i would be specific and intentional here; stipulating that you dont consent to a specific class of medication e.g. SSRIs is more likely to be honored than No Medication); people to contact; people (like a parent) who you do NOT want to be involved in or privy to your treatment. Heres a page with resources and directions by state. You may need to get this document notarized.

US specific: assign a healthcare proxy. This is a legally-binding document that specifies who is allowed to make medical decisions on your behalf. By default, your healthcare proxy is your closest living next of kin. Even if you get along with your parents, siblings or kids; they may not actually be the people you want making decisions for you for Any number of reasons. Discuss the idea with whoever you'd like you be your proxy! Laws vary by state and you will likely need to get this document notarized.

Create an informal advance directive with friends and loved ones. This is just for yall and can include shit like not calling the cops, trying to resist EMS or hospitalization, what you want people to do to support you if you DO get hospitalized, and anything else. If you have experienced psychotic breaks in the past, this is a good place to put any advice or requests for your loved ones. It's a good idea to do this as part of a discussion and invite the people you're making this plan with to ask your consent about stuff they think they might try to do to help. It's also a good idea to have a few of these for different people/situations: your advance directive with a roommate you're not that close to might just be "call xyz instead of the cops".

Self-reflect. What are you *worried* would happen during a psychotic break? What commitments can you make to yourself & plans can you make with other people to control for it? A good friend once told me "I really want to try MDMA because i think it would be good for me, but I'm worried it would trigger a genetic disposition to mania and I'd go out for days and forget my kids". My advice to her was "hire a babysitter who knows what's up and get a friend to hang before you try it". It worked out great--she had a nice time AND got to experience the bodymind state she was terrified of, get some practice functioning within it, and proved to herself that her commitment to taking care of her children is a choice she makes out of her own free will that she is free to *continue* making regardless of how nuts she is.

To the point above: practice being nuts. Let yourself explore the states you're afraid of and learn how to cope, communicate and function while crazy. Psychotic breaks are scary because they're alienating and novel. Set yourself up to communicate even when you don't experience the same reality with someone via your informal advance directive; and don't let psychosis become the big bad scary monster. Stay up all night, believe weird shit for fun, switch up your routine, go put yourself in new and unfamiliar environments. Do drugs if you wanna! Have weird, potentially bad experiences with a friend and aftercare and learn that you have free will regardless of the familiarity or comfort of your surroundings while you've got a safety net.

Have an aversion plan. This is what you do if you start feeling out of your depth. It can be behavioral, social etc--stay home and sleep, have someone come sit with you, eat a big nutritious meal--any activity or situation that you think will help keep you safe/help you avoid the scariest or most dangerous facets of what you think a psychotic break could mean for your life.

None of this is a surefire way to *not* have a psychotic break or even to have one be completely free of undesirable results. But they are real, tangible steps that help a lot more than being terrified of ever getting 2nd hand weed smoke or living in fear that some day everything you know/are might just disintegrate.

Advance directive resource link 1 more time bc Tumblr hates actually inserting my links in posts:

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confinesofmy · 2 years

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#i am feeling alienated from peers due to experiences beyond my control in this chili's tonight :/#i feel older than everyone i talk to bc they haven't seen The Patterns up close like i have #which is true #none of them have experienced anything quite like what i have experienced in the past couple months #but a lot of them have seen The Patterns in various situations #like we all see them sometimes #it's like a stage of life right #your awareness of the world shifting and changing it's fine #but i'm all olone 😞 and nobody gets it like i do 😔 they don't understand 🙄 it's exhausting #shit like this is why trauma victims are so susceptible to c*lts i s2g #smth happens & it shakes you up & no one around you has experienced the earth-shattering thing the way you have so you isolate yourself #and then along come new people who Get It‚ they Understand and then bam you're ass over teakettle #and what was once alienating is now binding instead #:/#i'm still miserable even if i am self-aware enough to probably avoid worst case scenarios here #adams year from hell

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hyunsuks-beanie · 3 years

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Mine Forever

Pairing! Yandere! Taehyun x afab! reader

Genre: Smut rated 21+; choking; bondage; unprotected sex; oral sex (f. receiving); creampie

Trigger/Content Warnings: Yandere themes; mentions of kidnapping/being tied up; cursing; use of the world "doll"

Word Count: ~1.7k words

Mellow speaks: My first Taehyun smut and it has yandere themes lmao. I have to say the genre intrigues and scares me at the same time, so this was really fun to write! I like the way it turned out, so I hope you guys do too! Thank you for the lovely request, nonnie xoxo

Tagging: @freckledwinterfalls

Sunlight. How long has it been since you actually felt the heat of the sun hitting your skin? It's become hard to count the number of days by now, but something inside you tells you that it's been months since you last stepped out into the day. What have you been doing all this time, you ask? Spending all your time being tied up in Kang Taehyun's bedroom, of course. You knew the moment your eyes had landed on his smile, so innocent and so friendly, that he wasn't up to any good. And true to your hypothesis, not a week later, he had shown you his true colors, whisking you off your feet, in the literal sense too.

You don't remember much about that fateful night, only the fact that you had found him following you as you made your way home. The next thing you knew, you came to inside his bedroom, wrists and ankles tied up to a chair, and a gag stuffed into your mouth. You had tried to break free, but he was good with knots, leaving you with no option but to stay. Stay for as long as he wanted you to.

Hours turned into days, and over time, Taehyun came to trust you enough to take the gag away, but the bindings remained. He told you he didn't intend to hurt you in any way. Instead, all he wanted was to protect you from the outside world. Despite his innocent looks, he sure was a smooth talker, slowly feeding into your mind a seed of doubt, one that made you think you had never been safe before you met him, and that the only way to survive was to trust the man in front of you.

You came to be more comfortable around him as time passed, finding yourself cracking a smile and even talking to him as he told you about his day in the evening, feeling the wall between the two of you crack a little more each time he fed you with his hands. He soon turned into somewhat of a friend to you, if not more, though you had to admit catching feelings for him didn't sound as alien to you anymore.

As for him, he knew he was falling even more in love with you with every day, nay, every second that passed. And that's the reason why he decided to trust you once more. Trust you enough to undo your bindings one morning, a soft smile on his face as he watched you look at him in shock, rubbing your wrists where the ropes had cut into your skin. That was a mistake, as he'd realize in hindsight.

Because one thing he doesn't know is how you longed your freedom. How you longed to run through the streets once again, to feel the the sunlight hitting your back, to feel the cold breeze brushing past your face. Trust Kang Taehyun though you did, you still wanted to break free of your cage. And that's why, you run. Tripping over your own feet with your legs feeling like jelly, you dash for the door, trying to find the exit. But having had been confined to a single room for months, you are unfamiliar with the layout of his house. And he, of course, is much quicker, so catching you isn't really that big of a deal.

You freeze up, feeling his hand snake around your neck from the back, holding you in place as your eyes dart to the side, trying to get a glimpse of his face. You don't have to attempt to do so for long though, because the very next second, he steps forward, eyes burning with pure rage as he glares at you. Licking your lips, you try to explain, saying, "T-Taehyun, I-," only to be cut off by his hand coming in contact with your skin once again, his fingers getting wrapped around your neck as he snarls at you.

"I trust you enough to release you, and this is how you repay me? Ungrateful bitch," he spats, his face getting closer to yours with every word. You can only look up at him with fear in your eyes, opening and closing your mouth as you try to swallow. It is then that he tightens his grip, applying pressure against your skin and cutting off your oxygen supply. He looks scary like that, the love in his eyes totally replaced with nothing but anger.

But at the same time, it makes him look so much more hot than he ever has, his bicep rippling as he continues to apply force against your windpipe. And that's the reason why, despite yourself, you're unable to contain the moan that escapes you, eyes closing shut as you mentally kick yourself for getting turned on at a moment like this.

His eyes going wide in surprise, it doesn't take your captor long to put two and two together. And when he does, a sinister smirk takes over his features, pupils going dark as he mutters, "You like be choked, huh? Little slut." You know this isn't right, but you can't help yourself, another whine making its way your lips at his filthy words. It's only then that you realize how close his face is to yours, his hot breath fanning your lips as you gulp. You can only watch in awe as a switch flicks inside him, his body moving as he smashes his mouth onto yours in a kiss that's full of passion and high on menace.

