#he was always going to forge his own path

[fannyyann]

"I actually did three years of school in two, and I'm no brainiac, but that was pretty tough."

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

As far as character progression goes, I'd argue that the most important aspect of the RLJ reveal isn't just Jon learning that he isn't Ned's son. The most important part is him learning that he isn't Ned Stark's bastard son. He's spent all his life chasing after Ned's shadow, trying to prove to himself and to the world that he is worthy of being Ned Stark's son, "let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons not three", “he was not a Stark but he could die like one” and all that. He's internalized the shame of being the one stain on honorable Ned Starks' reputation

“But it’s a lie,” Jon insisted. How could they think his father was a traitor, had they all gone mad? Lord Eddard Stark would never dishonor himself … would he? He fathered a bastard, a small voice whispered inside him. Where was the honor in that? And your mother, what of her? He will not even speak her name.

So it's important for him to finally stop chasing after that elusive shadow. It's important for him to understand that Ned's dishonor was a deliberate choice that he made by himself, and it's thus no fault of his own. Once Jon internalizes that, then he can finally move on and ask himself, who am I? What do I want for myself? What can I be in this world, just as I am? So far, he's been unable to do that successfully because he still has an incomplete (and false) understanding of who he is.

[narelleart]

Oh! I just realized I never posted updates. It looks like the last anyone here heard about my academic pursuits was still mostly about recovering from my traumatic experience with my original PI.

My PI that I am doing the MS with is excellent, a fantastic mentor. I'm really happy to have gotten to work with her. She was exactly who I needed coming out of that bad situation.

If all goes well, I should be defending my MS thesis early this summer. Afterwards I'm scheduled to attend a conference and present on the same project.

I have been accepted to a new PhD program starting Fall 2024, so I'll also be moving again this summer. The PI I will be working with there is great. I think this time I'll have both a good research fit and a good mentorship fit. We already planned my dissertation chpaters out during recruitment (this usually happens over the course of your first year of the program so big deal that we knocked it out before even being officially admitted) and discussed making trips to Southeast Asia to sample fishes!

My MS was a detour into American Poeciliids, but I will be back to catfishes and Southeast Asian freshwater fishes when I start PhD take 2. I'm super excited!!

The part that feels a little odd is that until this semester, I was still officially in the system here as a PhD student so I've been very aware that I was supposed to be a 3rd year PhD at this point. It feels so strange to be going back to 1st year PhD. Other people enter PhDs with a MS, but those are typically MS degrees started with the intent to get an MS. I know the ropes of being a PhD student already but will be masquerading as a fresh new student. Weird.

[vampirepuppygirl]

You know, I grew up catholic and never experienced catholic guilt, and it still kind of confuses me

When I went to mass, the readings and the gospel were always just life lessons or stories to make you think, and what it wanted you to think about was usually humility and piety and loyalty and faith and stuff like that

Faith formation was mostly about learning the history of the church and important stories that you should remember, plus prayer memorization

I don't ever actually remember a time where they were specifically like "you must feel guilty about this" or "everyone by default deserves to go to hell and you must constantly prostrate before god to be deemed worthy"

It was "everyone sins and everyone drifts away from god and that's okay because he will never abandon you"

It was "Jesus died for your sins. To liberate you from them so you're no longer beholden to the old way, so you're no longer beholden to original sin, so you can have a clean slate without ceaseless penance"

The sin forgiveness cycle that Catholics kind of get pulled into was always described to me as a liberating cycle. It gives you the freedom to sin and the freedom to make mistakes as you bumble through the blind chaos of life without worrying about perfection or damnation

Even when I went to confession it wasn't just a blanket "don't do it again" it was "think about why that is a sin and let that experience teach you something."

If I know anything about catholics it's that they love rules and they love the pursuit of knowledge, I once had a very long conversation with a priest about why a certain rule was a rule and why a certain sin was a sin and it was a lot more complicated than just "god said so," even if I can't remember the specifics anymore

I don't know, maybe it was my specific diocese or I've just been around a lot of liberal priests or something, but I even had someone tell me basically word for word "As long as you follow the ten commandments and use the seven virtues as a framework to guide you, you're set. Use confession to scrub away the sins you can't avoid and that's it. Nobody is without sin so just do your best and that's all anyone can ask of you."

Primarily, what growing up catholic taught me was just the importance of love

Love your family, love your neighbor, love a stranger, love the Earth, love nature, and fundamentally love yourself. And forgive yourself. And be patient with yourself. Because I was taught that everyone sins and that's okay.

And that's okay.

I was taught that seeking absolution and forgiveness is meant to steer you in the right direction, yes for the ultimate goal of heaven, which was defined to me as Oneness with God. And hell was defined to me not as a multi-tiered demon filled demiplane of fire and brimstone and ice, but simply the state of separation from god.

But it wasn't just about salvation it was also about making the Earth we live in now a better place and they are rules specifically to facilitate good communication and good relationships with other people and yourself, and obviously God (but whatever.) It was always basically let God absolve you of your guilt but don't force yourself to feel guilty if you make a mistake.

I don't really consider myself catholic anymore, mostly because of other people, catholics and protestants who use their religion as a tool to spread hateful rhetoric and become their own personal left hand of God, instead of using their religion to spread love and patience and understanding and forgiveness and tolerance and all of the things that they actually fucking preach. Why y'all throwing stones huh? Y'all ain't without sin. Literally nobody is. That's the point.

But I like what I was taught. I use what I was taught a lot. Technically even if I don't consider myself catholic I still am. I have been confirmed, I could waltz right into a catholic church confess my sins and my doubts and have a long conversation with a priest and boom blank slate once more. There would be penance hoops I would have to jump through but that's literally what happens with every confession, so still

But that's always what confused me about Catholic guilt like

What were you taught?

[cockaiine]

‘ Earned it ’ ft. r.sukuna

haunted by jujutsu sorcerers, you come to Sukuna for help. after begging to work under him, he agrees. what could the King of Curses possibly have in store for you..?

ɞ⁺ contains: heian era!sukuna x curse user! fem!reader, afab!reader, four arms sukuna, degradation, praise, cussing, riding, choking, hair pulling, mean sukuna, mentions of killing, mentions of blood, making out, unprotected sex, creampie, suggestion of overstim

ɞ⁺ w.c: 3.6k

ɞ⁺ note: thank you to my favorite @sttoru for beta reading! this took forever. hope you enjoy!

“Couldn’t you just kill her?”

What?

Standing before you is a man that embodies terror—a tremendous body and another pair of arms to make him even more distinct. The name Ryomen Sukuna is a chilling one, so many stories embellished around it. Hearts tremble with fear of each fable. You have heard of all his atrocities, cruelties sorcerers were subject to. But, as you stand in his presence, you begin to realize that these tales barely scratch the surface of his menace.

Adults employed his name to compel sleep, a whispered threat to coax children into slumber. You were no exception, truly. But you were always fierce, a soul unafraid. 

Right. That’s what got you into the mess you’re in right now.

“I’m sorry, my lord. But if that’s your wish, then I shall go ahead and-”

“No-! Wait… please,” you surprise even yourself, words spill forth at their own accord. Your throat grows dry at the way both of them turn to look at you. struggling to maintain composure, you implore, “Please, just one chance. I promise I can make myself useful. I’d do anything. Anything.”

An amused chuckle thunders in Sukuna’s chest. It’s a cruel sound, imposing fear upon your senses. “And.. what exactly makes you think a meek sorcerer like you could be of any use to me?”

He’s almost offended by the notion. Sukuna is in need of no one. Especially not you; a sorcerer that came begging for his help. How ridiculous.

“I-I’m a first grade!” you exclaim, “I can do so many things, I-”

“Shut it.” The nearly-amused expression has been dropped, a somber tone to replace that. Your eyes widen immediately, a telltale sign of the terror you feel. “You are a weak sorcerer. You are nothing. Do you have any argument to make?”

“No, my lord,” your eyes meet the floor in a hard glare, cursing your misfortune. 

You came to Uraume with hope, recalling a past acquaintance. You had not anticipated the drastic change in her. Standing against jujutsu sorcerers was no wise choice. You found yourself haunted down with no other choice.

Perhaps finding a protector would help—someone whom all sorcerers fear, compelled by their dread to leave you unharmed. None other than the King of Curses himself. If you devoted yourself to his service, showing unmatched loyalty, maybe then he’d protect you.

If only life is so forgiving.

You believed Uraume could help. You convinced yourself that alignment with Sukuna's subordinate could forge a safer path for protection. For safety. Yet, the last outcome you could have predicted was a suggestion for your execution.

“Good,” is his sole utterance. Uraume stands a few feet away, silent unless addressed. 

Even with your eyes cast down, you can feel Sukuna’s eyes surveying you, the weight of four eyes is not an easy one. His gaze is empty, one of menace. You do not appear weak, though relative to him you certainly are. However, he trusts Uraume's judgment, convinced there must be a valid reason for your presence.

“I’ll…  think about it,” You hear. Your head lifts abruptly, disbelief mingling with hope at the prospect of succor etched on your face. A sigh escapes you, looking at his hard features. Despite your awareness that Sukuna's motives lack benevolence or goodwill, you grasp at any opportunity presented.

“Thank you,” your knees buckle beneath you. Tears of relief flood your eyes as you continue. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You can flee now,” he replies curtly. You weren’t expecting much more anyway. “Uraume, lead her out.”

The curse user complies, leading you from the chambers of the King of Curses. Reaching the exit, you extend a hand toward Uraume before she returns inside.

“Th-thank you…” You muster.

“I’m not the one you’re to thank,” Her gaze is hard as ice,  empty as one’s could be. You were hoping for some warmth, a semblance of assurance in a world so cruel. But who were you kidding; you held no significance to Uraume, who had long forsaken her humanity to serve solely the King of Curses. “Lord Sukuna has the highest authority over your life right now. Don’t screw your chances.”

The door slams in your visage before you can reply. You swallow. Uncertainty begins to bubble into you. What if he changes his mind? What if this was some kind of ruse? 

