#encounter underway

[infxsted]

{perhaps like this for a starter? 💎}

[deerspherestudios]

Sprite Time!

Sprite work is underway! I'm re-doing sprites for Day 1 since I've gotten used to drawing Mychael the way I imagined him to look. His sprites were so scrunkly back when I was rushing for the game jam haha! His sprites didn't match the vibe of his CGs at all, which bothered me a lot.

That said, I'll probably continue on to make Day 2 sprites once I've got my groove going. (Yes, there's a large number for Day 2 but keep in mind it's minor facial changes to the sprite!)

CG work will have to be put on hold as I finish the sprites but with the way things are going I might be able to finish Progress 3 and 4 relatively close to each other? We'll see!

For now, there's a sneak peek of the first CG you'll encounter in Day 2 (spoilers) under the cut! And a direct comparison of an old sprite from Day 1 with a new one!

There's still some coding to do, such as a gender option for MC's cat, but I'll worry about those later once I've got all the visual assets ready!!

Thanks for reading! 🍄❤️

Finished CG

Old Sprite vs New Sprite

[brabblesblog]

Ch 1: Whither is thy beloved gone?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

A small scene at breakfast that sets up the situation in the Palace for the past six months.

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

Ban opened her eyes to yet another dawn; a shaft of sunlight peeked through the gap between vermilion curtains, shining on her face. Her hand moved, reaching for the empty space beside her before she stopped herself. There was no need to check - there never was, not for months now.

She made her way out of the gigantic four-poster bed she and her lord sleep in. Her silken robe awaited her, draped over the luxurious couch, and she slipped it on wordlessly. The servants all murmured soft greetings as she passed them on her way to breakfast, but Ban paid them no mind. The days and nights all blended for her, days of meetings and nights of wheedling their way into the high society of Baldur’s Gate. And sex, of course, but even that had become stale to her now. Not that her partner wasn’t a consummate lover - far from it - but the souring of the love she has for him tainted even the most pleasurable of moments.

The doors to the dining room were held open for her, and as she walked in, he looked up. He shot her a wry grin and crossed the room, taking her hand and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Every morning he did this; it would have made her swoon six months ago.

When he was different. When he was the man she’d loved.

“I had to rise early, love,” he began, as if he didn’t do so every damn morning. “Preparations for renovating the… basement area are finally underway, and I did not want them missing any single detail of what I have planned for it.”

The basement area. The dungeons. He couldn't even bring himself to say the word; he refused any reminder of his past self. If he had his way, people would think he sprang into existence some six months ago. She allowed him to lead her to the ridiculously large table. As always, he was seated at the head and she to his right.

He offered her a tart, which she waved off; it wasn’t as if she could actually enjoy it. Mortal food had been tasteless since she’d turned. Instead she reached for the bottle of blood on the table, warmed just before it was served.

“I’m surprised you even bothered with touching the dungeons,” she said, smiling placidly as her use of the word was rewarded with a glare.

“The basement,” he hissed, “is the most neglected part of the house. It is- never mind.” As expected, Astarion refused any mention of what the basement used to be. “Besides. The artisan guilds are clamoring for space to rent, and as you suggested, I entertained their request.”

It was Ban’s turn to roll her eyes. Astarion was right - she had asked him to focus his attention on not just the patriars, but also the artisan guilds, a calculated decision designed to win more people to their side, to sink their claws deeper into the heart of the city. It made sense to not only win over the very cream of the crop, but also the people slightly below it. At worst, it would be a waste of time and of negligible resources. At best, it would help curtail the surprising resistance the Ascendant had been encountering in his efforts to win over the nobility.

The Szarrs had been a well-known family with noble roots, and so Cazador had the name to match his wealth and status. Astarion Ancunín, however, had no such privilege. Thus, when he’d emerged as the successor to Cazador’s estate, there had been more than a few raised eyebrows. Added to that, Astarion hadn’t had to plan anything in two centuries, so the task of ingratiating them with the city’s gentry had mostly fallen to Ban. Well, the planning and scheming, anyway. The Ascendant acted as the face, charming and manipulating his way through the meetings and parties, while his consort laid out their strategy, playing the perfect lady-wife and hostess.

Plans for a future she'd never desired, but sought for his sake anyway, ambitions and schemes that were all too similar to what her father had groomed her for. It had all come back to her with a distressing effortlessness, the machinations as natural as breathing. She hadn’t seen fit to let Astarion know this, not now. Before the rite, there had been the potential of so much time together that she hadn’t felt any urgency to share the circumstances of her early life with him. After the rite, things had just been... different.

“If it’s for the artisan guilds, then do it,” Ban said, pouring the warmed blood into her glass, taking a sip. “Gods know you need all the support you can get from them, especially considering how tenuous your position has remained with the patriars.”

Astarion scoffed, but didn’t reply to her taunt. Instead he took a long, slow bite of his tart and made an exaggerated gesture of delight, reminding her exactly what she’d been missing out on.

“Well, my treasure, it worked. There will be a ball held a tenday from now, with all the guilds attending.” Pride at managing to pull that off without her aid or knowledge tinged his voice.

Ban narrowed her eyes. All the guilds? Generally she would consider that a significant success, but the fact that she may have to face her family there gave her pause. She took a long pull from her goblet at the thought.

“All the guilds…” she repeated, for a moment not bothering to mask her feelings, her horror bleeding through.

“You’re now reduced to parroting what I say? Pet, I didn’t take you to be so dull,” Astarion sneered, taking the opportunity to strike. He wasn’t stupid; he’d always been aware that things had changed between him and his consort.

It had been a whirlwind of events since he’d ascended. At first, there’d been an overwhelming sense of power, of endless possibilities. He had everything - power, freedom, riches. He had her by his side. The following days had been battle after battle as they’d slowly approached the Netherbrain. There hadn’t been time to reexamine their relationship, other than to realize it was failing. Hells, there had barely been time for him to explore his new abilities.

Then, just as quickly, the brain had been defeated and they were finally alone together. Just the two of them and Cazador’s palace. My palace, he reminded himself. Not his.

They were finally, truly together, the Absolute vanquished at last - it should have been a wondrous time. They should have been happy in each other’s arms, at the start of their shared eternity. But she’d become cold after the rite, a chill that had yet to thaw. She flinched from his touches, from his lips. Her smiles never met her eyes, and all she did was help him lay out plans for his dominion. At night, she yielded to his every desire. Every night he made love to her, as he had been doing since the first night after his ascension. She only played her role, saying the right words, moaning the right way, but he sensed the absence there. None of it ever reached her.

At first, he’d attempted to take whatever emotions she’d shown at face value. She’d seemed to like planning their conquest of Baldur’s Gate, seemed to have taken to heart the words he’d so casually thrown out during their journey, so he’d acted just as enthusiastic about it. She’d seemed to react positively whenever he’d asked for suggestions regarding their schemes; he not being well suited to formulating detailed plans and her proving knowledgeable, he tended to follow her advice. Initially these things had seemed to at least elicit a response in her that wasn't hollowness. As time passed, however, even they had seemed to lose their luster, the emptiness in her eyes becoming more and more prominent.

He had never seen her in silks or in anything expensive throughout their time fighting the Absolute. The moment he’d gotten access to Cazador’s wealth, he’d bought her everything he’d wanted to give her before: gowns, shoes, jewelry. All she had to do was glance at an item once, and it was hers. But the emptiness only grew.

He’d attempted to convince himself he couldn’t understand how they had ended up this way, but truthfully it was that he couldn't admit to himself what he knew the root cause to be. That initial confusion had slowly turned into resentment. Deep down, he knew where he’d gone wrong, of course, but really, was leaving the palace such a big deal?

That had been their first major argument. Astarion had come back from a meeting one day to find Ban gone, the servants explaining she’d left the palace to walk around the city. He had refrained from going after her, but he had been worried. What if someone took the Ascendant’s consort as a hostage? What if she roamed too far, and somehow the extension of his powers failed? Then what? The image of her burning in the sun had filled him with an impotent, all-consuming fury. He had told her not to wander!

When she had finally gotten home, her hands full of pastries she had bought for him, he had flown into a fit of rage.

“How dare you sneak off like that, Ban! Without asking! Without me knowing!”

Ban had flinched. She’d held up the pastries. “I bought them to surprise-”

He’d almost shoved them out of her hands, but had stopped himself. Barely. “Have I not told you, pet, not to stray too far? What if you were hurt? What if you burned in the sun?” His eyes had glinted then, the fires of worry mixing with anger.

“You are mine, and I do not like not knowing where my things are.”

She had tried to argue about having the freedom to go where she pleased, but he’d shut her down the moment she’d begun.

“Do I not buy you everything you wish for? Anything you ask? You merely have to give voice to what you desire, and I shall have it procured for you. But you do not leave. Not without my express permission.”

It had only gone downhill from there.

Astarion snapped back from his reverie when he noticed Ban had ignored his verbal barb. He watched her, realizing this was the first genuine shred of emotion he’d seen from her in weeks. Something was bothering her about having the artisan guilds over for a party, and it piqued his interest. His concern too, of course. But he would never admit that. Even to himself.

He sat up straighter, aiming his words carefully. Precisely.

“My little love,” he cooed, “What… exactly is the issue with our soon-to-be guests? I had assumed you would love to have them over, considering it was your idea to reach out to them and form alliances in the first place.”

Ban froze. Her eyes widened as Astarion asked her this question. While he had yet to compel her to do anything, there was no evidence that he couldn't. Perhaps he already had, and she was unaware. Compulsion was the thing she was most terrified of, because the moment he started - the moment he considered it necessary to keep her - would be the moment she’d lose what little of herself she had left.

So she decided to be honest.

“I never told you where I came from, did I?” she said.

He shook his head. “I doubt you had humbler origins than I did, but no. You have not.”

Ban laughed bitterly and braced herself, pouring out another glass of blood.

“I came from one of the guild’s artisan families.”

His eyebrows rose, surprised and rather pleased, despite himself. They hadn’t had an actual conversation that wasn’t about Baldur’s Gate, its people, or their schemes in weeks. He reined in the venom he’d been wielding so often these days, letting his curiosity take over for the time being.

“Which one? Ca-” he bit his lip, “My former master knew a lot of these guilds. They helped maintain the palace and procured items for him. I have never heard of your family name, nor seen it.”

She laughed again, a real one this time, and his eyebrows rose even further, intrigued.

“We dealt in ornate mirrors.” That explained it. Of course Cazador would not have bothered with that.

The Ascendant huffed in response. “Ironic. Well. You’ll be glad to know I have yet to speak to any mirror-makers. I hadn’t decided on what type of mirror I want for our bedroom, or how grandiose it should be. Shall I ask your family?”

The last sentence was less a taunt and more a genuine question. She seemed to dread seeing them, but if she wanted them here - for whatever reason at all - he would be more than happy to oblige her.

In truth, all he really wanted was her happiness, to bask in the glow of her smile again. He just seemed to have lost sight of how to inspire it ever since he became this version of himself.

Ban took it the wrong way, of course, and visibly stiffened.

“I do not want to see them. I-” her voice cut off, hesitant, “I left years ago. They probably don't even know if I’m alive.”

The Ascendant felt an odd twinge in his chest, a familiar but long-forgotten sensation. None of it was visible on his face, however. He smirked. “Very well, pet.”

Astarion leaned over, fingers tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Crimson eyes bored into Ban with an intensity that only seemed to unnerve her. “And don’t fret about them. The only family you’ll ever need is me.”

Ban had to look away. She couldn’t stare into those eyes and listen to that voice talk about her family. She had always envisioned this conversation to be one where she’d spill all her secrets to him, and he’d hold her, stroke her hair and tell her everything would be alright. That he understood and loved her anyway. But that time had passed, and so had that man she’d loved. What remained of him was a pale specter.

She had often asked herself if he was even the same man. She’d observed him, and with Gale’s assistance had studied books on the matter. In the end she had come to one painful conclusion: he was Astarion. His worst traits turned up and his greatest strengths diminished, but it was undoubtedly him.

There had been one night when he’d seemed like his old self. One night in the past five months that had given her some small glimmer of hope that he hadn’t completely changed.