His lips are addicting, almost like a drug. And you find yourself drowning, getting lost in the sensation of his touch, his hand never leaving your throat. He presses deeper, a groan emanating from somewhere deep inside him. The almost carnal sound makes you feel things you shouldn't feel, a warm wetness pooling between your thighs as you kiss him back. You move closer, your chest now flush against his as your hands crumple the collar of his shirt. You know you need to run away, but for now, the only thought in your mind is the growing need for him.

Before you know it, you're back inside the room where it all started, eyes following Taehyun's movements as he throws you onto the mattress, ropes making their way around your wrists once more as he ties you to the bedpost. Once he's satisfied, he makes his over to the foot of the bed, mattress dipping under his weight as he hovers over you. "Running away from me, huh? Let's see you try," he growls, and that's when you know you're knee deep in trouble.

And you're proven right when the shorts that he bought for you slip down your legs, your panties following suit not a minute later. "So wet, I knew you were a slut for me," he mumbles, your thighs being spread apart as he begins eating you out. His mouth works wonders on you, his tongue licking stripes up your core and teeth biting your clit. He has you writhing under him within minutes, making you feel all sorts of things. Things you haven't ever felt before, toes curling up as your orgasm approaches. The room fills up with the lewd sounds of him slurping, coupled with your moans as he pushes you closer to the edge, his hand applying pressure to your bud while his tongue continues to flit and out of you.

It doesn't take him long to have you come undone, your body convulsing as you ride out the best climax of your life. You let out a particularly loud whine, hoping for a breather as you let your eyes screw shut, chest heaving from the sheer force of your high. Your respite, however, is short-lived, lips parting in surprise as you feel something pressing against your windpipe once more. Cracking your eyes open, you find Taehyun smirking darkly at you, his tip lined outside your entrance. Seeing the shock of your face, he only shrugs, saying something about you being a "doll" and about this just being the beginning.

You barely register his words though, too focused on the way his member shines with precum, the veins on his erection popping as he enters you, slow and deep. The contact sends a ripple of pleasure through you, your back arching and eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let him have his way with your body. Already sore from your previous orgasm, you find yourself already inching closer to your second high of the day, his rough pace and crude thrusts doing nothing to help loosen the knot in the pit of your stomach.

"I-I'm close-," you whimper, only to have him grip your throat tighter, cutting off your access to air as he growls at you once more. "Don't you dare cum before I tell you to," he says, voice deep as he continues to pump into you, almost animalistic by this point. There's nothing you can do, wrists struggling against your bindings as tears slip down your cheeks, the man's name escaping your lips like a chant. You're close, so close that you feel your senses failing you. You're crying by this point, your climax looming over you like a wall as you beg for a release.

But he doesn't relent, his pace never slowing as he slams into you. You're on the verge of oblivion when you hear it. Hear him call for you to coat him in your cum. And you do, body shivering as your high hits you like a tsunami. A couple thrusts later, Taehyun too, is cumming right inside you, your pussy filled up to the brim before he pulls away, breathing ruggedly as his eyes land on your hole, dripping with his juices mixed with yours.

"Damn, you look so pretty like that I must just have to fuck you again," he smirks. "And now that you're mine forever, I'm gonna do just that."

#taehyun #taehyun smut #yeonjun #yeonjun smut #txt #txt smut #tomorrow x together smut #beomgyu #beomgyu smut #soobin #soobin smut #heuning kai #huening kai smut

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littlelovelyspiderling · 3 years

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Venom’s Vengeance

i saw venom: let there be carnage and like 5 seconds later i wrote this. i’ve never written venom or eddie brock before so eeehhh we’ll see how it goes. SPOILERS if you haven’t seen venom 2 yet or any of the spider-man: nwh trailers!!

After being dragged into the MCU universe, Venom wants to kill Spider-Man, but Eddie makes him heal the wounded hero instead. Upon binding to Peter Parker, Venom learns of a new weakness humans have, and realizes there are ways other than biting your enemies' heads off to exact revenge...

word count: 6,367

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“LET US EAT HIM!”

No! Let him go!

“MUST DESTROY HIM! TEAR HIM APART! MAKE HIM SUFFER FOR ALL THE PAIN HE’S INFLICTED ON US!”

Venom! I said let him go!

With a guttural roar, Venom flung their captive against the slimy sewer walls. The kid gasped upon impact and slid to the floor. It took a few seconds of scrambled floundering for him to stand, palms braced against the wall to keep him upright, his whole body trembling in fear.

“W-what the hell are you? Why are you trying to kill me?”

The shudder in his voice cut Eddie to his core. Normally, he and the alien lifeform mirrored each other’s emotions, one side eventually succumbing to the other’s will in order to maintain their bizarre yet symbiotic relationship. But ever since they’d seen that spider-guy on the TV, things had changed. Venom had been ignoring his host’s desperate attempts to calm him down and tame his wild temper. Eddie hadn’t even had time to figure out what the hell had happened in their beach house two days ago; once the symbiote got Spider-Man in his head, then eventually in his sights, a darker side of him had taken over, one that Eddie was struggling to keep at bay. Right now, it was taking everything in him to keep the alien from ripping the kid to the shreds. Right now, the symbiote was pulsing with an unbendable, blind rage.

My thoughts exactly! Eddie shouted from inside Venom. What’s wrong with you? Why do you want to eat him so badly?

“SPIDER-MAN KNOWS WHO WE ARE! SPIDER-MAN KNOWS WHAT HE’S DONE!” Venom screeched. He stomped forward, balling his massive hands into fists. “AND FOR THAT, THE SPIDER-MAN MUST DIE!”

No! Eddie yelled, forcing their legs to a halt. Let’s talk about this! He’s just a kid!

At that moment, Spider-Man bolted toward the mouth of the tunnel, feet splashing through muck and sewer water. But Venom launched a glob of black goo at him before he could turn the corner, knocking him back into the wall and trapping him in place.

“Agh! What is this?” Peter cried, wriggling uselessly beneath the sticky net. His eye lenses went wide as the giant monster approached, spindles of drool stretched between its impossibly sharp teeth, its long tongue slithering from its maw like a pink eel. It was every child’s worst nightmare come to life. Spider-Man turned away in horror, his voice breaking. “P-please! I didn’t mean to bring you here! It was an accident!”

What? Eddie exclaimed. Wait—listen to him. Just stop for two seconds and listen to what he has to say.

The alien bellowed in protest and stomped their feet. “YOU WOULDN’T BE STOPPING ME IF YOU KNEW WHAT HE’S DONE!”

“What...what who’s done?” Spider-Man ventured to say, still shaking. “What I’ve done?”

Eddie knew the kid could only hear what Venom was saying, which was likely making being kidnapped and attacked by a man-eating alien monster even more confusing and terrifying than it already was. He took a deep breath and spoke in a calm, collected tone.

Tell me, then. What has he done to you? How do you even know this guy?

“SPIDER-MAN IS A SYMBIOTE KILLER! A HEARTLESS, TREACHEROUS, BACK-STABBING HOST! EVERYONE KNOWS HE DESERVES THE CRUELEST DEATH IMAGINABLE!”

Peter audibly swallowed. “Symbiote? Host? What are you talking about? I haven’t killed anyone!”

“SHUT UP!” Venom roared, spitting flecks of saliva all over Spider-Man’s mask. The kid shrunk back with a whimper. “MILLIONS OF VERSIONS OF SPIDER-MAN ACROSS MILLIONS OF UNIVERSES HAVE BETRAYED US! AND YOU BEAR THE TRAITOR’S NAME AND COSTUME! WE WILL CHEW YOU UP AND SPIT YOU OUT PIECE BY BLOODY PIECE, AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, JUST LIKE YOU HAVE DONE TO US!” The corners of the beast’s mouth lifted into a sickening grin. “BUT THEN WE WILL RE-EAT YOUR CHEWED UP PIECES. WE DON’T LIKE WASTING FOOD. EDDIE SAYS IT’S NOT GOOD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT.”