But it wasn’t, and not too long later you find yourself in Sukuna’s chambers. You hear he’s beaten yet another jujutsu sorcerer, this one remarkable. It’s a surprise to no one. You hope you’re not next.

You’re even given a room to yourself, one you barely leave unless for food. The concept of running into Sukuna terrifies you. 

A loud knock comes from the sliding door, making you flinch. You hasten to it, crouching before the wooden barrier. Your palms lay flat against the surface as you slide it open with ease. Uraume towers above you, her gaze fixed.

“Lord Sukuna requires your immediate attendance,” she tells you.

“I-I’ll be right there,” your breath falters, looking up at the white-haired woman. Uraume stands still. You realize she’s only waiting for you to gather yourself and accompany her. 

You’re quick to oblige, standing up and trying your best to dispel the embarrassing fear displayed over your features. With swift movement, you grab your kosode’s belt and wrap it tightly around your middle. You stand before Uraume, who looks you up and down before simply turning around and walking, expecting you to keep up. 

Anxiety plagues you, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what reason Sukuna would summon you. You’re so preoccupied that you don’t realize Uraume's route isn’t the same one you took to his chamber last time.

Sooner than you anticipate, Uraume takes an abrupt halt by a door. You nearly collide face-first with the finely painted wood. Recoiling, your eyes study the door. Patterns adorn the wood, carved carefully by the hands of a professional. 

The detail on the door captivates you, it makes you wonder if Sukuna has truly observed it even once in his life. Your appreciation of it is short-lived, as Uraume calls you and pulls you out of thought.

“Pay attention or face expulsion,” she hisses before knocking at the door.

A grunted “You may enter,” resonates from inside. The curse user beside you immediately falls to her knees, and you follow path. Her hands lift to the door, which weighs more than yours, and she opens it with a fluid gesture.

“She has arrived, my lord.”

“Very well,” Sukuna utters. Emboldened, you look up, and the sight you’re met with makes your face heat up. There he sits, expression unyielding and gaze inscrutable, his torso is bare—save for the black marks that adorn his chiseled body. On any other day, you would have stopped to admire the sight, but today your eyes go back to staring at your bent knees. “Come in.”

Uraume knows she’s not the one intended, while you know that you are. With great force, you’re capable of pushing yourself up and walking toward the man sitting on the floor.

The door shuts as soon as you step foot into the room, making you flinch. “W-How can I help you, my Lord?”

Quietly, Sukuna hums in thought. His scrutiny of you, trailing to your feet and then meeting your eyes once more, kindles a patent tension within. There’s a sick, twisted desire within you—a desire for the man who would kill you without second thought.

“You said you can do many things, have you not?” He raises a single eyebrow. 

“Indeed, my lord,” You muster. The chamber you stand in is spacious, slowly realizing that you are within his personal quarters—a place few may enter, as you understand it.

“Let’s test that out, shall we?” he says with a sinister smirk. “Do you know how to relieve muscle tension?”

“Certainly, my lord. Do you need any assistance with that?” You speak a little more than necessary. But he doesn’t mind too much. Your vocal cords make a soothing voice anyway. 

“I’d like to see what you're capable of,” he states, malice evident in his tone, prompting you to brace for the potential consequences.

He gestures for you to approach the curtained futon, elevated on what appears to be several stacks of wood. It feels peculiar to see him prone on his stomach, but it affords you an unmatched view of his well-defined back—truly a sight to see.

Whether he trusts you or deems you harmless remains uncertain. Common sense suggests the latter, though you prefer to believe the former to spare yourself from embarrassment.

A small bottle sits beside his bed, a bottle of fine oil. With refined movement, you pick it up, spilling a fair amount on your hand before spreading it gently over his back.

You work silently, kneading hardened flesh. His unique anatomy intrigues you, especially navigating around two sets of arms. Your fingers continue to glide between the muscles, working your way into easing any knots.

Once your fingers reach his neck, a low grunt leaves his lips. You’re surprised… But even more so, the feeling lingering deep within you is becoming harder and harder to ignore. Your thighs squeeze against each other in hopes of relieving some of the heat that’s itching at your core. 

With every stroke of your skilled fingertips, the tension threaded in his muscles ease, all the while the tension between the two of you grows unbearably palpable. 

After a few moments, you grow hot. you pause and slightly loosen the belt of your kosode to cool down. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Sukuna, who peeks upwards subtly. He has no shame, raising his head further and looking you up and down. The loosened kosode exposes cleavage, and Sukunua overtly stares.

He pushes himself up, sitting on the bed. Shadows of his frame dance against the curtains surrounding his bed, the room dimly lit by candles. Posture straight, an expression of attendance on your face, you keep your eyes on him and await what he has to say. 

You’re dangerous, Sukuna realizes. You’re not going to make this easy on him. His self-restraint is wearing thin.

“Sit,” He beckons you with a large hand. Albeit hesitant, you oblige and sit on the lifted futon in an awkward position.

There is no denying the way his gaze makes you feel. There’s a sense of vulnerability, and a sense of excitement. You choose to remain silent, waiting patiently for his next move. 

Slowly, he leans his head in your way. Your eyes immediately flit away, heat rising into your face.

“Heh,” He smirks widely, leaning away. “You’re quite amusing, you know that?”

You grow embarrassed, displeased by the way he’s talking. You’re about to comment but ultimately choose to stop yourself from saying something that could get you in trouble.

Sukuna leans forward again, this time a little further from you. The hand he places on the bed for balance dips the fabric down. “Look at me when I address you, human.”

It’s humiliating how he talks to you. For some inexplicable reason, it arouses you all the same. You’re quick to oblige. Sukuna can feel his cock harden in his pants at the way you bat your lashes his way. He knew there was something so enticing about you the moment he saw you walking behind Uraume, even more now under the dim lights and in the revealing silk. He wants a piece of you.

Cancel that. He wants all of you.

“You have a pleasing appearance,” He tells you, eyes instinctively falling to your lips. “A fine figure too. Why don’t you put that to good use, hm?”

“What would you suggest, my lord?” You rouse. “I’m at your service.”

Sukunas face draws closer to yours once more. A single hand rises to your face, cradling your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “Interesting… You’re not dumb, are you?”

There’s a clear implication behind his words; take the hint, or don’t. You take a leap of faith, diminishing the space between your faces and pressing your lips firmly against his.

The hand that once held your face now rests on your neck, holding you in place. His tongue swipes against your lower lip, prompting you to give him entrance. He keeps his eyes open, watching over you with amusement you fail to see as your eyes are shut close.

Your mouth is warm and inviting, compelling him to savor every bit of the fiber inside. But he’s interrupted by you pulling away for air.

“Fucking brat,” he curses, pulling you back in before you can gasp another much-needed breath. His palm falls from your neck and skims the skin of your shoulder. In contrast to his typical demeanor, Sukuna’s movement is agonizingly slow as he pushes the cloth off your skin. Little by little, until your torso is exposed to the biting chill of the air, shivers cascade along your spine, eliciting goosebumps across your flesh.

Adrenaline rushes through your veins. Your heart throbs as your hands find his neck, the other on his shoulder. Closer. Your tongues dance, and the taste of you is addicting. Closer. His hands run over your bare skin, feeling up your curves. Closer. Nothing seems to be close enough. You need to be one with him.

Once content, Sukuna pulls away. The smirk on his face is enough reminder you’ve got nothing on him. “You’re weak.”

“‘M not,” you retort stubbornly, struggling to regain your breath. “You caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, right,” Sukuna’s hands fall to your hips. You would have never foreseen a scenario where you contest his words. Not without your head cut off before you completely utter your words. But this brazen attitude of yours is exciting to Sukuna, who can feel the pre staining his pants, cock now painfully hard. Just from kissing.

He maneuvers you with ease, leaning comfortably against the wall before placing you over his middle. You gasp once moved, eyes wide in surprise. You give no signs of struggle, though, so Sukuna continues.

Starting with the loosened belt, then the silk kosode. You’re bare under, left exposed to four eyes’ devouring gaze.

“Heh,” is what he says, feeling your wetness against his abdomen. “Is the wanted criminal so needy already? How sweet.” 

“I’m quite sure you share the desire, my lord,” you whisper, drawing a chuckle from him. You bend forward until your face hovers tantalizingly close to his ear.“Do you not want a taste of me, my lord? I can show you what no woman has ever done.”

While the title ‘my lord’ has come from many to him, it rolls off your tongue differently. You’re so confident in your skills, and he has a feeling you’re not lying.

“I very much doubt that,” he lies, causing you to pucker your lower lip in disdain. You’re set on proving him wrong, prepared to showcase the extent of your capabilities.

Lifting your weight from his form, you turn around and give him your back. He stares down at you, an amorous grin adorning his face. Delicately, you trace your fingers over the prominent bulge in his pants. There is no mistaking the grunt that escapes him at the contact. The bulge largens. The tension grows. You swallow quietly.

“May I?” You whisper, barely audible.

“By all means,” he responds, his smirk persisting despite the furrow in his brow. Tender fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pale trousers, gradually coaxing them downward.  

The sight makes you stop in your tracks; his cock springs to life, a lengthy shaft you’re not so sure you can take. The thought of going back on your words fleets momentarily across your mind, but you refrain. There’s svelteness to the way your fingers graze this tip, tinted with an angry pink. You spread the warm pre-cum over it for lubrication, softly pumping your hands over his shaft.

Surprise intensifies in you when it grows larger, making your insides churn. Your fingers continue their work, eliciting louder sounds from him.

You’re fascinated by it, a beautiful length framed by trimmed pubes. It starts with a color marginally darker than his skin, gradually merging into the angry pink hue that tints his tip. You can’t not stare.

You turn back around, looking at the man sitting before you. The King of Curses with all his mind with a troubled expression, his resolve long worn off.

“You’re taking too long,” He threatens. “Get on it already, woman.”

No less is expected from the King of Curses; he’s straightforward as one could be. A yelp escapes your lips when his hands land a firm grip on your hips, forcefully lifting you up.