She had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of weeping. Astarion had been lying beside her, arms taut, hands clenched into fists, sweat soaking into the sheets. His face a rictus of pain, his cries a mix of unintelligible words and whimpers. She’d instinctively rushed to hold him; he’d woken up at her touch and his eyes had found hers.

They were his eyes.

“You’re okay, you’re here,” she had crooned, the same words she had repeated in the old days. They’d come back like no time had passed; as if he wasn’t what he was now. Like he was just her Astarion.

He had leaned into her touch, head resting on her chest.

“I’m sorry to wake you, darling,” he’d said; his use of her old nickname had almost made her sob. “He… I saw him again. I’d thought this would be over.”

She’d kissed his forehead then, holding him close. His conscious mind may have tried to deny it, but it seemed like his subconscious was still haunted by Cazador. He had clung to her for dear life that night; she had tried to stay awake, to stop time, so that perhaps he would stay that version of himself forever. But in the end, sleep had won, and as she’d drifted off she had heard him say something which she’d attributed to her own imagination.

“Thank you for still being here,” she’d thought he’d whispered against her chest, “I love you.”

They were spoken with such tenderness that she had doubted it was real. In the morning, he’d been gone from her side, already eating breakfast. He’d acted like nothing had happened in the night, and so she’d had her hopes dashed away; fleeting as they were she had still yearned for it to be real, wishing it had lasted longer than those few moments he was in her arms.

Ever since then, she had attempted to catch any glimpse of her Astarion in the Ascendant. There occasionally seemed to be some hint of him, but it was always too quick, too subtle, and after so many months she’d all but given up. Gone were the days when she’d known which of his honeyed words were lies and which were truth; it felt as though she was back in those days in the Grove when she couldn't read him. Even now, as her lord called himself her family, she found herself wincing internally.

On the outside, she offered him a smile.

“Thank you, Astarion. That means a lot.”

The Ascendant smiled, a toothy grin that would have looked at home in a shark’s maw.

“Of course! And we shall be a bigger family, if only you’ll let me-"

“No,” Ban said, and she was firm. This was another argument they’d constantly waged. He wanted to create an army of spawn, claiming that they would keep her company and serve her and their ambitions. He had promised to procure his spawn ethically, from willing subjects, but she had said no, refusing to doom anyone else to the same fate.

His eyes hardened, fingers twitching on her chin, but he let go. She released the breath she had been holding, worried that this would be when he’d hit the end of his rope and force her obedience.

He exhaled. “Fine. You’ll come around, once you’re alone and bored for a decade or so more.”

Astarion pushed away his breakfast. This hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted it to, and to be frank? Every day since that argument about her leaving the house and having her freedom had gone the same way: to barely veiled insults and chilly indifference. He hated it. He hated what they’d become.

At night when he made love to her, he imagined they were back in that clearing where it all began. At dawn, he watched her sleep and pretended they were back in the Shadow-Cursed lands. Fruitless reminiscing, but it was all he had to hold onto. Memories, each holding the ghost of their love, leaving him to wish it back to life.

He brushed those thoughts away. They were the thoughts of a much weaker man, and he was anything but.

But then why did his newly beating heart ache so much whenever they did this venomous song and dance?

[insanityclause]

EXCLUSIVE: Oscar-winning producers See-Saw Films (The King’s Speech) are gearing up on Tenzing, about the inspirational life of Sherpa Tenzing Norgay and his summit of Mount Everest in 1953 alongside fellow outsider New Zealander Edmund Hillary.

A search is currently underway to cast the lead role of Tenzing Norgay who will star alongside BAFTA-nominated Tom Hiddleston (Loki) as Sir Edmund Hillary, and Oscar winner Willem Dafoe (Poor Things) as the English expedition leader, Colonel John Hunt.

Tenzing comes from filmmaker Jennifer Peedom who has the exclusive rights to tell Tenzing’s story via his family and has a close relationship with the Sherpa community after making acclaimed documentary Sherpa.

Script comes from Oscar-nominated Luke Davies (Lion) and producers are Liz Watts, Emile Sherman and Iain Canning for See-Saw Films, alongside Jennifer Peedom and Luke Davies. Executive producers are Simon Gillis, David Michôd and Norbu Tenzing.

Tibetan born Tenzing Norgay, alongside New Zealand mountaineer Edmund Hillary, both outsiders on a British Expedition, defied insurmountable odds to achieve what was once thought impossible, reaching the summit of the world’s tallest mountain, Mount Everest. After six previous attempts, Tenzing risked everything for one final venture. He had to navigate treacherous politics and perilous weather as he embarked on the most significant climb of his life. Through it all, he did so with humor, warmth, and generosity towards his fellow climbers, but also deep reverence and respect for the sacred Mother Goddess of his Mountain, Chomolungma.

This will be one of the hot projects at next week’s Cannes market where Rocket Science will be handling international sales in partnership with Cross City Films, See-Saw’s in-house sales arm. UTA Independent Film Group and Cross City Films are co-repping the U.S. sale. We understand filming is being lined up for spring 2025.

Peedom, known for her intimate portraits against epic landscapes, including documentaries Solo, Sherpa and Mountain, said: “I could not be more thrilled to be bringing Tenzing Norgay’s story to the screen. I’ve been working towards this film my whole career, and I’m incredibly grateful to Tenzing’s family for entrusting me with it. I am excited to work with See-Saw Films and our amazing cast to bring this story to life. Tom Hiddleston and Willem Dafoe are two of the most generous and talented actors in the business, so pairing them with our brilliant Himalayan cast is going to be electric. I have no doubt this film will resonate widely. We all have our own mountains to climb, and this film shows us what human beings are truly capable of.”

Producers Emile Sherman and Iain Canning added: “We are so excited to embark on this exhilarating ascent led by one of the most inspirational directors we’ve encountered, Jennifer Peedom. Her award-winning experience in the world of high-altitude filmmaking, alongside her unique relationship with the Sherpa community and her masterful storytelling skills make her the perfect director for this film.”

Norbu Tenzing, son of Tenzing Norgay, commented: “Jen is somebody who has earned the respect of our people, understands the community, and is deeply immersed in our culture. She’s a great human being and someone that we trust, and she has had a lifelong interest in the story of my father Tenzing Norgay. I am delighted that she has taken on this project and can’t wait for the world to see who my father was.”

Hiddleston is represented by UTA, Hamilton Hodell, and Johnson Shapiro Slewett & Kole. Willem Dafoe is represented by WME, The Artist Partnership, and Circle of Confusion.

[mariacallous]

(CNN) - In new clarifying guidance announced Monday, the Biden Administration said that federal law preempts state abortion bans when emergency care is needed, and that the federal government can penalize institutions or providers that fail to provide necessary abortions to treat medical emergencies.

"Under the law, no matter where you live, women have the right to emergency care — including abortion care," HHS Secretary Xavier Becerra said in a news release Monday. "Today, in no uncertain terms, we are reinforcing that we expect providers to continue offering these services, and that federal law preempts state abortion bans when needed for emergency care."

In more than a dozen states, legal fights are underway over abortion bans and other laws that strictly limit the procedure after the US Supreme Court ended a constitutional right to an abortion on June 24.

In a letter to the nation's health care providers on Monday, Becerra said a federal statute called the Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor Act (EMTALA) protects providers' clinical judgement and the actions they take to provide stabilizing treatment to pregnant patients who are experiencing emergency medical conditions, regardless of restrictions in any given state.

EMTALA has been on the books since 1986. It specifically requires all patients get the appropriate medical screening, examination, stabilizing treatment and transfer to an appropriate facility if necessary.

The administration said examples of emergency medical conditions may include, but are not limited to, ectopic pregnancy -- when the fertilized egg grows outside a woman's uterus -- and complications of miscarriages. Stabilizing treatment could include abortion.

Becerra said if a state law bans abortion and does not include an exception for the life and health of the pregnant person, that state law is preempted by the federal statute.

"We heard a lot from physicians that we needed to be clearer on these points because people were still too scared to treat people," a senior adviser with HHS said in a background briefing with the media. The guidance today is "meant to try to provide that reassurance here on the clinical judgment of these physicians and hospitals."

HHS said it will do everything within its authority to ensure patients get the care they need.

The statute applies to emergency departments and other specific clinical settings. Providers also will not have to wait for a patient's condition to worsen to be protected by this statute.

If a hospital is found in violation of this statute, a hospital could lose its Medicare and Medicaid provider agreements and could face civil penalties. An individual physician could also face civil penalties if they are found in violation.

Under the statute HHS may impose a $119,942 fine per violation for hospitals with over 100 beds, $59,973 for hospitals under 100 beds. A physician could face a $119,942 fine per violation.

"We are making enforcement a priority," a senior HHS official said.

A memo from the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services said that hospitals should ensure that all staff who may encounter an emergency situation with a pregnant person be aware of the hospital's obligation under EMTALA.

The statute also contains a whistleblower provision that prevents retaliation by the hospital against its employee who refuses to transfer a patient with an emergency medical condition that has not been stabilized by the hospital. A link on the CMS website allows people to file an EMTALA complaint.

The enforcement of EMTALA depends on people making a complaint to the government. An investigation can only follow if a complaint is made.

"Health care must be between a patient and their doctor, not a politician," said Becerra in a news release. "We will continue to leverage all available resources at HHS to make sure women can access the life-saving care they need."

[cosmicfunnies]

Navigating Through The Storm - An Update On My Journey

Hello , dear friends and followers,I hope this post finds you in moments of peace and pockets of joy, despite the complexities we all navigate through in our lives. It’s been a while since I've shared a detailed update with you, and I believe it’s important to keep the lines of communication open, honest, and heartfelt.

The past few years have been a rollercoaster, to say the least. I’ve encountered personal challenges that have significantly impacted my ability to create as freely and frequently as I used to, particularly with my comics and creative projects.Depression has been a relentless companion on this journey, making everyday tasks and creative endeavors much more difficult to navigate.

The weight of it often dims the vibrant colors of life, making even the simplest steps forward feel like monumental tasks.Adding to this, the financial strain of losing my full-time job two years ago has cast a long shadow over my life. The search for stable employment has been both exhausting and disheartening, leaving me to juggle financial uncertainty alongside my other challenges.

One of the most heart-wrenching aspects of these years has been witnessing the progression of my mom’s dementia. Her condition continues to deteriorate, and the emotional toll of watching a loved one fade away cannot be overstated. It's a type of pain that words can hardly capture.

Despite the darkness, there have been slivers of light and progress. I’ve been slowly, but surely, working on new things. The journey back to creativity isn’t a straightforward path; it’s filled with starts and stops, especially with chronic fatigue making every step feel like wading through molasses.

But I am moving, nonetheless.I’m in the process of relaunching my store, which is both exciting and daunting. It’s a tangible piece of my hope for the future, a hope that creativity will once again be a full-fledged beacon in my life.Moreover,

I've taken a significant step towards a brighter future by going back to college to pursue my bachelor's degree in graphic design. This decision is not just about career opportunities; it's about reigniting my passion and opening doors to new possibilities and dreams.

Yes, things are moving slowly, but they are moving. The creation of new comics and products is underway, though the pace might not be what I used to manage. This process is teaching me patience and the importance of being kind to myself, recognizing that progress, no matter how small, is still progress.

To you, my dear readers, your support and understanding mean the world to me. Knowing that you are there, even in silence, gives me strength. I am hopeful for what the future holds, for both my creative endeavors and personal growth.

Your patience and encouragement as I navigate this phase of my life are invaluable.As doors begin to crack open, and I peer through to the possibilities beyond, I am reminded that every step forward is a victory. And I am grateful for the chance to share this journey with you.

Jackie

[aquaquadrant]

I was wondering if you had an estimated date of when you will post the next HTP chapter?

Like, leaving us on such a cliffhanger must be a crime! It cant be legal!

Anyways, while I wait for it, Ive decided to copy paste every chapter into a doc and mark it up color code style for all my over analyzing needs. It took me an hour but it was worth it.

