#i NEED to be surrounded by humans or else i start forgetting how to be one of them

[patronsaintoffinalgirls]

lies face down on my bed and develops mental illness^2

[averagecygnet-blog]

emma is the villain of tgwdlm

I need to talk about this oh my god

because it's told from the hive's perspective. paul is the protagonist because he is the one who resists them but must ultimately come to accept that they're right. emma is the one who must be beaten through force.

the difference between the hero and the villain is that the hero must change, while the villain cannot. (I'm not speaking in universals here, just generalizations of how the narrative structures work that tgwdlm uses in parody.) the hero and the villain both hold a belief that represents the thematic evil; by the end of the story, the hero must undergo apotheosis, which is to say, ultimate unity with the thematic good. once this is achieved, he can defeat the villain, who represents the thematic evil completely and is incapable of change.

to the hive, "good" is unquestioning conformity to the group's ideals, specifically, singing and dancing in sync with everybody else. "evil" is refusing to sing and dance along when, clearly, you want to.

paul is the perfect protagonist because he resists song and dance, but largely because it makes him uncomfortable. getting out of your comfort zone is necessary for change! it's a good thing to let yourself go through something uncomfortable in order to come out the other side better and stronger for it. (that much is true; however, sometimes discomfort is a legitimate sign that you should stay away from something.) paul has never really tried singing or dancing, and deep down, is afraid that if he tried it, he might like it. exactly the sort of person who can be converted and used as a shining example of the hive's righteousness.

emma must be the villain because her refusal to fall in line is a choice. she can sing, she can dance, she was in brigadoon in high school and she fuckin killed it, she is even taught a whole ass song with choreography by the hive on their first morning in hatchetfield (emma's comment about how they have to sing "all the time, apparently!" and zoey's implied presence at the theater when the meteor hit - because she was with sam, and sam was there - strongly suggests that nora and zoey were zombified all morning and she had no idea). it's stated by hidgens and suggested by nora and zoey that getting a human to sing/dance along with them is supposed to be a sort of mesmerizing tactic that the hive uses to start synchronizing a person to the hive mind, but emma refuses. she sings and she dances, just like they want, but she chooses to actively hate it the whole time, on principle. she can't be convinced; they have to swarm her, surround her on all sides. let it out is meant to win paul to their side; inevitable is just to gloat.

in the bar scene in hidgens' bunker, emma says that she must be the villain to paul's hero because she was in the musical that got him to hate musicals. on the one hand, she had it backwards; she's the villain because according to the hive, the all-encompassing narrative power, he's not supposed to hate musicals. on the other hand, she's kind of right: paul is the protagonist because he is the guy who didn't like musicals, while emma is the villain because she has the capacity to like musicals as well as experience in them, but has chosen to reject them.

who is the hero and who is the villain all depends on who is telling the story. and the hive is telling this story. don't forget that.

[37-drc89]

take yourself home; han jisung

chapter I.

trope: teenager love

warnings for this part: cursing, family problems, mention of vomiting and sex, underage drinking (don’t!!!)

reader is referred to in female pronouns.

word count: 5k.

part II hopefully coming soon.

note: part two is expected if this one goes good! i'll appreciate any feedback, reblogs and comments <3 also, english is not my first language so i apologize for any typos or grammar mistakes! x

masterlist

House parties were never exactly your thing.

The whole concept just never seemed appealing nor any interesting to you. Screaming, drunk people bumping into each other at every step, floor sticky from all the spilled drinks, air thick as poisoned with sweat and alcohol and loud music blasting out from the speakers so noisy you can feel your heart shaking in your chest. It’s barely possible to move an inch without causing any unwanted contact with strangers or witnessing someone vomit outside the window. Everything just making you feel dirty like you were pushed into a pigsty surrounded by no humans but animals, alcohol effectively robbing people of any manners and awareness of personal space. Some people you saw two times at most, probably in your school hall, trying to bring you on the said "dance floor", only murmuring about how boring you are when you decline. This was always enough to make you end up on the couch, lazily sipping on your drink and cringing while watching people’s animalistic behaviour. Or, if you were lucky enough to push through the crowd, find your place at the balcony and finally getting taste of anything else than the disgusting odour filling up the house. That’s why you’ve always desperately tried to stay away from partying, if you could even name it that way.

Fortunately or unfortunately, one Saturday you ran out of excuses you would usually throw at your nagging school seatmate and they succeeded to drag you to a house party that Chan organised. Chan is popular, like, a lot. How could he not? He attended last grade which already was enough for some girls, desiring for an older boy. What’s more, he was extremely respectful towards everyone, very well known for treating women right and fitting perfectly into every group with his witty personality. Everything he touched, he ended up succeding in, both sports and school - always more than happy to help everyone who needs it. Not to mention his unnecessarily attractive appearance, muscles poking out of fitted shirts, skin glowy, smile so bright it could blind everyone passing by him in school. Perfect, perfect man. You like him as well, of course, positive that it’s really impossible not to. However, no matter how much you liked and admired Chan, you despised parties. You weren't even sure whether he knew about your attendance as he just let your seatmate bring a partner with him. You were whining, complaining and being annoying, anything just to get out of this unfortunate situation. But as it suprisingly turned out, this was the very first time you did not regret going. Because this was the first time you got to meet Han Jisung.

Back off, maybe not the very first time. You’ve seen him a couple of times in the hall, clinging onto Chan’s side, always more than happy to keep him company on his way home or goof around in the library. But in the hall he never really stood out, just mixing with any other students. Maybe a little bit noisier than others; it was a challenge not to overhear his laugh spreading across the floor.

But this was the first time you actually noticed Jisung.

The party itself started just as shitty as you imagined it to be. When you and your seatmate arrived at Chan's place it was already completely stuffed with people that were spilling out on the backyard. As soon as you stepped your foot in the house, blasting out music shot into your ears like a nightmare and you immediately knew you can forget about properly communicating with anyone. Few glances are thrown in your direction before everyone came back to their tasks as they realized it's just you. Not paying too much attention to it, you just informed your friend you'll be on the couch, though it seemed like she was already too caught up in some heated conversation with random kids from school. Sneakily, you grabbed a beer from the counter and plopped down on your usual spot. Maybe gaslighting yourself into thinking this party will be different than any other was an absolute shit idea. How long should you stay so you don't come out as rude or boring? Two hours? That would be solid two hours taken away from your life without any use, though. An hour? Maybe that's too short and wasn't even worth going all the way here.

Your eyes observed as people kept coming, occupying every possible corner of the room and with that, making you lose sight in anything. All your eyes could reach was dancing figures, occasionally bumping into your legs, making you feel trapped in your little space.

That doesn't make any sense.

You pulled up from the couch, barely making it outside of the room. You held your drink up, careful so none of it gets on your tshirt. But in the end, some of it ended spilling down your arm, anyway. Your body pressed itself onto the door frame, taking as little space as possible and you took a look around, searching for a way out. Gaze stopped at the stairs leading to second floor and it seemed like no one has occupied it yet as the lights were off. You squeezed shoulders to your body and quickly sneaked between the crowd of sweaty bodies. Every touch and rub left on your body a burning feeling like someone just smeared it with acid, your face scrunching in disgust, just wanting it to be over as quickly as possible. Finally making it to the stairs, you released a breath you were holding, shoulders going slump as you made your way upstairs. You left the light off, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to your actions. Blindfolded, you try to find any doors with touch only and when your fingers finally met a handle you pushed the doors open with no hasitation. Some might think its nosy to walk around someone's house like this, but sooner or later, you know someone will be fucking in one of those beds, anyway.

Supposingly, the room you ended up in was a bedroom, moonlight shining through huge windows decorating the area in a delicate silver glow, exposing it's silhouette just slightly. Using your poor vision you walked past huge bed, ignoring the strong urge to just jump onto it and let in sink you in until morning comes, when everyone is gone. You could've sworn there was something yelling to you, ushing you onto the matress, already making your eyelids heavy on your eyes. It all made up kind of comforting atmosphere, muffled music coming from downstairs, only floor shaking lightly with every bass and you almost could feel it in your guts. Hundreds of conversations were going on just below you, but they all mixed in one, composing a steady hum.

You found your place on the floor, back pressing against the bed, knees bent under your chin. Facing the big balcony door, your eyes observed blinking city lights and traced small cars passing by the streets, just to disappear mere seconds later. You could feel your body sinking slowly into the pitch black as your eyelids started to give in under their weight. It took only two minutes for them to close completely, weight now resting on your head, so you hide in your arms, forming a ball of yourself. Mind focused only on sounds coming from the party, though they started getting quieter with every second, your ears losing track on the screams and laughs. Peace overtook your previously restless body, leaving you all to yourself.

All you saw was the city. You saw the last joyful day you remembered, from summer few years ago. Your father was back to your country at that time, just to get some time with his loved ones for once. Your mother was holding a camera in her free hand, taking pictures of her sweet child, of her treasure, of you. You were wearing your favourite yellow dress that day, decorated with designs of plenty different flowers. You named them all, in honour of the dress being your absolute favourite. Hair loose, long back then, falling on your shoulders and back, on top of your head rests a cute hat you declined to take off, even if it was already evening. Wind was blowing slightly on your young face, making you laugh squeakily.

Your father hands you your favourite ice cream, caramel flavoured. The ice cream he promised you as your birthday dessert, a gift, so simple yet it made you happier than you've ever been. Being ten is no joke, he once said, when admiring his only child, suprised about how much you've grown when he was abroad. Each time he visited your hometown he made sure to measure your height, giving you a present every time, for growing so strong and tall.

Your mother holds your birthday present out of your sight, patiently waiting for you to finish your dessert. You, being the curious and impatient child, gulped it down almost immediately in urge to open your gift. She only laughs at your determination before handing it to you. When you eagerly try to pull the ribbons off the box, your parents send each other a fond smile. Excitement in your eyes slowly starts turning into irritation as the ribbons seem unable to untie, no matter how hard you pull them. Your muscles tense, making your hands shake in your useless attempts. Just when your eyes start welling up with angry tears and you raise your head to seek any help from your parents, your voice hitches in your throat, seeing no one is sitting by your side anymore. You blink, and blink, and blink, trying to get your vision back, but everytime your eyes open, everything around gets even more blurry. You try to call for help, to shout for your mommy and daddy, but the only thing coming out of you are hurtful whimpers.

Your father is far gone now. One day when he left the country after joyful holidays with your family, he never showed up again. You and your mother were waiting on the airport since morning that day, only to come back home with flowers almost dried out and cake completely melted from waiting in the sun. After that day, you can't even remember when was the last time you saw your mother's smile, now a stone-like expression glued to her face permanently. That was the first birthday you didn't get your ice cream treat. Now your favourite flavour has changed, you can't stand caramel anymore. Now your hair is much shorter, as no one is there to braid it for you. Now your favourite yellow dress is somewhere in the basement, dirty and dusty, probably not even looking any similar to yellow anymore. Now your birthday is the worst day of the year.

Your body jolted up almost entirely off the foor, horrified gasp leaving your mouth, followed by unsteady, heavy breathing in any attempt to catch any air in your lungs. You can feel your body trembling under the weight of your nightmare, but you don't cry. You don't cry because there's no use of crying. Nothing will change no matter how many tears leave your eyes. That's all you've learnt for past six years.

"You okay?"

You jumped slightly in place and turned around to see the source of somehow similar voice coming from right behind you. Your gaze lands on a silhouette sitting on the bed, gently hovering over your shaking body. You squint your eyes but can't catch a glimpse of the stranger's face. Voice deep and familiar, you seek through your brain to recall it's owner, but the canvas stay blank.

"I get them too."

"Huh?"

"Nightmares. I get them too."

He plumps his body down onto the floor, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. However, the position helped you take a closer look at his face. Moonlight now slightly shining its glow into the round cheeks, big eyes, and barely visible smile plastered on Han Jisung's face. He gifts you with an understanding look, as if he was trying to bluetooth some comfort into you. You only shake your head, brushing it away.

“It wasn’t a nightmare.”

“That must’ve been a solid dream then, you were turning and tossing in your sleep like crazy,” Jisung nods his head slowly, eyes fixated somewhere far away, outside the window, “What was it about?”

You shot him an annoyed look, brows knitted together.

“A rollercoaster ride.”

“That’s fireee…” he sounds genuinely impressed, and you seek for anything in his face that could tell you if he’s being fucking for real. “I’ve never been on rollercoaster. Unless we’re including the emotional ones.”

Jisung chuckles audibly to himself but quickly tone it down after noticing your dead silence. His eyes look back from your face to some random spot outside. “Were your parents in this dream?”

Spit stills in your throat at his question but you refuse to turn your head towards his. You slowly let air leave your nostrils in tensed huff.

“Why?”

“You talk in your sleep. You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t.”

Your empty response signaled Jisung not to continue on the topic, so he only nods and points at half-empty beer bottle settled down by your hip.

“You shouldn’t be drinking, you’re sixteen, no?”

“I can smell wine from like three miles away from you, Mr. Policeman.” you returned, earning a quiet laugh from him, throwing his head back gently.

“Guilty.”

Incredibly awkward conversation. Incredibly awkward and simple but easier than any random chat with your seatmate, or Chan, or anyone else you got to talk to, ever. Jisung’s aura felt warm, familiar, slowly inching its way towards you and embracing your body. Something about it made it seem like you don’t have to be extra or put any much effort to talk to Jisung. He wasn’t really expecting you to talk to him, either. It’s not like he was unfamiliar with people ignoring his poor attempts of making a conversation. But you didn’t run away from him, like anyone else would. You sat there, with him, when you could've just brush it off.

“And why are you here?” you quirked an eyebrow at him, expecting Jisung to be glued to Chan like he always did.

“I’m not a fan of crowded spaces. They make me feel like I'm in chokehold.”

Jisung’s response take you aback a bit, your eyes blinking few times at him in surprise. You’re positive that everyone who at least heard of Han Jisung once in their life would associate him with need of constant attention, being in centre of a crowd. His personality is so bubbly and bright it could easily outshine everyone in the room. You supposed his loudness was intentional, to pull people towards him.

“Are you sure you’re the Han Jisung I walk by in school everyday? The one who won a competition in taking shots just to get some stupid title among those losers?”

“Sometimes you gotta take a step back and stay in the crowd so someone else can be the best. I can’t be a winner every time, I'm basically doing them a favor.” Jisung laughed at his own words again in obvious attempt to brush the topic away. So you let it go, getting up from the floor with slight struggle caused by your previous position that made your legs sore. You opened the balcony door and stepped outside, cold breeze welcoming your poorly dressed body. Jisung followed you out like a puppy, leaning on the railing just beside you. Current location allowed both of you to observe the wildlife going on below you, in the backyard. Beer pong, truth or dare, even a whole ass concert performed by a group of drunk girls. It all created a disgusting mess.

“They look possessed.” you commented, internally very happy you actually have a person you could complain to, knowing your boring and judgemental attitude won’t push Jisung away.

Dead silence creeped in for good two minutes.

“Maybe that’s what normal teenagers do?” he murmured into his palm, not looking at you, “Maybe they’re ordinary people and we are the weird ones?“

You sent him a pitiful look, genuinely amused by the fact that he dared to compare you to them.

"You want to be like them?"

"Sometimes it seems easier, no?"

You raise an eyebrow at Jisung.

"To be ordinary, I mean. Do you ever wonder how does it feel not to get those glances? Or not to be judged? You're just a part of the crowd wherever you go because you fit in. With everyone. Doesn't that sound cool?" He tilts his head at you, however, you notice he avoids eye contact, staring at some random spot on your cheek. It's obvious this topic bothered Jisung’s mind for a while, many thoughts spinning between his gaze, but you can't decode any of them.

You take a minute to analyze every light reflecting in his pupils.

"No, I don't think so. You won't find your spark in the crowd, not when it's constantly hiding between others," Jisung remained silent, but this time his eyes met yours, a sign that he's listening. "But once you find it, right people will come to you themselves."

"How do I recognize them? The right people?"

"You just do." Your body turns towards his entirely.

"Don't look for yourself in others, Jisung. You'll spend your entire life being lost. And by the time you wake up, your life will be coming to it's end."

"Are you happy with your life?"

"You ask too many questions, has anyone ever told you that?" Your eyes roll, but Jisung doesn't take his off you, visibly waiting for your response. You sigh. "Someday I will be. We both will be."

You never showed up at any house party again. But neither did Jisung.

That night you felt heard for the first time in six years, even though you didn’t have much to say. Jisung seemed to understand what remained unspoken, knowing the right time will eventually come, someday. Some sort of invisible string connected you and him, pulling you to each other whenever there was no one else to be there for you. And you never complained, Jisung may say odd and stupid things at most times, but that might be the part of you that you needed, the one where perspective on life is a bit gentler. Jisung noticed the rough shell you put around yourself throughout the years and started off with brushing its spikey surface, hoping one day he'll crack it open, for you.

And he feels the same. Having a genuine friend was an unfamiliar experience for Jisung. Whenever his eyes land on you he swear he feels like his body is freed, even if it's only for a few moments. Like tight ropes loosened on his body, softening the grip so he can expose another part of himself to you. You never laugh, you never make fun, never judge. Sometimes you don't even say anything but he knows it's equivalent to I accept you. And he feels accepted. Like he finally found a shelter that would protect him from a storm, no matter if it's only for now, Jisung knows he's safe with you.

-----

Shoot.

A noise spreads through quiet, pitch black room, then it goes silent again. You shift in your bed, face scrunched in focus not to get discracted by it so your current progress in falling asleep doesn't go to waste. Legs pulled up tightly against your chest, completely wrapped up in the covers, finally giving your muscles some proper rest they've been yearning for. A minute passes.

Shoot. Shoot.