You’re placed on his length without any warning, causing a loud cry to break out of you. Tears gather in your eyes at the sudden stretch. You feel him, all of him; thick and long and painful and good.

Drawing a sharp breath, you attempt to adjust to the stretch.

“Can’t take it?” His smirk taunts you. “Pathetic.” 

“I-I can,” you steady yourself with two palms against the curves of his abs. “Let me get- ah–!”

Your moan synchronizes with the groan he emits, his hands maintaining a firm grasp on your ass cheeks as he lifts you upwards for friction before abruptly slamming you back down. The way your gummy walls wrap tight around him nearly makes him dizzy. Sukuna is almost sure this pussy was made for him and only him.

“Fuck–” he grunts, head thrown back as you move steadily. His hand grabs your waist for guidance as you huff and puff, trying not to be too loud but it’s so hard when he hits all the right places. Your heart thrums in your chest, body shaking at the euphoria that’s clouding your senses.

There’s rhythm to the sounds of breathing, creating a symphony of pleasure as you roll your hips, pace fastening every second. Sukuna’s hand is light against your hip, a thumb extending to rub your clit in a gentle manner, drawing circles over the soft bud.

“Oh– M’lord– I’m..” words bleed into moans you can no longer contain. Every thrust hits deeper, and every movement makes you squeeze tighter around his cock. Your eyes roll back, and Sukuna swears he could get off to your expression alone. 

When a cold grip meets the writ of one of his lower arms, Sukuna’s eyes flee your face in curiosity. His hand is heavier than you expect. You softly raise his palm, desperately leaving it at your neck.

He chuckles. He loves the desperation in your eyes, the way your hips thrust sloppily, the way you claw at his chest for a symbol of control as you try your best to stay true to your words. Warm digits wrap around your neck and squeeze it lightly. 

“C’mere,” he breathes, pulling you by your neck. Your lips clash into his with a gasp. God, you’re intoxicating him. Teeth tug at your bottom lip despite your mouth being agape. The moan that escapes you is happily drank down by him.

Humidity clouds the place, shiny sweat dripping down your neck. You’re in too much ecstasy to think anyway.

Sukuna sucks at your bottom lip, his hand moving from your neck to cradle the back of your head then tug at your hair.

You’re magic, the sight of you inebriating him utterly. You’re a trigger, back arched towards him in desperation. All to feel more. How greedy. You’re deadly, bouncing on him like that’s what you were made for, resolve renewing to keep up for as long as you could.

“Fuck- attagirl,” his eyes shut, dopamine rises, and all he can do is feel. “Good- shit– yeah, yeah–”

“‘M close-” your moan is pitched, walls tightening around him. “Ah– I’m– ‘m so close-”

Your entire body shakes, legs trembling and nearly giving out. A harsh slap lands across the skin on your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh before landing another slap against it. You can still feel the heat of his palm even as he moves it to hold your face harshly. “Don’t be fucking weak. H-shit–”

It turns you on, he realizes. To be treated like a ragdoll and pushed around. 

“Like that huh?” another spank. “Like being hit? Tch, wh-what a fucking brat”

“Yes–!” You gasp, movement accelerating over him, drawing half of him out just to enroll him in your warmth again. He can sense your orgasm approaching, walls dangerously tight around him. His tip hits your good spot, and you go at it and at it again, moaning loudly as your nails bruise his chest.

A string of curses escapes his lips, neck stretched as your head inches closer, pressing a kiss to the skin. He groans louder, moving you faster on his dick as your pace wasn’t enough.

“Hah– I– I’m gonna– Sukuna-sama I—”

Your mouth falls open, and breath fast. You see stars, cumming all over him. The fiber of your insides pulses around him, surrounding his cock with your essence. 

Nails dig into your flesh, and Sukuna’s body tenses. A desperate whine escapes you when you feel the white ropes spilling inside you. Your movement persists, set on milking every last drop he has to offer.

His chest rises and falls, a palm coming to cover his face while another pair sits on your hips. You attempt to move, trying to pull yourself off his cock. But his hands pull you back down with potent. You’ve grown sensitive, so his action draws a loud whine from you.

“Where to?” He sneers at you. “You’re not done yet, are you? ‘This all you can do?”

It’s an obvious challenge. Despite the fatigue you’re starting to feel, you’re not one to back down from challenges. Least of all ones pronounced by him.

[thebirdsareafterme]

The man who grew up surrounded by motorsports, the son of a legendary driver, who chose to forge his own path in a different category altogether instead of following his father’s footsteps and living under his shadow.

The man who made his F1 debut next to Max Verstappen and scored points at his very first race.

The man who carries on the legacy of Maria de Villota, an iconic female driver and his mentor that taught him single-seater racing, by wearing her star at the back of every helmet.

The man who broke Red Bull’s streak not once but twice during their most dominant era, through the power of sheer willpower and tactical brilliance. Once, in the streets of Singapore, with a strategy that no one else could have pulled off. “It’s on purpose,” he said, as he utilized the bond between him and his ex-teammate to hold off two much faster Mercedes. The second time in Australia, only two weeks after an invasive surgery and barely able to walk onto the podium.

The man who took engineering classes on his own time in order to understand the car better and provide better feedback to his engineers.

The man who uses a colour-coded system to communicate rain levels to his race engineer, memorized with every millimeter of rain correlating to a specific shade.

The man who has brought every team he has ever been at to a higher position in the Constructor’s Championship, and whose teammates speak fondly of every time.

The man who, despite always being considered Ferrari’s “second choice”, is a gracious teammate and speaks respectfully about the man who is set to take his place. “That's why, when I reflected on it, it didn’t hurt me that much. Because in the end it’s not any other driver replacing you, but the best driver in history. And in the end, if one has to replace me, let it be [Lewis],” he says to the media after losing his seat at his dream team.

The man who chose Williams, because he saw their potential for growth and their vision for the future, and chose them over teams who only wanted a temporary solution.

The man who was once described as “more modest and lightly brushed by melancholy”.

The man who is energetic, fun-loving and goofy with his friends inside and out of the paddock.

The man who is strategic in every action, determined to a fault and a natural born competitor.

Happy 30th birthday, Carlos Sainz Jr. We go where you go, now and forever.

[navybrat817]

Love Isn't Enough

Pairing: Dark!Jax Teller x Female Reader

Summary: You love Jax, but not enough to stay.

Word Count: Almost 1.5k

Warnings: Angst, implied dubcon/noncon, attempted breakup, bittersweet ending, Jax Teller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Beach Fun Nonsense! Hope you lovelies enjoy. @writercole requested Jax Teller and a visit Under the Boardwalk (dark) with prompt #38 in bold. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You zipped up your bag after you put the last of your clothes inside. You expected a weight in your chest as you looked around the bedroom, but you weren’t upset at all. The place looked lived in, but it wasn’t a home. Charming was no longer your home. You could practically see the smirk on Jax’s face as he said “I told you so” since he suggested for you to leave and settle down somewhere else a long time ago. You didn’t listen then, but you were taking his advice now.

It was time to move on.

“I’m all about that fairy tale, baby.”

While you felt nothing when you packed your bag, your heart ached with each step you took. Jax Teller loved you and you didn’t want to leave him behind, especially when you still loved him, too. Just because the love was there didn’t mean you had support or respect. Not the way the club did. They would have a part of Jax that you would never quite reach and they couldn’t expect you to just fall in line or keep your mouth shut when your man did something dangerous or worse.

“You wanna be an old lady? Act like it. Do what you're told!”

There was something wet on your cheeks when you went to grab your keys. You sniffled as you wiped them with the back of your hand. When did you start crying? How many tears had you shed over the man who promised not to break your heart? It was tiring putting yourself back together and no amount of amazing sex or empty words could fully seal the cracks.

If your relationship taught you anything it was that love wasn’t always enough.

You didn’t regret it though. Life was too short for regrets. You got to experience love and many couldn’t say the same. You weren’t sure if you’d ever meet someone who sparked as much passion within you as Jax had, but you hoped he could defeat his demons without you tethered to him. Both of you could forge your paths and maybe they’d one day merge again.

“I love you, baby.”

“I’m sorry, Jax,” you whispered into the darkness of the living room.

“What are you sorry for?”

The keys fell from your hand as you spun toward the couch, your heart close to beating free from your chest. The flame from Jax’s lighter illuminated his face from where he sat and for a moment he looked like a demon, tortured and beautiful. He flipped on the lamp beside him and took a long drag from his cigarette, his stormy eyes drifting to the suitcase before they went back to you. His normally slicked back hair appeared disheveled as he blew out of a puff of smoke, like he couldn’t stop running his fingers through it.

He still took your breath away whenever you laid your eyes on him.

As much as you wanted to go to him and pull on those strands as you rode him, you wouldn’t. Sex wasn’t going to steer you from your decision. Besides, he used it as a weapon and you didn’t have the strength to clean up your wounds when you walked away.

“I didn’t hear you come home,” you answered.

He tilted his head and took another drag. “You’re sorry that you didn’t hear me come home?”

You swallowed as his gaze went back to your bag. “No, I’m sorry because I’m heading out,” you said, your stomach sinking as the words hung in the air.

Jax continued to smoke and you didn’t dare move as he took his time, the familiar scent of the smoke doing nothing to ease your nerves. You almost wished he yelled or destroyed something instead of stewing in silence. It put you on edge.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He finally asked, his voice so quiet you almost missed the question.

“I don’t know yet,” you said, tears springing to your eyes as he put the cigarette in the ashtray and got to his feet. “I just can't stay here.”

“So, you’re not just heading out. You’re going away. You’re leaving me,” he stated, clenching his fists as you moved back. He didn’t sound surprised. Just hurt and angry. Hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do.

“You told me to leave a long time ago. I should’ve left then, but I loved you and I thought that was enough for us,” you explained, a tear sliding down your cheek. You couldn’t back down though. “I still love you and I probably always will, but you’re married to the club. That’s your true love and I’m tired of fighting a losing battle.”