Have a good week and take care :)

(This is meant to be genuine, not mean or passive aggressive, just so you know. While I indeed am anxiously awaiting Chapter 10 by highlighting the chapters on a doc like that one photo of a bible page that’s highlighted with different colors. This isn’t meant to be mean or pressuring, take your time and take care of yourself)

⬆️(Ah poo, Im an over thinker

hey there, no worries y’all- i love seeing my reader’s enthusiasm and it’s reassuring to see continued interest in the series. i’d been hoping to have BOTH of the final ‘from eden’ chapters done before summer. but i have to admit, progress on the next chapter hasn’t been as forthcoming as i’d expected, for a couple reasons.

the first is health-related. not to be too TMI, but i recently got diagnosed with crohn’s disease. my symptoms started ages ago but have really ramped up in the last couple months, and the diagnosis was a lengthy and involved process (started the hunt back in november, presumptively diagnosed after a colonoscopy in feb, definitively diagnosed when biopsies came back over spring break) and even when i was simply waiting for results, it occupied a lot of my mental capacity. and ofc it happened to line up with me turning 26 and needing new insurance, which has caused lots of delays. anyone dealing with the american health care system while chronically ill will tell you it’s a frustrating, exhausting process. as of right now, i’m still waiting to start treatment 🫠

but honestly, even more than that, the biggest thing stopping me from writing is… me? 😂 so there’s this thing that happens after i post a chapter that’s like… decision paralysis? except it’s just that sometimes, i literally can’t bring myself to start the next chapter. it’s like, i have this unfounded fear that all my writing up until this point has been some magical fluke out of my control, and i’m not capable of ‘pulling it off’ again. i guess you could call it a form of imposter syndrome (which i already encounter enough in my vet school life). it gets worse after posting something that was a particularly massive undertaking or was insanely well-received bc i’m scared i won’t be able to top it- even though the impact of storytelling is supposed to be cohesive, and it’s unrealistic for every chapter to be ‘bigger and better’ (what does that even mean?) than the last one because they serve different purposes at different points in the story. i know this, rationally, but that doesn’t stop the irrational fear of failure from making me avoid writing.

i’m not sharing this to make excuses or garner sympathy, or fish for compliments, and certainly not to make anyone feel guilty for asking about updates. i just feel like maybe this will resonate with anyone who has the same experience. and also to share hope, because despite how often this feeling rears its ugly head, i’ve still been able to push through and get back to writing- and i’m always very happy with the result. sometimes it just takes longer than i’d like (pro tip: writing on ur phone is less intimidating, tho it’s more of a pain). but in any case, the next chapter of ‘from eden’ is well underway and i still hope to have the series done before summer’s end^^

[wierdpersonononelikes]

wait for me my love

(a/n hey it’s been so long there is a second chapter but still working on it also tell me if you like this type of writing or I should go to my old shitty one)

Growing up as the Tailor's daughter presented its challenges, yet there was an undeniable joy in assisting your mother with the village's garments. Witnessing her skillful craft was not only fascinating but also an invaluable learning experience. As you entered your early twenties, life felt rewarding, and you anticipated it was poised to become even more fulfilling.

As you strolled through the familiar paths of the village, the sound of approaching hoofbeats caught your attention. Curious, you followed the gathering crowd to discover the source of the commotion. Amidst the murmurs, a man's voice rang out, announcing, "The two kingdoms are hosting a grand ball, extending invitations to all in the village." With that tantalizing proclamation, he departed, leaving excitement and anticipation lingering in the air.

The significance of this Ball extended far beyond mere celebration; it symbolized the harmonious tale of the village. Twenty years prior, the union of Queen Alcina and Queen Miranda brought an end to the strife that had plagued our families for generations, ushering in an era of peace. Such occasions were rare, marking not only a joyous festivity but also a testament to the enduring unity and tranquility our community now cherished.

Alcina and Miranda, once adversaries by familial allegiance, found an unexpected camaraderie when they chose to dissolve the enmity that had long divided their kin. Yet, with newfound peace came a sense of restlessness. Seeking both diversion and potential companionship, the two monarchs resolved to co-host a grand ball, perhaps in hopes of encountering captivating individuals to enliven their court. With just three days until the event, preparations were underway, allowing the villagers ample time to ready themselves for the festivities ahead.

{time skip}

With the graceful guidance of your mother, you fashioned a gown that exuded charm (imagine 1 1800s dress). As you adorned yourself for the occasion, anticipation fluttered within you, yearning for a glimpse of the two esteemed Queens. Though you had only encountered them fleetingly before, a subtle fascination had taken root within your heart, despite knowing the impropriety of such sentiments. Whispers of their rumored affinity for women stirred a curiosity within you, adding an enigmatic allure to the impending encounter.

As you approached the venue of the ball, the melodic strains of music intertwined with the lively chatter of the assembled guests reached your ears, setting the stage for an enchanting evening. Drawing nearer, you couldn't help but notice the admiring gazes cast in your direction, a testament to the splendor of the gown you wore. Amidst the sea of impeccably attired villagers, it seemed your attire had captured the collective attention, eliciting murmurs of awe and appreciation.

Then, a hush fell over the crowd as the announcement resonated through the air, heralding the arrival of the esteemed rulers of the kingdoms. With bated breath, you watched as Queen Alcina and Queen Miranda made their grand entrance, adorned in resplendent dresses that rivaled the stars themselves.

As the night unfolded, a sense of intrigue tinged with a hint of excitement enveloped you, heightened by the subtle glances exchanged between yourself and the two queens. Determined not to dwell on such fleeting thoughts, you immersed yourself in the spectacle of the lively dance floor, reveling in the joyous rhythms that echoed through the hall.

Suddenly, you felt a presence drawing near, and to your surprise, it was Queen Alcina herself. Startled by her approach, you greeted her with a mix of surprise and reverence. Her warm smile eased any apprehension as she complimented your appearance, extending an invitation to dance. Without hesitation, you accepted her hand, finding yourself swept into the graceful cadence of the music in her company.

As the dance unfolded, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into insignificance as you moved in perfect harmony. Reluctantly, the moment came to an end as Queen Alcina excused herself to attend to other guests. Though a tinge of sadness lingered at her departure, you couldn't help but cherish the memory of the fleeting encounter, a smile gracing your lips.

As you stood lost in thought, a gentle tap on your shoulder roused you from your reverie, and there stood Queen Miranda, radiant and regal. With a respectful greeting, you acknowledged her presence, though the concern etched on her face did not escape your notice. Inquiring into your well-being, she offered her comforting presence, prompting you to confess your inner turmoil.

Reassured by her understanding demeanor, you confided in her, expressing gratitude for the enchanting atmosphere of the ball despite your personal concerns. With a knowing smile, Queen Miranda extended an invitation to dance, and you found solace in the graceful movements that ensued, the cares of the evening momentarily forgotten.

As the music wove its spell around you, conversation flowed effortlessly between you and Queen Miranda, forging a connection that transcended mere pleasantries. However, the tender moment was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Queen Alcina, her presence tinged with a hint of jealousy. An uneasy tension hung in the air as the three of you engaged in polite conversation, though the subtle exchange of glances between the two queens spoke volumes. Sensing the need for discretion, both Queen Alcina and Queen Miranda gracefully excused themselves, leaving you to ponder the complexities of the evening's encounters.

“what are you doing" Alcina's words sliced through the air, "nothing" Miranda responded. Alcina's anger flared, her possessive streak laid bare "I was talking to her first and now you want to steal her from me" Alcina told Miranda. Caught in the crossfire, you watched in stunned silence as their exchange escalated, the intensity of their rivalry palpable. Alcina's demand for distance clashed with Miranda's defiance, each vying for your attention with an air of determination "I want you to be far away from her" Alcina told Miranda. In a sudden twist, Miranda proposed a daring challenge, a glimmer of intrigue dancing in her eyes. Alcina "We both will try to seduce her and at some point, she will choose one of us". With a firm handshake, they sealed their pact, igniting a fierce competition for your affections that would unfold in the days to come. And so, amidst the grandeur of the ball, the battle lines for your heart were drawn, setting the stage for a tumultuous clash of wills and desires.

[ltwilliammowett]

Weigh Anchor

Christopher Columbus cried, “‘Weigh Anchor.’ A few minutes later a crewman reported, ‘Two-thousand, one-hundred thirty-six pounds’.”

Nice try sailor but not quite what he wanted from you.

"Weigh anchor" is an old English sailor's expression that was first mentioned in literature in John Dryden's The Tempest (1670). It is an order to weigh the anchors of a ship. "To weigh anchor" means to bring all anchors on board the ship in preparation for departure. In response to the order, the sentence "Anchors aweigh" reports back that all anchors are free from the seabed; the ship is therefore officially underway.

"Anchors aweigh" is often misspelled as "Anchor's away", leading to a confusion of terms and sometimes misunderstanding the command as "drop anchor". There can also be confusion with two typically encountered correct spellings, namely "anchor's" with an apostrophe and without ("anchors"). In this case, the sentence means "anchor's aweigh" (which denotes a single anchor and the contraction of the verb "is"): This anchor's aweigh. The singular phrase must be distinguished from the plural "anchor's aweigh", which indicates that all of the ship's anchors are aweigh.

Although the original "aweigh" is verbal and transitive, the "aweigh" now used is adjectival/adverbial in nature and meaning. "Weigh" as a verb means "to carry" or "to move" and thus has several shades of meaning and derivations, including "weight" or "heaviness".

So in a nutshell - the anchor comes on board and we sail, not "weigh" anchor in the true sense of the modern meaning of the word.

[tellusd20]

Appropriately enough for the recent HMS Terror posts that I've reblogged, I've spent the past few weeks slowly completing this map of the ill-fated ship. HMS Terror is underway through a sea of ice and slush, exploring the distant periphery of the known world. What dangers may her crew encounter?

Grid variants of the top two layers (overhead view and upper deck) are available for free on my Patreon in Roll20's preferred 70 DPI resolution. Subscribers have access to the full map (four decks + overhead view) in day/night + grid/gridless variants in PNG and VTT formats.

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter Six

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 7105 Rating: General Summary: Din returns to the set of The Mandalorian to begin filming a new season. Despite his experience and capability, he finds that he struggles to focus as his thoughts remain firmly fixed on a certain someone... Content Warnings: None! Author's Note:  Nice to meet a few more Mando characters in this chapter. Din has a cruuuuuuuuush. Also, I love writing Peli and Din's relationship in any universe. Thanks for all the comments and love you're showing to this baby so far, it means the world! Huge thanks also to the wonderful @suresnips for being my beta! ♡

6. With A Little Help From My Friends [Din's POV]

For the first few weeks while the third season of The Mandalorian had been in pre-production, things were a little haphazard in terms of personnel that were present in the studios – known as The Volume – where the show was filmed. Din appreciated the sparsely populated studios. After all, less people meant less opportunities for someone to scrutinise his identity. Although Peli Motto, the person he was closest to on the cast, had been present and the two had hung out in Din’s trailer plenty of times, there had been markedly fewer people than usual wandering around the studios. 

Now, however, it was Monday morning and the first week of filming was set to begin. That brought more people to The Volume. A lot more. 

Din considered that he should have been used to it by now. It was, after all, the third season of the show. So far, his identity had successfully remained the closely guarded secret that he wanted it to be. Much of that was thanks to the showrunners, Jim and Dale. They were, after all, the only people present at The Volume at any given moment who had any idea of Din’s identity. That was a thought that both comforted him and made him nervous.

It was reassuring to know how closely they had guarded Din’s secret and abided by his wishes. Of course, some of that was motivated by the legal trouble they could become embroiled in should they ever reveal Din’s identity without his consent. But Din often thought fondly of how understanding the two men were throughout the sordid process of negotiating the contract with Disney. Jim and Dale had both pushed for Din to be The Mandalorian, insisting that, for them, there would be no second choice. It was Din or nothing. 