You pull the blanket above your head. It doesn't take too long for your lungs to beg for some fresh air, but you stay covered up from head to toes, relishing in silence so loud you could feel blood flowing in your ears. However realisation hits quickly and you know it won't work without suffocating yourself to death, so you let just the tip of your nose outside through a small hole, breathing in some cool air.

Shoot.

What the fucking hell.

You sit up angrily, irritated groan coming out of your throat as you pull youself up and seach for the source of the noise that disturbed your only almost succesful attempt to sleep. You furiously look around the room, listening carefully for any hints.

Shoot.

Your body turns itself towards the window in a hearbeat, ready to murder the doer. Swinging it open, your eyes land on not anyone else than Han Jisung, standing just below your window with the stupidest grin on his face, already waving to you.

"Oh jesus fuck." you're already disappearing inside again when another muffled thud reaches your window in attempt to stop you, along with Jisung's quiet "Hey, hey, hey!" being heard outside. You swing your head down once again. "You have 30 second to explain yourself or I'm never talking to you again."

Because what exactly is happening right by your window is Han Jisung standing by his bike tossed in the grass, with very poorly looking muffin in his hands, a single light up cangle stuck in the middle. It glows the smallest shine on his face covered in the darkness, allowing you to see the silhouette of his smile so wide it almost gave you a cheek ache just by looking at it.

"How long does it take for you to wake up, god," he drops his head for a second, shaking it, before looking up at you once again, searching for your face in the night. "Dumbass even forgot it's her birthday today."

Yeah, your birthday.

Of course you didn't forget. It was the very first time in good 3 months you went to sleep before midnight, purposely, just to avoid this horrible day appearing on the callendar, again. This time you were falling asleep praying to heaven to let you sleep through today and wake up when it's over. Not to add that this year specifically meant less than ever to you as you were turning eighteen, suddenly everything reminding you about how a grown up woman can't gather her life together, not in the slightest.

Apparently, Han Jisung was born to ruin your plans.

"It's a little bit cold down here so if you don't mind getting your ass over here and bringing me some jacket, that would be fantastic." Jisung gets you back to earth and you only throw him an angry scoff, disappearing in your room for no longer than 2 minutes before jumping carefully out the window and closing it as quietly as possible, not to wake up your sleeping mother that would probably slip into a coma if she witnessed you sneaking out. With a boy especially. You face him with your brows furrowed in annoyance and he gestures you to blow the candle that already was dripping down the muffin. Your eyes roll.

"Happy birthday, y/n."

"You're insufferable. I wish myself a better friend next year," you blow the candle in one puff and hand Jisung your jacket he already claimed as his due to the numerous amount of times he borrowed it from you.

"You know damn well no one else would befriend you," he chuckles and hides the candle in his pocket.

As you walk past him you can't help the corners of your lips forming in the tiniest grin. No matter how much you despised your birthday and celebrating it, if you could even call it this way, your chest felt warmer knowing that there's someone in this world that doesn't hate it as much as you do. Just like last year, Jisung is the only one to remember. Who else if not him? Your mother practically crossed out this date out of her life, your father never called, beside that no one else has ever asked. A year ago you were so sure by your eighteenth birthday he will be gone, either by getting some new, fancier company or simply growing out of you. Yet here he is, standing by your window at midnight, still the same way he was a year ago. He really hasn't changed at all.

You ended up sitting on a cold kerbstone by already closed store and its parking lot, completely empty and quiet like it's never been. Knees hugged to your chests, jackets wrapped around your bodies tightly. Silence maintenances between you and Jisung, but it's not uncomfortable, quite the opposite, actually. You share occasional glances at each other while swaying back and forth. Eventually your eyes land at the cake lookalike he placed between your bodies and you examine its messiness. The frosting clearly not mixed well, spilled on top of the muffin as if Jisung was in a hurry and some old, probably expired colorful sprinkles on top of it all. Somehow you found it pretty. Yes, it looked like a total disaster, but picturing Jisung tries and effort he put in it made it look better in your eyes.

"Shall we taste the masterpiece?" he grinned, catching you staring at the cake. You nodded and he proceeded to clumsily part the muffin in two pieces.

"One, two, three..." Jisung counts and both of you bite in. You chew, feeling occasional crunches here and there, sprinkles rock hard between your teeth. He observes you carefully, searching for your reactions as you take your time swallowing it.

"It's pretty bad," you comment after a while, shaking crumbs off your hands. Jisung whines, hiding his head between his knees.

"I know! I suck at baking. I should've just buy it-"

"But I like it."

Jisung's head shoot up and he's looking at you, startled. The muffin is still filling up his cheeks that create two perfect globes decorating his face. You giggle to yourself.

Silence. Jisung continued to chew on the food, quietly, eyes glued to his feet. Yours remain on your hands. You clench and unclench them, observing nail prints on your skin disappear everytime you stick them inside it. Your bottom lip is stuck between your teeth, now all red and swollen.

Weird feeling built up inside of your guts. You don't exactly feel... older. It just feels like everything suddenly started to matter. Everything you did and everything you did not do. You try searching for any other emotion in yourself, but the only one left is guilt.

"I don't want to grow up, Jisung."

He doesn't look up this time, lips forming in a tight line.

"I know. I don't want to, either."

Jisung rests his arms on his knees, laying his head on them, turned in your direction. You mirrored slowly, gaze meeting his. You blinked at each other, not any particular emotion written on any of your faces. You scanned his, tracing every curve of it with your eyes, stopping by every mole and scar. He's so far from what he used to be. His nose and jawline much more visible, his hair grown, just an inch, but it did. Looking at him now, you see he matured. A lot. And it's amazing how you've watched him grow out of this stupid, irresponsible boy he used to be. But you know this boy is still hiding inside of him, in the deepest corners, Jisung effectively trying to suppress him. Sometimes, you just wish he would let him out. Just to go back.

"Have you ever thought of running away from here?” you blurted out suddenly and you swear you could see Jisung’s breathing stop, response building up inside him, carefully thinking about his next words.

“I have, I even tried. But I guess I’m afraid to go. Or maybe I’m afraid of being left all to myself,” he answers slowly, sigh leaving his lips right after.

“Wouldn’t that be great? I mean, aren’t you tired of the city? Of people, your family, sometimes even of yourself,” he blinks at you silently before turning his head, looking at the lantern ahead of you, and you do the same. “Because I feel stuck here.”

“That was the reason I ran away. I felt like I wouldn’t move on if I stayed here. I think I was searching for something to look forward to.”

It really seemed like Jisung spoke words for you.

You move closer to him, pressing your side onto his. Your head finds its place on his shoulder and he doesn't tense up or move away. Jisung melts into the position, like his shoulder was designated for you to lean on. His lips press to your hair and sigh leaves them.

"Did it work?" You ask and he shakes his head no, lips formed in a line once again. Your tongue pokes inside of your cheek. "Would it work if we went together?"

Jisung looks at you, question written on his face and you push yourself off his shoulder, locking your eyes. The words left your mouth so easily Jisung couldn't find any hesitation or joke in your face. "I don't know."

"Imagine this. We could be wherever we want, doing whatever we want. No one would know us. Maybe we could... find something. To keep us going. I don't know."

"What about our families?"

"Do you really think any of them would bat an eye?"

Jisung goes silent. He is silent because you're right. As far as he remembers, he was no one's special concern. He never thought about whether it's work's fault or just lack of love, but it separated his family members effectively throughout the years. That was the main reason he has spent past years in your company - both of you could sneak out, stay up late, skip school. Freedom, some might say. But honestly, never in two years he saw pure happiness in your eyes. And neither you did in his. You really are the only thing Jisung has left. He treasures you more than himself and the night you met, he promised himself to let you experience life once again.

So fuck it.

"Okay. Let's do this."

Your eyebrows furrow suspiciously, scanning his face features, looking for any signs of joke. You go quiet for a minute, expecting him to break his character, saying you lost your mind and that he's not going anywhere. But that doesn't happen.

"Wait, really?"

"Mhm. Consider it your birthday present, I guess."

[solomons-poison]

hello! could you do solomon with prompt 33? your work is awesome :))

Touch Starved with Solomon

A/N: Thank you so much, anon! I never anticipated this many requests, I'm really happy people like my nonsense thoughts haha. I think this prompt is perfect for Solomon, he definitely comes across as someone that is very touched starved (honestly I could argue the same for practically all the boys, even Asmo in a way..) so this was fun. Sorry it took a while to get to but I hope you enjoy!

Featuring: GN reader || Solomon x reader

Warnings: fluff and perhaps some angst?; needy Solomon, he needs some hugs :(

══════════════════

Honestly, it came as a surprise to both you and Solomon. Even before dating, you noticed he could tend to get a little touchy-feely with you more than the others, draping an arm across your shoulders or putting his hand on your elbow as he directed you somewhere, or during magic lessons. Hugs sometimes lasted a little bit longer than intended and he always seemed reluctant to pull away.

You thought that was just his nature, that he was this way with everyone. But you eventually noticed he was only this way with you in particular. After you two started dating, you attributed this just to his romantic feelings for you and didn't think much more of it. However, even that didn't seem to explain it completely.

It was a discovery for both of you almost simultaneously. With Solomon's immortality, he'd stopped developing deep connections with regular mortal beings, especially humans, as the years went on. He wanted to be surrounded by community, of course, but it was hard to experience loss over and over as he constantly outlived the people he came to know.

He was even hesitant about dating you, to be honest with himself, because he worried about the same thing happening with you. But his relationship with demons and other sorcerers was strained and focused on business, not friendship, so his social needs sat neglected due to his worries.

That's why, even before getting together with you, he seemed to be coming apart at the seams with want for affection and just simple human touch, and his growing feelings for you certainly didn't help. Now that you two shone the light on the cause of it all, it became clear he was simply touch-starved and helped you figure out what you could provide to him.

Of course, Solomon doesn't want any of the other demons knowing this, anything that may seem embarrassing or showing weakness to them. But he's glad it's out in the open to you. If you respond well and provide him with all the attention he needs, you'll have earned yourself a big cuddly cat of a sorcerer.

Some of his favorite things are just cuddling up close to you at the end of the day, letting you thread your fingers through his hair and leaving soft kisses on his face. (Sometimes he forgets you were playing with his hair and he leaves the room looking like a mess...) He also adores touching your hands, rubbing circles on the top of your hand and kissing your fingers.

Occasionally he slips up and someone else may see how touchy he is with you, Asmo and Simeon often being the witnessing parties, but as long as you're not bothered by it, he'll let it slide. It's just his way of showing his love for you and appreciation for you being by his side.

It also goes without saying that if you aren't particularly into touch, yourself, he will rein himself back so you aren't uncomfortable. Honestly, anything you can afford him is still leagues better than nothing at all, and he wants to be respectful of your boundaries at all times. But just know that he is your sweet, loving, touch-starved sorcerer ready to be by your side whenever he can.

[sky-casino]

entanglement - spiderman!sae x fem!reader au

pairing: spiderman!itoshi sae x fem!reader

genre: fluff, a sprinkle of pining and angst

wc: 2,200+

a/n: i previously wrote a spiderman!nagi fic with a friend and a little while later, i realized that i also wanted to write spiderman!sae lol. hope you enjoy~

your city's superhero in red-and-blue has been repeatedly saving and protecting you lately, thanks to your clumsiness and frequent weird coincidence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

at first, he didn't speak to you at all. he just suddenly swings by at the nick of time to save you from a nearby car crash, a scheming snatcher, or from a falling scaffold.

but perhaps the heroic spiderman also gets irritated, just like the rest of humanity. hence his new habit of speaking to you curtly after the both of you notice that he's been protecting you quite frequently lately, and by frequently it means four times just this month alone. that's once a week.

"take care." "watch your surroundings." "be attentive." "don't walk with your earphones in."

those are his terse reminders for you that he says after you thank him profusely with your face beet-red given the embarrassment you're in.

in your defense, you really have been trying to be more vigilant towards your environment, especially since you do not want spiderman to think you're a complete clutz. but perhaps the stars are simply not aligning for you right now.

after each encounter with spiderman, you always tell your friends about it in school the next day. you never fail to always gush about him, how cool he is, how safe you feel in his arms. your storytelling was out of excitement initially, but it has evolved more into embarrassment with your friends teasing you about how much of a clumsy person you are, or that you are purposely getting into accidents to grab spiderman's attention. you vehemently deny all of these allegations, stating that you are now more attentive towards your surroundings so the hero won't have to bother with you any longer.

you and your friends are too engrossed in your fun conversation that you don't notice sae picking out a drink in the nearby vending machine, secretly listening to you. he hides his amusement by maintaining his poker face and pretending to struggle selecting a drink.

you finally notice him as he is about to leave with his salted kombucha.

"oh, sae! there you are. don't forget that practice will start 15 minutes earlier later. coach has some announcements. he also wants to try a new training menu."

"no need to remind me." he replies coldly, not even looking at you.

"damn, he's handsome but rude as hell. it's still a wonder to me that you can deal with him." one of your friends says.

you sigh before replying, "well. he's the captain and i'm the manager. we need to work in synergy, or else the team and coach will have a hard time. but he's not too bad, actually! just cold, but very hardworking. and it's not like he ever ignores me." you find yourself defending your captain.

as sae walks away, he smiles a little as he recalls the way you talk about spiderman, about him.

his favorite part is whenever you express how safe you feel with him around. well, with his alter-ego around.

sae has always secretly liked you. but given his personality, it was no surprise that he denied it at first. he found himself having this inevitable habit of watching you from across the classroom, across the soccer field, across the halls. somehow up to now, his eyes always find you.

he finally admitted to himself that yes, you are attractive. and that maybe, just maybe, he is attracted to you, and your gorgeous face, and your diligence as a manager. that maybe it is indeed a crush. and he is content with that, with watching you from a far. it's nothing serious after all, he convinced himself.

but soon he noticed that he feels disappointed in himself when you talk to him about even just the slightest dip in his performance. as the manager, it's your responsibility to record and analyze the performance of each player, so it's absolutely nothing personal. but for him it is. of course, he has his own ambitions and goals for himself, so it's natural to feel dissatisfied about it. but when it comes from you, he feels a different kind of disappointment.

that's the point when he realized that it's more than a simple crush. oh.

the usually quiet sae has become even more quiet that week, battling his thoughts. convincing himself that it's just a crush, nothing more. giving himself as many excuses as possible. i can't be distracted. this is just a distraction. a distraction i absoultely can't afford to have. she's the manager, it's her job to assess me- us.

rin, his ever-loving younger brother who has been observing him, and by association, you as well, has finally spoken out of the blue as the two of them are walking home.

"you like her. that's it. it's that simple. what's more to think about?"

"huh?!" the older itoshi exclaimed, abruptly stopping on his tracks.

"you know what i'm talking about. she's single too. so go for it."

sae is looking at rin with wide eyes, surprised with his brother's nonchalance about such a sensitive topic.

"don't even try to deny it. not to me. i know you." rin went ahead before sae could even start denying, which was his exact plan.

"shut up. don't tell anyone. especially her. got it?" sae turns around and continues walking.

"but why-"

"just don't. end of discussion."

sae ended the discussion like that because even after hearing it from rin, he ultimately decided to just leave his feelings alone. he told himself that he will get over it, that he will forget about all of these.

but then he got his spider-like ability and became proficient with it in no time. putting it to good use by saving and protecting people and catching criminals. and eventually, saving you. repeatedly.

these encounters with you just hit different. catching you in his arms as the two of you swing across the horizon. seeing your pretty face illuminating the sunset hues makes his heart pound effortlessly. you tightly clinging to him as your life depends on it. your blushing face as you thank him again and again. he gets to enjoy all of these behind the mask where you can't see his equally red face and his smile.

this newfound superhuman ability provided him with more chances to spend time with you, with just the two of you.

and honestly, sae finds himself wavering from time to time. that maybe rin is right and he is wrong. that perhaps there's no harm in confessing. he is strong and he can protect you. you already like spiderman, so that also increases the chances of you agreeing to be with him. but with just a shake of his head, he shakes off these thoughts and comes back focused on his goals.

it's been a couple of months since sae last decided to get over his feelings for you. it's been hard. trying not to feel anything whenever he sees and hears you has been difficult. but this is the route he chose to take, and rin is watching on the side unamused.

one evening after the team practice, sae is left behind in the club room. this is his usual habit so no one questions it anymore. you, everyone in the team, and the coach assume that it's his way of reflecting on the day's practice and his performance.

that evening, though, you accidentally left your math notebook in the room and quickly run back to retrieve it. you expect sae to still be there, but he's not and only his bag is present. your notebook is near his duffel bag and upon picking up your item, your eyes were caught by the vibrant red-and-blue cloth with black lines all over it.

you slowly take it in your hand to further examine it. and in just a few seconds, you understand.

sae, who's coming back from the comfort room, rushes into the club room the moment he sees that the door is open, which he was certain he closed.

the two of you look at each other in a panic, aware that the other already knows the truth.

"you're…"

"yes." sae does not wait for you to finish.

"you're the one saving me all this while?"

"yes."

"why didn't you tell me… that it's you?"

sae has never found himself out of words when speaking to someone, until now. until you.

"did you know how embarrassed i've been? the entire class--including you--knows that i adore spiderman because he--you--saved me again and again. oh my god… sorry, i'm sorry for bothering you all this time!" and you on the other hand, have never found yourself as flustered as you are now, covering your face with your hands and pacing back and forth.

"you don't have to apologize, y/n." it's your first time to hear sae speak in such a warm and comforting tone. the sound is so foreign.

"i… i chose to save and protect people. you don't have to feel sorry and embarrassed. it's oka-"

"why didn't you tell me that it's you, though? you had lots of chances."

"no one knows it. even rin."

"okay. don't worry, your secret's safe with me." you mutter before walking briskly towards the door in an attempt to leave, the awkwardness getting overwhelming. but sae stops you, holding both of your arms with urgency.