The stricken look he gave you almost made you apologize, but it was too late to turn back. “I’m the President and the club is family, but they aren’t you.”

“Jax-”

“Come here. Now,” he ordered, but there was a familiar gentleness in his gaze that he only showed with those he cared for. It was almost enough to make you cave. “Just sit and talk to me. We can figure this out.”

You slowly shook your head. “There isn't anything to figure out.”

“So, that’s it then? You're leaving?” He asked, raking a hand through his hair. “How many times do I have to prove to you that I love you? But no, it’s never good enough for you, is it? Love isn’t enough?” He scoffed when you shook your head again. “That’s bullshit. I need you and you need me, so don’t just-”

“That’s just it, Jax! I don’t need you!” You snapped. Both of your eyes went wide and you weren’t sure which one of you was more stunned by the statement. “When I did need you, you weren’t there. The club always has and always will come first. My eyes are finally open to that.”

“Baby…” he breathed out, his shoulders falling when you held up a hand.

“I love you. I do,” you promised. God, you loved him so much it fucking hurt. The pain had to end at some point. “But I don’t need you or this life. Not anymore. I’m done.”

You needed to say the words, so why did they feel hollow?

Jax snapped himself out of whatever shock he was in before he stomped toward you. With a gasp, you backed yourself against the wall. He never raised a hand toward you, but you had seen that fire in his eyes before. Anyone in his path ended up destroyed by that fury. Would he leave you on the ground in a pile of ash?

“You aren’t leaving me. We aren’t done,” He grabbed your chin, his grip tender when he could’ve crushed you. He pointed toward the bedroom, but kept his eyes on you so you knew how serious he was. “So unpack that bag and get it in our fucking bed.”

You searched his gaze, trying to find a trace of the man you loved instead of the stranger in front of you. “You can’t make me stay.”

He crushed his lips against yours, drawing a whimper from you. This wasn’t the kind of passion he typically showed you. This was a form of control. Like the club, he wanted you to bend to his will. Make you submit. Could you do that?

Was it safer or cowardly to give in?

It didn’t hurt so much when you opened your mouth to him and let him take over. The dull ache between your thighs would fade quicker than the cut to your heart. A betrayal of a moan escaped as his tongue dueled with yours. It didn’t take him long at all to win that battle. Jax would always win.

Was it worth fighting even if you lost? Yes. At least that way you could say even if you didn't win that you tried.

You couldn’t take a breath even when his mouth left yours. His lips left a blazing trail toward your ear, but it left you cold instead of warm. “Yes, I fucking can,” he snarled, your legs shaking as he pulled you away from the wall. “Tell me the club means more to me when I’m inside you. See if you can leave me when I’m fucking you into our mattress and showing you how much I love you.”

“Jax, please,” you begged, trying to pull free from his hold as he dragged you to the bedroom. He wouldn’t force you to sleep with him, would he?

“Beg all you want, baby. I won’t stop ‘til you know your place is here with me.”

Was this why Jax told you to leave a long time ago? To save you from the man he had become? It didn’t matter. It was too late to escape.

And maybe, in his own twisted way, he’d prove that love would be enough this time around.

I hope I did this justice! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

I was reflecting on Violet's talk about Colin's sensitive nature and made me think that truly he's a bit of a loner in their home, isn't him? It's like he is the one that needs to keep on trying and when he does something for himself, he's questioned, belittled or ignored. When Colin was thinking that he should marry and forge his own way, to be taken serious, he told Violet exactly that, Anthony shut him down by simply saying he should have taken him to brothels... and there you go, folks, where Colin's example of how a single man should behave comes from. He thought courting a girl everyone wanted was him being taken serious but the brother he admires, told him that, and made he believe that's what a man of their position should behave at his age. So Maybe if he does, if he acts like them, he's going to find his own path & find his own happiness, he thinks. When Colin travels, he keeps writing home, wanting to communicate with his family and loved to hear back from them, and also because he really loves to write - and is good at it -, but they rarely if ever ( some) do. And that's why he was always happy that Pen did, as he was mostly ignored and even mocked for that, they were being quite dismissive of him. We know how he also doesn't truly feel like he belongs and that's one of the reasons he went away, run away. Sure, he loves to travel but we know it's also to free himself of the whole 'Colin Bridgerton' he thinks he should be. When Colin tries to make something, do business of his own, but is something out of his depth as he was never prepared for it - Anthony was the heir to the title and older, likely was taught by his father some things already and maybe Colin and Benedict would too but had no time and Anthony never guided him that way, it seems - he was screamed at and, once again, thought he had truly no purpose. Losing his father way younger than Anthony was a huge trauma too. As much as Violet is a good mother, in that context, losing his father put him without a fundamental support and counsel a young men would need at that time, specially on his late teens and young men years. Still, he's very sweet, a soft guy who worries about his family, just look at every situation that he truly is there wanting to support, a romantic and quite naive in the matters of emotions. A kind guy who always wants to make others happy and defend people when he thinks they are being taken advantage of, were wronged or need his help just to feel happy. And yet the only person that actually has always ever done that for him, in every aspects - attention, protection, love, interest and engaging on his life -, is Pen, his kindred spirit.

[leftoverpages]

Split Away

Pairing ✦ Qimir x Jedi!reader

Tags ✦ angst, reader uses she/her but no physical description, romantic subtext

Notes: Written while listening to Haunted by Taylor Swift

Wordcount ✦ 854

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

In the silent, forgotten halls of an ancient temple on the outskirts of the galaxy, Qimir stood amidst crumbling stone and the lingering whispers of forgotten lore. His journey had taken him far from the bustling centers of power, where he had immersed himself in the teachings of darkness and dominance. Yet, amidst the echoes of his training, there remained a haunting memory — the Jedi who had once crossed his path like a shimmering mirage.

Y/N, a Jedi Knight dedicated to the ideals of peace and justice, had encountered Qimir during a rare moment of truce amidst the galaxy's relentless conflicts. Her presence, a beacon of unwavering light, had sparked a tumultuous conflict within him. He had been drawn to her compassion, her steadfast belief in a goodness he believed himself unworthy of.

Tonight, as he knelt in contemplation before a pool of shimmering reflection crystals, he sensed her approach — a ripple in the Force that stirred the stagnant air of the ancient temple. She entered the chamber cautiously, her blue lightsaber casting a serene glow against the weathered stone walls.

"Qimir," her voice was soft yet firm, cutting through the silence. "I've been searching for you."

He turned to face her, his expression guarded yet betraying a flicker of turmoil. "And now that you've found me?" His tone was tinged with bitterness, a stark contrast to the curiosity that had once drawn him to her.

"I thought I had you figured out," she confessed quietly, her eyes searching his for a glimpse of hope she had believed in. "But something's changed. Something's made your eyes go cold."

Qimir's jaw clenched, the weight of his choices heavy upon his shoulders. "The darkness has always been a part of me," he admitted, his voice a mixture of defiance and resignation. "I cannot deny who I am."

She took a tentative step forward, her gaze a mixture of sorrow and determination. "You have a choice, Qimir," she urged gently, her words carrying a plea that echoed in the chamber's stillness. "You don't have to surrender to this path."

His resolve hardened, a mask of indifference settling over his features. "The dark side offers power beyond your comprehension," he countered, his voice a whisper that cut through the tension between them. "You Jedi are too blinded by your ideals to see the truth."

In that moment, Qimir made his choice — to embrace the darkness that had beckoned him since childhood, to forsake the fragile connection he had forged with this Jedi. He turned away, a testament to his newfound allegiance.

The reader's gaze faltered, betrayal etched across her features as she realized the depth of Qimir's descent into darkness. "I trusted you," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of shattered faith.

Qimir met her gaze with steely resolve, the echoes of their shared history drowned out by the thunderous beat of his own heart. "You thought you had me figured out," he echoed, his voice tinged with bitter irony. "But some paths lead only to darkness."

In the abandoned temple, where secrets whispered and alliances shattered like glass, he embraced his destiny as a Sith, leaving behind the echoes of a Jedi whose light had once illuminated the path he had forsaken.

As the darkness closed around them, the reader retreated with a heavy heart, leaving behind the shattered remnants of trust and hope. Qimir watched her departure with conflicted emotions, knowing that he had chosen a path that would forever divide them. Yet, in the depths of his soul, a seed of doubt lingered — a whisper of regret for the bond he had forsaken in pursuit of power.

Days turned into weeks, and the echoes of their encounter haunted Qimir's dreams. The allure of the dark side promised strength and mastery, yet the memory of the her unwavering gaze lingered like a ghost in the shadows of his consciousness. He immersed himself deeper into the teachings, honing his skills with ruthless determination, yet finding no solace in the victories that came at the cost of his soul.

Meanwhile, across the galaxy, Y/N grappled with the aftermath of Qimir's betrayal. Her faith in the Jedi Order remained unshaken, yet the sting of betrayal cut deep. She delved into her missions with renewed purpose, her resolve tempered by the lessons learned from their momentary but memorable encounters. The path of light remained her guiding star amidst the darkness that threatened to consume the galaxy.

In the quiet moments between battles, she reflected on him — torn between two worlds, the whisper of potential lost to the allure of power. She harbored no hatred for him, only a profound sadness for the choices that had driven them apart. As she meditated beneath the canopy of stars, she sent a silent prayer to the Force, hoping that one day, Qimir would find redemption and reclaim the light that had once burned within him.

And amidst the vast expanse of the galaxy, where destinies intertwined and conflicts raged, the echoes of their encounter continued to resonate, a testament to the enduring power of choices made and paths diverged.