Disney's eventual decision to accept the anonymity clause had been mostly motivated by how much Jim and Dale had stood by Din during discussions and how much they had wanted him as Mando in the first place. It was a debt that Din knew he could never truly repay to the two men who had flown in from Los Angeles over the weekend, ready for production to properly get underway. Din was looking forward to catching up with the two of them, who always made an effort to check in with him and inquire about how he and Grogu were adapting to life in a new country. Indeed, it was the two of them who had put Din in contact with a woman called Fennec Shand, who worked for the production company. It was her job to make sure Din and Grogu were sufficiently settled. Fennec often organised excursions, including the tour Din had enjoyed with Grogu at the British Museum on Friday night.

It was that very tour which Din had spent the majority of his weekend thinking about rather than mentally preparing for the intense filming schedule which lay ahead of him. Din was unsure whether he believed in fate, or destiny. But surely encountering her again, the girl who he had felt instantly drawn to after her eloquent speech in his defence at ForceCon, had not been a coincidence. As he stood there in the crowded hall, watching her disappear into the crowd, Din had wished against all probabilities that he could just see her again, one more time. Lo and behold, a few days later, there she was. Din did more than see her again. This time, he was free to interact with her without the confines of his armour and helmet. He marvelled as she shared her knowledge, expertise and showed an incredible amount of patience and understanding towards Grogu especially.

It was seeing her interact with Grogu that had really meant everything to Din. He already knew, after her speech, that she possessed many qualities that he valued in a person. However, to witness the compassion and patience she had extended to the nervous little boy, even after Grogu had caused somewhat of a commotion, it was difficult for Din to quantify just how much that simple act of understanding meant to him. 

Now that he had crossed paths with her again, Din knew that she was a presence that he wanted in his life going forward. Equally, Din knew that it would probably be immoral of him to explore something with the girl. There was no way he could be completely honest with her about his identity, certainly not while they were still getting to know each other. That meant Din would inevitably have to lie while he evaluated whether he could trust her with his secret.

Then there was the question of how she would feel should she ever find out that he had been untruthful. Lying was not in Din Djarin’s nature; he never wanted to lie to her, he knew that would likely cause hurt further down the line. How would she feel if she ever found out that he was keeping such an enormous secret from her?

Despite the moral dilemma, Din kept returning to how he had felt when they were together. The rush that Din had when he was in her presence was indescribable. He felt a genuine connection with her immediately, despite how aloof he had probably appeared when she first walked up to him and Grogu. The sight of her had knocked all air out of his lungs even with all of the training he had to maintain his composure. 

But then there was the thrill that Din had actually been able to talk to her and look at her without the confines of his helmet, all while knowing that she was seeing him for who he was and getting to know him as the man, rather than The Mandalorian. It was an enthralling experience. 

So, Din had spent the majority of the weekend pondering his next move. Of course, he could return to the museum and ask after her, but Din feared that would be inappropriate and overstepping his boundaries. He wondered whether he should hang around the museum at closing time and wait for her to emerge. He wanted her to know precisely how much the time they had spent together had meant to him. Above all, Din wanted to continue getting to know her and determine whether the two of them could build a future together.

With all thoughts of how to make the next move, Din knew he was a little distracted. Which wasn’t exactly ideal right before an intense filming schedule got underway. Despite the fact that he was now onset and should be in full Mando mode, Din found that as he sat there in his trailer with Grogu, he was still distracted. His mind remained firmly fixated on the incredible girl from the museum that he wanted to know better. 

A knock at the door pulled Din from his musings and he grabbed his helmet before unlocking the door. The familiar, tanned face and dark brown eyes of the man who cared for Grogu onset, called Iggy, greeted Din.

“Hi Mando,” Iggy chirped, “I’ve been sent to care for Grogu.”

“I thought I wasn’t due on set yet?” Din replied, slightly taken aback at his presence.

“Oh, you’re not. But Jim and Dale have requested your presence in their office,” Iggy explained.

“Alright. Come in, Iggy,” Din opened the door further and waved the lanky man with messy black hair that stood up in various directions, into the room.

Meetings like this with Jim and Dale were not unheard of, so Din had no reason to be particularly troubled by the fact that he had been summoned to their office. But there was a feeling of nervousness that lingered in his gut at his presence being requested like this. Nevertheless, after saying goodbye to Grogu and leaving him happily drinking a carton of juice while resting on Iggy’s lap, Din made his way to Jim and Dale’s offices.

Din’s heart dropped when he saw the grim faces of the two men behind the desk of their office. Instantly, he knew that instinct in his gut was correct. Whatever the subject of this meeting was, it was going to be an uncomfortable one. At once, the worst possible scenarios began flicking through Din’s mind. Perhaps he had been summoned here so Jim and Dale could tell him that his role had been cut from the new season, they wanted to go in a different direction and needed someone who was willing to reveal his face. Din was trembling; he stood frozen inside the doorway as he felt as though everything was about to come crashing down all around him. 

Din felt sickened as he realised that his life, the one he had been building here with his son in the peaceful English countryside and the girl that he had met would, in a few moments, be cruelly ripped from him. Din was certain that the men before him were about to deliver a crushing blow as they informed him that he was no longer wanted for the role of The Mandalorian. The very role that he had been initially hesitant to accept, but had changed so many things for him. 

It was Jim’s voice who finally broke through his racing thoughts and compelled him to move.

“Take a seat, Din,” Jim offered, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk from where the two of them sat. 

Din apprehensively moved across the room and sat opposite the two men. The atmosphere was thick with an emotion that Din could not place, but judging by the glum, serious expressions that the two men before him wore, he knew in his gut that it was not positive. Din took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut beneath his helmet as he braced for impact.

“Din, we have some concerns that we just wanted to address with you before filming begins,” the cowboy-hat wearing co-creator, Dale, began speaking, his beady eyes peering out at Din from underneath his cowboy hat that was a permanent fixture on top of his head. “Do you have any idea what this could be about?”

Din’s heart was thundering so loudly that he was sure it must have been audible, reverberating off the Beskar. He shook his head slowly, completely taken off-guard by Dale’s question.

“Well, there have been a number of social media posts speculating that the real Mando was at ForceCon a couple weekends ago,” Jim explained. “Din… you wouldn’t happen to have any idea why people would think that, would you?

Din sighed deeply. The foolish decision that he had made without thinking it through because of Peli Motto, of all people, looked set to cost him dear. All he could do now was beg Jim and Dale for mercy, appeal to their humanity and let them know that it had just been a stupid mistake and nothing more. 

“Yes. I do know why…” Din sighed and braced himself for what he was about to admit, “it was me,” Din finished, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry if this has caused any headaches for you. I was not thinking clearly. Peli gave me an invitation and mentioned the con. My curiosity got the better of me. I truly apologise, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Thank you for owning up to it, Din,” Dale said and for the first time his expression shifted into something other than a frown. It didn’t fill Din with much more confidence and Dale wasn’t suddenly smiling, but at least it was slightly more reassuring than the stony-faced expressions that he had initially been greeted with.

“Look, Din. We respect your reasoning absolutely for not revealing yourself to the public. If you’ll remember, we backed you the entire way during the negotiations with Disney,” Jim explained, using his hands to emphasise his point. “ choosing to go to a convention like that? Man, what were you thinking?! Your cover could have easily been blown.” 

“I mean, that was really dangerous. There were the biggest fans in the world there, thousands and thousands of them. We went for an appearance and it was crazy, the levels of fanaticism,” Dale added and Din internally cringed, not realising just how many layers of danger he had placed himself in. “The photos of your costume went viral, we had to get someone from the PR team to create a fake account on social media claiming that they were the person behind the cosplay so the fans had an explanation. It had to come from somewhere. I just… I really don’t know what you were thinking, Din.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t thinking,” Din swallowed, suddenly feeling incredibly ashamed at his recklessness. It was so unlike him. But he seized the opportunity to defend himself. After all, if Jim and Dale had really called him in here to fire him, he at least wanted to say his piece before they delivered such a crushing blow. “A castmate enthused to me about the con and she handed me some passes that the organisers had sent her. My curiosity got the better of me. I know how… things got out of hand after my appearance at the hospital. I should have consulted with you both first. I’m sorry.” Din said earnestly, although he was thankful that his helmet was covering his face. Din was unused to handling sensitive conversations like this face to face and his cheeks were burning an embarrassing shade of red beneath his helmet.

Jim and Dale glanced at each other in some wordless form of communication, which Din was unable to decipher. He felt his already sweaty palms moisten further in the leather gloves that he was wearing. Regardless of what it meant, Din knew that the look did not fill him with much confidence and he suddenly felt an overwhelming need to defend himself further.

“Look, if my actions in going to the convention were… a step too far and my position is now untenable, then I suppose I understand. I’ll be disappointed, of course, and firing me would uproot Grogu’s life too. But he’ll get over it. We all do,” Din said quietly, as much for his own benefit as Jim and Dale’s

“Fire you? Din Djarin, you are The Mandalorian!” Jim exclaimed, clearly incredulous at the notion that they would ever contemplate such an action. “Without you, this show would not be possible. We didn’t call you into this meeting to lecture you, I apologise if you were under that impression.”

“Yeah, the absolute last thing we would want to do is bring you any additional stress right before we begin such a busy period of filming. Jim and I were just concerned for you. Din, we don’t want you to be exposed before you are ready for the world to know who you are, if that time ever comes. The precautions that we have in place for you are unprecedented, there is nothing else like it. The amount of NDAs, the security around the studio, the way you travel to work and hide your face constantly. It is a new experience for all of us. I’ve been in this industry for many years and when you came to us with your demands of privacy… Well, we’d never encountered anything like it. But we’re in this together. You’re worth this, Din.” Dale said, his reassuring words comforted Din instantly.

“Thank you,” Din said, voice suddenly thick with emotion.

“If there’s anything at all we can help you with, you know you can always talk to us. No problem is too insignificant,” Jim said, kindly. “How was the museum visit, by the way? Did you and Grogu have fun?”

Din was once again thankful that the helmet was covering his blushes. Jim’s question forced him to cast his mind back to the museum, to her…

“It was wonderful, thanks,” Din breathed. “Grogu and I learnt a lot. I appreciate the excursions you two and Fennec organise for us.”

“You’re welcome, Din. Anything we can do to help you feel settled,” Jim nodded. “If you ever want to organise one yourself, you know you can contact Fennec. Her job is to assist you and always make sure that you and Grogu are happy and settled.”

“I appreciate that. Really, it means a lot,” Din said appreciatively. “Being here in a new country with Grogu is always a little lonely, but the visits help.”

“Well, if you ever want to organise any more, don’t be afraid to contact Fennec,” Jim nodded.

“Are you going to be okay with filming today?” Dale asked

“Yes,” Din said instantly. 

Din knew that his head was probably elsewhere, but there was no way he would ever let down anyone else by refusing to film. Although he knew that there were plenty of intense action scenes and stunts that he would have to perform on this particular filming day that would take maximum concentration, Din was confident in his abilities to see them through. They were scenes that Din should be able to film in his sleep, with stunts that were as natural to him as an intake of breath.

The reality, though, of standing there in front of a set full of people looking at him expectantly was quite different. Din was hoping that by falling back into the routine of filming, that he would soon be distracted from the thoughts of the girl from the panel and the museum that had been racing through his mind since Friday.

He could not forget the glances she had thrown his way, the way her eyes lingered on him and the noticeable loss of her composure after he had compared her to the beautiful exhibits. Din was in awe of her knowledge about everything in the museum, the way she had shared it without being patronising. She was passionate, not arrogant, and had shown such patience and kindness to Grogu.

Din knew that he had to concentrate. Every take that he messed up inevitably cost money. But more than the financial repercussions, Din wanted to set the tone of filming for season three to a positive, productive one. Yet the ongoing dilemma of what to do going forward regarding his feelings for the girl were continuing to trouble Din.

It was a simple scene, in comparison to some of the intricate stunts with multiple moving parts that Din had to film in the past. All he had to do was fling himself across a cantina bar and punch a couple of aliens in the face. It was a move he had done hundreds of times in his life, both as The Mandalorian and in the life of violence he had known before Grogu. But today, Din could not get it right.

Din had reassured the director and stunt coordinator that he knew what was expected of him after he missed the first couple of takes, which was wholly uncharacteristic of someone who was usually as efficient as Din prided himself on being. It wasn’t a lie, either; Din knew exactly what was expected of him. 