"y/n, wait. you… you don't have to be embarrassed that you adore my other self. because…"

just looking at him right now makes you anxious and awkward, but you do your best holding his gaze.

"because…?"

"because i like you too. if that… makes you feel better." sae exhales slowly, not realizing that he's been holding his breath all this time.

"gotta go." he mutters after a few seconds of silence, realizing that you do not know how to respond to his confession.

sae retrieves his bag too quickly and you find yourself alone by the club room's door, too astonished by everything that transpired.

three weeks later, you invite your friends, classmates, and the soccer team to your birthday party at your house. this includes sae even though the two of you haven't been on speaking terms since that eventful night. you notice that he hasn't been looking at you either, completely ignoring your existence. but for some reason, you can't bring yourself to get mad at him. you understand that it might have been humiliating for him to admit his feelings and not getting a response in return. however, you were just too shocked at that moment, you honestly even felt a bit dizzy by the revelations that night.

as expected, sae is nowhere in sight during your celebration. you're acting like it doesn't bother you, but deep down it does.

at the end of the night, you feel depleted and take refuge in your bed. upon lying down, you feel and hear something crumple underneath your body. you quickly check it and surprisingly find a torn notebook paper with the message "rooftop." with a little web doodle that serves like a signature. all your sleepiness and exhaustion immediately vanish. you put on your cream-colored cardigan and climb up the stairs to your apartment building's rooftop.

you expect to find sae there but there are only two small boxes--a mini cake and a stapled shopping bag.

being occupied with the gifts sort of numbs your awareness of your surroundings, hence you don't feel sae slowly descending from his web string a few meters behind you. he removes his mask upon landing.

"happy birthday." he suddenly says, making you jolt.

"oh my god, itoshi sae! don't scare me like that!" sae laughs at your cute expression.

"sorry, i wasn't able to attend. had to take care of something."

"don't worry about it." you say as you wave your hand. "you're spiderman, after all. there are more pressing matters that need your attention. and besides, you're here right now, aren't you? thank you for the gifts. i really appreciate them."

he strides towards the spot beside you, leaning his forearms on the railing.

a moment of silence ensues, but this time it's not filled with tension or any smidge of awkwardness. it's a comfortable silence.

"sorry too for… ignoring you these past weeks. i-"

"no sae, i'm the one who has to apologize." you say with conviction as you face towards him. "i was just too shocked by the things i learned that night. i found out that you're spiderman, you… you said you like me. i didn't mean to not give you any response. but still, i'm so sorry."

sae is looking at with you with wide eyes, astounded that you're apologizing to him even though he thought that he put you in a difficult position when he confessed out of the blue.

"can i hug you?" he whispers without thinking, too mesmerized by you and your enchanting personality.

you open your arms with a sheepish smile and sae do not waste any second, going in and wrapping you up in his suit-clad arms.

you embrace him back tightly, basking in his warmth, feeling him and every nook and cranny of his spiderman suit. this is the man who have been tirelessly saving you, the people, and protecting the city these past months while juggling school and soccer.

and he's in your arms, and he loves you.

[callsign-mongoose]

Bachelorette Bookclub

Pairing: Robert "BOB" Floyd x Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: Drunk brunch with your brides maids, They are kinda bitches, a couple sexual jokes but most of this is fluff.

Word count: 1.5k (It's just a little Blurb)

Essentially, your celebrating your bachelorette brunch with your girls and the question of how you and your fiancé met comes up!

A/N: I just thought this was a cute idea! I've been struggling with writers block recently so please help if you have any ideas you really want someone to write! Send them to me!

On to the show

Mimosa buzzed giggles were being shared in the corner of the booth. Your closest girlfriends sitting around enjoying their 4th glass in their ultimately bottomless mimosas. 

Girl brunch had always been a part of the schedules no matter how they changed. Besides, no one was going to miss out on your bachelorette party. It was a rather simple idea, everything about the wedding was simple and you and your fiancé Bob liked it that way.  A girls weekend at a nearby hotel, it was more about enjoying the time spent together than getting plastered bar crawling for one night. 

From just over the flowerbeds sectioning off the patio of the restaurant from the rest of the hotel, a crowd of guys came bounding through wearing their swim trunks and holding towels chanting, “Pool Bar! Pool Bar! Pool Bar!” The group seemed to be almost carrying one man in the middle who seemed like he was simply embarrassed to be there. His cheeks all red, shaking his head laughing as his friends continued to pull him down the hall. 

It was your man, your fiancé, your Bob. You never knew how he managed to stay so docile and sweet when surrounded by so many brash impulsive men. You had become close with the rest of Bobs team, Natasha was a given, she was the first right of passage, everyone else was just entertainment. As much as you loved them, they weren’t anything that you’d want to spend every day with. 

Your friends had started to giggle once again as they watched the horde of a Batchelor party run by. “He really is… a catch hon.” Lydia, one of your bridesmaids commented before turning to Adyson giving her a look. It was very clear her words were condescending, and it wasn’t appreciated. “Yeah… babes you could have done so much better, look at him, has he ever had fun a day in his life? He looks like the human embodiment of a piece of paperwork… his friends are hot though and look like so much fun.” A fit of laughter and sexual comments erupted from the group of drunk women as they fawned over Bobs coworkers. 

“Hold on, hold on, we need to at least let her defend her pick.” Lexi, your maid of honor spoke up, clearly not having the rest of the parties’ rude comments. “Remember who the one getting married is, at least our bride can hold a stable relationship.” Lexi shot Adyson and Lydia a look that made them immediately shut up as they had both been known to find new lovers every week. “Why don’t you tell them how you and Bob met, that’s such a cute story. It perfectly encapsulates the relationship you have with your soon to be Hubby.” 

A light flush crossed your cheeks, grateful that Lexi had been able to reign in the chaos that had been caused by the alcohol, “Fine fine, I’ll tell it… I’m surprised you can’t recite it yourself by now Lexi” You teased placing your mimosa glass down. 

“Well, it started because I was hunting down a book for a class that I was taking. A recommendation from the professor…”

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

“Haust, Heidi, come on where’s Heinlein.” Your fingers brushed over the spines of the books as you glanced at the authors names. The authors name sounded so foreign in your mind now that you had repeated it about 10,000 times over trying not to forget. 

The spine had been worn in but the name of the book could be read enough to tell, that was it, The Tunnel In The Sky. Lifting your hand to pull it off the shelf a larger hand grazed over yours, rough finger pads just barely kissing your knuckles before pulling away. “Oh.. sorry, I didn’t realize-“ 

He was handsome, but that was one of the last things you noticed about him. Eyes scanning his plain gray crewneck, then to his dark blue baseball cap, noticing how his hair was peaking out around the sides, very clearly pushed down against his head. Blue eyes seemed to fit the man, captivating and friendly, even if his facial expression was concerned about their interaction.

Perhaps the most interesting about him was the fact that the stranger hadn’t even tried to grab the book again, simply stepping back to allow you to take dibs, pulling it off the shelf. 

“It seems like we’ve both got good taste huh?” You said trying to break the rather awkward silence that had thickened between the two of you. 

The man gave a chuckle that reassured you he was just as nervous as you seemed to be about the situation. “Yeah… are you familiar with it?” He asked gesturing towards the book that was now in your hands, “Someone’s definatly read it plenty of times, the spines been subjected to lots of love.” 

You milled the book over in your hands, fingers tracing the spine now that the stranger had mentioned it. “Yeah…” Your mind wandered for a moment before you realized there was a first part to the question the man asked. “Oh! Uh, no no, it’s my first time reading it actually. I’m taking a history class right now over at SDCC (San Diego Community College) and my professor mentioned the book during a lecture and I got curious.” Feeling like you had talked far too much about yourself, you swallowed shallowly, “Um, what about you? Do you know much about it?” 

The stranger just shook his head, “No, not really, just the basic synopsis I read online… I’m actually reading it off of a recommendation too. I tend to stick to Non-Fiction books, and my friends sorta tease me for it… in a good way,” he added quickly. “Anyway, my best friend suggested this book as a good way to kinda, get out of my normal comfort zone. I’ve been trying to expand my horizons lately.”

Your nose wrinkled trying not to giggle, “So reading a different genre of book is expanding your horizons? No offence but it doesn’t seem like you live a very fast paced life.”

“You have no idea.” His head shook and it was clear something about the situation was ironic to him. 

The interaction could have ended there but you weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to the handsome stranger quite yet. Besides, there hadn’t been any decisions that decided who’d get the book. 

“Here,” You tried to offer holding the book out for the man to take, “I don’t need to read it right now, I can always just rent it later, it’s no big deal.”

The man shook his head gently pushing the book back into your grasp, “Your doing it to farther your education and understanding, I couldn’t get in the way of that.” 

“And your trying to expand your horizons and tastes, that’s important too.”

After a tense moment of silence and a range of eye movements to try to encourage the other to take the book, the man’s lips broke into a smile, eyes shifting to the book shelf. “Okay… how about this, a benefit to us both. We take turns, make it kind of a book club thing.” He offered smiling. “We read a chapter or two, then switch off, once we each read a couple chapters we meet for lunch, and talk about it?” He offered with a hopeful smile. 

How could you resist, intellectual conversation with a handsome guy over lunch? Yes please. “Alright, that sounds like a deal…” You pulled out your phone, handing it to the man to put his number in, once returned to you, it was quick to go into your pocket. 

Attention turning back to the man who had put himself into your phone as Bob Floyd, you noticed him reaching back up to the shelf for something. He grabbed another book, a second copy of “Tunnel In The Sky”, a grin spreading on his face, “Huh… another copy, weird.” 

You laughed quietly “guess we went through all that trouble of making a plan for nothing huh?”

“Not necessarily, perhaps I just chose to ignore the second newer copy in favor of the well loved copy and the opportunity to talk to a beautiful girl.” The grin on his face said it all, he was being confident, but it was new to him, and it suited him well. 

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

All the girls around the table had been lulled into having their hands on their chins like children gathered for story time. “Aww, all that just to talk to you? How cute.” Adyson said her lips curling into a grin.

 “It worked didn’t it?” You responded holding up your left hand with the engagement ring on it, “He’s perfect guys, I couldn’t care less if he’s a bit timid. Bobby shows when it really counts.” 

What was a warm and tender moment quicky changed as Lexi pretended to hide her mouth to comment “He show’s out in the bedroom too.” 

A shriek escaped you as you slapped Lexi’s hand from her mouth in a playful manner as the rest of the girls laughed.  So what if Bob wasn’t the biggest, or the loudest, or the most smooth. He was yours, and that was all you could have asked him to be. 

[angelic-dew]

yandere slenderman headcanons !

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 📎 ୧・author's note; AFTER A YEAR I DO THIS- I like to do my headcanons separately, so when Jeff is done, I'll link it here. I was going through 'a mood' while writing this so heh

✧༉‧₊˚୨🖤୧・pairing; Yandere! Slenderman x G/N Reader ( you/your pronouns.)

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 📎 ୧・trigger warnings; grammar mistakes, yandere, stalking, murder, messed up topics, kidnapping, toxic relationships, talk of the supernatural, isolation and many other dark themes, dni if you are sensitive towards these such themes.

⚝Just a reminder I don't tolerate nor do I encourage the following topics in reality; I like keeping it strictly to fiction.

🪐. It wasn't a normal or for that matter, a usual occurrence for Slender to fall ever so deeply for one. Especially if that someone is a mere human or even a proxy working under him. Yet, he wasn't the being to feel these such strong emotions that controlled him like if he were a puppet under command from its faithful puppeteer; that's what he initially thought.

🕸. He was so puzzled by these feelings. For hundreds of decades, he has been around for, lurking and haunting through the deep, thick and densely forested woods he inhabits, that feeling was.. foreign to him. Even in his past life, he didn't even experience such overbearing passion for another. This was indeed and life-changing news for his newfound obsession new.

🪐. But what was this feeling? The towering being didn't understand himself. Through all the knowledge and wisdom he has gathered through the innumerable years he has been alive for, it didn't quite add up to what he felt. Was it lust? did he possibly fall in love..? No, that surely couldn't be! After all, was he capable of feeling that? He is a cold-blooded demonic figure who has little to no remorse for his unfortunate victims; this couldn't be. Was he being bewitched? No, that couldn't be.

🕸. Oh but how it was true! He was at a point of pure denial. From his first meeting with you, he couldn't function like his usual self; or should I say he wasn't able to focus on anything else but you. The thought of you ran through his sick mind wildly, capturing his attention every time it did. He even started second-guessing himself at certain points. "Did they have their hair styled that way?" "That look on their face, was it one of shock?", thoughts such as that.

🪐. It was an overbearing feeling that now began to consume his entire mind, which believe me is strong, into an obsessive delusional mess clustered up. The figure felt as if he needed you. Urgently, desperately.. you were his one and only desire to simply gaze upon once more.

🕸. He began to stalk you or if he was busy, he would request for Hoodie or Masky to get the job done, Toby can't be trusted for this specific task. He watched you carefully when he was allowed the chance, peering at you through your window from your room, as the gentle moonlight crept through your room, so was his cold gaze.

🪐. When outdoors he'd watch from the shadows, observing your actions. Gaining various ideas about your schedule and of course likes, interests, etc. Things went so smoothly for him, retrieving information from your day-to-day life. At times he would permit and ask of Hoodie to take something of your possession something meager though. A pen on your desk.. a clothing item.. simple accessories.. Nothing much until things got stranger. Locks of your hair would go missing, a whole pillow vanished.. your perfume/cologne it left completely.

🕸. You felt as if you were going crazy and you started to think of yourself being extra forgetful or well, clumsy. When that definitely wasn't the case. They days went by and more things left your room, something was definitely off now. You became paranoid of your surroundings, looking around,keeping tabs on what is around you at all times. 'Were you going insane?'

🪐. This made Slenderman's job harder of course until he came up with an idea. Why doesn't he keep you away all for himself, surely it is a bit selfish! But it's better to have you safe from outsiders such as your pathetic excuse for a family, in his words. While he was preparing for you to be with him, forever. Odd and heartwrenching events transpired, loved ones you were close with began disappearing. Not one trace was left of them. You were alone. But that would be your new normal.

🕸. So one faithful night, you were struggling to sleep until you eventually gave in. The figure crept into his room. His heart beat a million miles an hour within his chest, that's if he had a heart. Remember what he was going to do? Take you away from your home. Isolate you.

🪐. That's what happened exactly, he took you away to a smaller, abandoned mansion located in his same forest. Placing your unconscious body on the cushiony bed in the room he prepared for you, he left to take care of matters. Not before securely locking the entrances to the house, he can't take chances at this point. You were finally in his grasp!

🕸. When you eventually woke up, the sight before you was one you didn't expect in all of your years. This room was out of the ordinary.. foreign.. then what else was surprising? All your 'missing' items were laid out before you in a room that was decorated with what you like? How did this even happen? Your eyes gazed upon the walls which were painted in your favorite colour.

🪐. Well, what timing was this? within a few minutes, a certain slender figure opened the door to your room. Pleased with the sight bestowed before him, his dearly beloved awake and looking at him with fearful eyes? no! you love him, you're just confused. Well yes, you will indeed live in that same 'confusion' for the rest of your days spent being his one and only darling.

© yandere-smoothie :: don't reclaim or translate without permission. <3

[neaxsfiction]

Falling asleep next to Dabi (fluff)

Sitting next to Dabi in the LOV van has been a rather unique experience.

Man I'm so tired

Dabi and I were never close. Basically we barely even spoke. I mean yeah, we have interacted a bit but nothing more that could engage a friendship. I would sit on the van with Toga, but today Twice was sad and she wanted to comfort him.

My eyes slowly close and my vision goes black.

"Get up" a raspy voice says

I yawn a bit and stay on the uncomfortable pillow I seemed to have been resting my head on for quite some time now. My eyes slowly open and meet with the turquoise eyes of the cremation villain. He was very close.

"We have arrived" he says in a softer tone.

As the flashback of some moments earlier hits me, I realise what has happened and I feel extremely embarassed about it.

I quickly raise my head and apologize to him. I don't wanna make him think of me as an annoying person who crosses his boundaries. Plus I generally don't wanna mess with him. No matter how strong my quirk is.

"S' okay" he huffs and turns around to leave, avoiding amy type of eye contact.

The truth you don't know though, is that nobody has ever trusted him this much. He's used to people fearing him, which he didn't care about it at all, or calling him a monster. Deep inside though, he carved human interaction.

At the beginning of the ride, he was just staring at the window not caring about anything actually. He didn't try to interact with you as that ride would only last 30 minutes. At some point he felt a sharp pain on his shoulder.

When he was about to confront you about this, thinking you're trying to annoy him, he turns his head and realises the pain only came because of your head falling on his shoulder while you were asleep.

You trusted him enough to sleep next to him and rest your head on his shoulder. Maybe you were just too tired, but he doesn't know that. He was caught off guard with this. In his eyes you're a powerful villain and gives you a fair amount of respect when you two have to interact. He has no experience of trusting people or being trusted so he doesn't know what to do with this new feeling, that makes his ice surrounded heart melt when he realises he can be trusted.

He couldn't betray that trust. But he couldn't do anything else so he just stayed still. His mind was a mess. He was trying to comprehend what was happening thinking fast. What should he do? Should he cover you with his jacket while sleeping, like he's seen on TV? Nah that would make things weird between you two. In the end he just decided to do his best and not move. He just let you rest your head for as long you needed.

If it was only you two, and you were in deeper sleep, he'd even get brave enough to rest his head on yours for a bit. No person in the LOV has made his heart go soft like this.

When you arrived to your destination with the van, he couldn't do anything other than waking you up. He didnt want that ride to end, like at all. He whispered your name a few times until you started moving and opening your eyes.