[gffa]

"You hold it against Damian, who sat across from me, helpless, as it happened. You hold it against Richard, who was not himself to help you fight Bane. You hold it against Selina for make you feel it was not safe to come home for a moment longer." This conversation still hits like a truck, because this is Bruce's vision of Alfred when he's been drugged and trying to get his act together, this is Bruce acknowledging the things he's buried in his heart and hasn't let go of yet and it strikes me so hard that these are the people who were most involved in the story around Alfred's death--and then Dick, too. Who wasn't involved at all. Yet is still brought up as one of the jagged pieces of glass still lodged in Bruce's heart. It's so striking that Alfred-as-Bruce's-mouthpiece says that he holds it against Dick for not being there, because isn't that exactly the issue? That Bruce holds onto Dick as the one he always, always counts on for support. That, even when Dick is an amnesiac who doesn't remember anything of his life, some part of Bruce is still relying on him to be there. He's not involved in this at all, but Bruce still makes him part of this, in a way that doesn't apply to Jason or Tim or Cass or Babs or Cass or Duke. That it doesn't matter where Dick is or where he goes or how little he's involved, when it comes to these deeply personal things, like the death of one of his family, Bruce cannot let him go. Dick is the one who knows him the deepest, who Bruce relies on to be a constant rock in the raging torrents of their life, who Bruce needs in a way that I think only Alfred ever really matched. So much of that was from those early years, when it was just Bruce, Dick, and Alfred, they forged each other, they laid each others' foundations in this life. Yeah, Bruce was doing this for awhile before Dick came along, but it wasn't until that hurricane child barged into his life that Bruce really became who he is now, that he found any kind of balance in this life at all. And Bruce has never let go of that, he struggles to accept that Dick is an adult in a separate city and with his own priorities now, but some part of him will always have the deepest rockbed of: Alfred and Dick were the ones who knew him the clearest and who would always pull him out of the dark. Others will find their way into the twisting paths of Bruce's heart, Damian and Selina are part of this, he has equally thorn-filled dynamics with Tim and Jason, but, oh, Dick and Alfred. Those two are the ones Bruce used to build himself upon their framework. They will always be at the core of him, even when they're no longer physically there.

[slavonicrhapsody]

personally i always interpreted the golden order greatsword as radagon wanting to keep renalla with him. the fact that its a moonlight greatsword, and how that tidbit isnt confirmed until the end of the item description, almost gives it a kind of "hiding behind the back" kind of vibe, like its a memento radagon shouldnt be holding onto but found a way to take with him anyways. given that in the queens bedchamber melina dialogue, marika refers to him as a leal hound of the order with a tone of disdain, and how he "hadnt yet become her", i personally get the vibe that radagon felt that whatever he had to sacrifice (his family, his wife, his self) for the golden order was worth it, with a kind of resigned determination ala I Wish I Didnt Have To Do This (hence marikas disdain cuz she doesnt think he HAS to, its just convenient for her plans+the schemes of the greater will)

my general impression of radagon is someone who loved renalla deeply and genuinely, and tried to take some small part of their marriage with him in the golden order greatsword, and was willing to make small steps out of line to try and keep that love present (giving renalla the amber egg with a GREAT RUNE INSIDE, one that judging by design wouldve gone to his son miquella since its similar to malenias, using the moonlight greatsword to become the golden order greatsword instead of making a new one), and someone who repeatedly tries to Do Whats Right For The World by sacrificing his own desires, and that makes the fact that all of his decisions led to heartbreak and pain in his loved ones more poignant and impactful. like hey man. you uh. didnt HAVE to drop everything to go be elden lord. didnt HAVE to leave ur family. now you cant ever get that back and its ur own damn fault buddy now ur bicon of a son is getting rly into snakekeeping and blasphemy and graffiti-ing ur Associated Symbols onto everything he feels would piss u off and ur never getting invited to radahns graduation from sellia academy of star murder. you uh. you did that buddy! you shot urself in the foot!

this is so late sorry, but yeah I really like this interpretation. like I said in my prev post I feel like Radagon forging Rennala’s marriage gift into a Golden Order greatsword can be interpreted as a way of carrying a part of her with him, even as he leaves her behind and forges ahead on his way to serve the Golden Order. Radagon has never viewed his time with Rennala with any scorn or regret; in fact, the things Rennala taught him during his time with her were very formative to his identity and beliefs:

“As the husband of Rennala of Caria, the red-haired Radagon studied sorcery, and as the husband of Queen Marika, he studied incantations. Thus did the hero aspire to be complete.”

The forging of Radagon’s greatsword kind of goes with this theme of Radagon cherishing what he had with Rennala, but ultimately deciding to move on to a greater purpose, using what he gained as Rennala’s husband as an integral part of his path forward. Perhaps even, based on the idea that Radagon “aspired to be complete,” he felt like he wasn’t a whole person, that he was missing something? That, though he loved Rennala, he couldn’t give himself fully to her? That he would leave Rennala behind if it meant getting a chance to feel whole?

Anyway, I completely agree that Radagon making the conscious decision to leave Rennala, despite having this love and respect for her, makes for a much more tragic and impactful story than Radagon not having any agency. What he did was shocking, inconceivable, and gravely disrespectful, not just to Rennala, but to all of Caria. And I think it’s almost certain that Radagon’s decision led to resentment amongst his children, sowing the seeds of their future rebellions against his Order… as Miriel says, when telling us Radagon and Rennala’s story, “You would do well to remember... Severing a vow, strongest of bonds, has consequences ever more dire". It’s just good storytelling!!!

[leiandroid]

yakuza au

ok fam this au is now separated from my previous inohina yakuza/bratva au. had to fly the girls back to japan and they got a whole new backstory ! big wall of text incoming ↓↓↓

-- uchiha clan

a clan that was once powerful but was slowly eating itself from the inside. rife with internal conflict and distrust, key figures sought to strengthen the clan and each had an idea of how to bring about that change, though no two could come to an agreement on a single method. tensions amongst the ranks began to fracture the uchiha.

taking advantage of the power struggle, madara, with the hopes of seizing total control, ignites a spark that quickly turns into a bloodbath. many low level thugs employed by the uchiha flee the compound as each key figure and their loyal followers battle it out until so few are left standing it could barely be called a clan anymore.

the power vacuum left behind by the dissolution of the uchiha has created an extremely volatile environment in the crime world as different yakuza families seek to claim the uchiha’s previously held operations and territory.

-- hebi

sick of the endless politics and weakening bonds amongst the clan, sasuke left to forge his own path. as punishment for leaving the clan itachi takes his eye.

he had never expected that the power struggles within the uchiha would lead to a massacre. so when he heard about the bloodbath occurring inside the uchiha compound, he rushed home to save his parents from a grim fate. but was too late when he witnessed itachi kill them by his own blade.

sasuke quickly enacted revenge by killing itachi and when the dust settled and madara emerged as victor, sasuke turned his blade on him too and snuffed out the flame of the uchiha forever.

karin is an ex-cop that was the uchiha's informant within the police. she brokers deals and negotiations on behalf of sasuke. she is his mouthpiece, so to speak.

sasuke is also seeking two who were once allies/friends. suigetsu who had always dreamed to join the seven swordsmen's guild, and juugo a talented and brutal fighter who dominates the underground fighting scene.

together he hopes to form a small mercenary group for hire.

-- inoshikacho alliance / inoshikacho rengo

one of the first yakuza family alliances ever made going back generations. inoshin yamanaka, chosuke akimichi and shikanazai nara where the first of each clan to join the families into an alliance that has since become one of the strongest and long-lasting alliances in yakuza history.

at the age of 25 each member of the alliance is to have at least two children to ensure the next generation of the inoshikacho alliance grow up together and are trained to take on the mantle for the sake of the alliance's future. this also ensures that at least 3 generations are alive at any one time (if they don't meet an early grave that is).

the yamanaka run brothels, which act as a communication and information network. every girl is hand picked by ino or by trusted subordinates and trained in the art of seduction and information gathering. the yamanaka have large underground garden operations that cultivate plants for poisons with all kinds of effects and traceability, from the quick and painless to the slow and destructive.

akimichi control entertainment districts, money laundering operations and run the largest underground fighting scene. money flowing in and out of casinos and other avenues are fully controlled by the akimichi.

the nara are drug traffickers that control market price and distribution.

-- hyuuga clan / hyuuga kai

the strongest and most notorious yakuza in all of japan. their efficiency in all that they do make them a fierce clan. when the clanhead was found dead, many other groups thought this was finally the crack in the hyuuga shield and made moves to try and see if they could challenge their authority. but the second daughter stepped into place and ordered everyone in within a certain radius of the hyuuga estate dead.

if they thought hyuuga hiashi was a ruthless leader, hanabi, in one day alone, managed to put herself up as one of the deadliest and horrifying yakuza leaders in recent history.

their efficiency in the business and economics sector, as well as having ties within governmental and political bodies, makes them a very powerful clan with many branching factions reaching far and wide across the country.

someone, somewhere, always answers to a hyuuga.

-- neji hyuuga (tian)

after hizashi failed to protect the hyuuga leader's eldest daughter, he had to pay with his life in front of his only son.

watching his father commit seppuku and then swiftly beheaded by hiashi in front of the elders and close family, stuck with neji his whole life. he made a silent vow to exact revenge on hiashi. the bitterness in his heart made living amongst the hyuuga a slow acting poison. his hate for hiashi became stronger than his love for his father and he could never look upon a picture of hizashi anymore because his face was the face of his enemy.

neji bided his time for years and years until one fateful night he murdered hiashi in cold blood and fled the hyuuga estate. he made his way towards mainland china with some aid from a contact in the chinese triads. he disappeared for many years living amongst a guild of killers and started going by the name tian.

his next order of business was to find the abducted daughter that caused the death of his father and kill her himself.

-- hinata hyuuga (makoto)

the abducted hyuuga heir, taken from the hyuuga clan at a very young age. makoto lives her life as a simple woman, adopted by an elderly couple in the countryside, unaware of who she is or where she comes from.

when a 'chinese' man that bears an uncanny resemblance to her shows up at her cottage one day, calling her a name that does not belong to her, her life is flipped on its head and she finds herself plunged into the underbelly of society.

-- chinese triads / pirates

tenten is a weapons smuggler. though she is affiliated with the chinese triads, she smuggles and trades weapons for anyone that buys them, as her true loyalty is to money.

tenten's operations are done by sea and she has control over a small fleet of boats that answer to her. other than a port owned by the triads, she has claimed a small remote island as her home and base of operations.

she was also neji's contact that helped him sail the seas to mainland china after he murdered hiashi.