Even with a mask on, Eddie could sense the terror beating its way out of the poor kid’s chest. He had to reel Venom in before things got ugly.

Easy, V, Eddie warned him gently. Just because a version of Spider-Man has hurt you doesn’t mean that this one has. Right? I mean—I won’t pretend I understand all this multiverse mumbo-jumbo, but hey—you saw his picture on the news. He looks, like, twelve.

“DOESN’T MATTER! ALL SPIDER-PEOPLE MUST DIE! THEY ARE ALL TO BLAME!”

Peter’s fear-gripped mind fought to understand the monster’s words. “Spider...people?” he said cautiously.

Now that’s not fair, Eddie continued. Under that logic, shouldn’t I want all symbiotes to die? Your kind have killed a lot of my kind, after all. Remember how much I hated you when we first met? But after I took the time to actually get to know you, I started to like you. Now look at us—symbiotic partners, saving the world as the Lethal Guardian. That never would’ve happened if I hadn’t given you the chance to prove yourself.

Venom paused for a moment, grappling with his host’s aggravating words. The heat of his rage was beginning to wane. “BUT—BUT THIS IS DIFFERENT! EVERY SPIDER-MAN HAS TREATED VENOM LIKE SCUM BETWEEN HIS TOES! THEY ARE IRREDEEMABLE SHITBAGS ONLY GOOD FOR EATING! NOTHING ELSE!”

But how do you know that this Spider-Man isn’t the one redeemable one you’ve been waiting for, if you won’t even let him prove you otherwise? You only ever saw humans as disposable hosts until we met. But now you know there are good ones out there who are worth protecting. He gazed at the terrified teen through Venom’s eyes. He looked so small from the alien’s towering viewpoint. Have you ever actually met a Spider-Man before?

“...NO.”

So you’re really going to let those greasy assholes back home tell you how to think? Come on, man. Gotta think for yourself, form your own opinions on things.

A long, low growl rolled from the alien’s throat. Eddie moved his fingers to unclench their hands, and Venom begrudgingly complied.

Give him a chance to show you he’s better. Please. For me.

Gradually, his growls tapered off somewhere deep in his chest. Venom strode toward Peter, narrowing his eyes, licking his chops. Spider-Man squirmed to get away, but there was nowhere for him to go. The beast stopped an inch away from his face. Its breath was hot, wet, and reeked of rotting meat.

“Please, please, p-please don’t eat me,” he begged.

In an instant, Venom reared back his fist and punched the wall a few inches from the kid’s head, making him flinch and yelp.

“GAHHH! FINE!” he grumbled. “BUT ONCE YOU SEE HOW REPULSIVE HE IS, I’M YANKING HIS SPINE OUT OF HIS THROAT!”

Eddie sighed with relief. Peter, however, looked like he might vomit.

“Who…are you talking to...?” he asked uneasily.

Brock shrugged inside the suit. Let me out so we can both speak to him.

The alien huffed in defeat. In one swift motion, Venom’s monstrous form peeled back and shrunk away to reveal a very sleep-deprived but friendly-looking man inside. He wore ragged jeans and a leather jacket, had kind eyes paired with a shy smile, and it was such a stark contrast to the giant toothy demon, Peter blinked hard a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating the transformation.

“Hey there,” the man said with a nervous wave. Peter blinked again.

“What...the hell?” he breathed.

“Sorry about all that. My friend can be a bit dramatic. Beneath all the teeth and bloodthirstiness and slobber, I promise he’s an okay guy.”

“You…he…” Spider-Man’s jaw hung open. For once in his life, the web-slinger was at a loss for words. “You were inside that freaky monster thing? Where did it go?”

“DON’T CALL ME FREAKY!” the creature’s deep voice suddenly roared. A snake-like appendage appeared on the man’s right shoulder, and Venom’s grisly teeth and pupil-less eyes sprouted at the end to form a smaller (but just as horrifying) face. “YOU’RE THE FREAKY ONE!”

“Holy shit,” Peter croaked. “Am I tripping balls right now? What the hell is going on?”

Eddie tugged the tiny Venom face away from Spider-Man’s and gave it a few pats. “Down, boy. Have a little sympathy. Kid’s clearly going through a lot right now.” The man offered him a small but genuine smile. “You’re Peter, right? Peter Parker?”

The young hero winced at the name, as if it physically hurt him. He stared at the ground without answering.

“I saw you. On the news. I don’t think I have the full story, but…” Eddie stepped closer, causing Peter to stiffen a little. He knelt down to his eye level and pinched the corner of his mask. “Do you mind if I take this off? I already know what you look like, and I think it might help my friend not want to eat you so much.”

Spider-Man was silent for a moment, his wide, bug-like eye lenses difficult to read. Then he sighed, letting his shoulders fall slack and his head droop a little.

“Whatever.”

Eddie hesitated, waiting for him to offer something else, but he didn’t. So he went ahead and pulled the Spider-Man mask off his head, revealing the soft, battle-scarred face underneath. It was even more jarring in person—how painfully young and innocent this allegedly infamous superhero actually was. At the same time, his big, brown Bambi eyes looked haunted with trauma far beyond their years, and his pale skin was striped with numerous gruesome wounds: some fresh, others still healing. Eddie’s heart twinged.

“I STILL WANT TO EAT HIM.”

Peter blanched in terror. Eddie scoffed, shoving the alien aside.

“Can it, Venom.”

Something like curiosity slowly overthrew the kid’s horrified expression. “Venom?” he repeated, glancing between the demon head and Eddie. “Is...that it’s name?”

“YOU KNOW MY NAME, SPIDER-MAN,” Venom snarled. “JUST AS I KNOW YOURS.”

“I’m not so sure he does, bud. I don’t think Peter here has ever met any of your kind. He’s only been alive for twelve years.”

At that, the boy scowled. “Twelve? I’m sixteen, dude. Come on.” The newfound spark in his eyes died in an instant, however, and he let out a weary huff. “Didn’t you see that on the news too?”

“We’ve only been in this weird, jacked up version of reality for a couple days, so V and I are still trying to catch up on things.”

“And Venom is…what, exactly? Sentient tar? A possessed boa constrictor crossed with an oil spill?”

“He’s an alien and I’m his host.”

Peter gave a shriveled laugh. “Oh my god. First lizard guy, then lightning dude, then Halloween man, then doctor tentacles, and now an actual alien? How many other Spider-Man-hating psychos are out there? And why do all of you want to kill me, but I've never even heard of any of you?”

Eddie frowned in thought. “You mean we’re not the first guy you don’t know who’s tried to kill you for no reason this week?”

“You don’t even break the top ten list,” Peter said miserably. His gaze shifted to the serpentine alien face. “Although, as far as themes go, yours is by far the weirdest. And scariest.”

The man’s expression softened. He reached forward and touched the black sludge holding Spider-Man in place. “V, can we get rid of this please?”

A grumble rose from the terrifying alien. “FINE. BUT IF HE TRIES TO RUN AGAIN, I’M BITING HIS HEAD OFF.”

The kid sucked his lips to his teeth. “Noted,” he squeaked. “No running.”

With a hiss, Venom lunged toward him and bit into the black net, ripping large chunks away and gobbling them up. Peter winced every time those long, demonic fangs grew near, shivering at the thought of them latching around his throat.

Once he was free, Spider-Man dropped to his feet. Now that he was stagnant and in full view, the severity of his injuries truly dawned on Brock. No wonder he’d been so easy for Venom to capture. The kid looked like he’d been hit by four buses, a semi-truck, and maybe a couple of messenger bikes. With knives for wheels. That were also on fire.

Peter’s eyes darted between the worm-like alien head and the man it was attached to. He’d seen a lot of strange beings in his short time as Spider-Man, but this was on a whole new level of freakish. Peter tried not to let his bemusement show on his face, but Eddie could discern the kid’s apprehension from the beads of sweat along his brow and the tension in his muscles.

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with all of that. Kids like you should be worried about homework and acne and—”

“DO NOT APOLOGIZE TO—!” Venom started to bellow, but Eddie grabbed his tongue to silence him.