His eyes locked with yours when you stared at him. He held on the eye contact until you broke it and started to apologize, in order to save this memory in his head, and never forget it. To be honest, he loved that expression you had, not only because he found cute how clueless you were after your little nap, but also he got a chance to stare at your beautiful eyes up close.

The look you gave him that day, only sent shivers down his spine. The look in your eyes was soft and, in his eyes, you looked vulnerable and in need of protection

Typically he never bothered to care about anybody else, other than himself. But man, that was about to change. His ice-cold heart melted right on spot, his usual glare became a soft look of appreciation and, trust me, he'd never be the same after that.

Only if you knew what you did to him that day

~

Dabi pic credits

Date uploaded; 03/07/2023

[tendermiasma]

I Hope this question won't attract unwanted crowd, I'll try to type it in a way it hopefully will prevent it, but I have a question. As a professional artist, do you have any advice on how to not feel discouraged by A /i g3 ner*a/t3d images? And what to do to protect my art from being stolen? Recently I discovered one person close to me, also an artist, started incorporating that into their works and got into selling stuff assisted by it, and I feel kind of... heartbroken, betrayed? I don't know what to do, it makes me not want to continue the relationship, because this stuff is, in my opinion, actively hurting artists, but on the other hand, I don't want to lose a friend over it. Also, I am afraid that the only way to prevent what I create from being stolen is to not share it online at all, which is also heartbreaking, because one of the biggest part of creating (at least to me) is a form of dialogue with fellow humans, sharing emotions, and interaction between the creator, the art and the audience. I just feel lost. Also, I really admire your art, your skill, and you inspire me in a very profound way, just wanted to say that. Hope you have a good day!

Hi! It's a really shitty situation and I also often feel really doom and gloom about the whole thing. But the reason I keep making art is simple: It is my greatest joy to communicate through art and with every piece I make I continue to assert over and over that my human soul and the expertise that comes with it is a thousand times more valuable than a machine, and even though a lot of people wouldn't give a shit if a person or AI made it, there are always people out there who will care. I just really, really love doing it even while capitalism and our culture of consumption is taking on new and terrible forms. If we stop making art, what's left? Just the machine and nobody to speak up otherwise. Do nothing and lose everything vs keep fighting and something else, something better by some measure happens. Action is always the cure. I'm a big believer in that because I've found it to be true.

We're at a crucial time in the entertainment and arts industries. We all have some measure of power we can use against emerging policies and trends that don't benefit/actively hurt us. The WGA is currently striking in part to make AMPTP reconsider their AI policy of essentially just updating the WGA on the technology's progess annually. Other organized labor in entertainment and visual arts can negotiate anti-AI clauses into their contracts to make it less acceptable as a practice overall. You can use Glaze on your work to confuse AI engines and they just came out with a new version that I hear is a pretty nice jump in how detectable the texture is to your eye in the images.

I'm sorry you're going through that with your friend, though. It's hard and messy and there's no set way to go about it. It all depends on what you value most and what your own moral compass is telling you what you need to do here. Personally if it were a close friend of mine, I would talk to them about it. Depending on how they respond, your decision still might be a hard one or they could make it very easy. They will absolutely tell you how much time you should invest into this. Even if their attitude is clearly signaling that they do not care about you here and that you should move on from the friendship, it's probably still going to be painful and you'll grieve it for a while. Surround yourself with friends who understand how you feel and time will do its thing.

I think you should take comfort in that if you continue with art, this won't be the hardest decision you'll ever have to make. You'll have to make harder ones and will still come out on the other side. Even if you choose not to share your art on the wider internet and keep it as a precious thing among a smaller group of friends, it still has just as much worth and as you go along you will naturally find a balance between risks and reward. Don't forget that speaking out does actually have power in itself. Remember we've been able to bully a few companies into rolling back harmful practices in the past year or so.

I hope that was somewhat helpful. We're all trying to figure this out together and there's always going to be a future for artists as long as we keep pushing back hard. Capitalism takes a mile when you give an inch so it always, always matters to be vocal, spread useful information, use anti-ai apps on your art etc. It takes more energy to stay away from something you really want to do so I'm sure you'll find a way to share your art in the capacity you're comfortable with.

[where-dreamers-go]

"Falling Early" Eragon x Reader

(A/N: Just a little meet cute, clumsy, adorable, and strangers insert reader. Sorry not sorry, Eragon. Something cute.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 684 words)

Another day, another task to fulfill. Trading was the objective.

It was late into the morning when most traders gathered. The usual faces greeted the Rider as he looked over the offerings.

Eragon was. Doing his duty, making sure the goods needed were there. Checking the lengthy list.

The flaw in his plan? Unexpected faces.

Making eye contact with one person, you, and he stumbled over his own two feet. Catching himself was reflexive. Thankfully. He was glad he did not fall flat on his face. A couple of items hitting the ground would had been fine. It made him appear more mortal than mythical. Yet hardly an action to befall a leader.

If he had fallen, goodness, the leader of Mount Arngor eating dirt from one glance at a good-looking human would not had been something for others to overlook so easily. It was a close call.

So why did he possess the desire to talk to you? He didn’t need to. It wasn’t required. But, oh, did he find his legs leading in your direction regardless.

It was a rather small amount of goods surrounding you. Most having been traded off at the first smell of the bread loafs.

“Hello.” You greeted him with a bright smile and a twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

From the closer proximity, Eragon could count the various colors in your irises. A beautiful array of shades that complimented you.

“May I interest you in a fresh loaf of bread? Baked them this morning.”

“Er… Hi.” Eragon swallowed. It was as if both his throat and mind dried up.

Was the Dragon Rider nervous? Around a person selling bread?

His silence and wide brown eyes told a tale all on their own.

Your soft chuckle made a warmth lighten in his chest.

How was he not speaking already?

Eragon considered his behavior almost childish, but perhaps clumsy was the more accurate descriptor in his case.

Mentally shaking himself, the Rider nodded.

An improvement, Eragon thought, if I had never held a conversation before now.

Offering him a smile, you pointed to a loaf on your right. “This one was made with more grains; ones that help digestion.” You pointed to another. “This one is rich in flavor. It’s one of my favorites.”

They seem genuine. And the bread all smell…really, really good.

The Rider did not expect to take a detour from his usual stops. Yet the delicious aromas were bound to make him start salivating if he didn’t leave quickly. He had other supplies to look over.

“How much for both?” Eragon asked and mentally chided himself on his amateur wording.

Had he not been making deals and trade agreements for more than one season?

A soft giggle escaped you and his knees shook for a second longer than he cared to admit.

Cursing under his breath, the Rider dug out some pieces just as you gave a price. He already felt the tips of his ears burning.

I need to go, he thought, before I do anything else…unlike me?

Efficiently and swiftly, cloth enveloped the loaves and their delightful aromas. Packaged and waiting in your outstretched hands.

“Thank you.” He nodded politely and grabbed the packages. Flutters in his stomach surprising him as his hands met yours.

“I hope to see you again.”

Again, he nodded. A smile already on his face.

They have no idea who I am, do they? Maybe that’s for the best.

Turning to leave with at least an ounce of dignity worked beautifully as he stepped away from you. Simple and light footing.

Thump

The toe of his boot hit a wooden plank.

Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply.

A muffled giggle reached Eragon’s ears, but he dared not glance behind him.

He carried on without a word and hoped that you would forget his clumsiness. If not that, Eragon hoped he would settle the sparks of interest within him before they took root.