It was not his body that was failing him, it was his mind that was distracted, centred on events and people far away from this set. As he set himself for the latest take, crouching slightly and anticipating the vocal cue that would signal when he needed to move, Din shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He focused on his breathing, attempting to centre himself in the Star Wars galaxy and embody the formidable, ruthless bounty hunter that he was meant to be.

But it was hopeless. When Din closed his eyes, he only saw her face. The take began, but he could not stop thinking about her. About how much he wanted to see her again and how he would do whatever it took to cross paths with her and let her know how important she was to him. 

“CUT!” the shout from the director startled Din out of the trance he had seemingly entered into once again. 

Din looked around then, and noticed the annoyed faces of the cast and crew. At first, they had been patient with him and tried to hide their disdain. Now, though, it was plain to see how disappointed they were with Din’s lack of composure. He felt awful, as though he was wasting everyone’s time. He knew he needed to get a grip. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Din said apologetically, after messing up the take yet again. “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me today,” he murmured dismissively, although Din knew full well exactly what the cause for his sudden lack of professionalism was. 

“Look, Mando, it’s fine,” the director, a man called Gideon, said in his distinctive husky tones as he wandered towards Din. “We’ll take an early break, you can go back to your trailer, get something to eat and then we’ll give this another go after lunch. We all have off days. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” Din said quietly, appreciative of the understanding and compassion that Gideon had shown him. 

The two had occasionally had their own creative differences and disagreements and Din was certain that he would not be friends with him outside of work. But within The Volume, they were amicable, at the very least. There was mutual respect there and a begrudging fondness that neither would admit to the other. When all was said and done, though, Din knew that Gideon wanted the best for the show and ultimately that meant working with Din, rather than against him.

Din retreated to his room, proverbial tail between his legs. He was disappointed in himself for inconveniencing everyone. Although, he at least had Jim’s comforting words to focus on. Din knew he was The Mandalorian, he had put a little bit of his soul into this character. No one would ever be able to take that away from him, bad day or not.

Din was optimistic that a bit of downtime with Grogu and some food would revitalise him and leave him able to complete his scenes in the afternoon. Walking through the door of his trailer, which was more like a comfortable suite of a hotel room in a corner of the building than a traditional trailer, to see the smiling face of his son lifted Din’s spirits already.

The room that Din had to relax in between takes was a windowless room, tucked in the corner of the studios, that had at first evoked feelings of claustrophobia, but now Din appreciated for the privacy it afforded him and Grogu. A lack of natural light was a hardship he was more than prepared to bear to maintain his privacy.

Iggy and Grogu were sprawled out on their stomachs, a box of felt tip pens was open and Din watched with pride as his son focused on the picture before him. Din could see a sliver of pink as Grogu stuck his tongue out and furrowed his brow in concentration. Iggy sat up as soon as Din walked through the door, nodding at the Mandalorian who loomed over him. 

“Hi Mando! Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Iggy smiled. “Grogu and I have spent the morning doing some colouring in. He did really well, I’m sure he can’t wait to show you what he made!”

“Wonderful, I’m looking forward to seeing it,” Din said, nodding proudly at his son. “Thanks, Iggy.”

“No problem!” Iggy beamed as he stood up. “Well, I’ll leave the two of you to your lunch. I'll be back when it's time to go to set!”

The lock of the door clicking the shut symbolised that Iggy was gone and Din was finally alone with his son. He promptly removed his helmet, relieved to finally feel the air on his face once more. Din picked Grogu and his colouring book up and made his way over to the sofa, sitting Grogu in his lap, ready to appreciate his son's creations. Din had hoped that just the two of them together might have gone some way to calming his frayed nerves. But despite the overwhelming calmness and sense of purpose that Din felt whenever he was in Grogu’s presence, and even as his son proudly showed him the pages of the colouring book he had completed, Din still could not relax.

“They look amazing, buddy,” Din praised as Grogu showed him a page which, coincidentally, showed a rhinoceros. 

Din was fairly certain that rhinos were not purple with bright red spots, and even though the scrawled swirls ventured outside the lines in plenty of places, Din did not care. He was endlessly proud of his son, to him it was a greater masterpiece than Dürer’s rhino. To most people, it was just a messy, childish scribble, but Din believed that it belonged amongst the finest exhibits in the British Museum. There he was, thinking of her again.

Grogu excitedly showed Din a few more of his colourings, before Din decided it was time for the two of them to eat some lunch. Keeping his identity secret meant that Din could not eat at craft services with the rest of the cast, it would have been impractical to eat underneath his helmet in any case. But Din relished the meals he shared with Grogu in the little room together, it was a way for them to bond and a way for Din to ground himself in the middle of the day, amongst all the chaos that being on set usually brought. 

After helping himself to the platter of fruit that had been left, as usual, in his room and ensuring Grogu ate something too – despite Din’s efforts to expand his son’s palette, Grogu only wanted his favourite animal crackers – Din sprawled out on the couch. With the comforting weight of his boy on his chest, making Din’s heart soar as he stared up at him with big brown eyes, Din finally felt at peace for the first time all day. His mind was no longer racing over his dilemma, he just appreciated the comfort that time with Grogu brought him.

Din momentarily forgot the inner turmoil that was being waged within him in a battle between his head and his heart. For one second, he did not feel completely torn over what to do next. He was so relaxed that the outline of Grogu’s face gradually became more distorted, as Din’s eyelids grew heavy…

The banging on the door an indeterminate amount of time later roused Din from the slumber that he had unintentionally drifted off into. 

“Hey Mando! Can I come in?” A familiar voice sounded from the other side of the door. It was Peli Motto.

“Give me a second,” Din replied as he sat up, careful not to disturb Grogu, who he removed from his chest and gently placed on the couch. 

Din reflexively reached for his helmet from the floor and secured it on his head. He padded across the room and unlocked the door, feeling instantly brighter when he saw the brown eyes and wild curls of his favourite co-star staring back at him from the hallway. Peli’s presence always cheered him up, even on his darkest days.

“Word on the street is that you aren’t having the best day. What’s up, Mando? Something wrong with Grogu?” Peli asked concernedly. Although Din suspected that she was as keen to get in on the latest gossip as she was genuinely concerned for him. 

“No, Grogu is fine,” Din shook his head as he stepped back from the door to allow Peli inside the room.

“There he is!” Peli cooed as she walked towards the sofa and scooped Grogu up into her arms. Peli hugged him tightly and Grogu chirped happily, having awoken from his nap when he was moved, despite Din’s best efforts. “My favourite little guy, how are ya?” Peli cooed.

Grogu let out a delighted noise and Din felt his heart swell as he stood back, observing the two of them interact. He loved how close Peli was to his son. There were not many people Din trusted with his boy, but Peli was absolutely one of them. He was grateful for Peli’s presence in their lives, especially when adjusting to a brand new country and environment. Both Din and Grogu needed someone in their lives who was a comforting, uplifting presence and Peli filled that void perfectly. 

Despite how kooky and extroverted Peli was, in contrast to the quiet, methodical way Din conducted his business: if it ever came to it, Din knew that he would trust Peli with his life and even with Grogu’s life. In his bones, Din knew that he trusted her entirely. If anything, Peli was the person on the cast that he was most likely to reveal his identity to. Unfortunately, Peli possessed the loudest mouth on this planet, so Din was realistic about the odds of that ever happening: they ranged from slim to none. 

“Grogu is fine,” Din sighed. “It’s me…” 

“Oh quit moping, Mando. You’ll rust!” Peli said jokingly.

Din smirked beneath his helmet at her directness. He was unaccustomed to having people like this in his life who would speak to him so directly, without filter. But it was something that he had found he had been missing out on, he thoroughly enjoyed the way Peli would banter with him. At first, he had found the curly-haired woman a tad overbearing. But now, as she sat here in the brown overalls of her costume on the couch in his room, he realised just how much he had come to care about the woman. Even if the reason for his distress was partially her fault, to begin with.

“No seriously, bud. What’s up? I hate seeing you like this.” Peli said, sympathetically. “And if you don’t get your act together, we’ll all be stuck on this set for much longer than I’d like. I have two cats that miss me very much in Los Angeles, thank you very much.”

In typical Peli fashion, she could not resist gently ribbing him after any genuine concern was shown. But Din didn’t mind it. Emotions were a mildly terrifying concept to the man who had spent so much of his life alone.

“It’s all your fault, really,” Din said lightly.

“My fault?! Wait… please don’t tell me you saw that video. It was ONE time, okay!” Peli lifted her hand defensively.

Din just shook his head, having no idea what she was talking about. Whatever it was, Din was fairly certain that he did not want to know.

“No, Peli… I didn’t see any videos…”

“Good, mister. You better keep it that way,” Peli said sternly as she jabbed a finger in Din’s direction. “Now, do you want to talk about it? I’m here for ya, Mando.”

“Well, it’s kind of a crazy story. It all began after that conversation we had about that convention that was coming up. I wanted to try and see what all the fuss was about and also give something back to the fans, I guess. Make a few people’s day, take some pictures…” 

“That was you?!” Peli exclaimed, excitedly. “I knew it! What did you think of the con?”

“I hated it at first. It was horrendously busy. I probably would have left, but for an encounter I had. It opened my eyes up to how much people love Mando. It was… nice to feel their love and appreciation for the character.”

“I can’t believe you actually went…” Peli whispered, shaking her head in awe.

“Well, it was an incredibly reckless move in hindsight. Jim and Dale called me into their office to warn me against doing such a thing in future. The costume went viral and they had to make some fake social media profiles allegedly, to claim the costume…”

“That’s insane!” Peli squealed. “Oh yeah, it was everywhere online this week. I’m not surprised they had to do that, so many people were tweeting me, convinced it was the real Mando.”

Din cringed at her words, feeling terribly embarrassed once again at how much inconvenience his moment of recklessness had caused. He sat there for a few moments, trying to adjust to the information and take onboard how close he had come to having his cover blown. 

“That’s not why you can’t do the stunts, though, is it?” Peli questioned and Din marvelled once again at how much she saw him, despite having never laid eyes upon his face.

“No, you’re right. It isn’t,” Din conceded. “While I was at the convention, I attended this panel. It was right at the back of the convention hall, but it stood out to me. It was called ‘The Man behind the Mandalorian: Exploring the Identity of the Galaxy’s Best Bounty Hunter,’ and it was hosted by an awful man. A man who was way too old to be wearing a backwards baseball cap, but I digress,” Din grumbled, still caught up on how ridiculous the guy had looked as he sat there, thinking he was the greatest man on earth. “Well, the panel was pretty much just praising the violence of the show and how good Mando is at fighting. Pretty surface-level stuff. There were some criticisms in there, but I could take it, you know. They were still mostly aimed at the show. But then… he opened the floor up to questions at the end and things began to get nasty. People were making all kinds of personal insults about me, about the character. Calling me a diva and saying that I must be a nightmare to work with if I won’t show my face to anyone.”

“Awww, Mando. That sounds awful, it must have been really hard for you,” Peli soothed. She reached out to pat Din’s arm beneath his pauldron. The contact made him jump at first, but he soon melted into the reassuring touch. “You are the furthest thing from a diva. I know I tease you a lot, but I genuinely think you’re a great guy. I really care about you and the kid. Even though I don’t know what you look like. I mean, you could look like an ingrown toenail under there. How would I know?!” Peli joked and Din found himself laughing at that, despite the inner turmoil that still waged inside him. “Look, I still treat you so kindly, aren’t I nice?” Peli added, even though they were both well-aware of how much she teased Din. 

“Thanks, Peli,” Din said appreciatively, his voice full of the genuine mirth that her comments had provoked in him.

Giggling like this with Peli was a brief moment of welcome relief and Din’s shoulders dropped a little from the tense position they had been frozen in through most of the conversation. But Din knew the lighthearted moment was fleeting. He still had to explain to Peli the reason for his tormented state.

“It wasn’t the things that were said at the panel that caused all this though,” Din sighed, taking a deep breath as he braced himself to explain the cause of his current state of mind. “Don’t get me wrong, I was having a terrible, awful time. I really wanted to leave. I was about to. But then, this girl stood up. She… she marched right to the mic. I could tell she was a little bit nervous, but she spoke so passionately about me and the show and she stood up for me. Not just as Mando but also as… me. Even though she didn’t know anything about me, she still respected my right to privacy. It felt incredible… her words, they soothed my soul.”

“Oh! Mando has a crush!” Peli said in a teasing, sing-song voice.

Din just tilted his helmet to one side, conveying his disapproval. It was a part of Din that had found its way into the show. Mando was always conveying his disdain for others with a simple tilt of the head, but that mannerism was one hundred per cent a Din Djarin move.

“Sorry. Continue,” Peli said, waving her hand as if to encourage him.

“Thank you. Well, the way she made me feel, it was amazing, obviously,” Din admitted. He paused again, attempting to find the words to explain the rest of the story. “But that wasn’t the last time I saw her. After I left the panel, I went around the hall, taking photos with panels. I was about to leave but then the girl and her friend stopped me for a picture. She was so sweet and polite. I couldn’t stop thinking about her for days… I felt certain that that was the last time I would ever see her…. But then….”

“Woah, hold on there. Look, if you’re gonna tell me about some illegal shit, I gotta get my lawyer on speakerphone. I can’t be a party to any criminal acts, I’m on very thin ice as it is, Mando. Please don’t tell me that you stalked her on social media and then tracked her down to her house and used the zoom on your phone to track her every move until the….” Peli yammered, but Din stopped her.

“What?! No. Of course not, Peli,” Din said, cutting his eccentric, curly-haired friend off mid-ramble and doing his best to ignore the oddly specific fear that she had.

“Oh…” Peli exhaled. “Well, in that case, please continue…”

“A few days later, one of the team here, on orders of Jim and Dale, organised a visit to the British Museum for Grogu and me. Imagine my surprise when the same girl ends up being our tour guide. Except, I went there without my helmet. I was just… me. The man behind the suit. She met me as me, not as Mando. It’s a mess,” Din sighed, his shoulders slumping forward again. “I like her and I’d like to see her again and get to know her. I think I felt a genuine connection there, and she was so great with Grogu. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, Peli. But how can I… pursue anything? When she’s such a big fan of the show. It would feel strange… like I was taking advantage somehow. Plus, I can’t stand lying. I’d be hiding myself, hiding who I am. A massive part of me.”

“Oh, look at you, Mando. You big softie,” Peli smiled, looking at him adoringly. She was a few years older than Din and he had long sensed that she felt somewhat maternalistic towards him. Peli was looking at him with all the pride a mother might show when their child shows an interest in someone, with a hint of surprise there, too. It seemed that she had never considered that he could be the romantic type. 

“What do I do, Peli?” Din asked, desperately seeking the advice he needed to soothe his troubled soul.

“Well, firstly I don’t think you’re taking advantage of her. She doesn’t know you’re Mando. You might have started catching feelings for her when you saw her in that panel, but she doesn’t need to know that,” Peli advised. “I would say, you also don’t have to outright come out with the truth. You can just… skirt around it, I guess. She doesn’t have to know specifics about where you work, it’s just… keeping a secret or two, rather than lying.”

“What if she ever finds out that I’ve been keeping secrets?” Din asked, his voice full of apprehension at the idea.

“Well, hopefully you would have told her on your own terms long before that, once you felt comfortable enough and as though you could trust her. But, hopefully, if that happened… she would understand. Your life, I certainly don’t envy you Mando,” Peli admitted.

“There’s a lot to juggle,” Din confessed.

“I know, I can’t imagine the burden. You deserve nice things, Mando. You deserve a love story of your own. Just make sure she gets to know you for you. Not Mando, with no armour, just you… whoever you are beneath all that. Hell, I don’t even know!”

“Thanks, Peli,” Din smiled, feeling comforted by her words. For all of her eccentricity, Peli still had a heart of gold. “I’ve never really done this before, though. I mean… dated someone. I didn’t get her number after the tour but I’m sure I could get a message to her somehow. I was thinking about sending her a bunch of flowers, with a little note,” Din pondered. “Is that a thing people still do? She seems to be a bit younger than me, in her mid-twenties if I had to guess.”

“Mando! You really are the romantic type! I never would have guessed that from you!” Peli squealed. “She’s a very lucky gal, I’m sure that would be a very thoughtful gesture that would be appreciated by her. Go for it.”

“I will,” Din said, determinedly.

Peli lingered for a few more minutes, catching Din up on all of the gossip he had missed in craft services. Din didn’t particularly care for gossip, but somehow when it was Peli, it was endearing to listen to. Then the brown-overall wearing woman made her exit, mumbling about how she needed to head for a smoke before filming began again.

Din sat there for a few moments, smiling to himself in her wake. He knew that in a few minutes, Din would be summoned to set as Iggy would knock on his door ready to take care of Grogu. Din would have to face a room full of people who were at worst, annoyed and at best, concerned. He had to leave the room, projecting an air of strength and dependability that he was, as Mando. When he left the room, the transformation would be complete from doting father to feared, intergalactic bounty hunter. 

Din could have no distractions now. He knew what he needed to do, the talk with Peli had given him clarity and purpose and, bizarrely, the animal that Grogu had been colouring in had given him an idea. So, Din picked up the phone in his trailer and dialled the extension that took him through to the offices of Fennec Shand.

The phone rang once.

“Good afternoon Mando, how can I help you?” Fennec asked.

“Hi, Fennec,” Din replied. “Can you please get me the phone number for the best florist in London?”

Next Chapter

Taglist:@toxic-seduction @survivingandenduring @readingiskeepingmegoing

[girlactionfigure]

IDF CARRIES OUT PRECISE COUNTER-TERRORISM OPERATION IN EASTERN RAFAH

The IDF are conducting a targeted anti-terrorism mission in specific parts of eastern Rafah. Terrorists have been eliminated, and hidden tunnels and structures have been found in different areas.

Ground troops of the IDF are actively involved in the operation, relying on intelligence from the IDF and Israel Security Agency. Their aim is to remove Hamas terrorists and dismantle their infrastructure in designated zones of eastern Rafah. 

During recent encounters, IDF forces have neutralized terrorists and discovered their hidden infrastructure, including underground tunnels, across eastern Rafah. Efforts are underway to dismantle these structures.

In one instance, IDF soldiers identified and eliminated an armed terrorist carrying an RPG launcher.

Simultaneously, based on intelligence, IDF troops are conducting targeted raids on the Gaza side of the Rafah Crossing, located in the eastern part of Rafah.

Over the past day, Israeli Air Force fighter jets and aircraft have targeted more than 100 terror-related sites in the Gaza Strip. These include military installations, observation posts, launch sites, and other military infrastructure.

[adventure-time-news]

More details on Adventure Time: The Roleplaying Game

Now that the Kickstarter campaign is underway, Cryptozoic Entertainment are publishing regular updates about stretch goals and the actual contents of the two books.

We have received our first information about the plot of the adventure book, Quest for the Shadow Gems. The marketing says it will be split into chapters, with each chapter described as "an opportunity to remix the monsters, heroes, and places we already love from the show and present them in surprising ways that help the players tell new stories in the Land of Ooo."

As an example, here's the cover for chapter 2, titled Love in Lumpy Space, which sounds like it will be taking some pointers from the episode Trouble in Lumpy Space.

Additionally, four campaign stretch goals have been met so far:

The Map of Ooo will now be made of cloth instead of paper.

There is now an additional "random encounter" card deck that can be claimed as an addon by Kickstarter backers.

Six additional Lumpy Space related monsters will be added to the core book, Prismo's Guide to Adventures in Ooo.

There are now some art print postcards that can also be claimed as an addon.

There is only one more initial stretch goal, which will unlock a BMO dice set and will probably be reached pretty soon. The next stretch goal after that will expand Quest for the Shadow Gems.

Of course, this is a Kickstarter project so there is always the chance of everything falling through and nobody getting anything, so keep that in mind before pledging your money.

Adventure Time: The Roleplaying Game is currently aiming for a March 2025 release.

[oftenwantedafton]

Moody and Gray - William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 9

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content

Also available on AO3

William Afton is standing by your front door.

It’s an hour past when he’d originally been planning on leaving. Dressing slowly. Moving reluctantly to the exit of your apartment.

“Please get home safe.” Your fingers touch his cheeks, his hair, slip inside his coat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time.”

“No excuses.” A soft smile. “Goodnight, Moody.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

He kisses you and reaches for the handle of the door. You kiss him back until the door opens and he steps through it. Begin to shut it before you meet resistance. He’s pushing his way back inside towards you. Gathers you in his arms. Lips pressing into your hair.

Then he’s gone and you’re in bed and his scent is in the pillow your cheek presses against waiting for sleep that doesn’t come.

***

Monday morning. Back to the grind. You’re dehydrated and you have a headache and your eyes are bloodshot. You stand in the shower until the hot water runs out and step out to see the toothbrush you’ve lent your employer still tucked there in the cup beside yours. Purple, of course, his favorite color. Walk to the washing machine and remember you’ve got the dress shirt you’d cleaned of your lipstick from the other night folded and waiting. Open the refrigerator and see the containers of leftovers from dinner the night before. His last bottle of beer still sitting on the coffee table. So many reminders, everywhere you turn.

You not only make it to work on time, you actually arrive early. The food preppers’ tasks are well underway in the kitchen, the sounds filtering in through the dining room. Afton’s office is dark. You walk into the employee area and poke your head into the service room. No one there. You push the handle of the rear exit door to see if he’s outside smoking. No William.

Walking back through the hall now and you finally see him coming towards you. Wearing his customary purple suit vest and matching tie and black slacks. Undereyes smudged from lack of sleep. He pulls you into the nearest room—the employee bathroom you’d encountered him in that day you’d slipped out of the training exercise—locking the door behind you and crowding you against the sink.

“Good morning, Moody.” He plants a kiss on your lips.

“Good morning, Gray. I have your shirt in my car, remind me to give it to you later.” You smooth your fingers over his tie.

“Thank you, I’d completely spaced it. You got here early today. What was that like for you?”

You smirk. “Too soon to say yet.”

“Need some incentivizing do you?” he murmurs, his lips moving to your throat.

You shiver. “Maybe…”

“I couldn’t sleep last night. You know why?”

“Because you set your alarm for a ridiculous hour of the morning?” You quip. You can feel him smile against your throat.

“Because I missed you too much. Lying on that fucking pull out couch I’ve been relegated to, staring at the ceiling, wishing I was back in bed with you.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch?”

“Not sleeping much, but yes. That’s the location intended for it. At first it was because I was scolded for waking the missus up getting home late from work, and then, I mean, there hasn’t been intimacy in…and now. Well, now you know why.”

“You don’t have a spare bedroom in that mansion of yours?”

“It’s not a mansion.”

“I bet it’s pretty fancy. And expensive.”

“Having three children is expensive.”

“Can’t have always been on that pull out couch, huh?” You try to keep your tone light.

“Moody.” He sighs.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset or jealous. I mean, maybe a little, but…”

“There is no one else for me. I’m happy to say you’ve completely ruined me in that regard.” Another kiss, lingering this time. You hold him tightly. Capturing this moment to savor later.

It’s over too soon for your liking. He ducks his head out to make sure the coast is clear. Holds the door open for you. Fingers clinging to yours before you part ways.

You occupy yourself with filling the napkin dispensers and salt and pepper shakers. Make sure each table has a menu available. Tidy up a few things the cleaning staff has missed. Other employees start to file in. The pizzeria will open soon.

Another day at Freddy’s.

***

There’s always a bit of a slump in business after winter holidays and school vacations are over, but of course, the company isn’t going to stand for that.

So flyers get mailed out, announcing weekday specials, incentivizing more frequent visits. Rewards cards where eight stamps earn a free pizza. Discounted game tokens. Half off Tuesdays.

And it’s one of those Tuesdays now and you swear it’s a conspiracy because nearly all of the kitchen staff is out today. William immediately steps in to help. Sleeves rolled up. Those deft fingers working through flour dusted dough. Spreading toppings. Moving around the kitchen efficiently. You pick up an order that’s ready and you exchange a smile with him. He looks good slinging pizzas. He looks good doing just about anything, if you’re being honest.

The lunch rush passes and the afternoon is quieter. Someone’s come in to help out in the kitchen, relieving your boss of his pizza making duties. “Come outside with me,” he whispers as he passes you in the dining room.

He doesn’t even bother with the coat today. His hair is damp from perspiration, warm from working near the ovens. You unfold his sleeves and refasten his cuffs. His hand touches your cheek and you’re pressed against the wall. His mouth touches yours. “I wish…” he begins but doesn’t get to finish, the sound of the door nearby alerting you in time to move apart.

The hostess again. Surprisingly still employed there. Another beautiful outfit. You refuse to give her more than a passing glance. Afton’s cigarette is unlit. He announces he’s going back inside and you follow. Back into the custodial closet because it’s the nearest place you can be alone. You ignore the chemical smells and focus on your employer. He’s at your neck now.

“You don’t think that was kind of obvious?”

“I don’t care.” His hands cup your buttocks. “I know this isn’t the ideal location for this. Meet me in Parts and Service? There’s something there I want to show you anyway.”

“Okay, Will.”

You’re not sure what you’d been expecting. Certainly not a seven foot tall yellow rabbit with a giant purple bow around its neck. You might have changed your opinions on some aspects about working at Freddy’s, but you still aren’t a fan of the animatronics.

“New character?”

His arms wrap around you from behind. “Old one, actually. May I present Spring Bonnie. Remodeled. I’m hearing sales numbers still aren’t great even with all the extra discounts. The novelty of seeing the mascots onstage is wearing off. So…I’ve come up with an idea. What if the characters didn’t have to be stuck in position all the time? What if they could move around freely?”

“Okay, so how does that work?” Now you’re sort of curious.

“Springlocks. Something inside the suit that allows a performer to be inside controlling the animatronic directly, while keeping them safe from all of the…technology, let’s call it, inside. Now the kids won’t be stuck staring and waiting by the stage for something to happen. We bring the magic right to them.”

You frown. “And who’s going to be the one to venture into this ‘safe’ environment?” It sounded a bit like a lawsuit waiting to happen. You can’t share William’s obvious enthusiasm for his design and you feel a little guilty about that.

“Well myself, of course.”

“Will, no.” You turn in his arms. “That sounds like a really risky idea. Maybe you should wait a bit. Really make sure it’s safe before you put yourself or someone else in harm’s way.”

“I’ve already tested it, though. That’s why I’ve been so busy as of late. Which means I’ll be having more free time for us…” He kisses you. “And I have the perfect event to debut it at. The birthday party Evan’s attending here is tomorrow.”

An uneasy feeling in your stomach. Tomorrow. You’ll have to talk him out of this now before it’s too late. You just can’t shake the feeling that this is a really, really bad idea. “I know you’re excited and I have no doubt you’re a genius. And it’s really sweet to do this for Evan,” you add. Start with the positives. “But Will, I want you to think carefully about this. If the animatronics are as dangerous as you’re hinting at inside, you could get hurt badly. Worse, even. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ll be fine. You need to have a little more faith in me, Moody.” He tightens his arms around you. “I promise you nothing bad will happen. It’s amazing, really. I think it’s exactly what this restaurant needs to revitalize it.”

“I think the restaurant is fine the way it is,” you mumble.

“You hate this place, remember?” He reminds you gently.

“Not as much anymore. It’s yours. How can I hate something that’s yours?” It’s true, you’ve come to realize. The place you’ve despised for so long isn’t quite as loathsome as it once was. You can look past the unpleasant aspects now. For Will’s sake. Because of him. He is the best part of everything. What should have been a crisis earlier when you’d been so short staffed had actually been kind of great. It had felt like it was just the two of you working together in perfect harmony.

“I can do anything with you by my side, my love.” The last of your misgivings dissipate. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it will be a rousing success. You shouldn’t worry. You’re hardly the expert on the matter. He clearly is. You sigh and relax in his arms. He feels you surrendering. “You know we never did get that break and we’ve certainly earned it…”

“You’re right. But not here, okay?” You nod towards the mascot.

“I assure you he’s a perfect gentleman.”

“You assured me you were too before you copped a feel that day in your office when you made me get changed in front of you.”

“That was rather forward of me, I’ll admit.”

“Forward is putting it mildly,” you mutter wryly.

“Should I be punished for that, do you think? Get on my knees for you? Be your obedient willing slave?”

Instantly turned on. You like it when he takes charge, but you have to admit sometimes it’s nice to exert your natural dominance and let him be submissive to you. “Fuck, Will.” Your eyes flick to the concrete floor. “You are going to feel that. Bruises marking you up for sure.”

“I’m not that vain about my appearance. Consider it part of my contrition. I’ll wear them like a badge of honor. Pick a workbench.”

You’re still not going to fool around in front of the rabbit, you don’t care how Afton feels about it. You walk towards one of the tables at the rear of the room. At least you don’t have those awkward eyes staring you down now. You couldn’t care less about its backside.

A wheeled chair at this desk. You decide to save some time and divest yourself of your panties and pants. The door’s locked. You offer your jacket as a cushion but he declines. He doesn’t want to damage or dirty it.

William kneels before you. A pleasant lurch in your core. You’re slouched in the chair, hips barely on the edge of the seat. Your fingers seed his hair. “My beautiful man.”

“I am yours. Moody, fuck, I want you.” His pupils are blown. Your legs part for him. The owner’s face dives between your legs. Because you’re on a time crunch. Because he just can’t wait any longer to have you in his mouth. Sharp nose digging into your mound, tongue slathering your lips. Oh, he’s starving. Ravenous. Your keep your fingers knotted in his hair, clutching the armrest with the other, your nails digging into vinyl. Laving you clit. Collecting the fluids pooling at your entrance. Swiping back to the top, concentrating on that sensitive, swollen button. Speeding you right along towards orgasm. How long before you’re both missed, needed for something? You hate having to rush. But it’s all you can do for now. You concentrate on the feeling. The relentless suction and sharp flicks of tongue. Both hands in his hair now, your pelvis shoving towards him, dangerously close to the edge of the swivel chair but your lover braces your body, supporting you through your release.

You whimper, panting. Not nearly as loud as you want to be. Still erring on the side of caution. Christ, Afton looks wrecked. His hair is just about as wild as you’ve ever seen it. Eyes midnight dark. Face soaked. “Fuck me.” You want him inside of you. You need it. He doesn’t hesitate. Rises, opens his fly while you move to sit on the desk. Cursing when he first enters you.

“Fuck, Moody. I love that pussy so much. You’ve no idea…”

You’ve got his tie—purple, of course—wound around one hand. Your knees dig into his ribs. That pretty mouth with sharp teeth frantic on yours.

“You said earlier…outside…before the bitch interrupted us…you wish…” you gasp between thrusts.

“I wish it could always just be the two of us. I wish you knew how much you mean to me. I was intoxicated that night, but my mind was clear. You are my love, Moody.” Your head is jerked back so he can see your features. You’d both been a little shy around using certain vocabulary over the last couple of weeks. Ever since that night at your place. Never quite reaching that same level of intensity and passion. You think you’re both still holding back. Still dancing around the obvious. Afraid. Not wanting to harm or get hurt. Maybe you won’t mind the hurt so much.

William’s breath saws roughly by your cheek. He’s got you pulled tightly against him. Driving into you, stretching you, filling the hollow inside of you with his body.

“It’s okay to say it, Will. I feel the same way.” One hand seated on the nape of his neck. You release his tie, rest your hand on his chest. Think you can feel the rapid pulse buried there.

A shuddering breath. His pace increases. “I do, Moody. I…” The words becoming unintelligible, lost in the haze of ultimate pleasure.

***

You know as soon as you see the adolescent that it’s William’s eldest son.

He’s an absolute carbon copy, the spitting image, lacking some of the height, but the features the same. Aquiline nose, high cheekbones, pale skin, untidy thatch of dark truffle hair. Even his mannerisms. The haughty stare. The prideful stretch of broad shoulders. The constant gesticulating, the way he folds his arms across his chest.

You freeze, realizing he’s noticed you staring. “You must be William’s son Michael. Mr. Afton’s,” you correct. If he suspects anything is amiss with the informality he doesn’t let on.

“Yes.” Still a British accent, perhaps a little milder than his father’s.

“Your dad’s out back getting a surprise ready for the party. Evan must be here, right?”

He nods, looking very bored. He’s rapidly losing interest in your attempt at conversation. “And Lizzie.”

“What about…what about Mrs. Afton?” You almost hold your breath waiting for the answer. It was becoming increasingly nerve wracking wondering what your…well you suppose she is a rival of sorts, isn’t she?…looked like. What you had to compete with. Curious about who William had chosen before you. For some reason you can’t shake the image of an older version of the hostess. Fair and elegant and attractive like that. The complete opposite of yourself.

“No, Mum just dropped us off. Later.” He unfolds his arms and wanders towards the arcade. You heave a sigh of relief. No confrontation today, then. Execution stayed a little longer.

You ask a passing waiter what time it is. William’s debut is actually late. Maybe it takes longer than he’d initially realized to don the costume. Maybe he was just being extra careful. Probably wants to make a dramatic entrance, you think. That’s all. He’s fine. Nothing’s wrong.

You see Michael again. This time a little boy in tow. Evan, maybe. He doesn’t share the overwhelming resemblance. Muddy chestnut hair that’s much tidier. Blue eyes that look a little teary. You’ve never been overly fond of kids, but they’re William’s offspring after all, and yeah. You feel at least a little obligated to try to be nice to them. The eldest Afton boy disappears again and you make your way to the youngest who definitely is in full blown tears now. Why weren’t there any adults watching them? Parents. Somebody.

You squat down beside the boy. “Evan?”

He drags a small fist across his damp eyes. His lashes cluster together into points. “Yeah?”

“I’m friends with your father. He’s getting a surprise ready just for you.”

“It’s not my birthday,” the boy says, sniffling.

“No, but he still wanted to make it a special day for you.”

“He’s always at work. He doesn’t care about me.”

“That’s not true, sweetheart. He does care. He just has to work extra hard to support you and your siblings and your mom. I know it must be difficult, but trust me, he’s told me many times he does it for you.”

You realize he’s about to wipe his runny nose and you hastily grab a napkin from the dispenser on a nearby table, handing it to him. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Just a friend.” You look around at the crowded room, trying to find what group the child belongs to. There, at the center table. It must be. The most popular reservation that’s always booked well in advance. You guide him there, tapping the sleeve of one of the adults. An older woman, maybe the grandmother of the birthday boy. You ask her to keep a watch over him, promising Evan you’re going to go help his father get the surprise ready.

You tell yourself to be calm, but the gnawing anxiety has gotten worse by the time you push through the Employees Only doors. Moving a little faster. Running towards Parts and Service. The door is unlocked. You hurry inside.

You don’t have to go very far to find Afton. He’s partially inside the suit, the headpiece still seated on the workbench. His long frame crumpled on the floor. Some red stains in the yellow fur. Ragged breathing. Alive, thank God. But hurt badly.

“Will!” You grab the phone off the table and dial 911. The spiraled cord stretches taut as you sink down beside him, trying to assess the damage. He is as white as a ghost. His hair clings to his face in wet strands. His eyes are closed, teeth clenched.

A barrage of questions on the other end of the line. You realize you have no idea what the actual address of the restaurant is. “The fucking place with the giant bear on the sign, you can’t fucking miss it.” You hear William trying to murmur something. A number. “No, Will, don’t try to talk. They’ll fucking figure it out. Christ, maybe I should just drive you to the hospital myself.” You drag a hand through your hair in frustration and helplessness. How would you move him safely? Would he even fit in a car? “No, I don’t know exactly what the issue is. Label it as an industrial accident. Whatever the fuck gets you here faster. He’s bleeding. He looks like shit. Sweaty. Having a hard time breathing. He’s trapped in an animatronic suit. Yes, like Chuck E. Cheese,” you snap. You don’t feel the least bit bad about being so short with the operator. They’re used to dealing with people a lot less coherent than you currently are, you’re certain. “We’re in the back of the building. You’ll see garage doors, just come straight there.” You don’t dare leave the fallen man’s side to inform anyone else of what’s going on. You can’t picture EMTs and a stretcher trying to thread through the crowd. It would waste too much time.