-- korean mafia

kiba is an animal trafficker. he acquires exotic animals for their ivory/fur/leather as well as selling them alive to the wealthy for their collections and keeps.

he has sold exotic birds to the yamanaka for their gardens. gathered all manner of cervidae antlers from around the world for the nara's collection. has captured the most venomous snakes known to mankind for several organisations, including certain individuals of the uchiha family. has also sold a number of species of animals for tenten for her island.

he is generally in good graces with all kinds of people/groups due to his connections and ability to acquire the even the most endangered and rare species in the world.

-- suna siblings

kankuro and temari own a small medical clinic. kankuro is a general family doctor. people come to him for check-ups and simple treatments and minor operations. temari handles all the logistics, and appears as the clinic's secretary. they have 3 nurses: matsuri, yukata, mikoshi.

kankuro is also a certified surgeon and operates on all sorts of gang members in the hidden basement operation room. matsuri has been trusted to help kankuro with these operations when needed. their practice offers complete discretion and the clinic has become off-bounds for any gang violence, even if rivalling groups happen to meet each other on the premises. they enter a truce for as long as they are within a certain radius of the clinic.

the brother and sister duo are a respected, unaffiliated group, and they also use their operations to get clues on their brother's whereabouts.

gaara was kidnapped at a young age and was tortured to the point that psychosis was induced. he is held in the same place as juugo and both are used in fights that many come to pay dearly to watch and bet on.

-- police

with his parents killed and taken from his home, naruto was raised by a gang who kidnaps boys to beat and torture, and train them into savage fighters. he dreamed for a life where he could see the sun and the sea, to eat a hot bowl of ramen once again.

when a police investigation finally bore fruit, naruto was rescued from the place. he was taken in by iruka, one of the cops, and eventually followed in his footsteps. he made a promise that he would find and save the redhead that had once clung to him down in those dark cells.

tsunade is chief of police. sai is a detective. lee is a chinese detective commissioned by the chinese police to go to japan to work alongside the tokyo metropolitan police dept to follow the chinese triads operations in japan. (or is it the hosting country that commissions?? anyway) a number of jonin from naruto are also police including: kakashi, yamato, genma, anko, etc etc.

-- sakura

sakura is the head of a large hospital that was once tied up with the uchiha who used her as an in for smuggling medical supplies. she was called upon as their emergency doctor to treat key figures when needed.

upon hearing about their massacre she felt total relief that the family threatening her life were finally gone. she thought she was free from them when a certain uchiha and 2 others showed up at her door demanding treatment.

she can't say she was happy to be back in such a predicament but it seemed that this uchiha didn't have a penchant for threatening her life as his family did. and for selfish reasons, she was okay with this arrangement.

-- the aburame

a family of assassins. their efficiency and untraceable methods make them a highly coveted group of hitmen whose services are sold to the highest bidder. the aburame have close ties with the yamanaka of the inashikacho alliance as they outsource some of their poisons from the yamanaka gardens.

even though the yamanaka, akimichi, and nara families formed an alliance generations ago, this agreement between the yamanaka and aburame remains a secret from the rest of the alliance.

the aburame are a completely neutral party and the yamanaka understands this. to pay for their secrecy and treachery towards their sworn brothers, the yamanaka accept that if a hit were ordered against their own, it wouldn't affect their business with the aburame.

if u read all this many hugs and kisses mwah

[raayllum]

EZRAN: Prince Karim, all Queen Janai wants is peace. There's no need to attack. Take your army, the people who follow you, and build your own future somewhere away from here.

KARIM: But I agree with you. There is no need for violence today if my terms are met. EZRAN: Your terms? Prince Karim, I may be a child, but I know how to count. Janai's five armies are more than your one. The Queen expects to defeat you decisively. KARIM: And I expect my sister to surrender unconditionally and acknowledge me as the High King of the Sunfire Empire. EZRAN: I don't think— KARIM: And all humans will leave our lands immediately, and return to the other side of the border. Where you belong. EZRAN: You can't force the humans to leave. People have made friendships, built families. Your own sister is marrying a human! KARIM: I know this must seem harsh to you, but... history cannot be forged without fire. Without strength.

EZRAN: I am a king. And as a king, I choose love over strength. Sometimes it's hard, but when I struggle, I think about the people I love and how they are counting on me to do the right thing. Not the harsh thing, not the strong thing. The right thing.

KARIM: But she will always be my sister. EZRAN: Then you can still choose love. It's not too late. KARIM: The great Archdragon of the Sun was faced with a choice long ago. He chose fire. I honour Sol Regem now, as my sister should have done when she had the chance. [...] EZRAN: You want Janai to attack! And when she does... you'll call down Sol Regem and—they won't stand a chance! KARIM: Ah. Humans might be more clever than I thought. I don't need five armies when I have one archdragon.

A few notes, as always:

Karim, when nudged by Miyana, acknowledged in 6x02 that what they were doing, they were doing "for us" and "for [their people]" and I think in a lot of ways, like Viren, that's what it initially started out as. However, here we see most clearly that this is about Karim's ego (shocking, I know) and pride. He wants to be king of this land, he wants to crush and restore 'natural order' to Xadia by expelling humans again. Just having this own followers and his own piece of land elsewhere isn't enough, even though it would be if his people's happiness was all he cared about.

Ezran offers a variety of options and perspectives to Karim to appeal to him — you could leave peacefully with your people, you can make active choices, don't you love your sister? — the latter of which being the only one to really get under his skin. I also like seeing Ezran advocate on behalf of his citizens (and possibly others) who have been integrated into Sunfire society and daily life. Karim wants to return Xadia to being wholly divided, but Ezran — like Janai, and Amaya, and the bulk of the main cast — want reintegration, for humans to live on both sides of the border again (and elves beyond just Rayla I'm sure).

We also see consistent motifs such as the 'paths' element that arc 2 has largely fostered, Karim's focus on history and fire, consistent themes like the emphasis on choices, as well as anyone — but especially Ezran — harkening back directly to Harrow's letter from 2x06, which is the first time in seasons we've heard the same sentiments so directly expressed. (Crying over "No, it's too late for that" in 1x02 vs "Then you can still choose love, it's not too late").

I also really enjoy the way this scene tests Ezran. As he said in 4x03, "We all want love and we all want peace" and here, he's presented directly with the opposite: Queen Janai wants peace, but Karim wants violence, he wants to be attacked so that he can have the upper hand, and that's when Ez and Corvus know they need to get out of here.

I also can't help but think about how relevant Ezran's speech here is going to be when he encounters Runaan in S7. We saw in the TDP short story "Deep Below" that he will likely want to do the "harsh thing, the strong thing," rather than the right thing. It makes me wonder if we'll see more of an Ezran&Rayla focus as a way to guide him through. After all, Runaan murdered his father, but Runaan is also Rayla's father—and doesn't Ezran love his sister?

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-week.

Seen Nothing, Heard Nothing

Day #4 - Prompt: Trade | Word Count: 833 | Rating: T | CW: Steve's S3 Injuries, Spooky Vibes, Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Canon Divergent S3, What If Eddie Crossed Paths With Steve and The Upside Down Sooner?, What If Steve and Robin's Run-In With The Russians Happened Just Bit Differently?

"Hello?"

Eddie freezes. Utterly fucking freezes. The stilted male voice that has come from somewhere around him sounds ethereal, floating. Like it's an echo. Bouncing through the trees. Like it might be right next to him, but also far, far away.

Ignore it. 

That's what his grandma always taught him. You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

Mind your own business.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

The voice is familiar, less creepy this time, but he can't place it. The familiarity doesn't mean safety, though. Mimicking known voices isn't at all unusual in the realm of weird, and it's best to not engage. Rule one: Do not invite anything of that world into your own world.

So, Eddie ignores it and keeps gathering up his stuff, acting like he's not in a hurry, even if his heart is hammering behind his ribs.

"I need some help."

Then he hears the rustling through the trees along the well-worn path, and his heart drops. It sounds like something is tromping towards him, getting loud and louder with every step. 

He slings his backpack over his shoulder, and takes three big steps away from the picnic table, away from whatever that thing is, without running. Not that he has anywhere to go. Not really.

That's the way out, and unless he wants to just stumble through the thick woods, getting lost, he's kind of trapped.

He's never felt scared here before, and he hates it.

So, he decides he'll just forge past whatever it is. Without acting like he's heard a damn thing.

He really hopes it's invisible. He can ignore noises, voices. But if he has to see something? He's gonna freak the fuck out and get himself disemboweled, for sure. He'll scream like a little bitch and freeze.

Then he'll run.

He just knows that about himself.

You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

You've seen nothing, you've heard nothing. 

He keeps telling himself that as he walks up the path, trying desperately not to run. Hawkins is weird, but it's never been this kind of weird, as far as he's seen.

But this has scared the shit out of him.

"Eddie? Eddie Munson?" 

Eddie stills. That voice is closer, and crystal clear.

And definitely Steve Harrington. 

"Thank god. Dude, are you deaf, or what? I've been asking for your help for ten minutes. Goddamn."

Okay, not a monster.

Just a dumb jock.

Eddie wheels around, snarking, "What's the matter, Harrington. The big bad wolf take a bite out of ya?"

And the next words, the next bit of sarcasm, dies in his throat. 

Steve's face is wrecked. His body, too, Eddie suspects by the way he's limping along. Eye nearly swollen shut, covered in a dark purple bruise. He's missing a shoe.

And he's in a sailor suit. Like the ones from the ice cream shop in the mall. Does Harrington work there? Surely not.

Eddie drops his bag, and bounds towards him, "What happened to you? Who did this? Or what?"

Steve looks at him from his one good eye, and sways. 

"Robbin'," Steve says, and Eddie grips his shoulders, forcing him to back up until he can sit down on the bench of the old picnic table.

"Robbing? You were robbed?" Eddie asks, and Steve's mouth is swollen, too. Blood staining his front teeth, dried on his face where it came from his broken nose.