What would the Dragon Rider do with himself if he developed silly reactions to someone he forgot to inquire the name of?

~~~

Best wishes and happy reading.)

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Coffee

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: 

Inheritance Cycle Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[funnylittlelad]

A Touch of Humanity - Din Djarin x gn!reader

re-edited (Feb. 2023)

Read on AO3 - Masterlist

Part I: Nabu

Part II | Part III

summary: Naboo isn't Din's favorite place in the galaxy. It doesn't even break his top ten. Grogu's ever-curious and troublemaking nature intertwines their lives with that of a local artist. Someone who is able to wrangle Grogu, comfort Din, and care for others without a second thought. Naboo isn't Din's favorite place in the galaxy, but with you around it was quickly becoming that way.

word count: 9.1k

tags/warnings: fluff, the timeline is what I say it is just go with it, Din deserves a #1 Dad mug, Grogu is a menace, gift giving is Din's love language, I used canonical places and history until there was no more to go off of and then made up my own to flesh it out, mentions of forgetting to eat, descriptions of food, slow burn

Naboo is humid this time of year. It’s muggy, damp, moist, all the worst things to be when it's so damn hot. It’s the type of boiling humidity that Din can feel creep across his skin under his armor. He absolutely hates having to come to Naboo. A planet ripe with swamps, cities full of holier-than-thou pompous people, and don’t get him started on the Gungans. Din swears he’s not prejudiced, but if one more Gungan tries having a conversation with him he's shooting first and asking questions later. 

Sure, everyone else in the galaxy might see Naboo as this idyllic planet, but Din just can’t. The scenery is beautiful, he won't deny that. Having to chase down a bounty here, however, isn't quite as beautiful. Democracy and civil order are great. Until they interfere with him doing his job because some lowlife seeks asylum in Naboo’s lengthy court systems. Rendering them essentially untouchable unless he wants the entire Republic on his ass. 

The only saving grace of this hellscape of a planet is the mountains. It's quieter up in the Gallo Mountains. The people aren't as nosy or judgemental. They tend to their crops, their children, and their homes while minding their business. Outsiders are welcome, but not doted on. Something Din can respect. Maybe it's the closer connection to their Grizmallti roots, but the people of Dee’ja Peak are much more palatable than those from the cities. Or the Gungans.

Even in this sticky heat, the people of Dee’ja Peak go about their business. The buildings are stout cylinders with round roofs. Public buildings are taller than residential ones. Windmills are scattered throughout the town, generating all the energy they need. Some smaller gardens are used for personal crops, but otherwise, there are tiered fields in the mountainous terrain where they grow what is needed for the season. A river flows along the southernmost border, the water a glittering blue. No doubt if Din were to follow it he would come upon a waterfall over the mountain’s edge. 

He spots what he’s looking for. There’s a corral where the younger children are kept during the workday. A few people are assigned each day to care for them. Din knows there's no place safer on Naboo than Dee’ja Peak. There’s also likely no one as qualified to watch Grogu while Din goes digging for information on a former resident. 

“Stay put,” he orders the child after placing him in the corral. 

Grogu peers up at him, cooing. 

“Go play, I’ll be back soon.”

Grogu observes his surroundings with anxious curiosity. Once he starts to amble off toward the other children, Din stalks off to the Inn. It’s a neutral-toned building with a couple of floors. The door slides open once it senses him. A middle-aged woman sits behind the counter reading a newspaper. She looks up with her eyes only when she hears the door.

“How many nights?” She asks, looking back at her paper. 

“I’m not here for a room,” Din says.

This gets her to fully look up at him. She looks him up and down with a critical gaze. Unlike most other places, the people here never seem too put off or intimidated by his presence. Din honestly appreciates the tonal difference here from the rest of Naboo, the planet. Although every Naboo, the people, has Grizmallti ancestry, the Naboo tend to focus on their newer identity. A side effect of fleeing due to civil war. 

The people in the mountains, though. They don't consider themselves Naboo. They consider themselves Grizmallti herds who live in the mountains of Nabu. Grizmallti herds use the original name given to Naboo, the name of the deity they once worshipped. All things Din has to remember when dealing with the different sides of the planet. Their differences are small but vital. Not offending anyone or ticking someone off makes Din’s life easier whenever he blows through. Working knowledge of the cultures is just part of the job. 

“What are you here for then?” the woman asks him, jerking her chin up at him.

“I need information on Sola Pellis. I was told to come to you.”

“You were told wrong.”

Din measures the woman. There’s definitely a blaster holstered to the underside of the counter. Her joints are swollen from wear and tear meaning her movements will be slow.

“What are you getting for hiding her? I can double it,” he attempts. 

The woman snorts.

“I’m not hiding anyone. Only people in here are paying me to sleep. I don't have anything for you about Sola.”

“But you know who she is.”

Newspaper abandoned on the countertop, the woman sighs.

“Look, I recognize you. I know why you’re looking for her. If I had any information, I'd give it to you. Sola is no friend of Dee’ja Peak, or Nabu.”

Din can tell she's being honest. A dead end. Great. Perfect. Tracking down Sola Pellis is proving to be a headache. One he isn't sure is worth the credits. 

“Do you know of anyone who may have more information?”

“I know the last time she was seen she was disappearing into the thick woods to the west. If that's true, you can kiss your bounty goodbye,” the woman tells him, going back to her newspaper.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because no one goes into those woods and comes back. The Gungans avoid the core of Nabu because of the sea monsters. The Grizmallti avoid the thick woods for a similar reason,” her words are ominous, but her gaze doesn't leave the article she’s reading. 

Din mutters a thank you and leaves. The cooled air of the Inn does nothing but make the outside even more unbearable. Dirt crunches beneath his boots. Chatter fills the air as the townspeople live their collective lives. When he arrives back at the corral Grogu is nowhere to be seen. Panic seeps in, but instinct takes over. There’s a break in the wood of the corral fence. One just big enough for the adventurous scamp to squeeze through. 

A set of small three-toed footprints lead away from the corral. Din follows them. He can see a couple of scuffs where Grogu must have taken a tumble. No doubt he was running to avoid getting caught doing exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing. The tracks lead to one of the many short cylindrical houses and end at the front door. With a sigh, Din knocks on the door. He’s more irritated with the kid than worried he’s in danger. In all his travels, he’s only ever come to this particular corner of Naboo for information. The seedy underbelly of the galaxy seems to steer clear of here. Like the whole galaxy has an unspoken but agreed-upon respect for Dee’ja Peak. 

You open the door smiling over your shoulder. The smile falters as you take him in curiously. It only takes a second for realization to light up your face.

“You must be here for the little one,” your voice is as kind as your smile.

Din nods. You gesture for him to follow you inside. He does so cautiously. It’s a small space, but undoubtedly cozy. A couple of cushy-looking seats surround a small table. The kitchen is attached to the far curved wall, containing only the essentials. A stove, a fridge, a counter with three lower cabinets, and a sink. Grogu splashes around in the water in the sink. His clothes are folded on the counter. He coos and reaches out when he spots Din approaching.

“You’re giving him a bath,” Din states, just a hint of a question at the end.

“Yeah, he was covered in dirt and jelly. I hope you don't mind,” you say as you grab a dish towel to dry Grogu off.

“Jelly?”

“I think he smelled my jelly cakes and wandered over here. When I came out of the bathroom, he was laying on a plate of crumbs,” you chuckle.

Din turns his head so Grogu knows he’s giving him a disapproving stare. The kid gives him an innocent look in return. 

“I’m sorry. I can pay you for them,” Din says.

You shake your head and wave him off as you wrap Grogu in the towel.

“No worries. He’s very sweet. Are you his father?” You smile as you redress the kid.

“In a way.”

You nod. When Grogu is once again dressed, you scoop him up. He happily coos as you make silly faces at him. Din is itching to get off this planet, but he doesn’t put a stop to it. Not for the first time, Din wonders if he’s doing the kid a disservice. He could tuck Grogu away somewhere here. Where it’s safe. At least, safer than anywhere else. The lonesome ache that ate at him when Grogu was with Luke comes back at the thought. Then the silent reminder that Grogu chose to live this life with him. 

“Thank you for cleaning him up.”

You flash Din a smile that gives the scenery of Naboo a run for its money.

“It's really no problem. Like I said, he’s very sweet. Although, you should probably teach him not to wander into strangers’ homes. I know not everywhere is like here,” you give him a light lecture. 

“I’m trying,” Din sighs. 

Your smile turns sympathetic. With one last little boop of his nose, you hand Grogu off to Din. As you do so, you tell him your name. Din doesn’t return the favor, but you don't ask him to. You’ve seen him pass through before. No one knows his name. When parents are trying to scare their kids straight he’s the Man With The Metal Skin. To everyone else, he’s simply the Mandalorian. 

“Who are you looking for this time?” you ask.

Din freezes as he looks at you. Only interest paints your features. His guard goes up.

“Why do you think I’m looking for someone?” he asks.

You quirk an amused smile.

“Believe it or not, not many bounty hunters come through here. Even less Mandalorians. People talk.”

He regards you for a moment longer.

“Sola Pellis. Do you know her?”

You go pale. Regardless of how you decide to answer, Din can tell the truth. You swallow around the lump that’s formed in your throat.

“I think we all know her.”

“Do you know where I might find her?”

An uncomfortable shift on your feet gives you away.

“Not exactly. She told me she was going to Jakku, but then I heard she was seen going into the forest west of here,” you tell him guiltily.

“Which would you believe?” 

Your eyes squeeze shut for a moment. There's a deep intake of breath through your nose then an exhale through your slightly parted lips. Once the calming action is complete, your eyes open again. They fix steadily on Din.

“I want to tell you to believe she went into the forest.”

“But you don't think she did,” he checks for confirmation.

“No, I don’t. My sister is many things, but suicidal isn’t one of them,” you sigh.

“Sister?”

“Estranged, but yes.”

Din chews on this unexpected bit of information. He spares a glance at Grogu. How the hell did the kid manage to kick up a lead like this?

“Do you have any idea where on Jakku she would go?” He knows it's a long shot, but it's also his only shot.

“I don't even know what’s on Jakku other than sand,” you admit sheepishly.

Din gives a short nod. That’s everything. Grogu coos at you some more, clearly infatuated now that he knows you possibly carry jelly cakes. It makes it hard for Din to move. Grogu doesn't even reach toward Peli like this. 

“Thank you,” he says.

Another moment of standing there.

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

The words completely surprise you. He can see it all over your face. Your eyebrows raise, your eyes grow larger, and your face reddens just a tad. 

“You’re just doing your job, right?” You give a sad smile.

He once again nods. It’s not the first time the job has left him feeling a little torn. The first time was Grogu. With that, he makes his leave for Jakku.

***

It’s a couple of weeks later when the Mandalorian is knocking on your door again. Surprise is evident on your face as you greet him.

“Would you watch him?” He asks without any prelude.

You simply blink at him for a moment. Grogu essentially materializes from beneath the Mandalorian’s cape. He had been tucked nicely into a leather bag. 

“Really?”

“If it isn't too much trouble.”

“Y’know there’s the corral in-”

“I left him there last time and he ended up with you. I think he’ll be happier going with you, to begin with.”

Grogu’s big eyes watch you hopefully. He coos and reaches out for you. Maker, he’s adorable. With a smile, you accept him into your arms.

“Okay, how long will you be?” 

“I won't be back until nightfall.”

Your eyebrows furrow. It’s morning now. That’s a long time to leave his child with someone who’s a perfect stranger. 

“Where are you going?”

“Moenia, but I don’t trust anywhere else to be safe enough. He’s… special.”

The vagueness of the Mandalorian’s words piques your interest, but you put it off for another time. Moenia is a city below the mountains. No wonder he'll be gone all day. You give him a nod as Grogu tangles his hands in your hair.

“Good luck.”

The Mandalorian nods. He gives Grogu one last pat on the head before leaving. As long as you kept him fed and entertained, Grogu was pretty painless to watch over. You learned quickly that any inkling of boredom leads to increasing amounts of mischief. It took a broken plate, a chewed slipper, and a close call with a knife to teach you that lesson.

Night has settled over the Gallo Mountains when Din returns. He seems a little worse for wear. You can tell even through all that beskar armor. His shoulders are a bit slumped and his knock wasn’t as strong. He expects you to hand Grogu off and then to be on his way. 

“He’s asleep and by the looks of it you should be too,” you tell him with an amused smile.

Din follows you into your house. Grogu is out like a light on one of the cushy seats. A too-large blanket covers him to his chin. Din waits and watches for a second. A calm rushes over him when he observes Grogu’s chest moving lightly. When his attention is turned back to you he finds a soft smile already facing him.

“Was he any trouble?” Din asks quietly.

“A little, but it was a fun trouble,” you shrug slightly, “He’s a good kid.”

“Thank you for watching him.”

“Anytime. Now, you’re clearly tired and the kid is asleep. You’re welcome to stay the night. I have a cot I can bring out,” you offer kindly.

He has to mull it over. The thought of sleeping in his armor tempts him to go back to the Razor Crest. The exhaustion in his bones and Grogu’s peaceful form pull him to stay. He can stand a night of sleeping in his armor, he decides.

“I would appreciate that.”

***

Morning comes slowly on Naboo. The daylight takes its time creeping over the mountains to warm up Dee’ja Peak. Din awakes with a crick in his neck but is otherwise rested. He sits up and tilts his head left with a satisfying crack. Then he tilts his head right, earning another satisfying crack, alleviating the crick.

“That sounded like it felt good,” your playful voice says from the kitchen. 

Din looks over and sees you at a little table pressed against the wall. Grogu is across from you all but swimming in a bowl of warm oats. It makes him ache a little, how at home Grogu seems to feel here. Din knows what he’s made to do as a Mandalorian. He knows what is expected of him as he raises a foundling. Still, he can't help recalling his own youngling days. He remembers wishing that he could just stay in one place for longer than a few days. He suspects that’s why he’s prone to revisiting familiar landscapes. It gives him a false sense of stability and he hopes it may for Grogu as well. 

“It did,” he admits. 

The deep cool tone of his voice skates across your skin leaving subtle goosebumps. You’re not sure if it's the modulator in his helmet, but his voice is so soothing. 

“Do you want some breakfast?” you gesture to the pot on the stove over a low flame.

“No, that’s alright. We should go when he’s done.”

You nod and go back to what you were doing. He hasn't noticed the paper in front of you until now, or the furious scribbling of your hand. The tip of your tongue sticks out as you focus on the drawing you’ve been working on. 

“Is that… me?” he asks, befuddled and flustered. 

On the paper before you is a drawing. An extremely good drawing. It’s Din on the cot, one hand on his chest and the other on his stomach as he sleeps. The morning light filters through the window, shining off his armor. Over him is Grogu, peering down from where he was once asleep on the seat. The shading is soft and photorealistic. He imagines you’ve been at it for at least an hour. Something deep in his chest stirs, waking something else deep in his belly. 

“Oh- uh- yeah, sorry. I was waiting for you to wake up and… force of habit I guess,” you stutter out, face flushing. 

“You have a habit of drawing people while they’re sleeping?” he questions.

“Well, not exactly, but I have a habit of drawing whenever the inspiration strikes without really thinking,” you rub the back of your neck, embarrassed.

Din allows himself a moment to study the image. It’s like a graphite photograph. You have some real skill with a pencil. Maybe even more than Din has with a blaster. 

“Could I have it?” he asks, an edge of anxiousness nudging in at the end.

You brandish a smile that makes the inside of Din’s flight suit a little hotter. Maker, it’s been too long since he’s taken care of himself. 

“Yeah, of course.”

You put a few finishing touches on the drawing before rolling it up and handing it over. Din almost wishes you could see the soft smile he offers up. 

“You’re very good.”

“Thank you,” you smile bashfully.

“You've been very kind to us. Thank you.”

You nod, still sporting a small smile. A glance between Din and Grogu doesn't go unnoticed.

“You’re both welcome anytime… Could I ask you a question, though?” 

Din can see the apprehensiveness rolling off of you.

“You can ask, but I can’t promise an answer.”

“What happened with my sister?” 

A beat of silence. Well, silence outside of Grogu’s munching.

“I’m still looking. Jakku was another dead end,” he answers honestly.

“What… what are you going to do with her when you find her?” You ask slowly,

You stare him down. A good minute goes by with no words and an intense gaze you can feel from behind that helmet. 

“The bounty doesn't specify dead or alive. It’s up to her how I bring her in.”

You nod, a sigh slipping out. It's no secret that Sola Pellis is the worst the Gizmallti has to offer. The people of Dee’ja Peak usually keep to themselves. They conduct their lives up in the mountains and don't get involved with the affairs of other places. What drove Sola to become a mercenary, you don't know.

 You do know that she mostly took jobs and money from the worst people. Sola has hurt a lot of people, a lot of children. Somewhere along the way whatever moral compass she had deteriorated. It’s no surprise someone put a bounty on her head. If anything, it’s a surprise it took this long. 

“So, where to next?” You ask as you take your bowl and Grogu’s now empty bowl to the sink. 

You place the dirty dishes in the sink but turn to face Din again. Your lower back presses into the edge of the sink as you lean back.

“Tatooine.”

“Tatooine that’s…,” you pause a moment to think, brows furrowing creating a wrinkle between them before your face brightens, “desert planet with two suns, right?” 

Din nods. He scoops up a gurgling Grogu. There’s something about the hard lines of the Mandalorian contrasting the softness of the kid that ensnares you. He’s so gentle with the tiny ball of trouble. So much gentler than you’d expect someone of his background to be capable of being. In fact, whenever he’s in town the Mandalorian is extremely peaceful. He’s civil. A strange juxtaposition from the stories you’ve heard about the group.

“That’s a kinder description than I would give it,” he says after a moment of consideration.

“What description would you give it?”

“A boiling Sarlacc pit.” 

A laugh tumbles off your lips. It's a soft sound that gives Din the same sensation as hearing distant wind chimes. A sort of contemplative calm that allows his chest room to feel the steady beating of his own heart. A brief moment of acknowledging his own humanity.

“Have you been to a lot of places then?” 

Once again, Din nods.

“Have you been to Coruscant?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Do you like any places you’ve visited?” you chuckle.

“I like it here,” it hangs in the air for a moment before he snatches it back with a clarification, “in Dee’ja Peak.”

“I’m glad Nabu caught your affection,” you smile with a hint of pride. 

“Not Naboo,” he shakes his head slightly. 

An amused quirk takes over your smile.

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say it like that.”

“I’m sorry, Nabu.” Din takes care to emphasize the ah sound a little more and shorten the last syllable. 

“No worries, just be careful when you're out there. People tend to get very defensive about the Naboo around here.”

Din nods in understanding. It was a careless slip-up on his part. He takes it as a sign that he’s gotten too comfortable here. 

“Thank you, again.”

He takes his leave, you giving a chest-height wave after him. 

***

You aren't answering the door a week later. Grogu coos curiously up at Din from his pod. The afternoon air hangs temperate and still.

“I don't know,” Din answers the question in Grogu’s eyes. 

He stalks off into town to ask around. He would have left Grogu with the newly fixed corral, but the kid made it clear he misses you. Whenever he wanted to bother Din about seeing you again, he would place his hand on the drawing. Din has it taped to the back wall of the cockpit on a smooth panel. Every time Grogu puts his little hand on the drawing and coos at Din with wide eyes, he can only respond with a soft soon, kid. 

He spots a shopkeeper who is reorganizing the farming tools they have on display outside. Grogu trails lazily behind him as he goes up to ask if he has any knowledge of your whereabouts. The store is next door, separated by a chunk of dirt road and a windmill. The gruff older man tells Din you’re likely by the riverbank honing your craft. 

Grogu spots you first. His excited gurgling and quickened pace in the pod tip Din off. Din’s gaze follows Grogu’s trajectory to find you. Sure enough, you’re set up on the riverbank sitting on a wooden stool. An easel is in front of you, your steady hand painting the rolling landscape before you with the tip of your tongue sticking out. Next to you sits an open case of paints, brushes, and other tools Din can’t place. When you hear Grogu you look over your shoulder with a bright smile.

“You found my secret spot,” you say teasingly as you place your paintbrush onto the lip of the easel. 

You pick Grogu up and place him on your lap. He immediately cuddles into your chest. The part of the riverbank you’re on is only a few yards from the edge of town. The backs of houses cast shadows that reach out for you, but fall a few feet short.

“The hardware store owner told me where to find you.”

“Ah, Gus. He’s a good one. If he notices I haven't come back for lunch he’ll bring me some,” you smile fondly at the memories. 

“Grizmallti take care of their own,” Din recalls a saying he’s heard on occasion around these parts. 

You give him a pleasantly surprised look and nod. 

“How long d’you need me to watch him for?” you ask, looking down at Grogu as you scratch behind his ear. Grogu is absolutely eating up the sensation and the attention.

“Until tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“I’m happy to. Where are you off to this time?”

“Endor.”

You perk up when he says it. 

“I've always wanted to go to Endor! Have you been there before?” Excitement is written all over your face.

Din finds it endearing, which spooks him. He thanks his Maker that you can’t see it on his face. 

“I have,” he nods.

“Let me guess, you hate it there too,” you tease amused.