“Fuck. Okay. They’re on their way. Stay with me, okay?” You’re trying to smooth his hair back into place. You don’t dare move him for fear of doing more damage.

His eyes suddenly open, finding yours. “Guess…a told you so…is in…order.”

“Will. Don’t speak. Don’t you dare waste breath on making a stupid joke right now.” The tears are spilling rapidly down your cheeks, giving Afton’s youngest a run for his money. “I met your boys. Michael looks just like you…”

“Moody…I should have…told you…earlier…what I…wanted to say…”

“No. Don’t do that. You’re not saying goodbye or any of that bullshit. You can tell me later. Fuck, where is that ambulance? God, I don’t even know if I know how to get the garage door open.”

“The switch…is next to it…on the wall.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.” You palm slaps on the button and the door retracts up into the recess in the ceiling with a loud rattling sound. You’re back by his side before it even finishes opening.

“Moody…”

“Shh, Will, please. Now is not the time to be stubborn. Save your strength.”

“I…love…” His eyes roll back.

“Will? No, no, no. Come on, stay with me. You’d better not…I’ll fucking quit, I swear to God. There is no reason to be here without you. There is none…” You bend your face close to his. “I love you, too.”

The wail of a siren disturbs the sudden silence.

[cavinginhisfvce]

'IT'LL ALL WORK OUT'

Disclaimer: I'm honestly not a fan of Susan, but I thought this fic idea was cute!

Paring: Harringrove.

When Neil married Susan, he was against Susan adopting Billy, claiming the boy's real mother couldn't bother to be tasked with raising him, so no one should ever burden themselves with such a thing.

Susan, surprisingly, was firm in wanting to pick up the slack Billy's mother left in her wake, eventually Neil relented, and the adoption process was underway.

It's been four years, and a move to Hawkins, Indiana since Billy legally became Susan's child, something Max was displeased with initially, quickly became a comfort to her when she discovered what Neil did to his son. It had shaken her to her core, and when she relayed the information to her mother, the woman simply pulled her into a hug and murmured, "I know, baby. It'll all work out."

Max didn't know what that meant, or if she should trust her mom. But, she silently nodded, she had no real options here. She had to wait for the future. 

The future as it turns out, was just three months later; Neil had laid into Billy with more fervor than usual, and when Susan made to step in, her husband struck her. 

It hadn't detoured the red-haired woman, she continued her self-appointed task of checking on Billy, who was staring up at her with a look she's never seen on his face, a look no seventeen should ever wear. 

She gave him a small, comforting smile, just as Neil got a fist full of otherwise pristine hair; his freehand raising to strike once more.

The action worked quickly in pulling Billy from his Susan induced trance with a start, his body moving faster than his brain as he lunged at his father, swiftly knocking the man to the ground.

For years, Neil's abuse had only ever been turned towards his son, and in truth he was grateful; because Billy doesn't know what he would do if it was ever Max on the receiving end. She was a child, she was his shitty little sister. Max, who brought him the stupidest (best) hoodies he owns, the fabric softer than any he had previously. Max, who despite hating Billy in the beginning, now comes to his room when she has a nightmare or generally needs comforting from someone other than her mother. She's the only person to hug him since the day his mom took off. 

His sister who despite everything, tries so hard to show Billy someone loves him. She loves him.

Susan had tried to comfort him, but Billy always brushed her off. She never seemed to take it personally for some reason. Maybe because she knew he was afraid of what would happen if Neil even suspected Billy felt safe in their home.

The knowledge that Neil could hurt Susan was always present in Billy's mind, but he often wrote off his concern with a scoff. She knew what she married, she knew what he was like. It was her problem, not his.

However, seeing Neil actually hit Susan had set something off in Billy, because while she may have never defended or stood up for him as she had today; she still made sure he was properly tended to after encounters with his father.

If Neil sent him to bed sans dinner, locking him in his bedroom for however long, she would have Max sneak him a sandwich, Max was always more than happy to take said food. 

The times when Neil kicked Billy out intent on making the boy sleep in his car, Susan always snuck a bag of snacks, blankets, and whatever else, into the bushes by their house for him to grab. Despite always going to Steve's and sleeping in the boy's guestroom on those nights, it still showed she was trying.

If Billy was bed ridden after his father caved his chest in, a few too many times, she would come into his room, soothe his pain with hushed words and gentle touches. Billy was usually too tired and in too much pain to reject her warm hands and kind fingers working through his curls after she'd patched him up.

Seeing Susan cradle her cheek, seeing Max sob at the display, finally gave Billy the nerve to stand up to Neil.

He doesn't really remember much after straddling his father, his fists flying rapidly, their intended destination Neil's face, but he does remember Susan scrambling to call 911. Remembers her soft words of assurance that Neil was down.

He remembers Max's look of relief as their eyes met.

He still feels the phantom hold as Susan tugs him from his place over his dad's limp frame. Can vaguely recall the frightening seconds he thought he killed his father before the man was gasping awake, his eyes widened with fear as they landed on Billy. He was actually afraid of Billy. 

Everything beyond that was a blur, Billy doesn't really know what was said, or done. He just knows Neil was in police custody, something that would've left Billy parentless, if not for Susan having adopted him all those years ago.

Especially since his own mother had taken off when he was barely five, and relinquished her rights as a parent in the same breath she'd divorced his father. 

He always wondered why he wasn't enough. For his mother or Neil.

When Hopper came by to ask if they wanted to press charges, both Billy and Susan agreed easily. It was the most gratifying decision Billy has ever made in regards to his father and the abuse he's endured at his hands for years.

Billy and Steve started officially seeing each other a few weeks after Neil's trial ended. Hopper saw to it that his father was hit with the max sentence for child abuse, and domestic violence. Both Max and Billy would be well into adulthood when Neil gets released, something that made the decision to be with Steve all that sweeter.

He hadn't wanted to come out to Susan, the lingering fear that she would object to her newly seventeen year old son being with a guy was too prevalent. 

Though, technically, he didn't come out to her, she came to him one morning with her hand on her hip and a warm smile on her lips demanding he "bring his 'Pretty Boy' to dinner."

Billy wanted to be upset that she'd found out, but he was far too humiliated that it was his own fault she'd figured it out. Apparently calling Steve 'Pretty Boy' like it was going out of style, was a dead giveaway for the woman.

Much to Billy and Max's (dis)pleasure, Susan and Steve got along easily.

On Billy's eighteenth birthday, Max had barged into his bedroom, shrieking in horror when she was met with an eyeful of her brother and Steve in a slight state of undress, Billy had thrown a pillow in her direction, his voice rough with embarrassment as he shouted, 

"Mom, tell Maxine to fucking knock!" 

Both siblings froze at that, Max had a wide smile on her face, while Billy looked slightly mortified, his words echoing in his ears.

The look morphed into one of pain when Susan slipped into his room, her smile rivaling Max's with how big it was, "That's the first time you've ever called me mom…"

Billy swallowed thickly and nodded his head, though he refused to make eye contact with the woman, even when she was throwing her arms around his bare shoulders in an iron grip hug, "okay, okay, I get it! Can we maybe talk about this shit later, you know, when I'm not trying to get laid on my birthday?" 

Billy wasn't actually going to have sex with Steve with both Max and Susan home, but their presence in the house definitely wasn't going to prevent Steve from watching Billy fall apart beneath him, especially not if the brunet had any say in the matter.

This had Susan reaching out to lightly slap his shoulder, a faux look of exasperation on her features,"maybe next time you or Pretty Boy over there will remember to lock the door, hm?"

With one last smile at Billy, accompanied by a wink, she then ushered Max out the room, Steve almost immediately leaping up to lock the door behind them; his face beet red when their eyes finally met.

"I'm fuckin' moving out." His tone was embarrassed, but there was no heat behind, no real threat to his words. 

He wouldn't leave his sister and his mother for any reason short of them wanting him gone.

[shunin-gumis]

Nagi initial SSR Story

A Taste of Happiness (Part 1)

Please note that this story has some spoilers on Nagi's background (about his luck) that's related to the L4mps main story!

I've used Momiji as MC's name, Chief is their title.

Any notes with a * are at the end of the post.

Location - Flower Laundry

Momiji: It's a good thing we had our meeting near 'Flower Laundry'. This coffee stain should come off easily.

Momiji: I should check on Yachiyo-kun tomorrow, he apologized so many times he almost made a dent in the ground grovelling.

Momiji: Good morning Nagi-ku-

Nagi: Welcome...

Momiji: Huh!?

Momiji: Wha- you're clearly not ok, how did this happen!?

Nagi: I was just working as usual.

Nagi: But earlier, one of the customers I made a flower arrangement for gave me some sweets as thanks, so I was about to take a break, but all of a sudden a hamster was running towards me.... ah, it's not just any hamster, it's probably Machiko, the one that the kindergarten nearby takes care of.

Nagi: Anyways, I tried my best to get out of Machiko's way, but then I noticed the trampoline that Akuta's group had left here...

Nagi: I ended up landing on it and bounced back all the way up through the ceiling for a homerun.

Momiji: I think I got the gist... I'll get you down now!

Nagi: Phew... you saved me, I owe you my life.

Sonia: You also saved our ceiling! Thank you very mush~

Momiji: Don't mention it, I got the coffee stain off cleanly thanks to you.

Nagi: I'm glad if I was able to help you in any way.

Nagi: I'm sorry that I can't keep you company any longer though, Chief.

Nagi: The deliveries and other work I was supposed to get done got delayed, so I should head out soon...

Momiji: If you don't mind, I could help you out? I drove the company van here.

Momiji: I'm all done with my work today, it should be ok as long as I just shoot Kafka a message.

Nagi: Are you sure?

Nagi: Ah, but there's been a warning for a weather bomb since morning. You might get dragged into a lot of trouble because of my unlucky predisposition*

Momiji: Haha, that's not a problem at all! In fact, it'll probably give me a lot of practice for future troubleshooting. Bring it on!

Nagi: ...Thank you. Then, I'll take you up on your kind offer.

Nagi: Can I ask you to help with the deliveries first-

A scary person: Hey you!! Pay back your debt already!!

Nagi: I'm terribly sorry, I'll pay back the interest first, how much is it?

Momiji: Wait! Don't take out your wallet!!

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

Momiji: ...The delivery ended safely. But Nagi-kun's trouble encounter rate really is impressive.

Momiji: First it was the loan shark who came to collect a debt at the wrong place-

Momoji: Everything's loaded. Where do we have to take them?

Nagi: The shopping mall is up first.

Nagi: There's several new stores opening soon, so they requested the deliveries. We can split up the load once we get there.

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

Construction worker: Sorry, there's construction underway here, please take a detour.

Momiji: We literally just passed through here earlier though!?

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

Momiji: Then we'd been forced to take a detour because of sudden construction work, and after that...

Momiji: A random elementary school student challenged us to a race, pizza crusts came flying at us out of nowhere, I barely had time to catch my breath with everything going on.

Momiji: It must be really difficult if he has to go through this every time a weather bomb happens....

Nagi: ..............

Nagi: .....Chief, we should go stock up on flowers next.

Nagi: The weather app shows that the atmospheric pressure has stabilized now, so nothing bad should happen like before, it should be smooth sailing from here. Let's go on my bike.

Nagi: Here's a helmet, wear it tight.

Sonia: Nagi-shan, Chief-shan, pleash be careful.

Sonia: I've packed the usual tools in your bag, pleash take it with you!

Nagi: Thank you, Sonia... We'll be back.

*Nagi has a predisposition that makes him attract misfortune whenever he's feels happy.

Nagi uses the weather app to track sudden changes in atmospheric pressure/weather bombs because that's his way of knowing he's going through a "luck rebound"

Part 2