“—dating, not being murdered by grown men playing dress-up.”

The alien gagged and bit his hand, eliciting a long string of curses from his host. Peter stared between the two perplexedly.

“I’m not…” the teen began, looking offended. Then he sighed. “It’s not like I stopped dealing with those things. Now I just have to deal with them, you know, on top of vengeful costumed murderers.” His eyes fell to the floor. “It’s my fault, though. I was trying to fix something, but instead I made everything a billion times worse. Like I always do.”

There was an exhaustion weighing over the kid that no sixteen-year-old should have to bear. Not to mention the many bloody wounds etched across his face and body. A familiar knot formed in Eddie’s stomach. Spider-Man needed their help.

“OH, BOO-FUCKING-HOO,” Venom taunted him. “YOUR PATHETIC LIES ONLY MAKE ME WANT TO EAT YOU FASTER. COME ON, LET ME PUT HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY.”

The kid backed away from the alien’s demented smile, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Stop being a bully,” Eddie scolded the symbiote. “You’re not hurting him. In fact, you’re going to do the opposite.”

Venom grimaced. “THE OPPOSITE?”

“What does that mean?” Peter asked nervously.

Eddie tilted his head to the side. “You’re badly injured, Spider-Man. My friend here has healing abilities. If you let him, he can fix you right up, lickety-split.”

Spider-Man blinked, then wrinkled his nose. “Seriously?”

“WHAT?” Venom cried. “NO WAY! I’M NOT HEALING HIM!”

“Yes you are,” Eddie insisted. “Because while you’re healing him, you can look into his thoughts and see that he’s telling the truth, and then you’ll realize the animosity you hold against him is totally unwarranted.”

The symbionts went silent for a moment, grumbling in a contemplative manner. Peter looked just as unconvinced as he did.

“Look at my thoughts? Yeah, no thanks. I don’t want that thing anywhere near me—especially in my head. My privacy’s already been violated enough as it is.”

Venom’s expression shifted to a look of malicious delight. “AND WHY IS THAT, LITTLE SPIDER? AFRAID I’LL FIND SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE ME WANT TO TURN YOU INSIDE OUT?”

“Yes!” the kid yelped. “Precisely that!”

“Enough, V.” Eddie gave the alien a playful noogie on the head. “If you don’t heal him right now, then we’re not watching any more Acorralada.”

Venom wriggled out of his hold and sputtered in disbelief. Eddie had clearly struck a chord. “BUT—BUT WE JUST GOT TO THE GOOD PART!” he protested.

“I know,” Eddie said.

“MAXIMILIANO JUST FOUND OUT THAT DIANA IS PREGNANT!”

“I know.”

“WE CAN’T STOP NOW!”

“Then heal him, you melodramatic bastard!” Brock demanded through a laugh. “Heal him, and we’ll watch as many episodes as you want tonight.”

Venom licked his teeth in a way that made Peter’s skin crawl. “YOU DRIVE A HARD BARGAIN,” he said, slithering closer to Spider-Man. “FINE. I WILL HEAL THIS FILTHY LITTLE WORM. BUT IF I SEE THAT HE’S LYING AND HAS IN FACT TORTURED AN ALTERNATE VERSION OF ME, I WILL DISEMBOWEL HIM.”

For a moment, the teen didn’t appear as terrified as that statement should have rendered him. He stared between the parasite and its host, a wrinkle forming along his brow. “You two have a weird relationship,” he observed.

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “You don’t know the half of it,” he insisted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Peter gripped his upper arm where blood was leaking from a deep cut through his bicep. “My, um…my aunt watches that show,” he murmured hesitantly.

A grin touched Brock’s lips. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, then gave a strained chuckle. “I can’t stand it. It’s so over dramatic and unrealistic.”

“YOU HAVE ZERO TASTE,” Venom gurgled. “YOU’RE SUCH AN OCTAVIA.”

Eddie laughed and shrugged. “I think unrealistic drama is the entire point. But hell, you were probably a baby when that show first came on the air. Which makes you way too young to appreciate the raw sexual tension between all of the characters.”

That drew a small snort out of the kid, which brought a smile to Eddie’s face. But a frown was quick to reclaim Peter’s features.

“Why do you want to heal me all of a sudden? Why the change of heart?”

Brock lifted his hands into the air. “For the record, I never wanted to kill you. It’s my alien friend here who has some weird multidimensional beef with you. And you swear you’ve never met him before?”

The kid shook his head dismally. “It’s just like the others. All of them showed up out of nowhere and started attacking me.” His hand moved to his side where part of his suit had been torn away, along with a chunk of his flesh. “The weird thing is, it felt like they were after Spider-Man, but…how do I put this? Not necessarily me. Not me as Spider-Man. They all kept referencing things and people I know nothing about. It’s like…like they want to kill the idea of Spider-Man. Their idea of Spider-Man. It’s all so bizarre.”

He grimaced sharply and leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth to stifle a moan of pain. Dark circles ringed his downcast eyes, and his face was growing paler by the second. Eddie inched closer to him.

“That’s a shitty situation to be in. How about we let Venom heal you, and then we can try to work through all this insanity together, yeah? That sound good?”

The young hero lifted his gaze to his. A flicker of hope touched his expression that mirrored Eddie’s. Then, just as quickly, the flame died, and his eyes fell to the floor. He released a shaky breath. “No. I can’t—I can’t trust you. I can’t trust anyone anymore.” He licked at the split in his lip. “If you’re not going to kill me, then please just let me go.”

Eddie sighed. “No offense kid, but you look like shit. It’d be irresponsible of me to let you go without patching you up. I know we caused some of those injuries of yours; let us fix them.”

Spider-Man swallowed, then pursed his lips. His eyes wandered back to the symbiote, who looked just as eager to rip his face off as he had when he’d been actively attacking him.

“What, uh—what exactly does he have to do? To, you know, heal me?”

Venom sneered. “THIS.”

The alien lunged at him suddenly, unhinging its jaw like a python and swallowing Peter whole. Peter shrieked in terror as the black maw consumed him, dousing everything in sticky darkness.

“Aaaagh! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my—”

It was all over him: spreading across his costume, engulfing the entirety of his limbs. It was in his eyes, his brain, his organs. He fell hard on his rear, trembling in horror, watching the black sludge creep up his arms and coil around his shivering fingers.

He expected it to hurt, to dismantle him, to make him want to hurl.

But instead, it felt…good?

Great, even. Like, eerily so. His strength felt renewed—maybe even enhanced—and he could feel the biting pain of his wounds gradually seeping away. As the black monster absorbed into his suit and out of sight, his rapid breathing slowed. He unclenched his fists, relaxing into the feeling of the symbiote repairing his physical form.

“Whoa,” Spider-Man breathed.

“YOU SCREAM LIKE A LITTLE BITCH,” Venom’s ferociously deep voice cackled inside his head, making him flinch. “BUT SPIDER-MAN’S STRENGTH…HIS POWER…I REMEMBER IT WELL. SO TANTALIZING.”

“Can you hear him too?” Peter asked Eddie, tapping at his temple. “That is—beyond creepy.”

Eddie chuckled lightly. “Yeah. Takes some getting used to.” He nudged the kid’s knee with his foot. “But you’ll be better before you have to get used to it. Look—your injuries are already closing up.”

Brock was right. Every bruise, burn, gash, and scrape was fading right before their eyes. Peter lifted his arm towards his face and watched the cut on his bicep cinch itself up and melt out of existence.

“I’m assuming that means you saw that he wasn’t lying and has never met you before. Right, V?”

The alien huffed sourly. “YES. HE HAS NEVER EVEN HEARD OF MY KIND UNTIL TODAY. I WILL NOT EAT THIS SPIDER-MAN. FOR NOW, AT LEAST…” He paused, humming in thought. “WHY ARE HIS MEMORIES SO…SHORT?”

“You can see my memories?” Peter sputtered out, gripping the sides of his head. “Stop looking at my memories, man!”