You’re sitting there teasing him, Grogu is on your lap looking up at you adoringly, and the warmth of the sun is kissing your skin. Din’s breathing picks up a little, but not enough to alert you to the change. It’s an image he’s allowed himself to think of briefly before falling asleep. Pictures of someone faceless caring for Grogu when he can't. Not having to worry about the kid’s whereabouts and safety. What a comfort it would be to be able to just know Grogu is safe and happy without worry. Maybe that faceless person provides some companionship to Din as well sometimes, but that’s just a happy side effect. The real fantasy is a second more stable, but equally loving parental figure for Grogu.

“No, I don’t mind Endor.”

“Well, now I really want to go there. That’s a raving review from you,” you chuckle.

“Have you ever been off Nabu?” he asks.

“I've never left Dee’ja Peak.” 

“I get the sense people don't leave here often.”

You shake your head.

“Less than people visit, that’s for sure.” 

Grogu gets his hands on the paintbrush. You quickly reach to snatch it, but he manages to get in a swipe with it. A light purple streak paints diagonally across your face. You were using the color for the more distant mountains. Grogu gurgles at you innocently and you take the paintbrush from his hand. A smile is concealed by Din’s helmet.

“Okay, I think that's enough painting for one day,” you announce and place Grogu back in his pod. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow evening at the latest.”

You smile and nod. 

***

Din knows you're home this time. He’s later than he expected. Stars twinkle above and the warm glow of the lights through your windows lies ahead. He knocks and it takes you only a second to call out for him to come in. 

When he enters he finds you and Grogu at the small table in the living room. You’re sitting crisscrossed on the floor. Grogu is kneeling on top of the table, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper with a blue crayon. You color more lightly on yours with a green one. 

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he says as he approaches. 

“It’s okay, once I got him some crayons he was set. He’s been at it for hours,” you chuckle and gesture to the pile of drawings behind you. 

Din flips through some of the drawings. They’re all a mishmash of multicolored scribbles. Over your shoulder, he can see you’ve drawn Grogu drawing. It’s in crayon, but still somehow incredibly accurate. Grogu coos for Din once he’s satisfied with the amount of blue on the paper. Din pops him onto his hip. He immediately finds the small talisman hidden in a pocket of Din’s belt. Din takes it from him, clenching it in his fist. 

“I brought you something from Endor,” he tells you tentatively.

You peer up at him with wide eyes.

“You did?”

He holds out his hand and opens it. In his palm is a small semi-flat talisman of an Ewok with a hood and spear carved from a deep green stone. You take it tenderly, running your fingers over the curves and ridges. It’s cool to the touch and vaguely smells like the Endorian forest. Din watches you study the talisman in awe. It’s something he spotted in passing and only cost him a few credits. It’s not the same as going there, but it’s a small piece of Endor in the palm of your hand. 

“This is beautiful, thank you so much,” you look up at him with an astonished expression, “You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s nothing. Consider it a token of appreciation.”

“I feel very appreciated, thank you,” your voice is soft and genuine like your eyes.

There's a brief moment where Din gets an urge to reach out for you. He doesn't know where the impulse comes from. He just knows that the kid likes you, which means you’re good. You’re good and help him out. You give him a place to rest, you give the kid a place to be a kid, and you do it all with a smile on your face. Din probably has the most respect for you out of anyone he knows. 

“Will you be staying the night? I can't imagine taking off in the dark is a good idea,” you offer with a knowing smile.

There's the telltale slump of his shoulders. He’s tired. It’s like your gaze is piercing his beskar.

“If you don't mind.”

“How could I mind after a gift like this?”

In the morning, the crayon drawing of Grogu is already rolled up next to Din. He hadn't even had the chance to ask for it. 

***

 “Grogu,” you scold.

He’s on the counter, a hand literally in the cookie jar. Those big eyes stay on you as his hand continues to inch forward into the jar.

“If you take a cookie out of that jar your father will be hearing about this,” you warn him. 

Grogu gives a displeased gurgle. His ears droop. With one last longing look at the cookies, he removes his hand from the jar. You pick him up off the counter. 

“C'mon, let’s spend some time outside.” 

You bring him out and set him loose in the grass in front of your house. This way he can hunt the snails that have infested your garden. He gets snacks and entertainment, you get a cleared-out garden and a second to breathe. The Mandalorian is a day late. You’re seriously beginning to worry, but are trying really hard to not let Grogu catch on. 

Din knows he’s in trouble the moment he sees you outside. Not because he’s late or limping. Because you’re sitting on a big flag rock, smiling affectionately at where Grogu is pouncing on snails. He has the strange sensation of returning somewhere that's waiting to welcome him, of returning home.

 That drop in his stomach, that buzz in his chest tells him he’s in trouble. The kid has softened him so much more than he’d realized. Since when did Din desire a family? Worse, that faceless person caring for Grogu and giving him companionship is beginning to look a lot like you. Worst, he’s silently given up on the pursuit of your sister. You are just the latest way Naboo makes his job more difficult.

“Don’t let him eat too many of those. He won't stop until he throws them up,” Din says as he limps up to you.

You’re whipping around and standing in an instant. Relief washes over you, but worry still covers your face.

“Maker, I was afraid something happened,” you breathe as you look him up and down. 

“Sorry, I’m late.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, clocking his limp.

“I’m fine. I just need to sit,” he grunts. 

Suddenly, you’re ducking under his arm, tossing it over your shoulders. You place your own arm around his waist, the beskar so cold it stings. He hisses when the pressure of your hand irritates a sore spot on his side. You loosen your hold.

“Sorry,” you mumble and start to guide him into the house.

Grogu scurries in at your ankles, looking up worriedly at his father. You help him to the nearest seat in the living room. He sighs in relief.

“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?” You hover over him, not sure what to do.

He shakes his head slowly.

“I’m fine, I swear. I’m just… bruised.” 

“Is there anything I can do?”

Din studies your features for a second. You're so incredibly kind it’s almost funny. It almost feels fake. He kind of feels like he could reach out right now and you would poof out of existence like a cloud.

“The cot,” he grunts.

You nod and quickly go to retrieve it. Once the coffee table is out of the way, you set it up. Din moves onto it, laying back. Trying to rest in his full get-up looks uncomfortable, it always does.

“Let me help you get your armor off,” you say and reach toward his pauldron.

“No,” his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist.

“Your flight suit and helmet can stay on, but all the external metal… I just think you'd rest easier without it,” you explain softly.

His gloved fingers remain around your wrist for a beat.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly.

You help him unfasten and take off the different bits of beskar. Piece by piece you peel back the Mandalorian’s shell, placing each shiny part gently on an empty seat. You even fold up his cape and hang the satchel that he had around him on the back of a chair. Din sighs once he’s able to fully settle back. It is a lot more comfortable without the armor. His helmet still props his neck at an awkward angle, but that's something he can deal with. It's something he has to deal with. 

“Will you tell me what happened to you, or are you going to just look at me silently from under that helmet like I can’t tell?” you ask, teasing lightly. 

Din is eternally grateful for the cover his helmet provides. His face is on fire and the helmet is swallowing the flames. 

“A Corellian welcome.”

You give him a look that says you aren't satisfied with that answer.

“I don't know what that means and you know it,” you cross your arms.

He does know it. Trying to circumvent the conversation, but appease you is a dirty Mandalorian trick. 

“Corellians say hello with their fists. They say hello harder when you’re after one of their friends,” he elaborates, hand crossing his body to brace his side at the memory of slamming into a table. 

“Remind me to never go there in my many travels.”

“I’ll do my best.”

You chuckle. Tension that you didn't know had gripped your shoulders eases. Sure, part of you was concerned because of Grogu. Both because you didn't want the kid to be an orphan and because you simply aren’t prepared to be a single parent. Watching the kid on your own for a couple of days at a time at most? Sure. Permanent and sole responsibility? No. A bigger slice of the concern goes to the Mandalorian himself. 

He’s been by more than a dozen times at this point. Each time you find yourself sinking further and further. You're up to your knees in him. Wading through uncharted waters, unsure you’ll ever reach the dock on the other side. Yet, each minute spent in his presence pushes you forward. His care for Grogu, his stories, the way you can tell he’s growing more comfortable around you when he jokes back. All little glimmers of light beneath the surface below your knees. Glimmers that lead your way.

“Inside my bag, front left pocket,” he tells you.

“What?” you stare at him dubiously.

“There’s something in there. Grab it.”

Without another word, you begin searching the soft leather bag. Grogu gurgles up at Din from beside the cot. Din drops a gloved hand over the side, allowing Grogu to take hold of it. The small gesture is what keeps gravity working on him, Din’s sure of it. All the aching, and the soreness, eases with the assurance that Grogu is okay. Proof of that is his tiny grip around Din’s thick gloved finger.

“What is this?”

In your hand is a smooth square piece of fabric. The size makes you think of a bandana, but the material is soft. It has an almost liquid quality to it. The colors are beautifully pigmented. A rich blue, a pattern of small white fish dotted all over, and a golden trim. This piece of fabric is likely the nicest thing you’ve ever held in your life.

“It’s for you,” he says like those three words explain everything.

“I- what?”

“It’s Corellian silk. Pieces that size are good for wrapping around your head. It keeps you cool, absorbs moisture, but stays soft,” he explains.

You can't tell if he’s peering at you through his visor. All you know is your mouth is slightly parted in awe. 

“I can’t possibly accept this.”

You begin to put it back, but he grunts in annoyance.

“Please.”

Your eyes bounce from the Corellian silk to the Mandalorian. It’s truly gorgeous and would do wonders when you’re painting on especially humid days. 

“I just wish I could thank you properly.”

“Just saying thank you is enough.”

You crack a small amused smile.

“I mean that I still don't know your name. Names are important to my people. I didn't want to push you, I know your people value boundaries and privacy.”

The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that you begin to worry. He can tell by the way the silk wrinkles in your grip. Right when you open your mouth to apologize for crossing the line, he speaks again.

“Din. My name is Din.” 

A wide relieved smile breaks out on your face. Din is starting to think that of all the stunning landscapes and views Naboo has to offer, your smile is his favorite.

“Thank you, Din. It’s beautiful. I’ve never felt anything like it,” childlike wonder invades your tone, “I’ve never owned something so nice before.” 

He watches you fold the fabric into a triangle then tie it around your head. It covers your head from your hairline back, leaving what’s left of the length of your hair pouring out the back. When your hair is fully out of your face, Din’s breath hitches. 

He gets an unobstructed view of your features, no distractions. The curves of your cheekbones and nose create a smooth mountainous backdrop for the lush valley that is the rest of your features. Every inch of your face makes Din think of the flourishing environment of Naboo. Especially because, like many of the people around here, you have an ageless quality about you. Something that’s shared with the planet itself and its architecture. This moment convinces Din that every good thing Naboo has to offer has accumulated in the mountains, mixed together, and created you.

“You look good. Nice things suit you,” Din comments once all his breath comes back to him. 

You are acutely aware of the heat that climbs up your neck until it reaches the tips of your ears. A small, coy smile appears on your lips. 

“Thank you,” your voice comes out hushed, but you can tell he hears. 

Grogu begins a free solo up Din’s arm. It’s clear it causes Din pain with the way he tenses, but he doesn't do anything to stop the kid. He’s a little bit of a pushover for the pint-sized menace, something that warms your heart. You quickly extract Grogu from Din’s arm, but not before he reaches his shoulder. Din relaxes when the weight and pressure of Grogu are lifted. Knowing the kid is now cooing and chirping in your arms provides an extra layer of relief. 

“Let’s let your dad rest, yeah?” You give Grogu raised eyebrows, looking for confirmation. 

Grogu’s ears lower in disappointment. Din really really likes when you call him Grogu’s dad. When you talk to the kid like his life is normal.

“I know we missed him, but we can terrorize him tomorrow,” your voice is honey-like. 

The words hit Din in his chest. Almost as hard as that Corellian bartender. 

“You missed me, huh?” A smirk toys at the corners of his lips.

Maker knows this helmet has made it impossible for him to school his expression at this point. There are certainly some tricks you can't teach an old dog. How to not show every single thought on your face is definitely one of them. Not after a lifetime of not having to.

“Don’t get too smug, now. It’s not becoming,” you chide playfully. 

A deep chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. It lasts a second before turning into a pained hiss.

“Din, you're clearly not okay. Let me get you some ice at least.”

He gives a curt nod. Din watches you go to the kitchen, grab a dishcloth, and start digging in the icebox. You plop some ice in the cloth and tie it all up into a makeshift ice pack. Grogu watches curiously from your hip the entire time.

When you offer the ice to Din, Grogu nuzzles further into you. It almost feels like he’s thanking you for caring for his dad. Din accepts the ice and holds it to the bottom of his rib cage. A moment of deep thought crosses your face as you watch him, unaware that beneath that helmet he’s watching you as well.

“Stop,” he says suddenly.

“Stop what?” you furrow your brows.

“Stop worrying over me. We’ll be gone by morning, you don't have to worry.”

You shake your head.

“No, I’m not worried about you being here. I’m worried about you leaving too soon and making this worse. I can talk to Melda at the Inn about letting you use a bed if the cot-”

“Right, I forgot how you people are.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Din knows as soon as it's out. You bristle. If you had fur, he’s sure he’d be watching your hackles raise.

“How us people are?” You question.

“I didn't mean anything by it,” he tries to diffuse the situation.

He only adds fuel to the flames. You take his words as dismissive rather than explanatory. 

“There’s no way to say that and not mean anything by it. What exactly are my people like?” you're more forceful this time, demanding an answer from him. 

A real answer, not some vague Mandalorian partial truth.

“Kind.”

The answer causes you to pause. Any building anger halts, any budding snap response disappears, and confusion takes both their places. 

“Kind?”

“Yes, kind. Any other planet and I would have already been at the Inn or my ship. The Grizmallti are known for treating their visitors like locals. You have a saying about it,” he explains. 

“Give to each child of Nabu as if you are giving to yourself,” you say softly.

“Mandalorians don’t have anything about giving. Mostly just taking. That's why I like it here.”

The thought is so incredibly comforting. Din likes being here because of the nature of you and your people, not despite it. You feel validated. What Din finds solace in is what drove Sola away. You can recall one of the last times you spoke to her. She spat venom when you attempted to reason with her Grizmallti roots. Scolded you for not living for yourself, for following the ways of Dee’ja Peak like a lemming. 

What she never understood is that you are living for yourself. You love your community and your way of life. Sure you’d like to expand your horizons. You'd like to explore the far reaches of the galaxy and see everything there is to see. Still, you always pictured yourself coming right back here when you’re done and continuing to care for those around you when you do so. There is nothing more fulfilling for you than caring about and for others. You have hope that if Din doesn't fully understand that now, he could in the future. 

“Have you ever thought about staying?” The question slips out before you can catch it.

“It’s not what we do.”

“What’s not?”

“Staying in one place.”

You simply nod. The silence gnaws at your ankles uncomfortably. You shift on your legs in an attempt to rid yourself of it. Grogu starts trying to climb up your torso. You chuckle as you let him. He clambers up until he’s holding onto your head and standing on your shoulder. You tilt your head to give him more room and reach up to steady him with your hands. Din watches fondly as the ice does its job.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” he asks.

Your gaze snaps back over to him. A small, almost sad smile appears.

“All the time,” you admit.

“Why don’t you?” 

“It’s not that simple. Like you said, people don't leave here often.”

You lift Grogu off of your shoulder where he was playing with the silk on your head. The sun has fully set outside. Trilling can be heard through the windows from the bugs. You set Grogu into his pod. He lays back easily, pooped, and is ready for sleep. 

“That doesn't mean they don't leave at all,” Din points out gently. 

The pod shuts itself as Grogu drifts off. No doubt dreaming about those pesky snails. You finally allow yourself to sit, taking the seat beside where Din lays. 

“I suppose it doesn't,” you sigh.

“Why don't you?” He repeats his question.

You open and close your mouth a couple of times with false starts. A frown settles in when you can't find an excuse that satisfies you.

“I don’t know… I’m scared, I guess.”

“Scared of what?”

“I’ve never been further than the river. I know it probably sounds silly to someone who travels for a living, but I’m afraid I won't make it home if I leave,” your voice is pillow soft and contemplative. 

Din takes a steadying inhale through his nose. Then he places a heavy gloved hand on your knee. As his heart pounds in his chest, he gives a comforting squeeze. 

“That’s not silly.”

You swallow the lump that’s suddenly in your throat. This is the first time you find yourself wishing you could see Din’s face. The beskar has always just been a part of him. Now that all of it but his helmet is shedded it fully hits you. There is someone underneath all that armor. Someone with skin that isn't blaster-proof. Someone whose body is likely warm rather than icy to the touch. Someone whose face is looking at you, reassuring you, and making an expression you’ll never be able to see. Oh, how you long to see how he looks at you. 

“Thank you, Din.”

You place your hand over his. The material is rough to the touch, but it still comforts you. It’s still Din’s hand bridging a gap that’s never been bridged before. He’s offering a tender touch that you’ve only seen him give to Grogu.

“I’d ensure you make it home,” he states.

All you can do is blink at him for a moment. 

“What are you saying?” you ask it slowly, beating down the rising hope and heartbeat. 

“You can come with us. I’ll keep you safe.”

His voice is certain and unwavering. That hope you were beating down wins, bursting into your chest. The smile that grows on your face is blinding and breathtaking. Din has the terrifying thought that he would do whatever he can to make you continue smiling like that.

“Are you sure I won’t slow you down?”

“I already travel with a child. You’ll be easy.”

You nod enthusiastically. Dank farrik, Din must be absolutely melting in his helmet. There’s no other reason his brain is short-circuiting like this.

“I guess this way you don't have to come all the way back to Nabu to bring me gifts,” you tease. 

Another circuit in Din’s brain pops.

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Where would we go first?” 

“Mos Eisley first, then wherever the bounty takes us.”

“Mos Eisley?” You ask feeling just a bit stupid.

“Tatooine.”

You nod thinking of what to pack. Tatooine is a desert planet, but you’ll be going to places of all temperatures and weather. At the same time, you don't want to pack too heavy. How are you going to fit all your art supplies into a bag? Will there even be room on his ship?

“My easel and supplies, will there be room? I suppose I can always just stick to sketching and paint when I get back,” you mumble the end to yourself.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make room.”

A small gesture that carries such big implications for how you’ll fit into his life from here on out. Din will no longer be entering your space. You won't be the one adjusting and making room. He will. Din is going to alter everything about his life so you can fit neatly in it. 

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve told me not to worry that actually made me stop worrying,” you muse. 

“You worry too much.”

His hand squeezes your knee further. 

“It’s hard not to with you two around,” you tease with a playful smile.

You can't hear it, but you can see the light chuckle move in his chest. 

“You should hit the rack. Big day tomorrow,” Din says softly.

He gives your knee one last squeeze before removing it. Your knee is suddenly cold. Din misses the warmth he was able to barely feel through his glove. He wonders how warm you are without the glove.

“Big day, indeed.”

***

You don't mention saying goodbye to any family the next morning. Din doesn't ask. If your sister is any indication, family is likely a sore topic. You hug various people as you walk to Dee’ja Port. Din recognizes Gus, who sends you away with a basket of bread and a firm order not to forget to eat. Another person you introduce as Luka gives you a bottle of spotchka. Then Melda, the woman Din spoke to at the Inn, shoves over a rolled-up blanket. It seems to be made of every hue in a Naboo sunset and woven together with thick soft yarn. He watches your eyes widen.

“Melda, you must need this. I can't take it,” you say and attempt to hand it back.

Melda shakes her head and holds her hand up to stop you.

“We have plenty. I want you to have a piece of home with you when you need it. Nothing more Dee'ja Peak than one of my blankets,” she insists.

You give her an extra tight hug. When you set off again you explain to Din that the blanket is one used on the beds in the Inn. Melda hand makes them. She sells them during festivals and sometimes even takes commissions. They’re expensive, though. They take a lot of work and material. Her giving you one is a heart-swelling gesture. 

All in all, it takes the two of you twenty-five minutes to make the ten-minute walk to Dee’ja Port. Every few buildings someone is stopping you to give you a hug and wish you well. Din and Grogu watch in silent awe at the sheer amount of love you are showered with on your way out. 

Dee’ja Port houses four bays and cheap docking. The Razor Crest is sitting in the furthest bay. He leads you to her, telling you what she’s called. It feels like he’s nervously introducing you to a family member. You give him a warm smile that you then direct to the Crest. You place a gentle hand on the side of her body.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you hum.