"No. Robin," Steve repeats.

"Who's Robin?" Eddie questions.

"Robin. Buckley."

"From band? Robin Buckley from band did this to you?"

Steve looks exasperated, and like he wants to cry at the same time.

"No. No. The Russians. She made a trade. I said no, I did, but she was scared, and I was…this," Steve says. "We have to go back. I just need help. They drugged me."

"The Russians?" Eddie asks, his eyebrows shooting up. 

Steve nods, "Under the mall."

"How'd you end up out here in the woods?" Eddie asks. Because he's a long way from the mall, even if what he's saying is true. That's on the other side of town.

"They dumped me," Steve says. "I think they thought I was dead."

"Well, you look it," Eddie says, and then regrets it. 

"We need to find Nancy Wheeler. She'll know what to do."

"Steve, are you sure this is really something that happened? And not just in your head after whatever accident you've clearly had?"

Steve sighs and holds his head in his hands. He's missing a fingernail, like it had been plucked right off. Like he was tortured.

Shit. Okay.

"Okay, okay. We'll go back. We'll find Robin."

Eddie isn't at all sure what he's agreeing to, but Steve can't do anything by himself. Not in this condition. They'll find Nancy Wheeler, and Eddie isn't sure what a little priss like her is gonna do, but whatever Steve wants, they'll try.

"Thank you," Steve breathes, and as sure as Eddie is that he'll regret this, he's in it now.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

[thefrogdalorian]

Rest

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Despite how often you have pleaded with Din to stop and rest, your calls have gone unheeded. Your stubborn Mandalorian will not stop and take care of himself. So, when he arrives back from his latest job with the New Republic utterly exhausted, you take matters into your own hands and ensure he gets the rest he so desperately needs. Word Count: 3.1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: None, pure fluff! ✯ Author's Note: I was talking with a friend earlier about how Din would go to the ends of the galaxy for those he loves and it finally got me to finish a little idea I'd been sitting one for a while. His determination and protectiveness is one of my favourite things about him, but the threat of burnout would be real! He would desperately need a rest and someone there to make sure he gets it, because you know he'd never rest himself. Anyway, thank you @suresnips for inspiring this in some way. I hope it cheers you up a little 🤍

✯ My Masterlist ✯

One of the most difficult things about sharing your life with a man whose face was near-permanently hidden, was that you were unable to spot the tell-tale signs of fatigue that were surely present on his features until things reached a crisis point. The helmet that he wore in accordance with his Creed shielded so many of the expressions which were distinctively Din Djarin from the rest of the galaxy. You thought it was a shame that they were denied the privilege of seeing the handsome features and expressive brown eyes which belonged to the Mandalorian whom you loved so dearly. Then again, it meant they were entirely reserved for you, and the little green child who completed your Clan of Three. 

You had first encountered Din in the aftermath of his mission to retake Mandalore. There had been whispers that one of the Mandalorians who had helped to save your homeplanet of Nevarro from a band of diabolical pirates had taken up residence by the lava flats. You were not inclined to believe rumours and had been stunned when you had seen the gleaming unpainted beskar, dazzling in the afternoon sunlight as he made his way through the marketplace one day. 

The first time you and Din had a conversation, as he bought wares from the market stall you owned, the connection had been evident. With his deep, gravelly voice and understanding, patient nature, even when you tripped over your words as you peddled your wares, you found him constantly on your mind. Over the next few months, your paths had crossed enough times for it to become evident that the feeling was mutual. 

Now, you were fortunate to reside in the little cabin that Din owned by the lava flats of Nevarro. Your home was a little slice of heaven that the two of you had carved out together alongside Grogu. When you saw how hectic and chaotic Din’s life was, you were grateful that he had allowed you to get close to him. You wondered how he had managed before he had forged a life with you and how he had looked after himself before you were around to share some of the burden. Your heart ached to think of Din alone, neglecting his own needs at the expense of others. He was selfless and devoted to those he loved by nature, but sometimes Din needed taking care of himself.

Happily, now the two of you had found each other, you were a true partnership in every sense of the word. 

On your worst days, Din was there to pick you up and brighten your spirits, just as, in turn, you were there for him. You celebrated each other’s successes when times were good, too. Which, fortunately, was the case more often than not. Life with Din was always exciting; even when he was away from you, he always took the effort to keep in touch. 

You were stunned when you first met Din and he regaled you with details of recent events in his life, that he had not allowed himself to rest on his laurels and enjoy the glory after completing such an arduous task as retaking Mandalore. Instead, he had taken jobs with the New Republic and turned his former bounty hunting skills to helping to keep the galaxy safe. It was relentless, exhausting work. But his determined nature meant that he was only too eager to lend his services to them whenever a job came up.

Monitoring Din for signs of fatigue was particularly difficult when the best visuals you got was a grainy few minutes of his helmeted form visible on your holoprojector, or a few moments of audio on your comlink whenever his schedule permitted. You had been begging Din to rest for several weeks now, but he had not heeded your requests. Since you had moved into the cabin with him and were able to care for Grogu, it had allowed him to take more dangerous jobs that he would have felt uncomfortable with Grogu accompanying him on, such as the most recent job that he had agreed to. You had been frustrated when he informed you about another assignment. You were deathly afraid that he would work himself into the ground if he wasn’t careful. Your pleas for him to postpone the job and rest had been unheeded.

If Din wouldn’t take care of himself, it fell on your shoulders to keep an eye on him. So, this time, when he returned from his latest job, you resolved that you would not be so easy on him. 

This time, Din Djarin would rest.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The rumble of the N-1’s engines as the Nubian starfighter descended through the Nevarrian atmosphere was a welcome sound in the stillness of the night. For hours, the only sounds audible in the cabin had been the faint snores of Grogu from his room and your racing thoughts. Now, the distant growl of the engines, which turned into a roar as they grew nearer, signalled your favourite Mandalorian’s return from his most recent mission. 

You were up like a shot, racing towards the door and out into the night to greet Din. Yet, any excitement you felt soon dissipated when you saw how sluggishly he moved. The man who often so energetically leapt out of the cockpit, as though it were no effort at all, was now a lethargic figure in the darkness. As he leapt onto the volcanic surface of the planet, he barely managed to regain his posture after bending his knees in a smooth landing. Instead, he leant back against the body of the N-1.

You shook your head as you approached him, frustrated that he had been so stubborn and ignored your protestations when he informed you about his latest mission. A time for scolding him would come later, though. For now, you walked across the ground, closing the distance between the two of you. 

Instinctively, Din had held his arms out in preparation for you to step into his embrace. Even in his fatigued state, his exhausted body still knew that he wanted you in his arms. You smiled as you nestled your head into the crook of his neck and wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling his warmth between the cool plates of beskar.

“I missed you,” you whispered into Din’s cowl.

“I missed you too, cyare,” Din replied, his voice low and husky as he rubbed circles into your back with his large hands. 

“Let’s go inside,” you insisted as you stepped away from his embrace and took his hand in yours, leading him towards the cabin. Towards home. Towards rest. 

You hoped that the child you had finally managed to see settled in his cot had not awakened at the sound of the engines. Getting Grogu to sleep had only proved successful after several hours of tantrums when you had forbidden him to stay up past his bedtime to greet his father. It was probably harsh, but you knew that Din was keen that his son maintained a regular sleeping schedule. Which was ironic, considering how little he respected his own needs for rest. 

Din's stubborness and insistence that he was fine meant that ensuring Din had some much-needed rest was a burden which fell squarely on you. If the way he had strained as he leapt from the N-1 had not been proof enough, his heavy footsteps as he trudged back to the cabin by your side further indicated his need for rest.

Unfortunately, as soon as you stepped through the entryway to the cabin, you were greeted by a certain child and his pleading brown eyes. Grogu had not missed his father’s return and he wanted attention. Din was never one to begrudge Grogu’s needs, and without hesitation, he pulled his helmet off and crouched down to scoop his son up. You silently cringed as you noticed the way he grunted thanks to the exertion of such an action. He desperately needed to rest.

But Din Djarin was a stubborn man.

“Din, let me put Grogu to sleep. You need to rest,” you reminded him as he took Grogu into his arms.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged off your concerns once again, “I'll put Grogu to sleep.”

As the two of them disappeared down the small hallway and into Grogu’s room, you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Then, you took a deep breath and in an attempt to ensure your anger did not get the better of you. If there was one common thread that ran through Din Djarin's every action, it was his absolute devotion to his son. Nothing in this galaxy would ever stand in the way of him and Grogu. You knew Din would do anything for his son, even at the expense of his well-being. 

Fortunately, you knew you were there to take care of Din. So you allowed him his precious time with his son and resolved to be there for him afterwards and take care of his weary mind and fatigued body. You padded down the hallway towards the room you and Din shared, pausing briefly outside Grogu’s room. You smiled at the sounds you could hear through the door. You could hear the heartwarming sound of a child’s giggles and the familiar rasp of Din’s husky voice as he recounted various stories from his recent mission to his son. 

Satisfied that Din had not fallen asleep on top of Grogu at the very least, you entered your room and set about gathering the most luxurious pyjamas he owned. You had already changed the sheets to the softest silks in the galaxy in preparation for his return, hoping that once he felt them against his skin he would not fight you when you insisted he rest. You lay the pyjamas on the sheets and perched on the side of your cot to await Din’s return. You were content to give him some alone time with his precious boy. 

Finally, leaden footsteps sounded at the door, indicating that Grogu was asleep. Now, it was time to ensure that Din finally rested.

“Hi,” Din sighed, with a smile that did not quite meet his exhausted eyes.

“Hi,” you breathed.

As he stepped towards you, you noticed how deep the wrinkles on his face had become. You always loved the lines and grooves present on his face. They complimented the greys apparent in the smattering of facial hair across his strong jawline. You thought such features made him look distinguished and handsome, rather than old and exhausted. Tonight, though, their appearanced alarmed you. They were deeper than usual. You had never seen Din look so exhausted. His usual bright, warm brown eyes were dulled and dark. They were slightly bloodshot, too. Your heart ached at the sight of him. 