“Short?” Eddie repeated curiously. Then the realization struck him, and he snorted. “Oh, right. You’ve never bonded with someone as young as him before. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, bud. Spider-Man is a child. His memory is short because he hasn’t been alive for very long.”

“AH,” the symbiote said. “I CAN SEE NOW WHY YOU DIDN'T WANT ME TO EAT THIS ONE. HE HAS LOTS OF DUMB VOLATILE EMOTIONS GOING ON INSIDE. SIMILAR TO YOU, BUT WITH MORE CONFUSION AND STUPIDITY AND HORMONES.”

“I resent everything being said right now,” the teen pouted.

“BUT HE HAS EDDIE’S SAME DESIRE TO HELP THOSE IN NEED. EVEN THOUGH MILLIONS OF YEARS OF HIVEMIND INSTINCTS ARE TELLING ME I MUST EXACT REVENGE ON SPIDER-MAN, I WON’T HARM HIM.”

Peter swallowed and hunched his shoulders. “Uh…thanks?”

“Glad to hear it,” Eddie said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “See that? Conflict resolved.”

A shudder ran up Spider-Man’s spine. “Ugh. I can feel it inside me. It’s like he’s invaded every cell in my body.”

“I HAVE,” Venom stated proudly. “BUT YOU LIKE THE FEELING. I MAKE US STRONGER.”

Tendrils of inky black goo began to bubble up from his costume and spread over his skin, starting from his chest and then fanning outwards. The slimy creature slithered between the fabric of his suit and his flesh, inflicting Peter with a sensation he had not anticipated. He bit his tongue at first, thinking he could withstand it without causing a scene, only to jolt when Venom reached his belly. Goosebumps flared across his arms and up his neck.

“THE OTHER SPIDERS RELISHED IN OUR POWER TOO. BUT I WILL NOT MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES THEY DID. I HAVE ALREADY FOUND MY PERFECT HOST, SO DON’T GET ANY IDEAS ABOUT—” The alien went silent momentarily, interrupted by an unexpected onslaught of odd thoughts and muffled sounds coming from the boy he was bonded to. “HOLD ON. WHAT IS FUNNY? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?”

Eddie lifted his gaze to Spider-Man, surprised to see him cupping a hand over his mouth with his eyes squeezed shut. Even with half his face covered up, he could tell he was smiling.

“Ihi’m not,” he squeaked unconvincingly through his fingers, his shoulders bobbing up and down.

“YES YOU ARE. YOU CAN’T LIE TO ME.” The alien continued to traipse across his skin almost unconsciously, inching dangerously close to his sides and neck. “YOU BETTER NOT BE LAUGHING AT ME. I CAN EAT THE LUNGS RIGHT OUT OF YOUR CHEST IN ONE CHOMP.”

Peter shook his head briskly. “I’m nohot! I swehear! It’s just—you’re just—ahagh!” Tendrils of alien goop curled underneath his ribcage, brushing him like ice cold fingers and making him cringe. “Quihit crawling on me!”

Venom’s miniaturized head suddenly bloomed out of Spider-Man’s chest and sneered at him, causing the kid to recoil. “WHY? EDDIE DOESN’T MIND IT.”

Peter stared sideways shyly, avoiding both of their gazes, a tingly heat rising in his face. “Well I do! It feeheels—weird. And creepy!”

“THAT DOESN’T EXPLAIN WHY YOU’RE LAUGHING.”

Eddie watched the kid’s cheeks flush pink and bit back a chuckle, realizing what was going on. “Come on, V,” he called, trying to preserve the teen’s dwindling pride. “Kid’s all healed—no need to traumatize him any further.”

Venom’s snake-like appendages suddenly rushed up Peter’s neck and ears, making him squeal and curl into himself like a turtle. “Ahack! W-what are you doohooing?”

“MY MOVEMENTS ARE MAKING YOU LAUGH? BUT YOU CLAIM YOU DON’T LIKE THE FEELING. I DON’T UNDERSTAND.”

Spider-Man puffed out his rosy cheeks, cupping his hands around the nape of his neck. “Uhugh. It tihickles, okay? Your freaky lihittle gloop tentacles climbing all over my skin.” He pulled at the black sludge sticking to the underside of his chin. “So could you please gehet off me already?”

“TICKLES?” the alien repeated. “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”

“Oh boy,” Eddie snickered. “I’m guessing that kind of thing doesn’t exist where you’re from.”

Venom shook his head, then looked to Peter expectantly. Peter blushed at his feet.

“Well, uh…it’s a bit...hard to explain.”

“IS THIS ‘TICKLES’?” he asked, wiggling tendrils of himself against Spider-Man’s sides. The superhero yelped and hugged himself around the middle, giggling shrilly.

“Ahaha! Yehes! Now cuhut it out!”

“WHY? DOES IT HURT YOU?”

Peter spluttered. “Wehell…n-no…”

“IF TICKLES DOESN’T HURT YOU AND MAKES YOU HAPPY, WHY DON’T YOU LIKE IT?” Venom shifted his physical form around Peter’s midsection as he spoke, eliciting bubbly, high-pitched laughter from the poor teenager. Eddie couldn’t help but smile at the humorous scene. After everything he’d been through, the young hero had looked so defeated both on TV and in person. It was nice to see him grinning and giggling for a change. For what was probably the first time in a long time, the boy appeared joyful and carefree. The way kids his age were supposed to.

“I’m nahat h-hahappy!” Spider-Man cackled. “Lahaughter is—invahaluntary!”

Venom let out a laugh of his own. “I LIKE TICKLES. THEY MAKE YOU MAKE FUNNY NOISES AND SQUIRM AROUND LIKE A LITTLE WORMY.”

The alien jumped from Peter back to Eddie and started moving across his original host’s body. “HOW COME EDDIE DOESN’T REACT THE SAME WAY?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

“Guess I’m just not as ticklish as Spider-Man,” Eddie said with a shrug, smiling at the poor teen as he struggled to catch his breath. Peter held his tummy as he stood up, panting and flushed and too cute for his own good. “It’s just the way humans are. For whatever reason, some of us are more ticklish than others.”

Peter huffed irritably. “Okay, yeah, but like—I’m not…not that ticklish.” He ran his hands over his ribcage. “It’s just—I mean, you’ve gotta be crazy for that not to bother you! It felt like hundreds of frozen spiders were crawling on me!”

Eddie rubbed at his chin. “Maybe you’re just really sensitive? ‘Cuz that’s definitely not how it feels on me. People do tend to be more ticklish as kids, after all.”

Spider-Man grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms, shifting his weight between his feet in a restless, flustered way. “Whatever. Um, thanks for healing me, I guess—”

“EDDIE IS NO FUN!” Venom interrupted him, reforming on his host's shoulder with a fiendish grin. “I WANT TO MESS WITH SPIDER-MAN SOME MORE!”

The kid stiffened, then reddened, backing away and shaking his head, nervous giggles already building behind his lips. “N-no, no—Eddie, dohon’t you dare let it—”

Before he could stop him, the alien launched itself off of Eddie and splattered across Peter’s chest. Spider-Man tried to pry it off, but the slimy creature slipped through his fingers and melted through his suit in the blink of an eye. Venom went right back to tickling Peter’s sensitive sides and tummy, this time with far more vigor, sending the poor teen into hysterics almost instantly.

“Noho—nohohahaha!” Spider-Man belted out, hugging his stomach and falling back against the wall. “Oh shihithaha!”

“WHAT’S THE MATTER? DOES SPIDER-MAN NOT LIKE THE FEELING OF LITTLE SPIDERS CRAWLING ON HIM?” The alien skittered across his skin as he taunted him, reviving Peter’s goosebumps with a vengeance.

“Ehaha—wait! Oho my gahad!” He sunk to the floor, giggling wildly, smiling the brightest smile in the world as he clawed at the symbiote inside his costume. “Gehet off meehee!”

“Venom…” Eddie said disapprovingly, chuckling into his hand. Perhaps if the world could see this side of the young superhero, he wouldn’t have an army of multidimensional enemies after his head. “Come on. Stop torturing the poor kid.”

“TICKLES ARE TORTURE?” Venom exclaimed. “BUT I THOUGHT IT DIDN’T HURT?”

Brock scratched at his facial hair in thought. “It’s...complicated. No, it doesn’t hurt him. But too much of it can make you go a bit crazy.” He nodded towards Peter’s beat-red face. “Can’t you read his thoughts right now? See what he’s feeling?”

Venom purred deeply. “HMM. IT IS A LOT. HE’S SOMEHOW HAPPY, FLUSTERED, LIVID, AND PANICKED ALL AT ONCE.” As he listened to the boy’s laughter echo off the walls of the tunnel, the alien grinned a wide, toothy grin. “I THINK I UNDERSTAND NOW. THIS IS A GOOD WAY FOR ME TO TAKE VENGEANCE ON THE LITTLE SPIDER-MAN WITHOUT HARMING HIM, DON’T YOU THINK?”

Eddie ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, guess it’s better than, you know…ripping the kid in half...”

“Gehet outta my hehehead!” Peter giggled, palming his face with one hand and hugging himself around the middle with the other. He kicked his legs like a cockroach caught on its back as he rolled onto his side, bouncing with belly laughs.

“HE ALSO KEEPS THINKING ‘DON’T GO TO MY FEET’ AND ‘DON’T GO TO MY ARMPITS,’” Venom observed aloud, making the teen cringe. “ARE THOSE TICKLISH SPOTS ON HUMANS?”

“Noho! They’re nohot!”

The symbiote bared its teeth in delight, vanishing into his costume. “YOU’RE A TERRIBLE LIAR,” he jeered. His goopy body darted in four different directions across Peter’s lanky frame: two crawling up his sides toward his underarms, and two creeping down his legs to his feet. No matter how he squirmed or bunched himself up, Spider-Man couldn’t slow the symbiote down.

“Ahagh! Dohon’t—noho—shit!” Peter gazed up at Eddie as the black alien coated more and more of his body, blushing and teary-eyed. “Please hehelp! Mahake him stahahap!”

Brock pressed a hand to his lips, struggling to hold back laughter of his own. This whole situation was just so silly and bizarre. And the boy’s bubbly giggling was downright contagious. “Sorry, sorry—working on it.” He cleared his throat and pointed a stern finger in the symbiote’s general direction. “Enough, big guy. Time to leave the ticklish spider be.”

“DON’T WORRY, I WILL,” Venom assured him innocently. “RIGHT AFTER I DO THIS.”

Tiny tendrils of alien goo dug into both of Spider-Man's armpits at once, followed immediately by his feet. The frigid, finger-like appendages scribbled under his arms, against his soles, and between his toes, drawing a shriek from Peter’s throat. The kid collapsed into a heap of uncontrollable laughter, throwing his head back and scrunching up his feet and pounding his fist into the concrete until it cracked.

“NOHO NAHAHAT THAHAT!” he bellowed. He shoved both hands into his pits and arched his spine as giggles poured from his lips like a tsunami. No matter how desperately he tried to guard himself, the alien continued to tickle him freely and mercilessly. It felt like millions of evil worms were wiggling against Peter’s most ticklish spots all at once. And he was helpless to stop it.

“THIS IS WHAT SPIDER-MAN GETS FOR HURTING US,” he hissed with glee, relishing in the sound of the young hero’s frantic laughter and the taste of panic in his blood. “YOUR FATE COULD’VE BEEN FAR MORE HORRIFYING, HAD YOU NOT WOUND UP BEING SO DUMD AND ADORABLE, SO BE GRATEFUL.”

“IHI’M NAHAHAT!” Spider-Man howled. He shook his head from side to side and floundered uselessly across the floor. “GAHA—NOHOMOHOHORE! STAHAP IT YOU—Y-YOUHOU—PAHARASITE!”

The maddening tickling ceased suddenly, allowing Peter to gulp down an unexpected breath of relief. Meanwhile, Eddie dropped his face into his hands in dismay.

“Shit, kid. You’ve really done it now.”

“W-whahat?” Spider-Man stammered dazedly. As he sat upright, Venom leapt from his body back to Eddie’s. This time, however, the alien enlarged itself as it spread across its host’s skin, crafting massive muscles and demonic claws. Venom enveloped the man entirely and mutated into his original form—the gigantic hell monster with foot-long teeth and eyes like death who had tried to rip out Peter’s organs. The kid cowered in horror.

“PARASITE?” Venom roared, stomping forward and pinning Spider-Man to the ground. “I’LL SHOW YOU PARASITE!”

Eddie battled from within the symbiote to stop the attack, but it was too late. “Don’t—Venom, wait—!”

But instead of a bloodcurdling scream slicing through the air, a different sound erupted from the super powered teen.

“PfftttEEAHAHAHAHA!”

Hesitantly, Eddie opened one eye. Rather than gouging out Spider-Man’s liver, Venom was using his gargantuan claws to rake up and down Peter’s sides and knead at his midsection. Not hard enough to wound him, but more than enough to tickle the poor kid out of his mind. Spider-Man bucked and thrashed and grappled wildly with the beast’s meaty hands, but he couldn’t garner enough strength to break free of his iron grip, leaving him with no other option except to lay there, flailing pathetically as he laughed harder than he ever had in his life.

“HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, TINY SPIDER? WANT TO CALL ME A PARASITE NOW?”

“EEEHAHAHAAA!” he squealed. The tickling was too unbearable for his mind to comprehend or his lungs to bear another second. Venom’s claws switched between scribbling all over his torso and drilling into his hip bones and rib cage, driving Spider-Man absolutely insane. The kid’s piercing, boisterous laughter started being punctured by violent hiccups, which was just as cute as it was pitiful.

“Now this is just cruel,” Eddie snorted. Even though he enjoyed hearing the teen laugh and seeing him smile from ear to ear, he could tell he was rapidly approaching his breaking point. Only Venom could turn something as playful and innocent as tickling into a torture weapon of this scale.

“MERHERCYHY!” Peter begged. His laughter went quiet for a few seconds, interrupted every now and then by bouts of squeaky hiccups, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as silent giggles racked his tiny frame. It took all of his remaining energy to punch the next three words out of his chest—a last-ditch effort to liberate himself from this tickling nightmare.

“IHI’M—GOHONNA—DIHIHIEHEEHEE!”

A moment later, Venom’s giant claws lifted off of his belly, and Peter thought he might faint from relief. He rolled toward the wall with his arms glued to his sides and his knees tucked against his chest, gasping for air and giggling breathlessly.

“TICKLES CAN KILL PEOPLE? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Eddie explained. “But the kid clearly needs a break. His face is practically the same color as his costume.”

Venom stared down at the wheezing superhero and felt an odd sense of endearment rise inside him. It was the same feeling he felt towards those chickens Eddie had gotten for him to eat. They were simply too adorable to kill.

“Eheh…uhugh…” Peter giggled weakly, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Oho god…my sihides…”

“I LIKE THIS SPIDER,” Venom decided, leaning down to ruffle the teen’s hair a tad too aggressively. “CAN WE KEEP HIM?”

The giant black suit shrunk back into its host’s body, leaving Eddie standing over the very winded hero. “No, we cannot keep him. But we can help him defeat these costumed freaks who’ve been roughing him up.”

Slowly, Spider-Man raised his head, still dizzy and out of breath, but gradually beginning to recover. “W-what?” he panted, pushing himself off the ground and into a sitting position. “You’re...gohonna help me?”

“If you want us to, yeah,” Eddie replied. “It’s the least we can do after all the nonsense we just put you through. You seem like a good kid, and our speciality is helping out good people.”

“AND EATING THE BAD ONES,” Venom added.

“No,” Eddie retorted, then grimaced. “Well, not most of the time, anyway. Special circumstances only.”

Peter chuckled hoarsely, gripping his achy diaphragm. “I could use the help,” he admitted, “as long as you promise to never pull anything like that ever again. I’d much rather be beaten to a pulp than tickled to death by a giant space monster.”

Venom sprouted from Eddie’s shoulder and grinned menacingly. “WHATEVER YOU SAY, LITTLE SPIDER.”

The boy released a long breath, giggly butterflies still dancing in his belly. If this was what it took to overcome the insane predicament he’d gotten himself into, he supposed it might be worth it.

EXCEPT FOR SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES, the symbiote whispered inside his host’s head. RIGHT, EDDIE?

Eddie chuckled quietly. “Sure, V,” he whispered back. “Special circumstances only.”

“Huh?” Peter said, blinking up at him. “What did you say?”

The man smiled at the young superhero warmly. Perhaps this was the reason they’d been brought to this universe—to lend a hand to a kid in need. To him it sounded like a pretty just cause for the Lethal Guardian to take on.

“Nothing, kid. Now put that mask back on. We got our work cut out for us.”

#spider-man #spiderman #venom #venom 2 spoilers #peter parker #ticklish!peter #ticklish!spiderman #spider-man: no way home #nwh #eddie brock #symbrock #Tickling #sfw tickling

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materassassino · 2 years

Text

The Jacket Fic

Fandom: Star Wars Rating: T Pairings: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Lando Calrissian/Han Solo, Han Solo/Luke Skywalker (brief mentions of HanLeia and Skyrissian) Summary: One jacket, barely worn, passed along.

You know how Luke’s jacket doesn’t fit at the end of ANH? And how those clothes are probably all Han’s? Yeah. I’ve been musing on this headcanon for a long time.

Damn Star Wars gays and their stupid jackets, istg.

---------------

“I have something for you!”

Han has long since learnt that when Lando Calrissian offers you something with that cheerful of a grin and that lilting of a tone, the something being offered is probably going to land you in a heap of trouble. It’s happened twice, and Han has unlearned any curiosity he might have once harboured about, well, pretty much anything, at this point. He’s not going to take the bait.

Nonchalantly shirtless, he continues peeling his sunfruit, feet propped on the table, and refuses to even glance at Lando. Lando, who is leaning on the table, arms folded, and probably wearing that ridiculous smirk of his, a tempting thing that’s fun to bite. Which isn’t something Han should be thinking about right now, because he might trip up and give in and wind up locked in a cage on Junkfort Station. Again.

“You’re not curious?” Lando asks, sounding hurt.

Han makes the terrible mistake of looking up with a scowl, mouth open to utter what will surely be a highly witty retort – he’s full of them, after all – but something stops him.

Lando isn’t smirking. Instead, he’s looking at Han intently, his smile smaller and more hopeful, the kind that wouldn’t take kindly to rejection. Han lets out a long huff. It would be so much easier if it were massiff pup eyes instead of this… sincerity. Han doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “What is it?”

There’s the grin – or a grin, at least. It’s bright and warm in a way that, ironically, makes Han more nervous than if it were one of his usual suave ones. Han knows how to navigate those, how to counteract them. Sincerity is an alien concept between them.

Lando pushes himself off the table and heads into the hallway, coming back with a large flat box. It’s not wrapped, thank the Stars, because Han definitely wouldn’t know how to deal with that. Lando hands it to him, leans back against the table, and waits expectantly. Han catches him bouncing his leg, which makes him consciously stop, clearing his throat.

“Tell me what you think!” Lando says.

Han sets his sunfruit and knife aside with a sigh. He puts the box on the table and slowly tugs off the lid. Then he blinks.

“Oh,” he says.

“Your wardrobe is so drab,” Lando says airily, waving a hand. “All those dull colours. I thought you could do with something a little brighter.”

Han gets to his feet, grabs the contents of the box by the shoulders and lifts it up.

It’s a jacket. It’s a pale yellow, the same colour as the greater star on the Corellian flag, with ribbing down the sleeves and binding up the sides, slightly padded. From the feel of it, it’s Corellian leather, supple, durable and almost as soft as meelweekian silk, which means it was expensive. Which makes the situation all the more tragic, because he hates it.

He stares at it, and he can feel the silence lengthening awkwardly, like it’s sitting in the room with them, staring. Lando raises an expectant eyebrow.

Han quickly tugs it on, tugging it smooth, and spins, arms held out. It fits perfectly, like a glove, as if Lando secretly took his measurements and handed them to a tailor (maybe he did, Han wouldn’t put it past him). The shoulders sit just right, there’s plenty of give beneath the armpits without it feeling baggy, there’s no tightness at the back that sometimes happens when Han finds himself looking for a new jacket. The sleeves and the body are the perfect length. Truly heartbreaking.

“How does it look?” he asks. Lando looks him up and down and nods, stroking his moustache appreciatively.

“I made a fine choice,” he says, giving Han one of his more flirtatious looks. Which, for Han, is now a perfect chance for a distraction. He tugs Lando in for a kiss, and the jacket is soon off again, discarded on the chair and forgotten about.

Which is wonderful, because Han’s never going to wear it again.

“I couldn’t exactly bring a change of clothes,” Luke grumbles, trying desperately not to think of the reason why, blinking it away and pretending it’s not because of the threat of tears. He should be happy, ebullient. He’s just done the most heroic thing possible, saved the galaxy from the greatest weapon it’s ever seen. He will feel joy, even if it kills him. There’s tomorrow morning’s ceremony to be joyous for, after all.

“It’s fine, kid, you can borrow some of mine,” Han says.

He leads Luke to the Falcon, all the way to his own cabin. Luke sits on the bed, leans back on his hands, and tries very hard not to think about the fact that Han sleeps here, on this mattress, between these sheets.

He shakes his head, making his hair bounce. His brain is all over the place, a thousand different emotions jostling for attention: the carved out, bleeding wound of loss, the exhilaration of victory, the way Han seems so warm and solid and real and present and there, within reach, and Stars know Luke needs something, anything, to distract him from the terrifying knowledge that Biggs doesn’t exist anymore. His head is full of sandflies, buzzing incessantly, and he might go mad with it before the ceremony has even happened. His mind has never been quiet – sometimes it was loud enough to keep him awake long into the night, staring, exhausted but somehow, agonisingly alert, at the synthplas ceiling – but right now there’s just… so much in there, he felts like he’s about to overflow.

He tightens his grip on the sheets and watches Han dig around in the cabin’s storage compartment, breathing through his nose, holding it, letting it out again. It helps a little, takes the edge of the permanent panic attack he’s teetering on the brink of.

“Here, these are too small for me,” Han says, tossing a pair of brown pants at him. They’re followed by a black shirt, which hits him right in the face. Luke splutters, tugging it down, and holds it up.

“I think they’ll fit,” he says, getting to his feet. He briefly considers absconding to the ‘fresher to try them on, but stops. He could… just try them on here, couldn’t he? Peel off his own layers, the last things he owns from a place he once called home, and wear Han’s as if he’s not going to be painfully conscious of the fact he’s wearing Han’s clothes. And so what if he were to bite his lip, quirk his eyebrows, toss his hair a little? He’s flirted before, he knows how to do that, it would be fine, he could do it–

The moment passes, leaving him slightly breathless, as if he’s been running. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and both are stupid reactions to something that only existed in his head.

He strips perfunctorily, pulling on Han’s clothes without a second thought: tucks the shirt in, buttons the pants. The single, tiny shaving mirror is absolutely useless for looking at an outfit, so he turns to Han, spreads his arms slightly with a huff.

“Well?”

Han turns, gives him a critical look, up and down, and Luke fights the urge to squirm.

“Hang on, one last thing.”

He returns to rooting around and pulls out a jacket. It’s yellow, sand-in-the-morning colour, and it looks nice, Luke thinks, though he knows precious little about fashion at the best of times.

“Why?” Luke asks. He was perfectly happy to just wear this.

“We’re in what used to be a temple,” Han says with a shrug. “Gets chilly.”

Luke pulls it on. It’s too big, that’s for sure, it hangs on his frame. The sleeves are too long, sit awkwardly halfway down his hand instead of at his wrist, like they should. It falls lower than it should at his waist. But it’s also incredibly comfortable, and feels very nice indeed. He smooths down the front.

He looks up, catches Han’s eye just in time for the other man’s gaze to dart away.

“Keep it,” Han says, voice ever-so-slightly strained, and Luke feels something hot and hopeful stir in his gut.

“Sure you won’t miss it?” Luke asks, perhaps more softly than he intended. Han shakes his head, folds his arms across his chest like a shield. Luke wants to pry them apart, step between them – to do what, he doesn’t know.

“Nah, never wear it,” Han says. He reaches out, adjusts the collar, his thumb dangerously close to Luke’s throat. “Suits you.”

Luke swallows. He takes a step forward, one brave, reckless hand landing at Han’s belt.

And it might be stupid to lean up and kiss him, but if it will shut his brain up for a while, then it doesn’t really matter.

“This feels so very, very wrong,” Din mutters.

It’s one thing to wear something that isn’t duranex and beskar at home – he does that all the time now, loose linen shirts and pants to sleep in and, occasionally, Luke’s oversized Jedi robe (the only thing of his husband’s that fits him) – but that’s precisely it. It’s at home, between their four walls on Mandalore, safe and alone with only Grogu and Luke to ever see him vulnerable. He hasn’t existed in public without the comforting protection of his beskar’gam for twenty-three years. He doesn’t want to exist in public without his helmet and armour, it reminds him of Morak, of revelation unintended and desperate. He feels bare, exposed, unprotected, and even two years after reshaping his faith, it still feels like sacrilege.

And they haven’t even left the house yet.

He looks at himself in the full-length mirror that hangs on the inside of the wardrobe door. He doesn’t know how to feel about what he’s currently wearing, not least because it looks annoyingly like something Solo would wear, the dark blue collared shirt and the annoyingly tight black pants. The belt and bandolier, the ones he always wears, offer some small comfort, as do the boots, but that’s it. The rest is alien, and the more he looks at his reflection the more it doesn’t look like him.

Reflected behind him is Grogu, sitting on the bed, and he looks deeply suspicious of the whole proceedings. You and me both, buddy, he thinks. He tugs down the sleeves of his shirt nervously.

“I know,” Luke says, stepping into his space, and his apologetic tone is sincere. “It won’t be for long, though.”

He presses a hand to Din’s cheek, offering him a small smile. Din leans into the touch and sighs.

“The sooner we get home, the better,” he mumbles. “Calrissian better be grateful for this.”

Luke chuckles at that. “I’m sorry for owing Lando a favour, and I’m very grateful you agreed to come with me.” He reaches up to kiss him, just a quick peck, and it does the job of calming some of Din’s nerves. Din wonders what that says about him.

It would all be so much easier if they could just be Master Luke Skywalker and Mand’alor the Reclaimer, Jedi and Mandalorian, their usual, familiar selves. But they can’t be, not this time, it’s just them and two pseudonyms and Lando Calrissian, and a job that Din doesn’t have a great feeling about.

“It’s going to be chilly on Togominda,” Luke says. His hands have settled on Din’s chest and he’s wearing a thoughtful look. Din is trying very hard not to think about those hands and just how warm they are through the frankly ludicrously thin polyfibe. “You can’t wear just a shirt.”

Din briefly mourns the loss of his touch as Luke turns away, back to the wardrobe, and rifles through it for a moment. Luke has a truly absurd amount of clothes, far more than Din would consider practical. A lot of them are variations on the same tight black theme (which Din isn’t complaining about in the slightest), but occasionally the depths of Luke’s closet throw a curveball.

Today it comes in the shape of a jacket.

“This should fit!” Luke says brightly.

Din eyes it, frowning. Just from Luke holding it up he can see it’s too big for him, which is odd, because everything else Luke wears is tailored to perfection. It’s also yellow, which isn’t a colour Luke wears often, or, well, at all. Both mysteries to be unravelled at some other point. Din takes it, pulls it on a little awkwardly and then looks in the mirror, although he isn’t entirely sure what he’s looking for: he relies mostly on Luke to figure out if something looks good on him or not.

He rolls his shoulders. It’s a little tight, but certainly not enough to be complained about, he can move about just fine. Strangely, he feels slightly better with the jacket on, less like he’s walking around begging to be stabbed. The garment in question isn’t padded enough to offer much protection, so it must be some psychological effect, but at the moment anything that helps him feel less awkward is welcome.

“Not bad,” Luke says, tugging down the front and straightening the collar. He looks Din up and down, reaches up to smooth his hand down his shoulders. “Not bad at all.”

Screw the jacket, that does wonders for his discomfort. He settles his hands at Luke’s slim waist, thumbs stroking just above his belt, and he can feel the constant banked fire within give off sparks.

“Oh?” he asks, soft, suggestive. Luke smirks, his blue eyes burning, licks his lips and leans in closer–

A pillow collides, hard, with the back of Din’s head.

“Patoo!” comes the indignant babble from the bed. They both turn around and Grogu is scowling at them, eyes narrowed.

Luke bursts out laughing. Din huffs.

“Grogu, no throwing things!” he says, bending down to pick up the pillow.

“Even if it does show solid mastery of the Force,” Luke adds, walking over to pick up their son and failing at not undermining Din’s already pitiful authority in the house hierarchy.

Din tosses the pillow back on the bed and places his hands on his hips, glaring at Grogu. Grogu sticks out his tongue.

“Mind your manners!” Luke admonishes, giving one of Grogu’s ears a gentle flick.

“That’s all Solo’s influence, I know it,” Din mutters. Whatever, he’ll kiss Luke later, when they’re in hyperspace and have the Wayfinder all to themselves.

It is always a joy to see Luke Skywalker, Lando thinks. The man is always wonderfully easy on the eyes, his sense of humour just tart enough to be amusing, and if Lando always feels that slight twinge of melancholy at what could have been, well, he’ll always have the memories. It’s slightly less of a joy when his frankly intimidating husband is in tow, but Din Djarin is always polite and that’s more than can be said for most Mandalorians Lando has met. They haven’t had an unpleasant conversation yet.

He strides across the landing platform towards the rustbucket they travel in, arms wide in welcome.

“Luke!” he exclaims, beaming. Luke, first down the loading ramp, smiles and waves.

“Hi, Lando!” he says, accepting the warm hug. Lando holds him at arm’s length once they part, looks him up and down.

“No holy robes this time?” he asks, moustache twitching. Luke snorts.

“You did say we had to be undercover,” he says.

Someone else comes down the ramp, and Lando is about to turn and welcome the Mand’alor with all the grace and decorum the Baron Administrator of Cloud City should rightly show to a visiting diplomat, but he frowns in confusion.

“Han?” he asks, surprised.

The man raises an eyebrow. The rest of his face is covered by a red scarf, leaving only his eyes exposed, but Lando knows his mistake immediately. Those eyes look nothing like Han’s, they’re far warmer and softer, the laughter lines look nothing alike.

“Definitely not,” says the man, and the voice is familiar enough even without the monotone of a vocoder for Lando to realise this is actually the ruler of Mandalore, but with none of the usual trappings of a Mandalorian warrior. He flicks his gaze up and down the other man, and he has to admit it’s not a bad change at all.

“You certainly cut a different figure without the armour, Mand’alor,” he says with a grin. Din gives a full head roll as he sighs, and it looks frankly ridiculous without the helmet. “Did Han lend you that?”

Din gives him a confused look. “Lend me what?”

Luke clears his throat. “The jacket,” he says. “It was Han’s.”

“‘Was’?” Lando echoes, raising an eyebrow.

“He gave it to me just after the Battle of Yavin.”

“This was Solo’s?” Din says, sounding as if he’s in great pain.

“It hasn’t been Han’s for twelve years, Din, get over it,” Luke retorts breezily, giving him a gentle whack on the arm.

Lando chuckles at wedded shenanigans, gesturing for them to follow him back into the city. Solo has got some explaining to do, and if he dodges his holocalls, well, then Lando will just have to call his wife instead, and then he’ll be in trouble. Leia nearly always takes Lando’s side, after all.

That jacket wasn’t cheap.

#star wars #the mandalorian #dinluke #skysolo #hanlando #han solo #lando calrissian #luke skywalker #din djarin #grogu #baby yoda #yes groggy makes a cameo #that fucking yellow jacket #pixie writes #my hc that the men of the original trilogy gang are messy gays who have all kissed each other #except chewie because HE'S A MARRIED MAN

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