Din chuckles, drawing your attention.

“She’s a piece of garbage, but she’s our piece of garbage,” he says.

He helps you to secure your things in the cargo hold. Priority is to take off, then you can figure out where exactly everything will go. It’s strange imagining him existing in this space. While you can see him in the way everything is organized, there’s nothing else that feels like Din. 

From the cargo hold you pass the small living quarters and climb up into the cockpit. You sit to Din’s right, Grogu on your lap. Grogu coos and reaches out to the left. When you follow his little hand you find your drawings on the back wall. The one you drew of Din and Grogu that first morning and the silly little crayon sketch. Your face heats up.

“I didn't think you hung them up,” you comment. 

Din glances at you and then over his other shoulder. 

“Oh- the-,” he clears his throat a little, “the kid really likes them.” 

You smile as Din faces forward. Din swears his beskar must be red and gooey with how hot his skin is. 

“Awe, you like my drawings, Grogu?” you coo down at the kid. 

He looks up at you with his ears perked up, gurgling. 

“I’m glad because there’s only going to be more,” you say, eyes darting up to where Din is flipping switches and pressing buttons. 

Grogu coos happily. The Crest roars to life, causing you to jump a bit.

“Sorry,” Din mumbles as he continues readying the ship. 

When the ship starts to move it really sinks in. You’re leaving Dee’ja Peak. You’re leaving Nabu. Din looks at you over his shoulder. You can see your reflection in his visor, wide-eyed and anxious.

“Ready?” Din asks.

You take a deep breath.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Din nods and looks forward again. Another few flips and clicks then the ship is off. As you leave your home and everyone you know behind, your eyes stay glued on the beskar-clad man in front of you. You watch him open up an entire galaxy of possibilities to you for no reason other than the desire to do so. The blue of the atmosphere gives way to an endless expanse of stars, but you’re sure the brightest of them all is in this cockpit with you.

[gardenofnoah]

it lives where i live

part 2 is here! this was a difficult one to write because there’s so much i want to say and i have no idea how to say any of it. but this is an important one and i hope you enjoy it :)

wc: 3.4 k. cw: angst, unintentional self-harm (touya scratches himself in his sleep), injury (scratch), blood (scratch), reader is not well mentally, gn reader, no pronouns used 

read part 1 here, read part 3 here

There is a warmth against your cheek when you stir, creeping up to heat the skin of your forehead as you stretch and squirm—fighting the lure of just a few more moments of sleep. Blinking slowly, you study the beam of light peaking through the sheer curtains—the way the little refraction cuts through the otherwise dark of your room.

For a moment, in the light, you forget.

But when you roll to your side—away from the light, looking to the door—you feel everything with a force that leaves you breathless.

Despite the weight of it all, you push up off your bed to sit, head hung a little as you take in a few deep breaths. The house is quiet, but you didn’t expect anything else. Your eyes burn a little, and you wait for the tears to come. When they don’t, you sigh—there’s nothing good to come from crying, anyway.

You stand and move to the door, opening it quietly and distantly wondering when you started moving around like an intruder in your own home. There’s a heat that comes with the thought—it curls in your stomach, slithering around the other feelings you’ve been holding there, and you shove it down, down, down, because you don’t want to be angry at him. Because he’s been through enough.

You don’t listen to the thought that tells you: so have you.

When you walk down the hall, the bathroom door is open, and Touya’s bedroom door is not. He must have woken up before you, if he slept at all. You don’t imagine you’ll see him today—at least not during the day. You fight the urge to hover outside his door, ear crammed to the wood to try to hear him breathing.

You make it to the kitchen, flicking the switch on your old coffee maker and reaching your arms above your head, stretching a little. It does well to put you back in your body—you reach to the ceiling and remember that you are still a human being. 

You realize that you’d forgotten that, since Touya had come back—that, despite the void inside you his absence caused, the world continued to turn. You felt indignant about that, for a while—how dare anyone else move forward, when he could not? But despite yourself, you did just that. You graduated, went to college, graduated again, got a job. You made other friends, but none ever made it as close to you as he had.

Every single thing you did felt insignificant, despite your best attempts at a normal life. That in itself was something to grieve—you found no sense of accomplishment in the things you’d done, and the loneliness, despite being surrounded by other people, was debilitating. You had found it hard to connect, and sustaining friendships had been difficult because he was always the comparison in the forefront of your mind. Every day, he haunted you. He would never know that you never even asked him to stop.

The coffee maker beeps and you are back again, sighing as you reach for a mug. You pour, breathing the smell in deeply and allowing it to bring you some semblance of comfort. You didn’t much care for the taste, if you were honest—but it was warm in the morning and it felt like something of a ritual—a small, rare indulgence you allowed yourself—so you drink it.

You move through the house on autopilot after that—dressing quickly, brushing your teeth, splashing water on your face in a half-attempt at washing it. You grab the grocery list from where it’s taped to the fridge, and you are halfway to the front door when you hear movement down the hall. You pause, listening as the floor creaks under Touya’s weight, and then it stops.

All at once, you are overcome by the need you feel—the longing that tells you to open that door and hold him to you. To breathe him in and feel the flutter of his heart beat from behind his ribs and know for sure that he is alive and there with you, because you’re still not convinced.

The feeling fades as quickly as it came, and it leaves you gasping, sagging against the wall as you try to come back to yourself. You wonder if it will always be like this. Grieving for him with his ghost in the next room.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to reach a shaky hand toward the door and stagger out of it. The cold, winter air hits you, and it jars you enough that it’s all you can do to just stand there, gulping down the chill into your lungs. You let it move through you, summoning whatever bravery you have to make it to your car and put the keys in the ignition. You feel a tug behind you as you walk—the same one that you felt when you were 13 and walking away from the scattering of the little ash that was left of Touya. The same one you felt as you all but carried his mother back to the car from the hospital after seeing him again. The thread that ties you to him. You wonder how long it can stretch before it starts to fray—or if it already has.

Your phone rings as you pull into the grocery store parking lot. You feel a tinge of regret as you answer it.

“Hi, Natsuo.”

“Hey!” he says into the phone, and the kindness that radiates from his voice warms you a bit, makes you smile. He’d always been a light, despite all he’d been through.

“Sorry,” you tell him, opening the car door and climbing out, back into the cold, “I just got to the store. We needed food—Touya’s still at home.”

“Ah, that’s okay. I can try again later, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

You huff out a tiny laugh at his bad joke, and it makes you feel a little lighter. You find that the ache of putting one foot in front of the other is lessened, however minutely.

“Listen,” he starts, sounding a bit cautious, “I was actually hoping to talk to you. I wanted to see how you were doing—I know this probably isn’t easy for you.”

And you hate the way you want to hang up the phone immediately, because now your eyes are burning as you walk into the store and this is definitely not the place to let out whatever has been lurking in your gut, but it’s Natsuo and he’s so good and he cares for you like he always has, so you try to hold on to yourself. When Touya was gone, he stepped in and looked after you, adopting you as some sort of pseudo-sibling. You think he may have needed it as much as you did.

“I’m…managing,” you say after a pause, too tired to tell him anything but the truth, “I just—I feel like I’m going to wake up and he’ll be gone. And it scares me a little that sometimes I wish that were true.”

You think that maybe you shouldn’t have said that last part, not to Natsuo—but the knowing sigh from the other end of the phone tells you that it’s alright.

“Has he said anything yet?”

“No, not really. I think he might have told me good night last night, but I was so tired that I’m not convinced I didn’t make it up.”

“Hey, that’s progress!” he says, but his tone doesn’t quite deliver the excitement you think he wanted to. You realize that he might feel as worn down as you do.

“Do you think it’ll ever get better?” you ask quietly, not sure if you want to know the answer.

There’s a pause, long enough that you start to think the call may have been disconnected, and then he says, “Don’t give up on him, okay? I think…I think he’s trying.”

__

You make it back to your house and you haul the groceries up to the front door, the conversation with Natsuo at the forefront of your mind, despite your best attempts to will it away. You know how hard it’s been for him to be away from Touya—to know that he is alive and so close and not be able to see him. The commission has not yet given you the greenlight to have his family over to visit, even without Enji. You understand, and you think it would probably be too much for Touya anyway—to see all of them and believe that the only thing that has changed—really, fundamentally changed, into something so mangled and nearly unrecognizable—is him. You wish you could show him that it wasn’t true, but it’s hard, and the guilt you feel reinforces that. Either way you spin it, the world kept turning. You all kept living.

You think you could understand why he’d want to burn everything to ash, after seeing that.

You set the bags on the counter, grabbing one and moving to the fridge to fill it, and you think of him, like you have done every waking moment since you found out he was still alive. Part of you is angry at that, like you seem to be at everything now, because the life you are suffering through and the thoughts you think are not yours. You wonder if they ever were, really—was there ever a single moment that you were separate from Touya? Even in his absence, you never could tell where he stopped and you began.

You all but jump out of your skin when you hear movement behind you. You whip your head around, a surprised shriek preemptively gathering in the back of your throat, when you see Touya—glass from last night in hand, visibly startled by your reaction. Setting it down in the sink, his movements are slow, and you have to fight to regulate your breathing. You stand there, eyes wide and clutching a bag of spinach to your chest, frozen in place as he turns to look at you.

His eyes meet yours and he doesn’t look away, for the first time in the weeks he’s been here, and suddenly you are 13 and he’s the king of the castle made of sticks. He’s telling you that he’ll protect you —his counsel, his confidant, his right hand—from anything, and all you can think is you liar, you liar, you liar. 

It takes every ounce of control you have to not audibly whimper under his stare, but then he opens his mouth and rasps a soft thanks, and you think he’s probably thanking you for the water from last night or maybe for the groceries but then it doesn’t matter at all because suddenly your vision blurs and then you’re crying.

It’s too much—the blue of his eyes that hasn’t changed at all and the way you are so angry at him you think the feeling alone might burn you alive from the inside and the way he is standing in front of you like a deer in headlights, an arm half-extended to you because he has no idea what’s happening or how to stop it. And you want to laugh, because you don’t either.

But right now you can’t do anything but cry, head hung and arms around yourself, fridge door still open and groceries dropped on the floor around your feet. Suddenly you’re afraid that if you let go, you may very well fall apart, bodily.

You cry until you feel like there’s nothing left in you, and when you wipe your eyes you find that he’s still standing there. And then you’re wishing that you were still sad because now you’re just angry, and there’s nothing to stop you from scrunching up your face and spitting out a venom-filled where were you? at him.

And you can’t really blame him when, after a pause, he turns on his heel and retreats to his room.

__

You find yourself once again suffocating in the silence of your house through the evening. You drag yourself to bed early—not bothering to clean yourself or change—and faceplant into the covers. It’s not necessarily your intention to fall asleep, and you don’t even realize you have until a hoarse, sharp cry has you shooting upright from your bed, blinking blearily and trying to sink your fingers deep enough into your consciousness to drag it up to a functioning level.

You sit there for a moment, barely breathing as you strain to hear through the wall. And then you hear a tiny, pained whimper and you are out of your bed and moving out of your room before you can even consider if you really heard it or not.

You do the only thing you can think of, and you hurry to the kitchen to fill up the glass Touya had returned earlier. Water in hand, you walk back down the hallway—slowly, like you’re approaching a feral cat, with a forearm hovering in front of your face to thwart any fearful swats—and stop outside of his door.

“Touya?” you call gently, knocking on the door softly with a knuckle, “I have some water for you.”

There’s no movement behind the door—you expected as much, so you let out a slow breath and take a seat, back leaning up against the door. Part of you wonders if this is okay—if you should just leave it outside of the door for him to pick up after you’ve gone back to bed—but the other part is so tired of this. Tired of tiptoeing around him, tired of pretending that god forsaken elephant in the room that crushes both of you isn’t there. You think you might owe him an apology for earlier, too.

You realize you’d fallen asleep when the sudden absence of the door behind you has you startling. You look up from your spot on the floor, and he’s there in the doorway—blue eyes wide and staring at you like he doesn’t know what to make of this. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

“Sorry,” you say quietly, despite the bitterness you feel, “I just wanted to give y—hey, are you bleeding?”

His eyes move to where yours are now locked on the hand of his that grips the door, and he sucks in a breath when he sees what you are seeing.

A fresh wound over the back of his hand—a tear of the skin over the exact spot his staples used to be, the blood now dripping onto your floor.

Neither of you move, let alone say anything, for a long moment.

You are the first to shatter the silence: “Can I clean that for you?”

His head is down, but you can see him eye you from under his white bangs, carefully mulling it over. It is a painfully long time before you see him nod minutely. You pull yourself to your feet and turn, walking toward the bathroom. You hope he chooses to follow.

You throw open the cabinet under the sink to locate your first aid kit. Luckily, Touya’s care team had sent some supplies with him to care for his skin, but you’re not sure if there’s anything that can be helpful if he needs stitches.

You hear him enter the bathroom behind you, and a wave of something akin to relief washes over you. You hand the glass of water you’re still holding to him, and he takes it from you silently. You gather up the supplies you think will be the most helpful, and you turn to face him.

And you’re immediately a little woozy, because he is still bleeding, a little more than what you’d consider a reasonable amount. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though, and he just stands there, eyeing you. Cautious.

“You—can you sit on the toilet so I can look at it?”

He moves silently after a moment, sitting before you. It is another before he lifts his hand up to you, so slowly, his whole body tense.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

He hums, short and more of a grunt than anything, and you slowly wrap your fingers around his wrist, turning it to examine the gash.

After cleaning a little bit of the blood away, you realize it’s not as bad as you’d thought. But it does need rinsed out, patched up.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you tell him quietly, unwrapping the sterile wipes from their packages, “but if you think there’s a problem with the grafts, we should call the doctor.”

He’s silent and you continue working, unfolding the towelette and wiping it over the wound, murmuring a small apology for the sting. You’re not sure if he feels nothing or everything—not sure how the nerves in his body react to stimuli anymore—but if he’s in pain, he’s not showing it.

“It’s—not that,” he mutters, and you have to physically restrain yourself from tensing the hand that’s still holding onto him. To hear him speak is so foreign and so devastating that you almost have to block it out to focus on the task at hand. He hesitates, and out of the corner of your eye you see him open his mouth and shut it again, like the words are there but unwilling to come out.

“Okay,” you tell him, pulling a piece of gauze from its wrappings and applying it to the clean wound. You pull another few to add to it, and he finds his voice again. You hope you’re not shaking.

“Happens when I sleep,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him, and he’s turning his head away from you, like he needs to look at anything else to get it out, “the—the dreams.”

You don’t look at him, but you desperately want to. You unwrap the roll of bandages, considering your next words carefully.

“Did you do this to yourself?”

He sighs at that, like you’re the biggest idiot in the world for asking. Like it inconveniences him to have to even hear it. You want to kick yourself, and after a lengthy pause, you wish you hadn’t asked at all.

“Not…on purpose. In my sleep.”

You have no idea what to say to that, and you have the feeling that if you say anything at all you might start crying again and you know that would startle him, so you grit your teeth and nod—almost mechanically—as you wrap the bandage around his hand with as much finality as you can muster. You force yourself not to linger, drawing your fingers back like he burned you. Immediately regretting it when you realize that’s probably what it seemed like to him.

“Should be okay now,” you say, and it’s almost a whisper. Thick with emotion that refuses to leave you be.

“Thanks.”

And it’s so much softer than you think he should ever be, especially now. It’s alien—wrong, you think, bitterly—and you don’t respond because there’s a part of you that is so, so devastated at the fact that up until very recently he’s had no one to tend to his wounds like this. Like he deserves—gently, and with humanity. You wonder if he’ll ever tell you about the dreams. 

“Are you—” he starts, and then stalls, and you watch as his hands clench and then unclench in his lap, the fresh bandage straining around his knuckles. You watch the movement and wait for him to continue.

“Are you angry?”

Your eyes snap up to meet his, already searching for you. You see him tense, like it’s too much, but he doesn’t look away, and neither do you. You decide that it’s not fair to either of you to lie, so you tell him the truth.

“Yes,” you whisper, and his face doesn’t change. He doesn’t say anything to that, and you think that maybe it’s for the best, because right now would be just about the worst time for him to suddenly want to unpack your anger. You are bone tired, teetering on some edge that is far too unstable, and you just want to retreat back into your bed and cry it out. So you stand, murmur a quiet good night to him, and you do just that.

You’re not sure how long it is before you’ve wrung yourself out, and you give up on any hope of sleep, pulling yourself up off the mattress with the intent of making sure Touya made it back to his room.

When you walk into the hall, you nearly trip over it—the glass of water from earlier, full again—a white flag at your door, waiting for you.

this fic belongs to me (@b-writes-things). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[hesawifebeaterdanusethegun]

Part Two of my as yet unnamed Dark City fic! EnjoyI Also here's Part One:

Part One

Part Two

            Doctor Schreber checked his watch. Almost midnight. Time to get to work.

He called them the Strangers. He’d been working for them for nearly three years. He could say working, but really he was a slave as much as any of the others in the City. Three years ago, he’d been taken by the Strangers. All he remembered was a bright light and then pain. So much pain. He hadn’t been the same since, as was obvious the second you looked at the poor fellow. He remembered nothing before the Strangers came to take him away. They beat him, forced him to create for them, forced him to erase his entire life. He hated them.

His job was to make memories. He created whole lives, rich tapestries of feeling and events, all the things that made a person who they were, through their memories. He did what he did under the threat of torture and death, and felt the coward for it, although nearly anyone else would have done the same, in his opinion.

The Strangers were searching for something that he personally felt they would never find: the human soul. A hive-mind, they never experienced anything of their own, had no memories of their own, no personalities of their own. When they observed humans and found each one unique, they set out to determine how this was possible, and what they could do to make it possible for them. So they created a city that they controlled entirely, a City that they fine-tuned on the daily (or nightly as it were) in their seemingly endless search for some sort of holy grail of humanity, changing people’s lives and memories as they slept as well as the City landscape that surrounded them and studied the results, hoping to find the source of human individuality somewhere in mankind’s memories.

            Doctor Schreber mixed and matched these memories for the Strangers, and one injection to the brain later, you had a whole new person in front of you. As much as he hated doing it, as immoral and unethical as it was, he couldn’t help but find it fascinating, he even sometimes enjoyed his work, reveling in his abilities and the chance to utilize them to their full potential could feel great at times, when he managed to forget what he was actually doing with all these memories he tinkered with.

The imprinting was the worst part, when he actually administered the new memories to their host. Seeing the person who’s life he was about to upend in real life was something he could never get used to, no matter how he tried to forget the implications of what he was doing, the sins he was committing in the name of science for a predatory species that thought of him and his kind as nothing more than lab rats.

But in the meantime, as he worked so closely with the Strangers, he was awarded some special privileges. While he had his memories erased at the start just like everyone else in the City, he was permitted to keep his scientific knowledge in order to help them. Unfortunately this meant that he also retained the memory of what he’d lost. He remembered nothing of who was before save his name, but he knew that those memories were missing, unlike the others in the City who went about their business oblivious to what they’d had taken from them. He supposed he considered this knowledge a blessing and a curse of sorts, but he’d rather know than be blissfully ignorant like the rest of them, however happy they may be.

He was also permitted some semblance of normalcy when he wasn’t hard at work in their laboratory, running his own practice, seeing what few patients he had time for, and performing his own experiments in his own lab.

“Not that one,” he told Mr. Book, the one who seemed to be the leader of the Strangers. “We can’t touch that one, I need her.” He spoke of course of Katherine, his newly hired receptionist and personal assistant, who over the course of a few weeks had made herself indispensable to him, quickly and accurately transcribing his (admittedly nearly illegible) notes, making and canceling appointments, and taking care of supply orders and anything else he might need around the office.

“Very well, doctor, we shall not touch that one,” he nearly spat the words in disgust, frustrated at the doctor’s insubordination. Doctor Schreber didn’t care, he only cared that he got his way in this, as far as he was concerned it was non-negotiable. She was not to be touched, he’d make sure of it. He hurried off to get back to work, satisfied that he’d gotten his wishes across thoroughly.

Part Three

[dr-scribbler]

Aval - Manimegalai

The hot and humid breeze flies through the area with the gliding sound of leaves that are trying to hold on to the branches like two lovers trying to hold on. But as the breeze gets stronger the unlucky ones are dropped to the ground to let it eaten slowly by their surroundings. Just like them, human life kinda falls apart cause of their own likeness. 

As the sun started to go down as the evening comes right away giving a promising cool breeze that is much needed for the people who are currently experiencing the last few days of summer.

As a waving air that flows through a voyage without a destiny, lotus-like feet wandered around Veeranam Lake. Eyes like fish which are clouded with only one image, with the tired and fatigued body of the innocent rose of Kadambur, the youngest princess Manimegali wandered around trying to find her love. Her love who doesn't even know or care about her. A tried smile erupted on her lips when she saw the mandapam that standing through time. As she softly went near the walls where it reads small in the corner of the stone embark on the journey of many warriors who left for war from this place.

There it is, where she had scribbled on a stone quite a while ago, it reads Vaanar kula Veeran, tham manathai venra veeran'. A sad smile itched its way onto her pale lips, with a whimper she traced those words again and again and fell down as the fatigue and fever is taking up its way into her.

Her mind traced the first instants she saw him when he came to their home, and how she was hiding to get a glimpse of his face just to feel the ecstasy of love. How her brother always talked about his friend who is not only loyal but intelligent and very quick to resolve any problems along with having a heart of gold and a child. From that moment she knew that it was him and always be him. Even when her brother told her to forget about Vaanar kula veeran and marry the prince they will fix for her she couldn't do it! how could she!.

She smiled sadly at the thought of her being angry with him when the news circled about how her Vandiyadevan backstabbed her brother. All those moments when she knew that it's not who he is and would never do it but also was scared that she is overconfident with him and would get disappointed at the end.

But how she felt relieved after knowing the truth about him and meeting him in the cellar. Just one look and she knew that she needs to do something so that he will be freed from here and can live his life. Many asked her why to take the blame for some man. But to her he is not just any man, he is hers and she is his, even though he may never know.

The small time she spent with him is more than enough for her as it felt like she had lived her life purposes. As her eyes started to drop and her mind went still she felt someone before her. Her eyes opened to see and gasped, how it was possible.

'Why is my Mani being dull?' Her loves voice made her heart skip a beat

'Vandiyadevare?' Her fatigued face brightened up, he is here finally, after all this time.

'It's me, of course! who else would be here to be with my Mani other than me' He smiled and kissed her forehead, the action made Mani feel more alive than any other medicine she ever had. She wanted this to last forever and she would gladly take any hardship if his shoulder is ready to take her head.

'I am not feeling well Vandiyadevare, and I know my time here is not for long' Her words made her heart bleed. She wants to be with him and live her life to the fullest. But she is scared that it's all going to end fast.

'My silly Mani, How would you ever leave me? We are going to be one happy couple forever. You are not going that easily away from me' She smiled at his words but her head felt heavier and her vision is going black and dizzy again.

'Vanthiyadevare-' She couldn't able to finish the sentence.

'Manimegali! Mani' Vandiyadevan's voice goes down as her dizziness got more. She took a big breathe and her vision returns to normal but before her stood her brother who is shouting her name with panic in his voice.

'Manimegali! Where have you been? We were searching for you all day. Oh, Mani!' Kandamabaran cried and lifted his little sister and ran back to the Palace. He knows he is also part of the reason why his sister feeling now. If he hadn't mentioned Vandiyadevan back then or did not made her separate from him and not sought marriage for her with some other prince maybe his sister would be happy now and married to his once best friend.

As the raja Vaithiyar examined and Mani shook his head at the Prince and his father they know there is nothing more they can do but pray and hope.

Kandamaran shook his head and wrote a letter to his ex-best friend, hoping that he would receive this sooner and make his way here for one last time. He knows that Vandiyadevan doesn't owe anything to him and his sister but as a brother he wanted his sister to have at least one last wish to come true. He heard her murmuring for Vandiyadevan while he went in search of her. At that moment he knew only Vandiyadevan can cure or give his sister the last love.

Next day

Vandiyadevan is currently riding his horse at full speed, as he received a letter from his frine dKandamaran, asking him to visit more like pleading. He can able to sense terror in his words and with the mention of his sister Manimegalai, he knew that he had to visit. Although he had only seen his sister a couple of times and didn't interact with her often the time when she is ready to accept the penalty to save him before the court he knew that this girl is more than anything. Even though he couldn't reciprocate the feeling Manimegalai have for him, he really have her at a high place in his heart. Unfortunately, his heart is only reserved for his Ilaya Pirattiyar, since the time they met he knew that's who is heart wants.

And he knew that Manimegali deserved someone who is not only a warrior but a loveable one who can give the world to that innocent golden flower of Kadambur. But nothing prepared him for the sight he thought he would witness as he reached the room where Manimegali is currently, Kandamaran's eyes held sadness and many emotions.

A weak footstep was heard as he went inside the room, with the pair of tired eyes and sunken cheeks stood the once bubbly and always smiling Mani he knew. Tears fell down from his eyes as he took in the state of the Kadambur flower now standing before him, is this his dream? he wished to be and hoped that Manimegalai is healthy and thriving in her home. But life is not fair and this is the reality. 

With a small smile on her dried and pale lips, Mani limped forward, She couldn't able to contain her excitement, and her heart is filled with joy. Finally, he is here and this time is for real, As her heart started to slow down, she went faster and her legs gave up and started to fall down. But the angel before her caught just before her body hits the ground.

She wanted to say so much but her voice couldn't able to get it out. She smiled a teary smile to which Vandiyadevan cried seeing her in this state. He can see she is struggling to get her words as he combed her hair with his hand and lightly pressed a kiss on her forehead. At that moment Mani know this is it, her last moment and her wish is finally over she nodded at him and he nodded as well without fully knowing what is in her mind. With one last breath, she went into a sleep state from which she will never wake up. With a heart-wrenching sound, Vandiyadevan cried, hugging the once bubbly and cheerful girl he know now laying lifeless in his arm.

Nobody knows that a warrior like him is capable to cry like this and he did, even though he fully doesn't know why but his heart what to cry it out.

Later that night

Kandamaran asked Vandiyadevan to stay as they finished the final rituals of Manimegalai. They offered him a room to stay for the night and travel tomorrow, the least they could do.

With tear-stained cheeks Vandiyadevan laid on the bed, He could still feel the weight of Mani in his arm, Oh what he is gonna do? How he is gonna able to come out of it, sleep took over him and his breathing becomes steady and slow.

Pair of eyes watching over him, one the soul of the beautiful flower who just passed away and another one is the once crown prince 'Aditha Karikalan'.  Both of them loved this man, to one he is the love of their life, to another this is the one who saved his life on many occasions and was a brother to him. Their wandering souls made a stop to visit the person who is very important to them

'Why did you love him' Aditha asked her.

'How can I not! It's him! It's always him!' Her voice held sadness and many emotions.

'Would you change things if you have been given a second chance?' The question made her look at her love who is currently sleeping and dried tear marks are now adorning his cheeks

'No, I won't. Cause I know I love him and for that, I can't make him lose his love. I want him to be loved as I would love him' Her words expressed her innocence and her love towards Vandiyadevan who didn't reciprocate the same feeling.

As she turned and looked at the person who question her and smiled. 'Would you?' Her question made Aditha stop thinking.

'What would I?' asked Aditha, hoping to see what she is implying.

'Would you change things if you had been given a second chance, for your love?' She asked smiling sadly,

With deep breaths, Aditha replied closing his eyes and smiling sadly 'I would'  he answered.

He is imagining his life with his Nandhini if he could able to change the things he did if given a chance.

She smiled and softly caressed Vandiyadevan's hair, all he felt is the air moving his hair.

From that day onwards it is Mani who guarded him and everyone important to him, she is his secret angel who looked after him, as he lived his life with Kundavai and started a family of his own. She played with their child and waited for him to enter the afterlife. She knew that her life purpose is to be with him and by him. After all, he is hers, as much as she is his, even though the world says otherwise.

Aval - is his heart string that connects his life.

@harinishivaa   @thelekhikawrites @nspwriteups @whippersnappersbookworm​ @willkatfanfromasia​ @hollogramhallucination @vibishalakshman​   @celestesinsight​   @arachneofthoughts   @freeunknownwasteland   @yehsahihai  @curiousgalacticsoul​ -> Let me know your thoughts guys.

[lesser-mook]

Miles isn’t bad, just overrated

”wild to me”, as in how could you not like him?

  Mind you they’re leaving out continuity, origin differences, the fact some aren't mantles but actual RANKS (GL), Fate/Nabu is more an Entity than a mantle. (debatable, yes)

Barry to Jay is Jim Hammond Human Torch to Johnny Storm’s Torch- existed in different times

 Hammond was an Allies soldier

Johnny is a modern Superhero whose power is cosmic in isolation

Leaving out context to make a moot point. 

I was there day one Miles’ story began, and i loyally bought his stuff. 

He ain’t all that, the main selling point is the cultural modernization that he represents, he’s an urban, black Spider-man and that’s mainly why people latch onto him.

Not that he’s in anyway compelling or interesting in a unique sense, cause he is an individual person, but the urban aesthetic mainly is what people fell in love with. And that’s 100% fine-

But it’s when you start deflecting that fact and start acting like people have an issue when they don’t like him and you just can’t for the life of you understand “why why why, don’t you like him” vs other knockoffs:

Mind you, i’m probably one of the lesser yet avid Supergirl criticizers on the net, and i’m not even talking about the show, that’s too easy, comics 100%. That requires research.

So there’s no double standard, Kara Zor El is a blue eyed blond haired girl next door archetype cosplaying as Superman, her entire appeal is to get women into the lore but she ended up being taken in by straight men as a fanbase, majorly. 

Why? 

Because she’s got a dynamic character arc? (She’s had some decent runs, nothing phenomenal)

An arc that at one point changed the landscape of DC? 

Her tragic downward spiral of self-destruction and wrapped up in a beautiful act of redemption & sacrifice?

NOPE that would be someone else, who i often WISH was Supergirl in the first fucking place.

But despite Clark Kent-PRIME being a better character, somehow hasn’t gotten a single chance in the animated media.

Young JUSTICE didn’t choose him. They chose Kara to end off S4, because we haven’t had enough of her the past 15 years, she’s so deep like that.

I DIGRESS.

As you can tell, i cannot stand her despite her innate general appeal. Why? Writing, purpose, originality and lack thereof. 

The takes of Kara that land, FOR ME, are the ones that say or do something different from the version mainline canon, and allow her to be her own thing off of Clarks coattails in some way, minor or major. 

*DC Nuclear Winter Kara Zor El, i like her.

And the fact that she’s a cutesie R63, usually. Is the only reason why she remained relevant for this long, same with Powergirl, up until people literally forgetting she existed because her contribution to the picture was big tits and a litle bit of ego.

Injusitce 2 brought her back, attitude and all.....aaaand then she went back into obscurity, WHO saw that coming? 

Same with Miles, token.

Miles not bad, not a bad kid, not the worst take on Spider-man. Just overrated.

Some people need to just admit what they like about him is the aesthetic surrounding him, and stop pretending we just don’t get what it is that’s wrong with other people regarding him.

Cause i guarantee you majority of people stanning this kid has NEVER read that issue where he fought that nobody villain: Kangaroo- which is technically where his first fight as a masked hero began.

Doesn’t mean you have to read every single issue to speak on the matter (Because i need to catch up on some of his stories myself), but the point is with all this support for this character, how invested are you really in this boy beyond what’s fed to you by Hollywood.

It means: Do you actually give a shit? Are you invested, or are you just talking?

It means don’t act stupid for the sake of feigning confusion when you know exactly what’s up. 

Like he should be or has to be liked and anything less is a problem or something.

Most people big him up because he’s a POC Spider-Man, period. 

If they (Marvel/Bendis) had any balls they would’ve made Miles more like Kaine, give him some anger issues or SOME kind of major flaw that made him having powers a serious problem- and how he uses his powers, is different enough from Peter in sheer application to where he’s not your average Spider-Man by just how he moves:

Like Deku & Allmight having roughly the same power, initially, but Deku uses his strengths so differently by S2-S3, he literally moves & fights nothing like All Might anymore. He’s his own aesthetic.

Even Full Cowling isn’t something Allmight’s really known for, it’s a visual distinction between the two.

And that’s one of few things i can actually praise of the franchise without a complaint.

That should’ve been Miles.

And no, some sparky fingers ain’t unique cause Jessica was doing that shit decades before Miles was a concept, but nobody talks about that tho.

The Invisible Woman shit? Sure i’ll give him that i guess. It’s pretty cool.

Moreso this alternate Miles’ arc is moreso learning the values of a hero in his own way, at his own pace, while maintaining enough moral differences from Parker to be a different situation. 

Say he’s 18 when he gets his power, slightly older than when Peter got his,14-15. 

Have the first 9-12 months be him using his powers for himself, a “fuck the world” attitude, until he does something deathly serious in a fit of rage or self defense, that he can’t undo and regrets for the rest of his career. 

Anything like that would’ve been more compelling.

You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound like a more interesting story, i didn’t say “better”, i said “interesting.”

Not just Peter Parker but recolored.

Again, I was there since the beginning, 2012, day one i was buying Morales comics “Because he looked liked me”, and guess what, i was NOT impressed.

The staying power wasn’t there, the justification of his looking like me (and yes he looked just like me) WAS NOT enough to warrant long term investment because while he did look like me, Miles was NOT me. Period.

I liked that both his parents were alive, ofc they weren’t an entirely black family unit, of course. 

But i liked his pops, Jefferson being a cop. His mom was good peoples, and what happened to her was...something.

But the kid overall was boring, he didn’t speak to me, he just mirrored my melanin, big deal.

Lo and behold, just looking like a person isn’t enough to justify staying power, who knew? Just being black doesn’t mean i relate to you, who knew?

That was the day i realized, true “Representation” is NOT skin deep. It’s about character, who you are as a person. Period.

Between Kaine and Morales, it’s not even a Contest. 

One has enough distinctions moral & mental to be a completely separate franchise and SHOULD'VE been in movies by now, R Rated ofc.

And the other is just a glorified What If DLC.

But ofc guess who gets a honorable mention, twice in the MCU. The Black Spider-Man ofc: 

Because he’s compelling, interesting, a long standing character in the Spider-man lore? 

No that’s KAINE, hell i’m still looking for Madam Web’s respect, on god..

I’m STILL waiting for MAYDAY to get her big break! The fact that Miles was able to skip the line in front of her, is insane to me.

Miles is likely going get to the MCU first before BEN, Web, Mayday and KAINE combined, because he’s the black Spidey.

Again, you can like him if you want, but don’t pretend for a second why people don’t like him is some mystery.

Miles looks exactly like me, i repeat and i cannot stand him as a concept- i gravitate to Venom, Kaine, Miguel, Spider-Man NOIR, Mayday, etc.

And Miguel is technically the POC Spider-man BEFORE Morales, half Mexican, but Miles is black+latino in current day, so let’s just forget all about O’Hara until some corny Spiderverse movie makes him relevant again in the post credit scene, now everyone’s going to love Miguel because he’s going to be in the next movie.

Mapping out the main reason i can’t normies sometimes, bandwagon mentality.

And it sucks cause we got him in Ultimate Spiderman XD, Edge of Time, Shattered Dimensions, so the man had some momentum getting off the pages. So what was the hold up with getting this cat in a movie? Or a Mini series like TNAS Spider-man most people forgot?

Miguel is a legit cool dude, careerman, sly, very different aesthetic, different time, different Spider-man. He is NOT Parker, trust me. 

Miguel O’Hara should’ve been gotten his own show or movie. And on that note, that obscure underwritten Spider-man Unlimited, was a Spider-man 2099 cartoon that didn’t know or it 100% knew it was trying to be 2099

But our boy Miles gets to skip the goddamn line in front of established more interesting characters that have done their time since before the Century turned, get mentions in the MCU and 2 animated movies, if that’s not AA energy i don’t know what is. 

NOW THAT’S wild to me.

[sister-hawk]

mega spoilers for The Locked Tomb

ok here's what i just realized. we had no idea Harrow was seeing the body until the second book, because the first book is from Gideon's perspective and Harrow never told her about it. she told her about seeing the body in the tomb, but she neglected to mention that she's been seeing it walk around ever since. Gideon and Harrow have obviously had a very difficult relationship, which gets way way worse after Harrow opens the tomb. it gets so bad that Gideon seems to think her only course of action is to run away when no one is looking and join the Cohort. as far as Gideon is concerned, there's no salvaging that relationship, Harrow is just too horrible and evil and vile.

and then the events of Caanan House happen, and through the course of it all (especially after the pool scene) Gideon starts to see Harrow in a much more human light. she's not just the absolute monster Gideon has convinced herself that she must be, after years of trauma and abuse on the Ninth House (which she assumes was all Harrow's doing). Gideon sees her for who she really is, an equally traumatized teenager who has had an unimaginable weight placed upon her by her parents' actions (TWICE!). and i think she begins to hope. after all, these two were the only children growing up on shitty old castle/space station, carved into a dark and cold and desolate rock on the far reaches of the solar system, surrounded by a bunch of elderly cultists. they share a bond whether they like it or not. she sees that Harrow is more than she wrote her off as and she starts to think "maybe there's something between us after all." now i wouldn't go so far as to say she immediately wanted anything romantic, i don't know if either of them even understands romance. when have they ever had the opportunity to learn? but she clearly begins to think of Harrow as someone she can trust? kind of, that she must protect, maybe even love??? whatever the fuck that means for these two (though she tries so hard to convince herself that she isn't feeling this because she doesn't know how to deal with it).

then the fight with Cytherea happens, and after a desperate and hopeless attempt, Gideon makes the ultimate sacrifice. she chooses to stop fighting for her life, and instead to die, to ensure that Harrow would live. even though she wouldn't like to put it this way, this is Gideon's ultimate expression of love for Harrow. she chooses not only to die, but to be consumed. to be obliterated, to be erased from this life and the next, just so that Harrow can go on. she gave literally everything for this girl.

and then, when her spirit wakes up inside of Harrow, and she sees (unclearly) what Harrow sees, what is she looking at? what does she see waltzing around in Harrow's mind? the fucking body from the tomb. the body Harrow thought was so beautiful, that on the day Gideon nearly killed her and drove her to suicide, she saw and immediately decided to live for, on the extremely slim chance that it could ever wake up. she sees the body that saved Harrow from her previous cruelty (they were only children). and she knows, it's been with her this whole time. all this time and Harrow never said a word. even in the salt water bath, where all the truth was supposed to finally come out, this little detail never crossed Harrow's lips.

Gideon must have been utterly heart broken. This would be like if you suddenly found out that your girlfriend of the better part of a decade had secretly been seeing someone else this whole time. it must have crushed what was left of her soul. and to top it all off, Harrow pulls this insane plan to make herself forget Gideon. Gideon sees what she does, but of course she doesn't see why, because Harrow would never tell it aloud, especially not to someone like Ianthe. and all she can assume is, now that Harrow has what she needs (the Lyctorhood for which she was so desperate), she wants to throw Gideon away so that she'll never be beholden to another person. she'd never have to be grateful to Gideon, and she'll have the imagined girlfriend in her head, and Gideon will not even be left as a memory.

Holy shit the devastation this (apparent) betrayal causes cannot even be put into words. No wonder Kiriona is so fucking mean.