“You look exhausted,” you observed.

“I’m fine,” Din insisted.

“The bags under your eyes suggest otherwise.”

At your comment, Din’s ungloved hands balled into fists at his sides. He sighed through gritted teeth. You hated the way he shrugged off your concerns so nonchalantly and your observations 

“Din,” you sighed, “You are allowed to rest sometimes, you know?”

“I know.”

“Well then, why don’t you let me take care of you? Why don’t you sit on the new silk sheets that I put on, especially for you, and let me take your armour off?” 

“I can do it,” Din shook his head and averted his gaze.

“I know you can, but I want to help you,” you nodded as you pushed yourself off the cot and stepped towards him. “You do so much for me and Grogu. You do so much for the entire galaxy. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Din repeated. This time, hearing those words caused something to snap inside of you. You had reached the end of your tether.

“Din, you look like you haven’t slept since you left a week ago! You’re going to run yourself into the ground!” you exclaimed forcefully, voice a little louder than you intended. 

You both stopped and looked in the direction of Grogu’s room, panic-stricken that you had awoken him. Fortunately, there was no noise. Grogu still slept soundly. At your outburst, when Din’s dull eyes met yours again, you noticed that a flicker of recognition had set across his features now. He understood that resting was not a sign of weakness.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” you apologised, instantly remorseful. 

“It’s alright,” Din reassured you.

“Please let me shoulder some of the burden, Din. Please don’t fight me on this,” you pleaded.

“Okay,” Din nodded and took a seat on the edge of the cot. 

You busied yourself with the various intricate fixtures that attached each piece of Din’s armour to his body, placing them on the floor at his side with as much care as you had observed him pay towards them. Din would stack them properly come the morning. He was meticulous and particular about the way they fitted on each shelf of the cabinet that was fixed into the wall for the very purpose of storing his armour. Even if you stacked them yourself, Din would do it again tomorrow. Better to preserve your energy and make sure he rested first.

By the time you had finished removing his armour, Din’s head was slumped to one side and his eyes were closed. Your heart soared at sight, and the small sounds of his soft snores. Before you could even finish undressing him, he had drifted off to sleep. Finally, the creases in his face looked less terrifying. He looked so peaceful that you hated to wake him. But sleeping in his flightsuit would not be comfortable and the garments you had laid out for him were of the most luxurious material in the galaxy. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Din, I’m sorry to wake you, honey,” you said apologetically, lips against his forehead.

Din continued snoring softly. It seemed a more drastic gesture would be in order. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, smiling softly at the way his moustache tickled your upper lip. It was slightly longer than he usually kept it which was unusual for Din, given his fastidious nature. His latest job had been so hectic that personal grooming had fallen by the wayside. 

Fortunately, the kiss had the desired effect and Din’s eyes flickered open momentarily. You seized the opportunity.

“Din, why don’t you stand up for a second so I can help you into your pyjamas?” you whispered into his dark brown curls. 

“Hmph,” Din grunted in response, his eyes still shut.

“It’ll be worth it, you’ll be comfortable then,” you suggested.

Din opened his eyes, bleary thanks to your rude interruption of his peaceful slumber, and nodded slowly. You steadied him as he stood to his feet on shaky legs and helped him as he removed his final garments. With the pesky flak vest and flightsuit discarded, the final barriers to Din and some much-needed rest had been removed. 

Now clad in his luxurious silk pyjamas, you pulled the top sheets back for Din to clamber into the warmth and sanctuary of your cot, which he did without hesitation. In the time that it took for you to turn the light out and round the cot to join him, the quiet snores had resumed. You shook your head and smirked at the further proof – as if any more were required – of just how exhausted Din had been. You sighed in contentment as you took your place behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You rested them against his body, enjoying the warmth which radiated from his body. Sleeping in the cabin without Din felt cold and lonely, now he had returned and that contrast was even more stark. 

“I love you, Din,” you whispered into the nape of his neck, watching as your breath caused the dark brown curls which lingered there to flutter slightly. “Even when you’re stubborn,” you added.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The sensation of warm lips as they pressed a soft kiss to your forehead awoke you from the sleep you had drifted off into. Your eyelids fluttered open. In the golden light of a Nevarrian morning, you were finally able to see the warm brown eyes of the man you loved beyond comparison gazing at you adoringly.  

“Good morning,” Din rasped before he claimed your lips with his in a languid kiss.

“Morning, Din,” you sighed when you finally parted. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept well, thank you,” Din nodded.

“Glad to hear it,” you murmured as you stretched your arms out.

“Thank you for last night,” Din sighed against your lips. “I’m sorry for being so pigheaded.”

“It’s alright, Din,” you smiled in gratitude that he was aware of his stubbornness. “I know being taken care of is a new experience for you.”

“It is,” Din confirmed as he rolled off you and came to rest at your side. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“I know you do,” you nodded. “Which is why you’re going to take another nap, while I wake Grogu up and prepare some breakfast for us.”

“But–”

“Ah!” you said, raising a finger to his plush lips which were currently positioned in an adorable pout. “No fighting me on this, let me take care of you. Okay?”

“Fine,” Din huffed.

“Awww,” you cooed and stroked his cheek affectionately. “You’re pretty adorable when you’re grumpy, you know?”

“I’m not adorable,” Din sulked.

“You are,” you giggled at his ridiculousness. “Now, roll over and let me hold you again until you fall asleep.”

Din turned over wordlessly, settling into position in preparation for a nap. Your arms found their position around his waist once more and you pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, which produced a rumble of laughter from somewhere deep within him.

“I love you, Din. Even when you’re stubborn,” you whispered into his ear, repeating the words that he had not heard the previous night.

“I love you too,” Din replied. “Thank you for putting up for me.”

“Of course, honey,” you nodded. “I’m stuck with you now.”

“Thank Maker. I don’t know how I ever managed before our paths crossed,” Din sighed sleepily as you placed your hands underneath his shirt and traced soothing circles into the warm expanse of his belly.

“I don’t know, either,” you chuckled at the thought.

But the time for worrying about how differently the respective courses of your lives could have taken, were it not for that chance meeting at the market on Nevarro all those months ago, would come later. 

For now, it was time for Din Djarin to rest.

[thr0wnawayy]

Chapter 429 has been my Dabi's Dance

I can't stop smiling.

I wanted to start off by saying thank you. Not to Hori, but to you all. Every last one of you in these tags for your contributions. Be it analysis, re-reads, fan works or simply your perspectives. I look forward to seeing what you will make in the future.

So, Thank you.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. MHA was always in the background of my life and I hated it. I don't watch anime and yet still MHA related media would make it's way onto my socials in all it's obnoxious forms. This went on for years.

And then suddenly, it stopped. It seemed like MHA's craze had died down, I'd still see it from time to time through merchandise but never to the consistency it had prior.

That was until Dabi's Dance was published and the net went wild.

I knew a few things about Endeavor from my past exposure, he was universally hated and abused his kids and wife (to the point she scalded her son in a fit of psychosis).

Deciding I had nothing better to do, I found myself searching to see what kind of consequences would befall such a monstrous character.

Would he fall like Icarus, be torn apart by the public, how would the family he ruined react to the news?.

And then, nothing. No punishment, no reaction. Just dead air.

I recall that my face dropped internally. My blank expression mirrored my phone screen's sterile nature, as it displayed the information in front of me.

He got away with it. So I did some digging and it got so much worse.

Bakugo's evasion of any consequences or damages, coddled and shielded by Hori's inability to go through on anything.

Hawks who murdered a near crippled man on a hypothesis, for the mere crime of having the "wrong" quirk, for not giving up, for being "unlucky"

Aizawa, Hori's little mouthpiece. who decides to play judge, jury and executioner with the futures of students he's supposed to be teaching. Only for the Nedzu and the narrative to allow him, his friends turned into lapdogs that agree to the letter.

The Commission who strive to keep theirrotting husk of a system alive through assasins, child soldiers and indoctrination.

Even if it's gears must be lubricated with blood, even if it means lying to the world and having them clean up the mess. They MUST stay on top, the illusion must be upheld.

I just couldn't fathom how this was seen as a good thing.

And somewhere along the way I began to feel something akin to hate. Not your typical ire, one powered by anger, no.

I wanted to see how low Hori would go, just how horrifically he would mangle a series that everyone had once praised.

I wanted to witness what wonders a jaded community would create, to show what they were capable of (to create and understand MHA in a manner Hori wishes he could even emulate a fraction of)

I wished to see your own expressions of love and hatred.

The thought of witnessing the breaking point, the dust settling to expose all the glaring flaws and infested wounds of MHA. It buzzed in my brain like electricity.

The idea that when all was said and done, you, the people would do what Hori couldn't/wouldn't and forge the bones and salvagble bits of MHA into a story worth remembering.

One where abusers are punished for their crimes instead of rewarded

Where victims can have a voice, feel and grow, carve their own paths and move forward from their trauma.

Where the implications of MHA's rotting and disingenuous society get explored instead of swept under the rug

Where people get a chance.

I waited eagerly for the day it would all fall apart.

So, do you know what I did when I logged onto the tag and saw your posts!?.

I laughed, the shrill giggle in the back of my throat quickly surging into an almost manic cackle. It was like lightning, vindicating and sobering all at once. My face was stretched to it's absolute limits with how wide my grin was. I could almost hear the shattering of MHA's last bit of integrity and I loved it.

The realization MHA's greatest threat was the author himself, It's one that I grasped long ago (as far back as the Dark Dekiru Arc) and I'm sure most of you understood this as well.

But to see that more of you are starting to get it, to realize there's no going back. That as the curtains draw near and the lights begin to dim, there is no other side here. Violence begets violence and Hori's gone past the event horizon.

It feels, hopeful. Perhaps we can build something worth saving.

It's been a wild ride so far and it's still ongoing. Hori's time is long over, it has been for a while now, so I suppose what I'm asking Is:

Now It's Your Turn, what's your play?

_______________________________________

Update:

IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING!