#i will totally add your character to the next chapter

[shiny-jr]

Hi! I noticed that your requests were open and I love the way you write Malleus so I was hoping you would do yandere malleus x reader. where the reader knows twisted wonderland is a game (but not imposter au pls) and after they got isekia'd are trying to stop the overblots from happening and malleus is just terrified for them. Idk just an idea I've had for awhile but never found a fanfic like lol. Obviously it's totally fine if you don't want to do it or if I accidentally broke a rule. Anyway remember to drink some water and take a break if needed! Have a amazing rest of your day/night!!

Warning: Yandere (not really, not at all). Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Malleus Draconia.

Summary: MC sees affection meters and it's not good.

Note: These are mainly thoughts and random words my mind spewed out.  

How did one claim victory at a game? Well, it entirely depended on the game, the mechanics and the options. It should've been impossible to lose a mobile game that was primarily composed of the gacha mechanism and visual novels.

When you suddenly found yourself in the series of twisted villains in a prestigious school of magic, you found that it was much more complex than it appeared on screen. Especially when only you could see these small bars occasionally floating above people's heads. Bars which you recognized as affection meters, nearly all of them stagnant at a dull gray 0% when you first arrived. This was the hurdle blocking your way to an easy victory. Because how else were you to escape the game, other than complete it?

Situations became messier, when you didn't have a dialogue options between two mere choices. Add making good impressions and keeping a character's favor, to the list of quests alongside avoiding death by inky overblotted characters. By some miracle, you had increased the affection of the characters you met and interacted with to a healthy 5% or 10%, sometimes more. At any cost you wished to avoid getting in the negatives, because you did not want to find out what would happen then.

Sometimes, the numbers would drop dangerously close to zero, mainly when an overblot was occuring. Never had you realized how the visual novel failed spectacularly at portraying the utter horror of the overblotted in all their wicked glory. The black inky darkness leaking from them like tears or blood with those crazed unhinged looks in their eyes–– was the stuff of pure nightmares.

And yet the one whose overblot you had been dreading the most, the dorm leader of Diasomnia, was surprisingly docile as you dealt with others. However, you knew even when conversing with him, that you would one day witness him overblot and look like some ethereal but deadly fallen angel. So mentally you prepared yourself, while taking on the task of keeping up appearances.

Malleus' affection meter, was a good 20% and a friendly pink shade, quite the accomplishment you were proud of, considering the majority of the cast wasn't even at 15%. The Draconia heir was certainly someone you never wanted to see reach below zero, so you did your absolute best to appeal to him, even if he was quite intimidating at first with the way he stoically watched you complain about the least of your worries, homework and classes.

By the time you spoke to him about your troubles with the Ramshackle dorm and Azul, during what you knew was the Octavinelle arc, the prince's affection had sprouted to a 22%. When you went into more detail of the potential loss you could face, it went to 23%.

The next time you saw him, you were weary and antsy since witnessing Azul's break-down. If the blot of his tears had the magic to gather, it would've been enough to drown, you were sure of it. Even by that maniac look in his eyes, you're sure he would've purposely drowned you if he got close enough.

Throughout that charlatan's chapter, his affection meter had slowly been rising, dropping during the overblot like the tides only to rise once again by the end to a good 45%. This was good!

But no matter how much you may have pondered, strategized, or try to predict each next action, you could've never guessed that the next time you saw Malleus after Azul's overblot, his expression taut with concern, his affection meter had made a jump to 55% and turned red. This entire time you had been avoiding the negatives, but you never once worried of the dangers and implications a red affection meter above 50% would mean for you. Or heaven forbid, anything close to 100%.

[beesmygod]

"A GHOST STORY" IS A WEBCOMIC I MAKE THAT I WILL BE RE-POSTING, GRADUALLY.

i've been meaning to do this for a while, but keep getting cold feet over the prospect of having to both convince people to read my work and re-expose myself to my past artistic and narrative choices. but no one gets anywhere in entertainment by being shy.

on the left is the first page of my webcomic posted back in 2013-ish. on the right is a page from the redraw of the first chapter from 2018-ish. back when i first started the re-draw, a print version of the comic felt much less like a total pipe dream than it does today. the purpose of the re-draw was to fix the fact that the original pages were, as a result of artistic ineptitude, too dark to print. they would have been solid blocks of impenetrable black ink. however, a print version now feels impossible as a result of market realities. huge bummer. another reason these pages were hard to come back to is that they feel like brutal reminders of falling short of print quality even after a decade of work.

this is a bittersweet sort of trip down memory lane.

anyway, you can see some indications of improvement between the two, even if the new one lacks a sort of je ne sais quoi that the original had. it is clearer in action and intent, the lighting is more consistent and sensical (i would probably add a highlight layer to maxine's hair in the 5th panel if i were doing it today). the ladder is too big tho, i think. one of the perils of being a small person irl is that you draw things as the size you perceive them to be and not the size they actually are. this is especially obvious, for me, when i draw people next to countertops and have to remind myself that counters should be at people's hips and not their midsection.

anyway: here's the current character bios for these characters

the hand holding maxine's number is not her own. there's a barely visible (lol bad blocking) arm holding her in place for the photo. she's struggling and yellin

♥ read the comic: A Ghost Story ♥ support the comic for as little as $1 a month on Patreon ♥ pay what you want for the re-draw of the first chapter on itch.io

you can block the tag "#AGS repost" to keep this off your dash

[siilvan]

bloodsport – prologue

next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: all it takes is a chance meeting.

genre: general, angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, minor descriptions of blood/injuries, military/spec-ops inaccuracies, lieutenant!reader, not much makarov in this chapter sorry </3

word count: 3k

note: never thought i'd reach this point. but, here i am, thirsting for my formerly least favorite character. all because they gave him tattoos and showed his tits. enjoy! <3

also totally didn't use my oc's callsign for this. ur crazy bestie. (this is still 'x reader', no backstory/personal info is given to reader)

your head is spinning, the world around you a haze as your eyes fight to regain focus. there's a constant ringing in your ears, deafening you, and you wince once the pounding in the back your skull becomes apparent.

everything slowly begins to come back to you. the operation in al mazrah, the warning from HQ, the explosion, the floor collapsing below your feet. you're laying on your back now, aching from head to toe. the building that you were in with soap and gaz is reduced to rubble, lying in pieces around you.

you manage to turn your head to the left and see soap laying motionless a few feet away. farther away is gaz, struggling to push what used to be a metal support beam off his trapped leg. you blink furiously at the pair, trying to clear the dust and sand out from your eyes, and breathe a ragged sigh of relief at the subtle rise and fall of soap's chest. you attempt to call out to gaz, but all that leaves your throat is a weak noise and a wheezing cough.

price and ghost are probably on their way already. you just need to wait for them. the mission was doomed from the start, you all know that, but it won't end in your deaths so long as you hold out.

the ringing in your ears slowly fades, and you can hear footsteps approaching from your right. it was a small group, judging by the heavy footfall - had price and ghost found help somehow?

you carefully turn again, expecting to be greeted by the familiar sight of your teammates. the harsh midafternoon sun sits in that direction, forcing you to squint in the bright light as you try to make out the group of silhouettes.

the first sign of trouble was gaz's panicked shout of your name. the person in the front of the pack blocks the sun's light upon reaching you, casting shadows in their path and finally allowing you to glimpse at their face. you blink again, angling your head to identify the person hovering over you. it takes several seconds for your foggy mind to recognize them but, when it does, your blood runs cold.

makarov.

⋆⋆⋆

you're woken up by someone shaking your shoulder, a gentle voice calling out to you. with a whine, akin to a child being disturbed by their mother in the morning before school, you bat their hand away and force your eyes open.

"y'not get enough sleep last night, lieutenant?" gaz asks, sitting on the couch next to you. the harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling make you squint and rub at your tired eyes for relief. "bad dream?" he adds a second later, taking note of your dazed state.

"yeah, just a bad dream. nothin' to worry about." you assure him with a downturned smile. according to the watch on your wrist, it was ten o' clock. you'd be setting out for al mazrah in about half an hour.

gaz woke you up for the mission, you realize. soap was located nearby, occupying himself with last-minute gear checks, and ghost soon enters the room with his arms full of supply crates. anything from ammunition to water and food was packed in, ready to be loaded into the transport helicopter that you'd be taking into the city. price was hunched over a table filled with scattered maps, blueprints, and gathered intel from your allies in the city.

"alright, let's go over the mission one last time. this needs to be a clean operation - we've got no room for error." price stands straight and glances around the room, personally scrutinizing each of you. the four of you gather around the table alongside the captain, the fatigue quickly dissipating as you focus on his words.

"the city's a mess right now; there’s civilians in the north, enemies to the south, and allies scattered in the wind." price flattens a map of the city with various locations circled and marked against the tabletop. "ghost and myself will offload with the supplies in the north. petra, gaz, and soap will touch down in the east and make their way south to the target building. once we're done up north, we'll link up with our allies in the city center and secure the district surrounding you."

price nods towards you and the sergeants. "should buy you enough time to get the job done."

"we'll do it in half the time," gaz boasts with a self-assured grin, crossing his arms over his chest. soap mirrors his confidence, and both earn pointed looks from yourself and the other two men.

"there's a reason you three are working together on this," price says. he pulls a cigar from one of his vest pockets and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger - a nervous habit you picked up on a long time ago. "you sergeants are fast and damn good at clearing a place out, but if left unchecked, you get yourselves into trouble. petra's good at keeping you two in line, so you're going in together."

"we're a small team in contested territory, it's essential that we have each other's backs." ghost speaks up, sending the two a cursory glance. the sergeants nod, and you continue to listen as price details the rest of the plan.

⋆⋆⋆

the helicopter ride to the city was almost relaxing enough to lull you back to sleep. keyword: almost.

a little while after takeoff, laswell's voice comes through your radios, claiming to have some new intel. you assumed it would be something related to the ground forces, be it enemy or ally, until the word missile echoes throughout the cabin.

price attempted to pry more information out of her, only to be shot down - "i don't know" was all she had to offer in response to his questions. laswell's never been one to panic, even in the face of sure death, but the concern in her voice was palpable. if her intel was accurate, than there was a missile being prepped to launch, and its target was the very city you were fighting in.

you've never seen the team look so solemn during a landing. laswell assured you that she was working to locate and disarm the threat, but she could make no guarantees. you couldn't back out, either; the mission was too important to abandon now. as you disembark alongside soap and gaz, price gives each of you a single bullet from his handgun.

"for luck," he said.

as you stealth your way through eerily silent city streets with the sergeants in tow, you ponder on his choice of words. the bullet sits safe and sound with the rest of the ammo for your own sidearm, ready to be loaded in case of an emergency. if it comes down to your final bullet, though, you might as well consider yourself dead.

after some time and several blocks, you locate the target building. it's a high-rise, a sore thumb sticking out against the surrounding local businesses and low-rise buildings, making it easy for your group to identify it.

"captain, we've got the building in sight," you say into your radio. soap and gaz peak out from your current hiding spot, studying the security and forming their own plan to infiltrate. the two are the team's resident experts on CQB - if anyone can fight their way into enemy territory without breaking a sweat, it's them.

the thought allows you to take a calming breath and relax your tense shoulders.

"solid copy. we just finished up here, so we'll be headed your way soon." price replies. you can hear idle chatter in the background, likely the civilians. "we'll talk again once we're close or you reach the target. whichever happens first."

"copy all, sir." you silence your radio and follow the sergeants' gazes, eyes landing on the building again. considering your objective, the security detail was lacking in numbers. either a fake-out to make you lower your guard or a result of the incoming missile, you presume. no matter what the reason may be, you hold your gun close and try to keep your head clear.

"what exactly is the target that we're going after, l.t.?" soap mutters from next to you, tearing his eyes away from the scene. you shake your head before turning to him.

"did you not listen to the debrief, soap?"

"i did, but price never said what we were goin' after!"

"he totally did, dude. you just weren't listening." gaz perks up, prompting the former to stutter over his words to make a defense. after a minute of bickering between the two, you shush them.

"we're just screwing with you, soap," you concede, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "price told me what it was earlier. some kind of scrambling device that's been screwing with people's tech and causing periodic blackouts. we need to deal with it before it causes something worse than a communications loss."

gaz lets out an amused huff. "yeah, like a helicopter fallin' out of the sky."

"actually, i'm pretty sure it's just you falling 'outta the sky." soap chuckles, earning a lighthearted glare from gaz. you shush the two again and start towards the building, sticking to the shadows so as to avoid being spotted.

it takes no time at all to dispatch the guards surrounding the entrance, and soon you're methodically clearing out the ground floor alongside the sergeants. gaz takes point, whilst you stay in the middle and soap follows close behind. the enemy forces appear to be disorganized, you notice after moving up to the second level. they're wearing mismatched gear and using guns of vastly different origins; some even appear to speak different languages. you catch pieces of arabic and russian amidst the group, but what really shakes you is the english that you hear.

"are some of these fuckers american?" soap asks from behind you, looking over a tango he dropped moments prior.

"appears so," you mutter, examining another body near your feet. he wasn't wearing any sort of identification, so you had no way of figuring out what PMC he could be affiliated with. "they're not shadow company, at least. graves may be a bastard, but he's got his own vendetta against these guys."

"could be random mercenaries - guns for hire, y'know." gaz says with a shrug, clearly unconvinced of his own suggestion.

you hum, rising from your crouched position next to the body. "been seeing more of those popping up recently. wouldn't surprise me if al-qatala hired some of them as security." you refocus and motion for the two to get back in formation, nodding towards the stairs nearby.

"device should be on the sixth floor. let's pick up the pace."

the third and fourth floors are relatively the same: rooms full of randomly assorted, underprepared mercenaries that struggle to communicate with each other. you expected to find the same on the fifth floor, only to be stopped again by a peculiar logo taped above a set of office doors.

a snake skull with a sword. konni. you were aware of their presence in the city, even fighting some in this very building, but the logo stood out to you for some odd reason. with an affirmative nod sent to your teammates, you move to investigate it. at best, you'd find new intel about their operations, and at worst, you'd have another room to empty out.

upon opening the set of double doors and carefully entering, though, you come face-to-face with something far worse.

"holy fuck... is this all gas?" gaz mumbles, standing to your left.

the meeting room is filled floor-to-ceiling with gas containers, bright red barrels marked with konni's logo and cyrillic script plastered across their fronts. you take a closer look at the letters and, with the extremely limited knowledge of russian that you've gained from price and nikolai, manage to work out what they say.

"it's the same stuff zakhaev used in verdansk a few years ago," you glance towards the sergeants. you try to disguise your gradually creeping apprehension behind a firm look, rubbing the back of your neck as a bead of sweat rolls down into your shirt collar.

soap steps forward, taking a closer look at the stock. "wasn't zakhaev the one supplying it, though? i thought price took him out."

you sigh, wiping the sweat off your glove against the front of your thigh. "i think he had a supplier, but even if he was making it himself, that isn't stopping someone else from producing more. konni's probably buying it from whomever that is."

"wonder who that could be." gaz says, turning his attention to the large window at the far side of the room.

you open your mouth to reply, but soap beats you to it. "everyone in this situation is friends with makarov, right? price and laswell said he was gettin' active again."

the name sends an uneasy chill down your spine. you've never met the man yourself, but based on what price had to say about him, you're thankful you haven't. if he's working behind the scenes, than you need to be careful. any small mistake could end in disaster.

again, you try to respond, and again, you're interrupted. "uh– y'guys might want to look at this." gaz calls out over his shoulder.

your gaze turns to the sight outside that he was vaguely motioning towards. a bright light sits somewhere in the distance, quickly growing in size and luminosity. you squint, trying to figure out what the light could be coming from, until you remember laswell's warning.

the missile had fired.

"steamin' bloody jesus..." soap utters under his breath, snapping you back to the present.

"we need to find cover - fast!" you usher the two back from the glass and out of the room, sprinting down the stairs three steps at a time. although laswell didn't have much in the way of information, she did provide the team with a key piece of intel: there were bunkers constructed throughout the city, installed before the ballistic missile containers were offloaded in the area. one such bunker was located a short distance from the building you're currently in.

if you hurry, you might be able to make it.

as you descend, you can hear voices steadily drawing closer. gaz and soap hear it as well, and you all prepare your guns upon reaching the second floor.

as expected, there's a group waiting for you when you arrive. you take cover and try to thin out the crowd, but each second ticking by only serves to increase your level of impatience. eventually, you pull a flash grenade off your belt and toss it into the crowd, giving yourself and the sergeants a chance to finish off the remaining soldiers.

the three of you make another break for the exit. as the light outside the windows of the building grows blinding and a deafening explosion is heard, though, you wonder if you could have done something different. the floors above collapse and crash into your team, destroying the floors below you and knocking you off your feet.

somewhere in the chaos, your world goes dark.

⋆⋆⋆

when you come to, your head is spinning. there's a pounding in the back of your skull, muted thumps amidst the violent ringing in your ears. you blink away tears and dust, fighting to make your eyes focus as everything slowly falls into place around you.

you didn't make it to the bunker before the missile hit. gaz and soap are somewhere in this rubble with you - alive or dead, you're not sure. your body aches, muscles screaming at you as you try to move, forcing a pathetic wheezing cry from your lips.

after some struggle, you manage to turn your head to the left. laying several feet away is soap, covered in pieces of rubble and fighting to stay awake, blood pouring from an open wound on his head. farther away is gaz, desperately trying to get his leg free from under a broken metal beam. you call out to them, but all you can muster is a pained noise that leaves you coughing.

midafternoon sunlight beats down on you. price and ghost are somewhere else in the city, and you pray that they're still alive. it's all you can hope for at this point, considering your inability to move.

you hear voices drawing closer. heavy boots stomping through the sand and rubble, footsteps uniform yet distinct from one another. price, ghost, and your allies in the city immediately cross your mind, making you let out a relieved sigh.

when you look to your right, however, the silhouettes are distinctly different from what you expected to see. instead of your teammates, you see a group in familiar, yet unfamiliar, clothing and gear. you try to piece together what you recognize despite the fog in your brain.

when gaz's shout of your real name pierces your ears, it suddenly comes to you. pictures that price and laswell acquired from her global counterparts flood your mind, and you realize that you're looking at a group of ultranationalist soldiers. konni's leader and supplier, al-qatala's strongest ally, and the group that he leads with an iron fist.

ignoring the immense pain as a fresh wave of adrenaline courses through your system, you scramble for your sidearm. the last fight and the building collapse made you lose your rifle and drained you of most of your ammo, but you still had the bullet that you loaded into your handgun before the missile hit.

price's bullet.

one shot is all it should take.

you reach for your holster, but find nothing in its place. you frantically feel around the nearby area, searching for it, but still come up empty-handed. you lost your handgun in the crash and had nothing to defend yourself with. as the group nears, the reality of your situation dawns on you.

your luck had run out.

the leader of the pack blocks the harsh sunlight, casting shadows across your body as he stands over you. slowly, your eyes adjust to the change in light. you blink up at him, feeling a pang in your chest and a pit in your stomach form once his face becomes clear.

makarov.

taglist: @sofasoap, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @roosterr (ty for being the reason i wrote this lol)

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist!

[writefightandflightclub]

I finished it, I finished it!!!!!!

I have finished my Santiago series, Ride or Die!!!!!!!

All 87,000 words of it!!!!!

Eleven chapters!!!!!!!!

It’s so very close to me being able to queue all the chapters up and post it (I do need some time for the final chapter by chapter edits, and getting everything in the right format for tumblr posts etc. as it’s still in one big Google doc) but I wanted to take a little moment to celebrate right now :D

Wahoooooo!

I have been writing this for LITERAL YEARS, and honestly, I have never persevered for this long with any writing project in my life, nor have I ever written nor attempted anything of this length (potentially besides boring work reports, yuk!) before!

Idk, the series might totally bomb when I post it, maybe no-one will read it, or maybe those who do give it a bash won’t enjoy it at all, and I am trying to prepare myself for the fact that something I have spent YEARS on simply may not be well-received; but regardless, FOR ME, this project and these two characters and their story have a special place in my heart and represent an achievement I’m proud of, and so for that reason, I am very excited to be able to finally say “it’s done” and to (eventually) share it with you!

I’ll keep you updated with when the series will launch. It won’t be before 2024 (because like I said edits and all that, and 87k is a lot to edit LOL) but once it goes live I hope to queue-up a chapter a week for you; which is almost three months of content! *gasp*

The series will be angsty and smutty and angsty smut and more angst (with a friends to lovers / idiots to lovers skew) and it’s very character-driven.

If this sounds like your thing and you would like to keep updated, please lmk in the comments and I can add you to the series tag list (FYI, I will only add you if you’re 18+!).

I do feel really nervous to share it after spending so long on it - especially because I know it’s not “perfect” - but for where I’m at now in terms of my abilities to write multi-chapter stuff (I will say, I never set out for this to be multi-chapter so structurally I was a little screwed from the start - this was only supposed to be a one shot! :P) I gave it the best stab I could, and I know this has been a crucial step towards taking a much better stab at an extended piece of writing next time around, so I regret nothing at alllllll :D

Anyway, thanks for listening :D

[yutahoes]

Caramel

(Part Three)

characters: stripper! Yuta x female! Y/N genre: chaptered, SMUT, fluff, angst word count: 3k words summary: Y/N has everything in her bitter life, not until she meets a sweet-looking stripper. warnings: matured theme, stripper au!, third person POV, alcohol consumption, rusty smut writing, lots of kissing, horny Y/N, breast sucking, fingering, badly written female orgasm, Yuta is down bad, mention of oral - male receiving, some detailed descriptions of Y/N just to prove a point, you can skip or change it to your preference

Part Two

It was bizarre. 

The valet was obviously amused when the familiar car parked and he took the keys from someone else. The staff in the building were evidently startled to see the tenant from the penthouse escorted by a guy in cowboy boots, leather pants, and just a denim vest with no shirt inside. 

Y/N tried to keep her composure to herself as they boarded the elevator with questionable looks. She can easily reason out that she was drunk but when Yuta offered himself, she felt as if she was woken up with a splash of cold water. 

The girl had to admit that she felt warm - bothered, in a certain sexual way - watching him dancing privately for her. When he kneeled in front of her, she badly wanted to trail her fingers on his skin. And when he did let her, she yearned for more. Truly, human beings cannot be easily contented. At least she knew a horny person cannot. 

Once again, she can blame it all on alcohol. But if she was totally drunk, she should have gone home alone. She should have slept alone. Not with someone else. 

Not with this gorgeous man standing in the middle of her receiving area. A man she suddenly wants. So bad. 

“This is an amazing apartment,” Yuta claimed as she handed him a glass of orange juice. “But you said you live the other way.” 

Y/N nodded, sitting on the couch. “That was my parent’s house,” she explained, then put down the half-empty glass on the nearby table. “This is more of my own apartment unit.” 

Yuta gave a hearty laugh before sitting beside her, “Flex.” He put down his glass next to hers and stretched his arm on the headrest of the sofa before sliding to sit closer to her. “Are you still drunk?” 

He was so close that she could smell him. Is it cologne? Why does he smell so good? Maybe she is still drunk - not with alcohol - but with the scent of him. “You said you don’t do extra services?” 

“I don’t,” he was inching closer that his breath felt ticklish against her lips. “Can I kiss you?” 

She could always blame it on alcohol because who in their right mind would suddenly kiss someone because of that question? But this is Yuta. Handsome. Sexy. Sweet-smelling. Intriguing. Yuta. His lips were so soft and minty, with a tinge of sweetness from the orange juice. Sweetly addicting. When his tongue slipped between her lips, she was sold. 

This wasn’t his first rodeo, Yuta had the same experience before but why does this feel utterly different? Her lips were velvety smooth, the taste of alcohol and juice from her tongue making him dizzy with want. In a swift motion, he pulled her to his lap. His arms pulled her closer, not breaking the steamy make out even if he needed air. If this is the way he’ll die, he’ll perish a happy man. She’s intoxicating. It’s making him insane. 

His fingers started undoing the zipper from the back of her dress, letting the front fall. His lips started trailing butterfly kisses from her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, to the exposed skin of her chest. The black lace brassiere only adds to his growing excitement. She is so hot. He’ll probably kill himself if he stops now. 

Y/N’s lips were plump, breathing harshly, as she stared at him with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. “Fuck, you are insanely hot.” Yuta complimented, “I want you so fucking bad.” 

“My room is that door over there.” He didn’t need any repeated instruction as he carried her up to what she claimed as her room. The bed looked soft specifically when he gently dropped her to the mattress. Slowly, he removed the denim vest while taking in her visuals. Her fucked up look, the haughty expression on her face, and her half-naked state, made him want to thank the Gods for a chance encounter with this woman. 

He started kissing her once again, lightly grinding his body into contact with hers. A soft moan escaped her lips, arousing the blood in his system. Never had he experienced this level of want before. He’s like a mad predator craving for prey. 

He didn’t even have a drop of alcohol tonight but he could taste the whiskey on his tongue with how he kissed her. His fingers started slipping her dress down, kissing each inch of the skin getting exposed. The whimpers came out of her lips, making all the muscles in his body alive. Maybe she anticipated this, Y/N did say that she went on a date. And somehow, Yuta was thankful that it didn’t end well and he had the golden opportunity to snap the front clip of her brassiere. 

She looks exquisite. A Goddess lying in front of him. Yuta might have saved a planet in his past life to land a chance with someone as gorgeous as her. He kissed her neck, trailing to her shoulder. Her fingers tickled his nape, sending goosebumps all over his body. His teeth gently grazed her collarbone which earned a sudden jolt of movement from her. “Did that hurt?” The girl nodded as he placed a soft kiss on the part he gently bit earlier, “Sorry.” 

Inch by inch, he moved down. Kisses getting impatient as he neared her breasts. “Can I?” Y/N nodded. His right hand cupped her firm breast, thumb gently caressing her erect nipple. He pressed fluttering kisses on the left breast, his eyes lingering on her. Y/N was panting hard, her thumb trailing on his cheeks while nodding. A signal he knew he needed. A simple gesture that took away all his inhibitions. Her back arches as he sucked on each nipple in turn, warm tongue softly teasing the erect nubs. 

The whimpers coming out of her lips put his body in its feral state. He wanted more. 

His lips traveled south, open-mouthed kisses on the skin of her abdomen. Yet he needed more. Much much more. 

Yuta’s finger hooked the waistband of her underwear, pressing gentle kisses, but she gently tugged his hair, urging him to look at her. “Don’t,” Her eyes were hazy, lips parted. “Don’t kiss that part.” She whispered in between heavy breaths. The side of his lips curled up. How cute. 

He pushed himself up to kiss her on her lips, nibbling her bottom lip as she arched her body up for what seemed like a contact to his. His hands trailed down: to the side of her breast, then the curve of her waist, down to her thigh. It then went up between her legs to press his middle finger on the wet spot of her underwear. 

Y/N pulled him closer, closing her thighs as she released a moan. “Yuta, please.” He was weak. His mind was already set on the idea of fucking her hard, making her beg for him, calling his name in the most erotic way possible. But the seniors in the club, namely Johnny and Taeyong, would always remind him to never ever have sex with a woman without condoms. That is the golden rule in this profession. 

Honestly, he could disregard that rule. Be his own rules. 

But she’s a successful, well-established woman. She had her whole life laid out in a flowery way in front of her. He cannot ruin her life just because of his mistake. Just because he forgot a fucking condom. 

The man pulled himself up, removing the skin-to-skin contact. “We can’t. I couldn’t.” Her eyes widened in surprise and Yuta had to mentally punch himself for disappointing her. “I shouldn’t have sex with you without condoms,” The girl pursed her lips. “But if you let me touch you, I’ll make sure you’ll be satisfied tonight.” There was a visible hesitance on the girl before she shyly nodded her head. “Words, Y/N.” He urged as his thumb swiped on her bottom lip. 

“Yuta,” she called with a whimper. “Touch me, please.” 

His thumb was quickly replaced with his lips, hand quickly slipping past the waistband of her underwear to cup her nether region. He loved how her body responded to his kisses and touch. She wrapped her hands on his head, lightly tugging his blonde hair. His mouth sucked a spot on her neck as he pushed his middle finger inside her. A strangled moan escaped her lips, her back arching. 

Yuta took a moment to watch her: parted lips whisper silent whimpers as if they’re prayers, body arched, hips grinding against his hand, thighs crossed as if she doesn’t want his hand to leave. And he doesn’t want to. 

The man slipped his pointer finger inside and her body jolted as if electrified, lips whispering pleads. Yuta smirked, thumb rubbing circles on her clit. Another finger was inserted and she held his forearm, pushing her fingernail on his skin that it started to hurt. But the guy never cared less and didn’t stop exploring her insides. The sound of her wetness and heavy panting made the smile on Yuta’s face grow. She's close, he could feel it. 

Her body started shaking, erotic moans escaping her lips, but Yuta increased the pace of his fingers, even alternating fingers to give her immense pleasure. The girl closed her eyes shut, clinging to Yuta’s arm as liquid started spilling out of her vagina. 

Y/N was breathing hard, pulling the blankets up to cover her nakedness. “That was amazing,” she whispered in between labored breaths. “Should I do something for you?” He shook his head, lying beside her in bed. “You definitely should start taking extra services if you’re this great.” Yuta lightly chuckled at that statement, everything coming out of her lips was such a confidence boost. No wonder he’s so attracted to her. “You’ll stay the night, right?” she asked in a sleepy state. 

“I’ll leave early tomorrow.” 

—--

Y/N had always been an early riser. Yet today, she felt like she didn't want to get up. Her head was throbbing badly as she cursed the alcohol she drank. But that wasn’t the only stupid thing she had done last night. Immediately, she sat up and then pulled the blanket to cover her naked breasts. He’s not here. He did leave early. 

A knock on her door startled her. Maybe he’s still here. “Y/N,” But that was clearly Jungwoo’s voice. “If you’re up, there’s hangover soup here.” 

Why is Jungwoo here? And why did he know that she was drunk? Wait, where is Yuta? Did Jungwoo perhaps see Yuta? 

After making herself presentable, she went to her dining area where her stepbrother was. Jungwoo was just smiling at her knowingly and she lightly cursed, he knew. “Your guest said that you drank a lot last night so I ordered soup,” He emphasized the word ‘guest’ with a wide grin. “And I thought you had a bad date last night.” 

Y/N did. And maybe that was the reason why Jungwoo is here. She remembered texting him and of course, just like a real brother, he came here to comfort her. Like every other time. Why the hell did she have to look for other comfort? Surely, last night was purely her fault. 

“Did you have a great night?” 

She took a sip of the soup to hide a smile. Y/N thought it would be blurry, she was pretty hammered last night. But she could clearly feel Yuta’s warm skin against hers, his soft lips, and his sweet smell. The girl bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling at how amazing the experience from last night was. “Clearly, you did,” Jungwoo noted. “He’s pretty handsome.” Y/N nodded, he is. 

Then her eyes widened at that, “You saw him?” 

The guy in front of her stifled a laugh, “He quietly went out of your room and I was sitting here.” He narrated, “I asked who he was and said he was your guest before leaving.” Jungwoo even shared that he was in a hurry and that he looked adorable as if a deer caught in headlights, making Y/N giggle. “He even said he was sorry and left that.” He pointed at something on the table. 

She stood up to check what it was, surprised that there was cash on the table. “He didn’t take it?” 

“Money?” Jungwoo stared at her accusingly, hand on his hip. “You paid him for sex?” 

Y/N was just staring at the cash above the table. Obviously, this was what she gave him last night. Why did he leave it here? Did he dislike the experience? Or is it because nothing really happened? 

Yuta is such a wonder. 

---------

As soon as Yuta entered the dark strip club, his co-workers were howling at him. He sat on one high chair of the bar before asking Ten for a drink, “What happened with the rich girl?” Johnny teased, earning a glare from the younger guy. “Did you have fun?” 

In one gulp, he finished the whiskey and handed the glass back to the bartender. “Yong, can I borrow money for a cab fee home?” 

The three, his two stripper friends and the bartender, were looking at him in puzzlement. “She’s loaded. What happened?” Ten asked. 

“I didn’t take her money.” 

Taeyong looked startled. “Did her husband find you?” Johnny asked, earning another glare from Yuta. “Nothing happened?” Yuta nodded his head, “Well, you did get her drunk.” 

“It was amazing but,” Yuta trailed off, staring at his fingers. He can still remember how smooth her skin was, how warm she felt under him, her small whimpers, and how addicting she tasted. “I wanted more.” 

“Did she reject you?” Taeyong asked in a worried tone.

Yuta breathed heavily, “I forgot the condom.” The three gave a disappointed whine. “I badly wanted more.”  He mumbled lying his head on the bar table.

The three shook their heads. He looked like a helpless man.

Ten just tapped his shoulder before Johnny handed him a condom, instructing him not to remove it from his pocket while laughing to himself.

Taeyong just shook his head, “The first time is always like that, Yuta.” But Yuta knew that there’s more to it. He knew what they were pointing at, a rookie mistake. But it’s not. He might have done something unforgivable if not for his self-control. “You can’t possibly be in love with her, right?” He shook his head. There’s no way. He only conversed with her twice, for crying out loud. He cannot fall in love that easily. He’s not that crazy.  

“In our line of work, you cannot fall in love with her.” 

Taeyong had always been the older brother Yuta didn’t have. He always knew what to correctly say, at all times. And he’s probably right. They were right. This is a rookie mistake, the result of not taking extra services. Now that he was presented with an opportunity, he just blew it. Maybe he felt guilty that she was willing to spend so much for him and he could not give her the equivalent pleasure. 

Just like when he was young and playing soccer, he’ll probably get the hang of it with practice. 

It has been months since he first started working in the club. Taeyong and Johnny were both superstars, the well-known ones who kept the club working on its feet. Although he’s slowly getting traction for his private dances, Yuta had never once imagined that he’d take the same path as his friends. It’s nothing personal. Maybe it’s just preference.

Or it’s probably from the fact that he would observe the two, with gorgeous faces and amazing bodies, then compare them to himself. He’s confident with his dancing skills but not with his body. 

Yuta now believes that words can be very powerful. As he watched himself in front of the full-body mirror, he realized Y/N was right. He looks fine. His mother would often gush at how good-looking his son was. And Y/N claimed she would pay a million for his handsome face. So why is he feeling so inferior to the other guys? His body looks fine. Not as muscular as Johnny’s but he’s bulkier than Taeyong. Why is he so insecure about it? 

Maybe it’s not bad to get paid for extra services. He can do it, right? 

Yuta has his own rules. First, the golden rule: No condoms, no sex. Second, they could only touch him with his permission. Third, and the most important of all, no kissing. It’s nothing personal, he kept convincing himself. But Ten proves otherwise when he keeps offering other drinks from his usual whiskey and orange juice.  

It’s been weeks and the money, as well as clients, kept flowing. He even had a regular who only wants to suck him and he would let her. She’s paying for that service. And to force himself to cum early, his mind would be elsewhere. To someone else, specifically. 

All the clients are faceless, it was the technique Johnny had shared when he wanted to get the job done. But all he could think about is the cherry red lips wrapped around his cock, head bobbing that the shiny hair sparkled under the lights, big round eyes begging him for more. Whatever color the underwear was, he would always imagine the black sheer lace quality fabric underwear. The smooth skin against his fingertips and the lovely moans. The way his name rolled erotically against her tongue. The sickening sweet smell of high-end perfume. 

And the taste of whiskey and orange juice. From her tongue. 

How is she? He wondered. Does she also think about him? 

Yuta chuckled to himself, shaking his head. That would be highly impossible. 

Part Four

[k-s-morgan]

TGSTLTH related

Ok so I decided to do it here cuz I don't know will AO3 allow me to write essay hahahahah 😂😂😂

I don't even know how to start this. I've been reading fics for 13 years straight, like I don't remember the period of my life where I didn't read them cuz I always have some ship active and I'm crazy BL fan. Only a small number of them can make me crazy to the point I don't wanna sleep, eat, skipping my obligations, killing the pain and your sebaciel did everything. I haven't felt like this reading fic..,maybe ever? This is totally another level of me being fascinated by some writer.

I adore sebaciel, I'm in fandom since 2016 but the biggest problem I had with their fics is that - either people go too much OOC with them orr they rush up the things between them, going quickly with sex and feelings. It bothered me so much so I was crawling for good SC fics as crazy!!

After some break with SC, I came back to ao3 and saw your long fic. I started reading it but I dropped it after 3 chapters, I got bored cuz I thought you are gonna just re-type manga and do classic thing which another people do. Quickly, I got disappointed with another one and idk how but I decided to give your fic one more chance and dear lord......that was one of the best thing I have ever read. Maybe even the best.

Like, how smart are you? What's your IQ? Your manage to explain me some things about Kuro plot which I haven't udnerstand by myself. And the way you write Sebaciel relationship. That's everything I have ever wanted. Everything. They have normal conversation and that's it, that's all I need cuz there is everything. I feel electric every time when they talk, fight, do things together, goood the little touches svbjhsdjvbvbvbvbvbsdjvhbdf. I was tense whole fic. I read it for like 10 days, abandon everything until I finished it and now I feel sad ahahhaahha. But you are really something special, cuz I always used to say that manga itself is the best fiction cuz Yana knows the best how to create good Sebaciel energy. You, next to Yana, did the best job. You kept them as they are, never broke the character, and that's what I am most grateful. Slow burn, with drama and angst, love and attention, all misunderstanding, you put all necessary spices for 5 star meal. My fav part is when Ciel told Sebastian to add slamming doors to his most dramatic moments of his life ahahahahahahhaha 😂😂 I laughed like crazy, they are so precious♥ And I really wanted kiss to happen when Ciel lied Sebastian about another demon, that was sooo svbjhsvjhjhvbdf. But okay, you know the best, I trust you fully with this♥

The fact that they are ready to kill each other before they have normal conversation about their feeling is my fetish. I am in love with toxic things. Ciel ready to throw all game just to prove Sebastian that his value is not only his soul, right after he told himself for 1000 times he needs to stay on distance..... I LOVE ITTTT!!! I also need to say that you find PERFECT balance for good plot and romance. Your games and their cases...I just don't know, deep bow for you queen🔥💯After all, you didn't retype drama ahahaha but you manage to keep it canon without changing anything but still adding your spices so it's not ordinary Kuro plot we see every day....

I just have one question. From time to time, I was like a Bard ahahhaha, so sick of their games and my head hurting me, but on a good way. I am clear about Ciel but what about Sebastian and his disgust for Ciel's nicer, soft, emotional side? I know Ciel doesn't have it a lot, but would Sebastian still be grossed out about it as he was at the beginning of a contract or not? Keeping in mind that he is more and more obsessed with a boy?

So, that's all. I don't know how to use Patreon/PayPal, but for you I'll try cuz I only have credit card and that's all I know ahhahaha, I like to keep money in my hands😂 I'm sad about the situation in your country and all under - war countries. It's not bringing any good for anyone, specially for civilians. I hope you are okay and I wish you alll the best, the good karma must hit you really quickly cuz you made one person really, really happy here♥

Looking forward how will you finish this story, have a nice day❤

PS - this is the longest comment for fic I have ever left ahhaha, it's crazy how you got me sooo hyped up bjcvsdghvbds.

Hi! Ooh, thank you so much for your amazing, wonderful essay! I can't tell you how happy it made me! I think the electricity was already started being cut off when I got it, so I could see I have some really lengthy ask, but it wouldn't load. It was the torture of the most delicious kind :D

Like you, I've been reading fics for ages now, and the moments where I find some fantastic story that won't let me sleep or work or even blink are always the happiest and the brightest spots I remember. So it's extremely flattering to know that my story has become something similar to other people.

I love writing about smart characters, but most of them are definitely smarter than me! The benefit is that since I'm writing, I can think and plan everything in advance. In real life, I only wish I were as quick-witted and inventive. Alas, the best ideas and arguments come to me when they are no longer needed.

I love slow burns, and I love characters who abhor the idea of expressing their feelings, so Ciel and Sebastian have the most perfect dynamic in my eyes. I feel like I could spend the eternity just enjoying their Gothic world with their games, arguments, plots, and so on. Them antagonizing each other only to instantly team up against the common enemy is my most favorite thing in the world.

As for your question, right now, Sebastian would be thrilled if Ciel were to show a softer and more vulnerable side - at least in relation to him. Well, a part of him would feel the automatic need to mock him for it anyway, some habits don't die easily, but Sebastian's feelings have evolved a lot, plus Ciel is cold more often than he is not. So Sebastian treasures every word of praise, every hint of appreciation and need because they are so rare - he's come to crave them, and he has memorized all known cases of them by heart.

And no worries about supporting me! I really appreciate you taking your time to leave such a fantastic review, it made my day!

[corndasby]

Patch 1.9 Full Event Summary! (Live Updates)

The 1.9 event summary got posted! I ran the patch notes through google translate and combined them with some translations from the official server. If I find anything else major I will update. Skin/Character previews can be found in my previous post, and I'll post some new character kit rundowns later! I will tag every spoiler post with the version number, so add that to your filters if you don't want to see anything about it.

Things You'll Care About

Full translated list is after this section.

Free Six Star for everyone: Semmelweiss, a mineral support that drains ally health to give them buffs based on their missing health.

First banner: Lucy, an intelligence DPS/support that spends Electricity to give their incantations extra effects, such as hitting more targets or buffing ally afflatus damage.

Second banner: Kakania, a plant support/tank/sub-healer that absorbs a portion of damage taken by allies and uses it to enhance her self-healing and damage.

Lorelei is a star afflatus five star support/sub dps. Her incantations haven't been released but her i1 Passive gives a buff depending on the most common card type in your hand, and her i3 passive gives her moxie when critting with her ult (Just Star Things). She is obtained from the new roguelite mode so may be accessible to players starting after 1.9.

Free Sonetto skin for logging in!

New skins for Mesmer Jr., Desert Flannel, Voyager, Regulus, and Jessica.

Thirty combined free pulls just for logging in. I'm sure clear drops will be showered on you elsewhere in the event.

Special banner for a single 6* rate up selector (If you win the 50/50 on this banner you get to choose ANY six star up until 1.6 excluding JNZ! This is a crazy good deal and you can pick up anyone you missed before the next saga of the story)

New main story chapter of course. Chapter Six is called Vereinsamt. Apparently, 1.7 is not a direct continuation of 1.5, but 1.9 will combine the two for a proper ending.

Brand new roguelite mode. The reception to 1.6's attempt was pretty poor, so I think this is a revised version that will be left in the game permanently.

New story events for Lucy and Kakania.

New anecdotes for Eagle and Semmelweiss.

New maps for Three Doors! I enjoyed the Mesmer storyline so I'm interested.

Reruns of all the skins from 1.1 - 1.4. The London wilderness will now be permanently available in the shop.

All of the standard stuff you can find in events. There's a shop, new wilderness, free items all over the place, and puzzle side events. Uttu is going to be there. You know the drill.

Edit 1: They're finally adding a system to let you seamlessly connect water tiles in the wilderness. No more dumb transition tiles!

Edit 2: They're adding new animation upgrades to older skins!?!? Confirmed list so far: Jukebox Bkornblume, Halloween Sotheby, Halloween X, Jukebox Matilda, Summer Pickles, Wild West Tennantt.

Full List

Some of these are literally just titles in the patch notes so if I don't elaborate that is why!

Login event: free 6* character: Semmelweiss, a mineral support that drains ally health to give them big damage buffs.

Free Sonetto skin

Login event: free decalog (exclusively for Lucy's banner)

Login event: daily free Unilogs (total 20 Unilogs)

Login event: free Matilda Portray (why did we wait a year for p1 Matilda lol)

Login event: free clear drops and anniversary item

Login event: free Wilderness building

Login event: free golden materials

Shop crystal drop reset (I think this means the "first time buy" bonus is reset?)

Special banner: free single 6* rate up selector (If you win the 50/50 on this banner you get to choose ANY six star up until 1.6 excluding JNZ! This is a crazy good deal and you can pick up anyone you missed before the next saga of the story)

New main story chapter: Vereinsamt

New story event: Lucy

Limited collection: Thoughts Alone in a Tank.

New story event: Kakania

Event: Practice of Phantom starts.

New permanent gamemode: Roguelite

Three Doors: new maps

New function: select BGM on suitcase lobby

Anecdotes: Eagle and Semmelweiss

Mane's Bulletin: Abyss, Opera, and Lord of Dreams

UTTU: Mesmer Jr. skin

New function: event atlas

Limited collection: Promise of the Lake

New Jukebox: Desert Flannel skin

New skins: Regulus, Jessica, Voyager new skins

New Wilderness set: Laplace

New packs

Patch 1.1 skins rerun

Patch 1.2 skins rerun

Patch 1.3 skins rerun

Patch 1.4 skins rerun

Patch 1.1 Wilderness is added to the shop permanently

Event starts: Little Steel Gold Rush

[shepherds-of-haven]

SHEPHERDS OF HAVEN ALPHA PREVIEW UPDATE [10/31/23]

The Shepherds of Haven alpha preview has been updated here!

Note: This is not the same thing as the public demo, which is available for everyone and covers the first four chapters of the game: the alpha preview is the early access version available to Patrons and testers!

TOTAL WORDCOUNT: 1,039,236 WORDS WITHOUT CODE

WHAT’S NEW:

14,000 words of new content!

More Chapter 9! Croelle! Sibella de Vespe!

New Trouble day off interlude!

(For the Troublemancers: Are things finally starting to sink in for our favorite sharpshooter? Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?! Find out here...)

Please be sure to read the specific developer notes on Patreon for more info, as well as check the Incomplete Routes Guide linked in the alpha build post if you have questions about how to proceed through the alpha build! 

WHAT’S NEXT:

Probably more Chapter 9 and possibly another character interlude, but I'm also eyeing up the Ascendancy Festival and wondering if I should start chipping away at the bulk of it... I might write a base "template" for the festival that covers its main points (like Chandry's awful play based on the Shepherds) without including the add-on romantic catalyst bits until more of the interludes have been written, so the progression for the romances remains natural and organic!

Anyway, I really hope you enjoy! I look forward to seeing your thoughts, and hope you’re having a great end to your spooky season and a wonderful start to your November! 🧡🎃

[mallas28]

Why Mechanical suit makes no sense in MHA ending? I will try to explain.

Many in fandom can't get over messed up ending of MHA. I got messages from people who are upset. And i can get their feeling. In this post i will try to explain why Mechanical suit given by All Might in the end doesn't make sense at all. Lets get started.

1. Ruined message of all manga. During all manga narration show us that hero could be everybody and id doesn't matter what quirk you have or your status. All you need is ure hard and hardworking. 430 chapter totally ruined that. Telling us that unless you have strong quirk or millionare friends you will be a loser with no friends and job where you unhappy (remember how in 430 chapter Izuku still have sad face and look unhappy). More interesting is that Izuku doesn't do anything to be a hero without a quirk ( Hello spinoff with a better plot). He just walks with sad face with no friends no goal in life. Until SUDDENLY All Might appears and give him a suit out of nowhere. Do you get what i am trying to say? OFA Izuku earned and it was shown in manga. Mechanical suit Izuku doesn't earn at all. He doesn't even try to be a hero without quirk.

Also, Izuku looks like a big hypocrite to that boy Dai(i forgot his name). He just tells Dai he can be a hero with a weak quirk in order to get a millionare suit, immediately abandon his job neing teacher and join his friends....Wow. Izuku...you hate your job so much? Dai, sweetie, i am sorry for all that. You could be a hero, if Horikoshi has a better writing skills or better and strong editor.

2. Horikoshi makes all looks like his favorite comics DC and Marvel and doesn't aknowledge the writing background.

So many people see that Izuku become new Iron man of MHA. Horikoshi several times stated that he loves Marvel Spiderman and Tony Stark. He wants to make MHA just like Marvel and DC and thats the major problem. He doesn't want to analyze writing background his favorite characters has in Marvel. He just copied and added without questions.

The same thing with Mechanical suit. Horikoshi just thinks that it would be a good thing to make Izuku new Tony Stark. Now let me explain why it doesn't work. What writing background Tony Stark has

1. Tony Stark is a billionaire with high Intelligence. No Fairy GodMother appear out of nowhere and give him suit. Tony Stark literally make his first suit out of trash by his own hands!!!! He literally make himself a hero by using his brain. It works in narrative.

Izuku on the other hand as i mentioned above, just has a Fairly Godmother aka All Might who give him suit.

2. Tony Stark has a several breaking points. I saw in fandom that many people were craving for Izuku has a breakdown moment. Izuku doesn't have that. He just walks with sad face, pretending to be happy. But nothing....

Tony Stark was fighting with alcoholism!!! Because of stress being Iron Man and his inner demons!!

3. Most Important detail. Mechanical suit given by Izuku was inventing by 8 f%%$ years! One suit!!! Do you see a problem here?

Lets imagine that Izuku faces villain who can control technology. What could he do in that moment? Or lets imagine that Izuku faces villain like AFO (with strong quirk i mean) and his suit is crushed. What he is gonna do next? Walking with gloomy face again waiting for another 8 years for All Might to appear? Do you see problem? Mechanical suit doesn't make sense. Even All Might example proves that..because his Mechanical suit handle 1 fight!!! 1 fight Carl. And was total crushed!!!

Add to this Izukus self-destructive behavior and you will understand that this Mechanical suit will have a very short life. These billions dollars could be given to poor ill children instead it would be more heroic than this

Tony Stark on the other hand has 100500 suit that were crashed!!! Yes! Tony Stark has several versions of suits. Many were crushed! But as i mentioned before Tony Stark is highly intelligent character by himself he is independent and him wearing suit is a logical thing. Unlike Izuku...

To summarize, i am very disappointed by ending and by Izuku getting that damn suit. Horikoshi is a terrible writer. But smth tells me that he planned totally different ending but Jump forbidded and he was forced to make a different ending. Because 430 chapter so wrong written, whith ZERO edition, with no sense at all. That i feel it was written in one week literally or one day. But original ending was thrown out of windows. Thank to Jump.

[dyaz-stories]

okay so i fucking hated the airport scene and i need to exorcise it by explaining why and making it everyone else's problem

jujutsu kaisen spoilers up until chapter 236

Okay, so to preface this, my main issue is that this part of the chapter strongly clashed with my interpretation of Gojo's character and, in my opinion, isn't a suitable farewell to him. I know that some people will read this and think "Oh, so you're just mad that things didn't go the way you wanted" and... yeah. You know, I didn't like that something I didn't like happened. That's not unexpected, but if you're not interested in reading that, I totally get it! I just want to go into more detail about why I wasn't happy with the way this went.

I also want to add that I have no qualms with Gojo dying. I'm not thrilled by the way it happened, but this happening is fully expected within shonen codes. I get the significance of it and why it needed to happen for the story Gege wanted to tell. That's fine by me.

Now, to the airport scene.

We'll start with the first panel, mostly as an illustration. This panel shows, from the uniforms to Gojo's glasses and his expression, that we are in the presence of "high-school Gojo". This is reinforced by the presence of Geto, particularly because the only time when we've seen the two of them interact normally was during the Hidden Inventory Arc.

On top of that, Gojo, throughout the airport scene, acts more 'naturally' than he does in the manga, Hidden Inventory Arc excepted. I'd argue that with his students and with everyone following Geto's defection, he tends to have this 'wall' up (both literally and metaphorically). He doesn't talk to them with this kind of ease.

My issue with this is that it very much reads like character regression. It's been a decade since high-school for Gojo, give or take, and for his farewell I don't find it interesting to portay him not as he was, but as he had been.

The obvious answer to that is that this depicts Gojo in the time period during which he was the happiest. I don't wholly disagree with that — especially considering the emphasis in this arc about 'the loneliness of the strongest' and the fact that this was likely the only time when he didn't feel lonely.

I just regret the lack of distance with this idea. Even if it was the time when he felt happiest, he wasn't his teenage self anymore. I wish this had been reflected more. Like I said — this, to me, doesn't feel like a farewell to who he was at the moment of his death, because I'm not seeing the Gojo I'd seen throughout the manga.

Another, less obvious counter-argument could be that this emphasises that Gojo was stuck in the past and couldn't move on from his years in high school. I don't think this is particularly proven as true through the manga. The importance he gives to training his students and his belief that they can become stronger than him seems to show an interest in the future, not the past.

This is the next one. My issue isn't with Sukuna being stronger than Gojo (I don't care about that). Considering the central part Mahoraga plays in Gojo's demise (as Sukuna states right after)

the line about the Ten Shadows feels icky to me, but whatever on that front as well. No, what annoys me about all of that is that considering all of Gojo's confidence up until the end, it... makes him look like a cocky idiot? Which, okay, isn't that far off when it comes to his characterization, I'll give Gege that, but it was always warranted up until that point. Being unable to see danger coming to that degree, especially with the Six Eyes, is kind of ridiculous.

It also lessens the importance of Sukuna's supposed admiration for him, imo.

It cheapens both his death and his character to me.

I'm fully aware that people have used this as proof of Gojo's selfishness and essentially as showcasing his adrenaline addiction, and I get that it would make sense if that was your read on his character, but it came out of left field for me.

Another answer to that argument could be that this is Gojo's perception and doesn't reflect the reality — maybe he thought that but Sukuna didn't — however considering the timing I can't help but feel that we, as readers, are at least supposed to receive it as fact.

This one is less of a criticism and more of a note. It's not uninteresting as far as characterization goes. I think it doesn't come as a huge surprise that Gojo would feel that way but I do regret that this was never explored before. I'm not convinced it was hinted at all that well either, and it doesn't help that the one example we have of him being 'adored' is Miwa being a fangirl. Once again, I regret that we don't see anything about his students here. I think it would have been warranted.

This is probably my favorite panel out of the bunch, which I don't think is going to come as a surprise. This feels like a callback to him being a teacher. I like it.

Okay, this is probably my least favorite part of this. Nanami has said things of this nature before, he's called Gojo egotiscal,

so it's not new that he believes that. However, that is echoed by Haibara (and other people apparently, hence "we all thought that") and also by Geto, since he's the one who concludes "was just proven right by your actions a second ago". I have to assume Geto, in saying that, is referring to Gojo's fight against Sukuna.

I kind of fucking hate that. First of all, what Nanami says is something that I considered to be blatantly untrue in the manga. As far as I'm concerned, Gojo was constantly portrayed as caring deeply for his students, wanting to leave them a better world, and while I don't think he wanted to protect people the same way Itadori does, it's not like it's absent from his motivations either.

(The second panel is him asking about the people that got trapped in his domain expansion, while in Shibuya. This showed he was worried for their well-being. His decisions in Shibuya were also motivated by his decision to limit human losses.)

Geto essentially agrees with what Nanami is saying, which I think is intended to tell the audience that Nanami is right. That's who Gojo is, the person who knows him best even tells you that. Again, this feels very high school Gojo, without the decade of character development and of caring for kids that he has necessarily done since then. It's also telling us that Gojo fought Sukuna because he thought he would enjoy it, not for any sort of higher purpose (I do also hate the "I had fun" panel that comes earlier, in case you were wondering lol).

I also think that this removes any notion of responsibility which Gojo would have shouldered by choice, which I think contradicts other parts of the manga. Honestly, to me, Nanami's take here is so far removed from what I had received from the manga up until that point that it's kind of jarring.

As mentioned before, due to Geto's intervention, I don't think this can be interpreted as "just Nanami's opinion". Due to Gojo's lack of disagreeing and the fact that this chapter is his last, I do think it's intended as the 'true interpretation' for Gojo's character, by the author that is (is it going to stop me? No, but I think authorial intention is interesting to look at/try to find).

This one I'm going to give the benefit of the doubt to, because considering Gojo's conversation with Nanami at this point, he could be talking about Nanami. If he is talking about himself (and I do think that is the case), I want to put it on the record that I also hate it! Again, Gojo not caring about the students he's leaving behind, to me, does not feel 'right' or in character, and they're not mentioned once save for that one throw-away line about Megumi.

I'll discuss this real quick before concluding: is it a dream? I don't think it's that important here. Regardless of whether that's Gojo's hallucination in his final moments or truly the afterlife/the antechamber before reincarnation, considering the position this half-chapter occupies in the story, I don't think it alters my reading of it.

With that being said, I'm leaning towards it not being a dream in part due to Nanami's line about Haibara, which echoes exactly what we saw when Nanami dies.

This line is for the audience in my opinion, not for Gojo.

So where does that leave us? Well, to me, the heart of it is what I said earlier: this feels like a goodbye to high school Gojo, not the one we see through most of the manga, and that was who I wanted to see, and the one who I believe deserved this farewell.

On top of that, for the most part, the characterization of Gojo as done by other characters borders on character assassination, in my completely personal and admittedly biased opinion. It's not at all what I would have wanted him to go out on. Leaves a very bad taste in my mouth and makes me feel silly for caring.

What a sad way to go.

I typically conclude these kinds of posts by saying that I'm happy to discuss what I've said if you disagree, however for this one, I hope I've made it clear that my issues lies with the disparity between my interpretation of Gojo and this scene, as well as just what I would have liked to see, and it's therefore very personal. I do think that if Gege wanted me to have this interpretation of Gojo he didn't do a good job of getting me there, but if you disagree and you liked this scene, you know, more power to you. I don't think that means you're wrong. I just had a bad time reading it and I wanted to talk about it. With all that said you can 100% disagree obviously, but I'm not looking for a debate.

[mari-lair]

your posts about this newest chapter are so real because it disappointed me so much.

It was way too lighthearted and just seemed like a huge joke. I was expecting the trial to have suspense where you can really feel for the characters and wonder what will happen next, but it just ended up being comedic. It was funny, I’ll give it that, but I really really wanted some angst.

This may just be me, but Teru felt so out of canon to me. I can understand him putting on that “flawless student council” mask but it feels odd considering he is around mostly supernaturals. He is shown to be very intelligent and considering he is an exorcist and they are school mysteries why tf would that “look at how beautiful I am I could never” argument work. It was funny, sure, but just seemed out of canon for him.

Akane felt a little out of canon too to me? Probably not but he seemed to fully accept his role as a judge with little to no guilt at all. We don’t really get him looking guiltily at Teru or feeling frustrated, he’s just kind of there. Probably because (as always) the story focused on Hanako, Yashiro, and Tsukasa.

NOW UGHH TSUKASA IS SO FAVORITED ITS PAINFUL. You’re telling me after all that suspense around the clock keepers he takes them out in TWO PANELS. The clock keepers seem like a fucking joke in this chapter instead of the powerful mysterious beings they have shown to be previously.

Overall I expected something much more satisfying and I hope next chapter will be a little better because the last chapter got me so excited for nothing.

just my opinion though, I know some people enjoyed this chapter and that’s totally ok! just not my personal favorite

That's a mood ya-rr-ow. Big mood.

Many people enjoyed the chapter, and I'm happy for them, but I was also majorly disappointed so I'll talk about what you mentioned here and add some other things.

(I will just focus on the negatives here so if you're feeling hyped about the chapter. I am sorry, I wouldn't recommend reading this)

Okay let's go

Chapter 108 went out of its way to create a tense atmosphere, it was mostly a set up and hype piece for the trial.

Mirai was a beast, but Akane was the one that really set up the tone. He had the power to make Teru harmless, which only hyped up the other clock keepers since he is the lowest ranking keeper. Mirai and Kako's supposed power was said to be dangerous enough to make Akane, who hates supernaturals and is so firm in his beliefs, feel cornered, switch sides to 'do his duties', his vague words hinting that there is more to this trial than it seems on the surface.

So I don't think we were being delusional to expect this trial to be dramatic. To have angst. Or at least, character dept. To be important.

But despite the trial being the title, the spotlight, we got none of it: Not only is the trial treated as a joke, which I already don't vibe with considering how tense the atmosphere in chapter 108 is. It is an empty joke.

It doesn't teach us anything about the characters, it doesn't give any new information. Nothing.

Hanako's trial was a gag. He isn't even my priority character, but considering how he have the title of 'leader of the mysteries' and had been put on trial before for the Yorishiro's destruction, it is a baffling choice to make Kako not mention this big BIG crime when judging him.

Nene's trial 'revealed' she likes Hanako and want to confess to him. Which she has been doing this whole manga.

We could talk about her time crimes (every time travel that made her meet Amane), try to bargain her lifespan since this is the main conflict in the story and they are talking to the keepers of time. They could talk about her crime of helping to destroy the yorishiros with Hanako, or just acknowledge she is still a threat since she is the Kannagi, the only one capable of ripping their yorishiro in the first place. But no, those are stupid, let's spend 4 full pages of a monthly manga to tease a confession she already did in the very previous chapter.

Teru revealed he has some craving for destruction on him. Which surprise, surprise! It also isn't new information! How nice!

( I talked about his love for the idea of destruction and how it's almost an escapism recently, here you go if you're curious)

About Teru and Akane's acting weird. That's not them being ooc, that's Aidairo making a narrative choice to not take anything serious, including his own characters. Everyone is acting like themselves, and nothing contradicts what has been established about their personalities, but their competence has been drastically downgraded to move the plot quickly.

Teru has the bad habit of becoming pathetic when he has strong feelings, like locking himself in his room and hiding under the covers after his fight with Kou, immediately hitting Akane's stab wound when he is too late to rescue aoi cause the situation stressed him. So it is in character that he wants to kill Akane, who has always been his stress relief.

However, because Teru takes things so personally, and it was stablished in chapter 108 that Teru is way more bothered by Akane's betrayal than being in a court of law, it makes no sense that he treat it as a normal court instead of using his very obvious alibi that he couldn't destroy the clock because he was with Akane. Teru doesn't turn this court into the confrontation that would bring attention to their split up, doesn't go "Are you doing to deny my alibi now?? betray me again??" or question "So? We are here! Why did it had to be now??" or anything that builds up on the last chapter to expand it.

Cause Aidairo decided the court doesn't matter. The build up doesn't matter. Once more, the consequences are an afterthought. We don't need the answers to anything.

Akane is still guilty, he can't look at Teru in the eye, can't defend him, but he goes "!!!" when Teru finally calls for him, paying full attention.

But this is comedic. And as i mentioned above, Teru doesn't say anything useful, anything with more depth than what we already know: that he is angry by Akane's betrayal and hasn't forgiven him.

We TRULY are given nothing in this trial.

Which is insane, cause even the promo art had details to build intrigue, a vague idea that while the chapter would be comedic in nature, it would explain more about the clock keepers, or at least expand on their boundaries.

Like, what are those numbers on the scale? will they be judged by year? Will a lie make their time be stolen? oooh what could it be! Can't wait for the chapter!

And the chapter comes, and there is nothing. The whole trial feels like filler. They treated the audience as a fool for being excited.

That's why this big twist at the end? I don't care.

As you said Tsukasa is overpowered, they are Aidairo's golden child. And they will break established lore rules and make a joke out of everyone else just cause he can.

It's not just Teru and Akane who were nerfed to make the plot move faster, not allowed to have any proper focus. The clock keepers were also a joke, acting 'in character' but more incompetent than they have been stablished to be.

Tsukasa op moment doesn't make me go "wow he is so cool" it made me look at the clock keepers and go "You are all are stupid"

Cause Tsukasa has the judgment seal?? And he was already sentenced as guilty??? There are three clock keepers in the room too? So why not... you know... restrict him again...?

The clock keepers is a school rumor that was introduced all the way back in chapter 23. Like you said they are supposed to be super op! They are a mystery so hyped up that just Mirai's power (who isn't the strongest keeper) can throw the intire school into chaos in the Near Shore, where supernaturals are debuffed.

Even before Tsukasa attacked he made the clock keepers act incompetent, to make him look more mysterious and cool in comparison.

These very old and supposedly op school mysteries know Yugi Amane is Hanako, but they don't know who Amane's twin brother 'Tsukasa' is, they also don't refer to him as a yorishiro despite the seal being in his face, and use titles for every other character (Leader of the school mysteries. Kannagi. Student Body Representative)

Which might look like a small thing, silly nitpick, but it shows the favoritism isn't just for a twist. Aidairo naturally likes Tsukasa more than his own narrative, and is willing to make others be less competent for the sake of it.

I don't think Kako will die. That would objectively be bad writing at this point. He'll probably be back in the next chap, a la "teru got fucked up by No.6" and "Akane got stabbed by Aoi but he lives bitch" or even "i always had a ton of clones, like Mei of the art room" but it is still disappointing to see him and Mirai get fucked up in their own boundary after all the hype they have accumulated through the story.

There is a hint Akane can be a yorishiro at the end of the chapter, and that is cool, genuinely really cool, but I am tired of getting excited over possibilities and 'promises for the future'. I want something concrete.

Speaking of which, I don't think Akane will die. This is just another bait to keep reading like when No.6 slashed Teru, Kou, and Akane and we didn't get any answers for a few months before 'oh well nothing happened :) no consequences to be had here folks!'

"But Tsukasa has always killed everyone that he pulled the heart of! there is Mitsuba, and The puffer fish of the mermaid, and the previous No.3 (the bird)" And to that I say I trust Akane's ability to say fuck to fate.

My boy gets new death flags every year, he collects them like pokemon cards, you all should have gotten used to it.

He also survived his bae stabbing him, this isn't new. Sucks to be Tsukasa and die by a stab in the gut and all but Akane is built differently (quite literally with two bodies).

He is also in his own boundary, so if Aoi doesn't kill him while in the territory of another mystery, but he dies in No.1's boundary I will... idk probably just sigh.

In short, Aidairo treated this as joke, so I will treat their cliffhanger as one too. Give me reasons to care in chapter 110. Cause at the moment? I don't.

[chantsdemarins]

😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

[chthonion]

Hello!

Forgive me if you’ve already answered a similar question before, but regarding your shadow rising to meet you series, do you have a playlist/selection of songs that you listen to while writing, or find work well for the series and characters?

I was recently on another reread of the Harrowing and had the song “Mirror Forever” by Weyes Blood shuffle on and I thought it lyrically matched Annatar and Celebrimbor really well. I don’t know if space-y slow ballads like that are genres you enjoy, so I’m curious as to what songs you would personally put together for the series might look like. I’m tempted to make a personal playlist myself as I like to play music and read!

Have a good day! <3

Hello hello! Oh, man, that song is so much fun for Annatar/Celebrimbor, I love it. The vibes are so awesome. Thank you so much for sharing!

I listen to music constantly when I’m writing! This story has expanded so much that it has a lot of sub-playlists (including a few memorable chapters that were difficult enough to warrant their own specific playlist—In A Handful of Dust is a notable one there), but I’ll offer a sampler! There have also been a lot of incredible reader suggestions, including @kesterel's magnificent playlist here, which is honestly incredible and which I have totally gone to when I was stuck on edits.

Without further ado! Here are some music recs for Your Shadow Rising To Meet You, with youtube links!

Anastasis

Prayer--Scarlet Pimpernel musical soundtrack

No, stay—I don’t care what you’ve said or done...

Bring On the Wonder--Susan Enan

Thanks, @tathrin!

Chalk Outline--Three Days Grace

This Night--Black Lab

I know I'm not forgiven, but I need a place to sleep

(Acquired this one from a tango DJ ten years ago and finding the right version on Youtube was confusing, oh well)

Annatar's relationships in general

I'll Be Good--Jaymes Young

This one and the next one were recommendations from someone, but I cannot for the life of me remember who or find the comment. Thank you, whoever you are!

Hardest of Hearts--Florence and the Machine

If it be your will--Leonard Cohen

If it be your will, if there is a choice Let the rivers fill, let the hills rejoice Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell If it be your will to make us well

Guns for Hire--Woodkid

Kiss your perfect day goodbye Because the world is on fire Tuck your innocence goodnight You sold your friends like guns for hire

Conquest of Spaces--Woodkid

Mercy Mirror--Within Temptation

Annatar and Frodo

The Dark Of You--Breaking Benjamin

Say a prayer for the wounded heart within As I become the dark of you

Farewell Wanderlust--The Amazing Devil

I'm the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shunned All those letters unsent and that garden ungrown I'm the captain of courage that you've eternally lacked I'm the Jesus of wishing to Christ he'll come back

Annatar and Finrod

Who You Are (from Beethoven’s Last Night)--Trans-Siberian Orchestra

And who would have thought that after this time, that I’d be the one you’re saving?

Maedhros and Fingon

The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace--The Amazing Devil

You're not a coward 'cause you cower You're brave because they broke you Yet broken still you breathe

Give Me A Sign--Breaking Benjamin

There's lots more I could add, but I'll stop there so I can cook dinner XD Thanks for the ask!

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

'Fit for a King' - WIP - “If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis” (König POV)

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König is talking to Ridgeback that he doesn’t want fem!sergeant Müller on the next – her first – mission with KorTac, Ridgeback is not having it, so he makes König talk to Müller about it, cue social anxiety meets superiority complex that comes with being this tall and buff, Müller puts him in his place and… what can I say? He’s turned on by that. And it gets them to talk with each other (finally). (2k words)

CW: NSFW, imagining explicit scenes, pervy!König

a/n: I'm still writing scenes whenever I think about them, so there still will be chronological skips and context missing in between, but I'll update the Masterlist in the order that they happen in (also gonna add some general info about the characters to the masterlist soon). This is a scene in his POV as I wanted to give the whole story a dual POV thing in general, I hope you like it! (two chapters are still in the pipeline for today or tomorrow, from Müller's POV again) ((also still working on a way to incorporate the german translations better))

“If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis”

(NSFW)

“I don’t want her on the mission.”

“She’s going. End of discussion.”

“Fine. But I’ll have to see if she can stand her ground first.”

“Meaning that you’ll actually talk to her?”

Ridgeback can’t see the scowl under my hood.

“Yeah.” What I mean is ‘fuck, no’.

He grins at me.

Ridgeback calls after her in the training room. “Müller, a second of your time?” – “Yes, sir.”, she says stepping away from the weights she was working with. “The Colonel is unsure about your… skills on the battlefield and I was wondering if you could maybe demonstrate something to change his mind.”, he explains. She pulls up her eyebrow and gives me the sideeye. “Didn’t he read my transcript?”, she asks. I don’t say anything, but Ridgeback looks at me, waiting for me to explain myself. I clear my throat. “Uh yeah, I read it, it’s just uh-“ She looks up at me and the words don’t come out my mouth. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “What if like a big guy comes up to you and like… attacks you?” Wow, so eloquent. “You know that I’m a sniper, right? Most of the time I’m not gonna be around any ‘big guys’ except for present company.” God damn it, why did I ever start this topic up? She’s going to make me put my shoe into my mouth or however that saying goes. “Uh yeah, correct, I’m just saying, what IF.” She looks at me like I might be a bit crazy. Maybe I am. She confuses the shit out of me.

Then she shrugs her shoulders. “Okay.” and struts over to the mattresses for combat training and martial arts. I follow her, waiting what she’ll do. “You also read that I’m trained in field combat and Krav Maga?”, she asks again. I totally did not. I laugh it off, not sure if I should take her seriously. She gets in position looking up at me in all her 5’8’’ cuteness. “You ready, big guy?”, she asks me, tauntingly. I cross my arms and shrug. Before I can register her moving, she has gripped me, one hand fisting the fabric of my shirt and the other one latching onto my wrist. Just a moment later I’m in the air.

She flips me. She tosses me over her own back with enough force to move a little Volkswagen. And she actually goddamn flips me. As my body gets slammed into the mattress, my back colliding with the floor, I can feel arousal lick up my spine, making me hard in an instant. “Ah, scheiße1.”, I mutter under my breath. All I want to do is pull her with me – or better even – her trying to hold me down as she gets on top of me. Scenarios flood my brain, smutty and perverted. How she would tie me down, strip me, tease me. Take her seat on my face, make me eat her out. I groan. I would feel her heat on my face, lap at her wetness, take everything she would give me. She would stroke me, edge me with her soft hands and nimble fingers while pressing her pussy into me, maybe she would even try to fit my length into her mouth. She would grind on my lips and tongue, she would let me give her the pleasure she seeks until she comes on my face and I drink up her arousal, her wetness staining my hood.

The imagination alone makes me leak at the tip. Ahja, du kleiner Perversling2. I scold myself in my brain. Has it really been that long since I had a woman? Like, biblically. I guess it has.

She stands over me, setting a foot on my chest, her boot digging into my pecs. “So, can I join you, Colonel?” I’m kind of glad that she didn’t call me by my name just now because I fear that I would have come a bit in my pants. At least a little bit. I raise my hands defensively: “Fine, fine, Müller.” I clear my throat. “You can handle yourself, as you demonstrated just now.” She laughs and the soft and sweet sound taunts me. “I can even handle more than just myself.”, she adds confidently and steps away from me, holding her hand out to help me up.

I resist the urge to pull her down and jump up on my feet again. Now I’m towering over her, a whole foot taller. Oh, to have her run from me as I chase after her, would be so sweet. Hör auf3, the voice in my head fights against the pervy thoughts. Something about her taps into something primal inside me.

Ridgeback’s short clap gets my attention. I almost forgot that he’s still here. “Well, I think this got resolved. See you tomorrow then.” Müller waves goodbye, and I lift my hand too, not able to tear my gaze away from her. She looks back at me and I wish I could’ve just talked normally to her instead of behaving like an ass. I sigh inwardly.

Killing people, turning them to pulp, is easier for me than talking to them. Really talking, not just barking orders. And she makes me feel like for the first time in forever that I wish it was the other way around.

"Would you spot me, Colonel?", she asks me then. I sigh, in- and outwardly this time. "Please, just... call me König.", I tell her. "People who had me on my back already can refer to me on a name basis.", I joke feeling the heat in my cheeks flare up again as I see the confusion on her face. Get a hold of yourself, Mensch4. "Also, I made myself look like a complete ass in front of you, you deserve to let the title slide.", I say further, not stuttering as much as before, and she nods slightly. "So, is that a yes or a no on the spotting, König?", she asks plainly. I swallow down how it makes me feel hearing her say my name in that cute accent of hers and return her nod.

She goes over to the weight rack and starts to fit plates onto a barbell. I help her by lifting the barbell from the ground to give her easier access. She’s satisfied with 50 kilos on each side and then goes to lift it up the squatting rack. Oh, she’s going to do squats. With 120 kilos. I’m so double fucked.

“You ready?” I nod and stand behind her holding out my arms. I’m a head taller than her, so I can look at myself in the mirror in front of us as she is not obstructing my view. My eyes are on her again though. She has wide black training pants on, but her hips don’t leave much to the imagination. Her torso is clad in a compression shirt, with a sports bra underneath. Everything is covered up, tightly packed to not be hindering while working out. Yet in my mind it looks like the sexiest thing anybody could ever wear. And that is before she starts to squat right in front of me. I curse under my breath and push away the pervy thoughts. Just be normal for once. She doesn’t need you lusting over her right now, after you just insulted her like that.

I follow her movements hovering my arms beside her, ready to take off the weight if it’s necessary. But she’s squatting the weight no problem. After a few reps she sets the barbell down on the rack again. “Okay, I think, we can add some more plates.”, she says already hefting another 20 up. “Goddamn, you’re squatting more than half the team here.”, I remark. “Really? I’m a bit rusty to be honest.” Rusty? Heilige Scheiße5. She continues: “I wanted to build up strength again because I’m gonna be more actually in the field, but I don’t wanna squat this kind of weight without somebody to spot me.” I nod behind her and she gets ready for the next set. There she is, squatting my body weight like it’s nothing. It’s so fucking attractive to me, I can’t help it.

“Wouldn’t some of the others help you? Spot you?”, I ask as we set down the weight again. My hands stay on the barbell for a moment longer until she meets my eyes in the mirror. “I mean, I talked to Aksel and Nikto a bit, you know, Scandinavians unite, but eh- I didn’t wanna bother them. I think this is the longest interaction I had with anybody in the base. They’re not really talking.”, she explains with a shrug. I hold back a groan. This might be at least partly my fault because of the way I treated her the first few days. “So, I didn’t really have the guts to ask somebody to help me.” She shrugs again, but I see a hint of sadness and apprehension behind them. “But with what you pulled today, I didn’t have those reservations.” She grins at me a little bit.

“I’m sorry.”, I say then, the words sticking to my tongue, not slipping out my mouth easily. It’s not like I don’t feel sorry, I really do. I’m just not one to apologise easily. “Don’t worry about it.”, she tells me. “You’re not the first superior to doubt my abilities.” I feel a pang in my chest. Yeah, yeah, I can be a bit of an asshole, but it’s just setting in now how the whole situation must make her feel. And I want to take it all back. “Yeah, I… I know how it must look like right now from your point. I’m sorry really. I was an asshole about my doubts and I went about it in the most jerk way.” She turns around, her hands on her waist as she looks up at me like ‘Are we really still talking about this?’. The sass.

“It’s okay, Col- König. I accept your apology.”, she reiterates. She must see the doubt in my eyes because she says, with emphasis: “Really.” – “Okay. Schwamm drüber6.”, I say and extend my hand. She takes it and shakes it. Even through the thin fabric of my gloves I can feel the warmth of her palm and it makes me wish I wasn’t wearing any to feel her skin on mine.

“I’d head to dinner now. You wanna join me?”, she asks. “I get it if you can’t, you know, rank and all.” I scoff. “Nobody is asking for our ranks when we’re knee-deep in mud next week, so forget all about that.” She grins at my answer and jogs to the hallway. I follow her with big strides. “I don’t even know why they made me Colonel.”, I tell her as we walk down to the mess hall. She giggles and the sound makes me feel all floaty. And I kick myself again – in my mind – for not just talking to her. Or maybe just ask her to train with me. Instead of making it seem like I’m out to get her. “Maybe your reputation? And of course, the unique set of skills.”, she suggests. “I have a reputation?”, I’m surprised. “Yeah, kinda.” We enter the mess hall and get in line for a plate of beef stew. “Like what?”, I want to know as I stand just a foot behind her. “I’d rather not say.”, she evades. “Also, I don’t think that that’s who you are.”

“What do you think I am then?”, I ask her as we sit down. Other people are already here and I see a few surprised faces, including Horangi’s. “Really really big.” She laughs and I chuckle with her. “That’s just because you’re so small.”, I counter. “Psh. It’s not about the size.” I can see a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes as she says that. Was that innuendo? “It’s not?”, I tease her. She leans forward and whispers like we’re sharing a secret: “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so cocky about it. Even a mouse can fell a tree, if she only knows how to.” I laugh at her remark. “Touché.” – "Maybe that could be my callsign: Mouse.", she jokes. "I like that.", I say fully grinning behind my mask.

scheiße: shit

ahja, du kleiner Perversling: uh-huh, you little pervert

hör auf: stop it

mensch: literally 'human being', in this context more of an exesperated 'dude!'

heilige scheiße: holy shit

Schwamm drüber: literally 'sponge over it', meaning let's forget about it

[glitcheslikeslego]

Show Me Your Moves! (Chapter 1)

heya! this fic is on my ao3 and currently has 10 chapters! i want to post this story on here, so don’t mind me, i’m just catching up here :D

AO3 STORY

Chapter 1: Helping Hand

Helping Hand is an increased priority move that will increase the damage done by the users ally this turn by 50%.  

Being dropped into the world of LEGO Monkie Kid would have been a dream come true to you. 

If you were significantly younger. 

But no, you, a young adult who has adult things to do tomorrow, had no time for this. 

To make matters worse, you were still in your pyjamas. So now you’re walking around Megapolis in nothing but a housecoat, PAC-Man inspired shirt and pants, and red slippers like Peter Parker from Homecoming walking around in his pyjamas. 

Everyone was also giving you looks as you passed, with variations of concern, worry, confusion and passiveness. Someone even looked at you in disgust, which honestly, hella rude. 

You had no idea where you were going, but the only idea you had so far was to simply find Sandy’s houseboat. Out of all the characters, he’s probably the only one who’d let you into his home with minimal issue. 

Only problem is that Megapolis was so huge you couldn’t find your way. So you just ended up wandering in the opposite direction. 

And for every down the universe gives you, there is an up. 

And by up, it probably means MK, whose distracted self ended up bumping into you, almost topping both of you over if you hadn’t caught yourselves. 

“Ohmigosh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” He asked worriedly, pulling your arm to help straighten yourself out. 

“I’m fine. No harm done.” You replied. All you got was probably a bump on the shoulder, so there weren’t any worries of injury yet. 

“Uh, sorry again. Are you lost? You’re kinda…” ever the empathetic protagonist, MK gestured to your outfit, if you could end em call it that, with an expression of worry. 

“I’m… looking for the seaport? Water docks? Whatever. I’m visiting a friend and kinda got lost…” you bullshit your way through, adding sad gestures to add to your sad effectiveness. 

And it worked. 

“Oh, yeah! You’re totally going the wrong way! You’re gonna wanna go that way,” MK pointed in the opposite direction, then jabbed a Lego claw thumb to his right, “then turn right on Seaside Street and keep going straight.” 

You smiled gratefully. “Thank you, em… uh…” you almost slipped up, about to say his name, but then remembered that he never introduced himself to you, so for now, he was simply a kind stranger. 

MK took that as you wanting to know his name, and said, “Name’s MK.”

“Thanks MK.”

“No problemo stranger! Nice meeting ya!” And with that, he walked off, putting his headphones on. You had no idea if this was the start of the special, or if this happened before. 

Instead of thinking hard about it, you follow MK’s directions, and after a long 10 minutes, you finally make your way to Sandy’s houseboat. 

Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you lightly rapped your fist on the door. It was answered within seconds, and Sandy’s hulking figure was honestly quite intimidating to see, even though he’s the definition of a gentle giant. 

You were sure that if you looked that term up in the dictionary, his picture would be right next to it. 

“Hello? Can I help you?”

~~~ <PREV ~ NEXT>

[gingerlurk]

Binding

Din Djarin x f!Reader

A Lovers' Crest one-shot (in three parts). Complete on A03.

Here's the LC Masterlist.

Summary: It was the hardest time of your life, those six months separated from Din Djarin. And when you and the Mandalorian had reunited amid passion and a promise of always, you'd wanted nothing more than to leave that wretched, lonely period behind. You should know by now your past will always have other ideas. This galaxy just isn’t gods damn big enough for all your missteps. And a chance encounter is going to test your bonds whether you want it to or not.

[Or, the characters from Lovers' Crest have a little post-story adventure! Could be read standalone, if below warnings are noted, but probably more enjoyable if you've read the whole thing.]

Word count: This chapter: 6kish. Total: 19.5kish.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut: unprotected piv (be safe), multiple Os, creampie, breath play, established relationship. Also, lots of action, characters in peril, bug/insect/creepy-crawlies imagery, discussion/descriptions of a slave colony (SW/sci-fi style), non-canon planet, lots of being non-canon in general, teeny tiny reference to Reader with someone else, thus jealous!Din makes an appearance. The next chapter is a little rowdy and there'll be warnings there. Please let me know if there's more to add I am rusty.

A/N: Hiiii. So yes, these are the characters from Lovers’ Crest. Just coz they insist on continuing to live on in my head, having adventures. And I thought it’d be fun to explore a dangling thread of plot I’d just left there to… dangle. (Chapter 16: The Bounty Hunter, for reference.)

This came about when a certain little unaired pilot took us fans of the man by surprise back in… September? And a certain gif set burrowed into my psyche and would not leave. This is the result.

And honestly? Bit off more than I could chew for a while there. It does say one-shot, but this is a three-parter. Also, fully admit I’ve been a touch lazy with parts of it. Goes with the territory.

--

Part I

The cave is dank. The air putrid with the smell of stagnant water and mildew. 

Din Djarin makes sweeps with his scanner array as he walks through the gloom. From one side of the passage, across the jagged roof of the rocky ingress, to the other. Every surface drips liquid in a constant pat, pat, pat. He does his best to ignore it falling on his helmet and shoulders, soaking through his cloak, along with the clammy sensations gathering on his skin under all the armour.

This tunnel is among a matrix of caves spiderwebbing up and out from an aquifer that penetrates deep into the crust of this small planet. It’s the only source of water around, which is why the facility where the target awaits was built right over the top of it. The factory pumps the precious resource and draws all moisture from the surrounding terrain, leaving it dusty and barren.

Down here though, Din would kill for something dry. 

You crinkle your nose and look across to him.

‘Well this is miserable,’ you pout, holding your hood forward to keep the drops out of your face.

He shrugs. ‘Your idea,’ he replies, stepping over a particularly deep puddle. ‘Your “debt”.’

It’s a petty description; he’s being petty. He knows it. He doesn’t want to be. Doesn’t want to be feeling this jagged edge of jealousy pricking at his mind either. Knows he shouldn’t. That it’s unfair. But it’s making itself known whether he wants it to or not.

‘Ouch,’ you murmur, stare head on again and continue to walk. He sighs.

‘Sorry,’ he says, reaching over to nudge a loose strand of hair into your hood. You let him, but don’t engage further. He sighs again.

‘Patu,’ Grogu inputs. The child drifts closer to the two of you in his pod, peering ahead. He doesn’t often use the little transport device these days, but something about this job had agitated the young one and Din had suggested the pod to try to ease his nerves. Grogu had accepted the idea with a grunt of appreciation.

‘It’s alright, kiddo,’ you’re saying. ‘We’re alright.’

He gives a nervous chirp as the path forward grows darker. Three beams of light stab at the eerie grey atmosphere – one emitting from Din’s helmet, one from the little device on your shoulder, and one from the headlamp of Grogu’s pod. Your shadows dance across the walls as your group makes its way through the dark.

The damp path you’re on burrows into the maintenance shafts of the vast power plant that is the destination. Once inside, it’ll be a matter of tracking the target with the makeshift fob you had – quite cleverly – devised with the limited intel Din had gleaned. 

As a fresh whiff of stink hits his nose, he gives thanks there’s not much further to go. But just as the thought occurs, the sensors in his helmet pick up the ground ahead dropping away into a sheer cliff. He puts an arm out to signal for Grogu to hang back as you and he approach the edge.

‘Dank farrik,’ he mutters. ‘That wasn’t on the Crest’s scan.’

‘Rock must have been too deep to pick it up,’ you reason, shuffling closer to peer over the ledge to the pitch black below. ‘Or maybe it’s new? Is there seismic activity here? Can’t see how far down it goes. Or how far across.’

‘Well, let’s scope it out,’ Din begins to engage his jetpack, reaches an arm for you. ‘C’mere—’

He’s drowned out by a deafening noise that fills the rocky space and grows louder and closer within seconds. From across the chasm you’d just been contemplating, two huge shadows emerge from the dark to make a rapid approach. You and Din waste a crucial second to look at each other in alarm. Then they’re on you.

Din is cannonballed backwards by a massive black thing buzzing angrily. It slams him into the wall with a grunt. You shout his name just as a second insectoid monster whizzes overhead, careening off a large stalagmite to turn back and make at you with a mad hiss. You duck into a tumble to dodge its charge and it shrieks in fury as it sails past. The one on Din clacks mandibles in his face. He grabs hold of them and yanks, dragging them apart. The screeching intensifies until his flamethrower unloads into it and it drops to the ground twitching.

He has enough time to stand up and assess the scene before three more are accosting your party. One bursts into sticky bits as Grogu sweeps a tensed claw across himself, eyes closed and channelling his Force powers. 

The creature that had missed its attack on you collides with the second incoming and they wobble about in the void. The third is headed straight for you. 

Panic seizes Din’s chest. He doesn’t have time to reach you. But you’re standing tall, torch beam trained on the monster and a vibroblade readied in a fist. At the perfect moment, you twist side on so it barrels by and the blade makes a wide arc to find a home somewhere near its head.

The thing goes berserk, flipping onto its back while screaming and thrashing. Disgust on your face, you draw your blaster and unload into it. Once, twice, three times. In the time it takes, Din has crossed the space to treat it to a thorough roasting, reducing it to a spasming mess.  

‘What the f—’ Before you can finish, the pair that had collided shoot upwards over the ledge, clearing your heads.  

One just bashes straight into the granite ceiling, stunning itself and crashing to the ground by you. You drag your blade free of the dead one and rend a long slash along it, carving the carapace like covering clean off. It screams until it stills.

Din’s attention is on the final creature, which isn’t so clumsy. Corkscrewing in the air to orient itself, it spies a target and whizzes straight for it. Straight for the child.

He jabs at his vambrace and the pod strafes, swinging Grogu out of the thing’s trajectory. It had been moving so fast it ricochets off the wall with force. Tumbling backwards. And, no.

It slams into you, catching you by surprise and sending you with a scream over the edge into the chasm below.

‘Grogu!’ Din yells. The child already has arms up and eyes shut. Your cry of terror cuts to a string of ‘oh gods, oh my gods, oh shit, oh shit’ as he uses his powers to arrest your descent.

A spike of adrenaline surges in Din and the disoriented bug is snatched from the air with a hiss of whipcord. It gets reefed backward and ripped in half by the incensed Mandalorian.

Dropping the gory black pieces, he scrambles to the drop-off and leans over. You’re in midair, looking up at him with eyes wide and arms and feet dangling.

‘Holy shit!’ you yell. ‘Grogu! Good job!’ 

‘Are you okay?’ Din strains to keep his voice calm.

‘Uh, yeah...’ you twist to look over your shoulder. ‘I think it’s water at the bottom. Not sure how deep though. But if Grogu can let me down easy it’ll be—’

‘He’s got you,’ he calls back. He looks to his son, who is trembling with concentration, then back to you as you start to rise toward him. The panic eases a little.

‘Oh,’ you say. ‘Wow. This is... this feels weird.’

Din raises a forearm to ready his whipcord again. He’s about to launch it down to give you some stability when something hard wraps around his ankles. He hears a clank and feels a pull. He’s tugged onto his front and dragged backwards, away from the ledge. Past his son, whose eyes pop open to watch him go with a panicked ‘EH!’

He hears you scream again, followed by a huge splash. Some kind of heavy door snaps between him and the scene. He’s in total darkness. A sharp jab into his neck and he’s lights out.

One day ago

The Razor Crest is docked and resting. Grogu as well, cosy in his little hatch, slumbers deep. There is nothing and nobody around to hear the soft moans and dulcet praises drifting out of the cabin.

Din has had you spread across his lap for an eternity, massaging your ass and encouraging the rocking and swaying motions to work yourself on him. He stays deep so your clit grinds against his pelvis, so the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

Your mouths have barely parted, unable to get enough of lips and tongue sliding together. Sometimes kissing, sometimes just panting and pressing and playing. You can still taste your juices there, from when he had pleasured you until you were begging to have him inside you. 

The orgasm now approaching with steady rotations of your hips is the third since straddling him, though you’d not bothered counting quite a few before that. There was no point, really. Din had lately discovered a stamina that awed you – though he had insisted it was just the natural result of having ‘your beautiful, perfect body, mesh’la,’ in which to indulge.

Hands buried in his dark curls, you smile and sigh as a gentle, warm bliss spreads over you. 

‘Mmm, that was a soft one, was it?’ he hums against your cupid’s bow. ‘Only just felt it, love.’

‘Mmhm,’ you murmur back. ‘Felt good. Think I’m just getting all oversensitive now.’

You know better than to suggest wrapping up the session, to try to lay him back and ride him to completion. Know by now to let him give and give until he’s ready to accept. So you wait.

He presses his forehead to yours and considers.

‘Shall we try something new?’ he asks. You pull back to look at him. Your face is questioning, curious. Trying to think what he may mean by that. His brown eyes glimmer in the low light, warm depths that you can lose yourself in over and over. If you had it your way, you’d sink into them and never surface again.

‘Something new,’ you say. ‘Like what?’

He eases himself from you, lifting you from his lap and you whine a tiny ‘noooo’ at the sloppy sucking sounds of your parting. After so long feeling full and stretched, the emptiness is palpable. 

‘Ssh, mesh’la,’ he coos. ‘Hush, trust me?’

‘Of course,’ you say, but still antsy. Feeling yourself drip with need. You let him guide you onto your hands and knees. He settles behind you, lets his stiff cock rest at the top of your ass.

‘Tell me if you don’t want to do this,’ he says, waits for acknowledgement – a nod of the head – before sweeping covetous hands over your lower back and ass. ‘I’ve been reading,’ he goes on in a husky drawl.

It’s such an odd statement you huff through your nose, look around. ‘Oh?’

‘Mmhm,’ he says. ‘A tome on the… pleasures of the flesh, I guess.’

You smirk, swipe a thirsty lick over your lower lip and regard him. ‘Din Djarin,’ you say with mirth. ‘Have you been reading smut?’

He gives you a low chuckle that you feel dance down your spine and swirl in your lower belly. The sensation is intensified when you see a hint of blush creep onto his features.

‘Not exactly , cyar’ika, love,’ he says. ‘More a guide. It suggested that a little added pressure, applied right, can heighten the um, the intensity at climax.’

He bends forward, braces an arm so he’s hunched over you, crowding you. Stomach pressed flush to your back and his hardness sandwiched between you. The other arm glides along your hips, skirts your waist and snakes across your ribs, between your breasts. A light forefinger taps the hollow dip at the base of your throat. It sweeps a smile-like shape from one ear to the other.

‘Here,’ he whispers. ‘Applied here. What do you think?’ The wandering digit is joined by the rest of his huge hand, which takes a gentle hold, barely touching.

The longer your pussy has been empty and untouched, the more it throbs and leaks. But your senses have indeed channelled a direct line to the feel of his hand there, can’t help but imagine what it’d be like to have him tighten his hold, push in, hold your life between the press of skin.

So you nod, the underside of your jaw and chin brushing against his hovering hand.

He rumbles in affirmative praise. ‘Thank you, cyar’ika,’ he whispers against your shoulder. You wait for him to move, to press in and start restricting your breath. But he shifts his hand down to press flat to your sternum instead. A petulant little whine turns to a gasp as your hauled up. Straightened at the waist so you and he are pressed together staring into the mirror hanging at the head of your bed.

Din had installed it at your request not long ago. You’d said it would make the cabin feel bigger. And it did. Though he didn’t much care about that and was quick to find other means for its use. Finding that he rather loved to make you watch yourself get fucked senseless. 

You found yourself just fine with that too.

In the reflective surface, he locks gazes with you. You melt back against him.

‘So, we’re gonna take it slow,’ he says. You’ve no doubt. He’s an expert in patience when it comes to drawing pleasure out of you. The warm hand rests on your chest, forefinger on one collarbone, firm thumb on the other. Each receive another light tap before the hand moves back to the column of your throat. Comes to rest so those digits settle at the underside of your jaw, below your ears. No pressure yet. 

He watches your face in the reflection, raises both brows in question, ‘do I keep going?’ he silently asks. 

Nodding again, you nearly whimper as he still doesn’t move. Seems instead to be considering something of great import. After a torturous beat in which you’re on the verge of opening your mouth and begging, he lifts the other arm. It had been resting on your hip but now it moves to take up one of your wrists and guides it up. Wraps your fingers around the forearm resting at your breast.

‘Hold onto me, here,’ he rasps, close to your ear. ‘Let go if I should stop, okay?’

That’s it. You’re begging.

‘Yes, Din, yes, okay, but please please please, I need, ah!’

There it is. The hand at your neck finds the two perfect spots on either side and squeezes. It’s amazing how quickly your body reacts. Hands tingle with the errant sensation. Heart rate picks up and delivers static bursts against your ribs. Your thighs are quivering and your belly draws in to hug around the wanton desire at your core.

Torn between clenching your eyes shut to lose yourself in the feeling and wanting to see Din’s face, you make the effort to lock eyes with him. A pitch-dark, heated gaze flicks to and fro across your face and body. Locked in furious concentration as he stares at you in the mirror. But eventually, you have to let your eyelids drop and loll your head onto his hard shoulder, drunk on lust and want.

‘There,’ Din sighs in satisfaction. He eases off for a little, lets you suck in air. He reaches up to cradle your cheek, where blood rushes to burn you up. At your sublime smile and glassy-eyed stare, he moves back down, smooths over your jaw, finds his place and tightens in again. ‘Now, let’s see…’

His free hand moves to your breasts and, as your head swims with airy pleasure, pinches a tingling nipple. It’s like an electric shock and you arch your back against him, keen with a delirious kind of desperation. The intensity of it a measure of magnitude more than you’ve ever felt. Fingernails dig hard into his forearm as he works the bud – every tug and tweak eliciting a burst of sensation in your pulsing sex.

Oh, gods. What it will feel like when he finally touches you there. The thought alone is almost enough to bring you crashing over the edge. But no, he holds you on the precipice, watching your face while his two hands play you like a fine-tuned instrument. He knows just when to ease back, let you draw breath, and he knows just when you want more, gives it to you, over and over.

Right at the moment you feel you might scream – your clit now on the verge of an eruption set to tear you apart – both massive hands move. You moan with abandon as oxygen rushes back through your body, now overtaken with the vivid, buzzing waves of your approaching high. Din grips your hips, draws back to angle himself at your entrance. You’re babbling, yes, yes, ah, please, please, please, as he slides in, your juices letting his cock take and stretch that space within that is made for him. 

He’s going in slow, inch by agonising inch, eking all he can from the movement, hissing and snarling with satisfaction. But you’re unable to hold yourself up, overcome and overwrought, and flop forward – only just catch yourself on an outstretched forearm. The angle forces him to bottom out in a snap of your ass to his hips and he lets out an almost pained grunt.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he spits. ‘Fuck, you’re perfect. Fuck, you feel so good.’

‘More Din,’ you beg. ‘Please, I want more.’

You’re a burning wick, shimmering and melting all over. All you need is for Din to replace his hand at your throat and move and you’ll—

He doesn’t hold back, throws the whole candle into the flames that lash and hiss at your lower belly and spine. Din cages you into his hunched form again, seizes your neck with one hand, grips your thigh with the other, and begins to fuck you hard and fast, pressing everything from your mind but the glistening, dazzling climax roaring toward you.

His thrusts are perfect inside you, finding the spots that sizzle with the friction. The force of his hips hitting your behind intensifies the tightness at your throat and you feel every bit of it your body bowing into the line between the two. His grunts and pants of effort feel louder, closer, inside. 

The hand you’d had holding onto him falls away to hit the mattress with a thud. He releases his grip. His questioning, ‘Okay?’ is drowned out by your cry of, ‘So close!’ and the fingers that had been restraining you shift down your body, find your bundle of nerves, apply just the right pressure, and—

Oh sweet GODS!

It’s not just one rush of exquisite release, it’s rippling waves like a tide pool filling up. Pouring into you and coursing across your body again and again. You grip the bed covers like you might fall and let the whine that had settled in your throat crawl up and escape as a low moan – all you’re capable of. All you can do as it peaks, and peaks, and peaks.

‘Uh, gods, shit,’ he gasps. The hand on your thigh leaves and you know he’s squeezing the base of his dick hard right now. Edging himself to withstand what must be an exquisite feeling of your cunt spasming on him over and over.

But oh gods, holy fuck. You’re done. You’re spent. You have to tap out.

Reaching an arm to bury fingers in his hair and hold his head to your shoulder, you plead, ‘Please, Din. Please, want to feel you. Want to feel you cum.’

He accepts. He lets himself take it. Your cunt is a mould for his throbbing shaft, cast to bring him to nirvana with you. He bucks into you so hard, your whole body gives out, flattens to the mattress and he follows you down, dropping his hips into you at a pace so frenzied – in such contrast to the patience and precision of before – it sets the sparks going inside you again. Your body can’t help but wring another shattering release out of you and, at the feeling of you clenching hot around him, Din lets go.

‘Fuh, gods,’ he cranes his head to pant into your welcoming mouth. ‘Uh, fff- shh, huh, cuhhh- cumming.'

His groan sticks in his throat but his cock finds the very depths of you and spills his seed there, fills you and nurtures you. His mouth stays on yours and, as he rides out his high, starts to kiss you long and slow and deliberate while you each shift back into reality.

A sigh of, ‘I love you,’ slips into the air between you. And the responding, ‘Oh, so fucking much,’ dances in the breaths shared between your locked gazes and dazed smiles.

By the time you’re both showered and dressed again, Grogu is awake and making impatient cooing and burbling noises in his space.

‘That kid’s always hungry,’ you say, at the exact moment your stomach chooses to let rip a hollowed-out grumble of its own. Din smiles at your sheepish look.

‘You wanna head out?’ he asks. ‘Get a hot meal?’ 

‘Sounds amazing,’ you say, handing him his helmet and leaning up for a kiss. A thorough, deep kiss that – despite the past few hours leaving you about as sated as you think it’s possible to ever be – lights a renewed fire under you all over again.

You’re in real trouble.

It’s less a matter of finding it difficult to choose, and more about the fact you want to try it all. This bustling interchange hub had, over time, attracted purveyors of delicacies from across the galaxy. And it all looked delicious.

Adding to the challenge, the market is massive. Passing vendor after vendor, you get to the end of a row of stalls to find a whole new city block full of enticing smells and eye-catching dishes.

‘Din,’ you lean to him, lay a hand to the arm carrying the child. ‘I think I need to spend a month here. Eating everything.’

He chuckles, a warm rumble from his helmet. ‘We’ll definitely come back, that’s for sure. Why don’t you get the—’ But he’s distracted by Grogu having got hold of some kind of steamed bun, munching on it with a gleeful purr. ‘Hey, where did you get that?’

The two of you check the surrounds, trying to spot the stallholder selling the buns so you can slink over and pay for the kid’s sticky-fingered snack. Din focuses one way and you look the other, tracking over colourful signs and animated faces of all shapes and sizes. You’re about to turn back to report nil sightings when your eyes land on a familiar face and you freeze. Not a stallholder. You swallow as that ravenous appetite from before fades into a solid pit in your gut.

You make one futile attempt to duck out of view, to avoid this and stage a retreat. But it’s too late. You’ve been spotted. So, with reluctance, you slink over to an entirely different source of debt from a slightly less recent past. 

Gaius straightens from the bollard they’d been leaning against. 

‘Hey,’ they say, soft and easy. You eye them as you come to stand level. Looking for any anger or resentment. Any malice or indignation. It’d be fair enough. You had promised them you were one job from settling said debt when you’d up and disappeared along with the rest of the Guild. It wasn’t exactly your fault of course. But the pilot – who’d looked out for you and transported you all over the fade quadrant without question for several months – didn’t know that. 

They had every right to be furious that you’d skipped out on what you owed.

But they seem... relaxed? Greeting you like an old friend.

‘Hhhhi,’ you say with a dumb little wave. ‘Gaius.’

‘You’re a sight,’ they say. There’s something in their tone, like you’re just a vision. A mirage shifting in and out of existence. 

‘Listen,’ you start. ‘I’m really sorry about—’ But you’re stopped by a hand raised and a shaking head.

‘I heard,’ Gaius says. ‘I heard about the Guild up and shipping off to some Imperial invasion or other. Glad to see you’re alright, at least.’

‘Yeah,’ you kick a boot and pop hands in pockets, like a little kid caught sneaking off. ‘That was… I…’ 

Gaius is looking at you with a small, amused smirk. But the expression drops to a slacked jawed awe as Din takes that moment to step up to stand beside you. You’ve seen it plenty of times now. Were now used to strangers openly staring at your partner. Strangers who’d make no effort to hide the fascination and amazement when confronted with the statuesque wonderment that is Din Djarin. 

But this is no stranger. 

Gaaaah, ripping this plaster off is going to hurt.

‘Mando,’ you say, with an arm raised, ‘This is Gaius. We met, uh- we met while I was… away.’ The arm sweeps between the two of them. ‘Gaius, Mando. And this is Grogu.’ The kid has yet another fresh steamed bun and he waves it around while burbling with content.

The two adults regard each other. You stand between them, feeling wretched. After a beat, Gaius seems to make a decision. They turn to you.

‘Well hey, if you are still looking to settle that debt,’ they say. You wince as you hear a whisper quiet ‘debt?’ from the man beside you. ‘I have a job in mind that would put you free and clear. You are still working bounties, right?’

With raised eyebrows and palms out, held up, they wait.

Shhhhhit, you think. This is going to suck. Let out a sigh and a shrug.

‘How about we start with, I buy you a drink?’

Gaius grins, and nods.

Shit.

‘So,’ Gaius says, at ease with elbows propped on the booth’s table. You’re already cringing. ‘You two together then?’

You twitch on the bench seating, twist a drink around by its base. Gods, you’d managed to make things so awkward.

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Very much so.’

They nod, jut out their chin in contemplation. Could they just drop it and tell you want they want from you, already?

‘That who you were running from?’ they prod. ‘When you were with me?’

Your eyes dart over to Din, wary of how he’s going to learn about what transpired in those long, desperate months apart. You’re now really wishing that you’d talked about it. The barest details at least. But he had never asked and you had wanted nothing more than to just move on. Take the lessons learned and move forward.

Apparently you hadn’t learnt enough. You should know by now your past will always have other ideas. This galaxy just isn’t gods damn big enough for all your missteps.

Fortunately for the moment, Din is on the other side of the bar getting distracted by Grogu trying to steal an irate patron’s plate of ribs.

You look back to Gaius.

‘First of all,’ you say. ‘I wasn’t with you, okay? We were working together.’ They raise a brow, an unnecessary clarification. ‘And that was one time. Could we please not--’ Gaius straightens with a flick of the eyes to the side, tipping you off that Din and Grogu are approaching. You clam up.

The two of them take their seats. Din slides into the booth beside you and the kid just plants his butt on the table, gnawing on a meaty bone. His father shrugs. ‘Paid the guy a couple credits,’ he explains.

You shift in your seat again.

‘So what’s the deal?’ he asks.

‘We haven’t gotten to that yet,’ Gaius says. ‘We were just catching up.’

You pull an annoyed face at them. 

‘Okay,’ Din says. Goes quiet.

You scull your drink. Immediately regret it, the strong flavour making your vision swim. 

‘We were just getting to it,’ you burp. You can sense the puzzlement flowing off the man sitting beside you, try to get your breathing under control. ‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ you say, with a wave to the table companion across from you.

Gaius takes a drink of their own and sets shoulders back, draws a deep breath.

‘Right, okay, so... Sorry, it’s hard to know where to start with all this.’

Noticing a slight tremor has crept into their hands, you lean forward. ‘Start anywhere, we’ve got time,’ you say, as soft as you can. Try for a reassuring expression.

You get a grateful nod in return.

‘Okay. So I’m from a planet called Evalon,’ they plough on. ‘If you’ve heard of it?’

You shake your head as Din gives one solid nod. 

‘Right,’ Gaius focuses on Din. ‘So you know that it’s a…’

‘Slave planet,’ he finishes when they trail off. You startle, look back across the table at the pilot with whom you’d briefly travelled. A tug on your heart. You’d had no idea.

‘Sure, yeah,’ they don’t give you a chance to dispense any sympathies though, pushing on in a rush. ‘Used to be just a whole colony of the indentured… But it’s a little different now…’

Over the foamy liquid of the drink you’d bought, Gaius tells a story that brings a dawning horror upon you. Slips icy daggers between your ribs. Settles a profound dread within you as vast and as wide as the greatest oceans.

A generation ago, the people of Evalon revolted. Rose up and tried to end the awful system that kept them in perpetual servitude. Tried to fight off the brutal company of droids that had kept them under the thumb of a faceless regime. They had failed. As punishment, a new system was introduced. A new piece of tech created that, as you sit there and listen, makes the primal lizard part of your brain lurch in terror. 

Mind control.

‘They call it binding,’ Gaius says, and you’re awash with gooseflesh. ‘It suppresses all independent cognitive functioning, hacks into neural links that obey without question.’

Under the renewed tyranny, children were implanted with the device and sent off to toil away. There was minimal need for security because they were no flight risk, docile and programmed to follow a set path, a known routine. And the droids that once guarded them were decommissioned down to a skeleton crew.

The adults were cast out to live in squalor and decay on the outside. Neutered and powerless. Unable to rise up again lest their children be harmed, or worse. They were all and one trapped in an evil psychological vice.

‘Why just the kids?’ you ask. ‘Why not chip everyone and make them all work?’

Gaius smiles at you sadly. ‘Pragmatic as ever, you are,’ they say. You realise how insensitive your comment was, kick yourself and mumble out an apology, that wasn’t what you meant... Sorr-- But they shake their head. ‘No, it’s a valid question, and the answer is important.’

They explain. Though a terrifying and unprecedented feat of ingenuity, the tech isn’t perfect. Its effectiveness has a half-life in a fully formed frontal cortex. Once of a certain age, it only works for so long before the subject – the enslaved person – can break out of it and act of their own accord.

‘That’s how I got out,’ Gaius says. ‘The birthdate on my chain code was always inaccurate, a quirk of the system when I was born. So I was kept in the ranks for longer than most, and was able to break out. Run away. But…’

Squaring shoulders back and looking you head on, they state the case. The job.

‘My little sister is still there. I think. I hope. And I want you to rescue her.’

The bustle and chatter of the bar filters into the silence that cloaks the table. You’re at war with yourself. You want to know where this Evalon planet is so you can ensure to stay far away from that cursed, horrifying place for all of time. The notion of binding. Of being bound. It sets off every single fear instinct in your body. 

But you can see a sad desperation flickering behind the steady features of the person across from you. So unlike how they were when you worked with them before. It tugs on your heart. This is something they’ve carried too long. Behind a jaded yet sanguine veneer. A horrific past and a deep love still lurking back there.

‘So,’ you say, thankful for your even tone. ‘You want us to go to a slave colony, with mind-control tech, and evil droids, to do a rescue… That’s kind of quite a lot beyond what I’ve left owing, don’t you think?’

‘Hey, I said free and clear,’ Gaius makes an effort to muster some ease, leans back to prop an arm across the booth’s backrest. ‘And let’s say I’ll owe you one, instead.’

‘This isn’t a bounty,’ Din says, startling you a little by speaking up after a long stretch of silence. ‘We don’t do rescues.’

It’s a little cold, and you frown at his composure. 

Gaius sighs. The pretence of relaxation drops and the world-weary traveller rests elbows back on the sticky varnished surface between you. 

‘Look,’ they say. ‘I’ve been trying to buy my sister’s rescue for years. But I lack the… well, I lack everything. And I could never afford the likes of you,’ a gesture at you both. ‘I just, I see an opportunity here. And alls I can say is, please…’ 

They move a hand to a pocket. Beneath the table, you shift an arm to stay Din’s instinctive movement onto a weapon, hoping it was subtle enough that Gaius didn’t notice. They don’t seem to, focused instead on the object they’re drawing out. It’s dropped onto the table and the holo blinks to life.

A small, cherub face winks into existence, rotates in front of you. 

‘She’s older now, of course, but uh…’ they go quiet.

That’s when you give in. Your hand grips the wrist of the Mandalorian beside you, where it still rests on the blaster holstered there. When you feel him move, twining fingers with yours in a silent affirmative, you speak.

‘We’ll do it,’ you say.

Despite the mutual agreement, it’s a palpable awkwardness between you and Din as you ready for the mission. 

At the Mandalorian’s nod, your debtor had followed your clan of three back to the Razor Crest. You’d invited Gaius to take a seat up in the cockpit and explained the ship’s ground security mechanisms. It was clear they needed to join you on this quest to Evalon – the more information in hand about this hellish planet, the better. And you do the best you can to reassure them of their safety before departing to join Din by the weapons locker.

You approach slow, taking in his hackled back and stand-off posture.

Though he shows it rarely, you know what jealousy looks like on him. And right now it’s radiating off him like a piece of steel held too long against the forge. 

Turning it over in your mind, you wonder at the best approach here. What should you tell him? There’s not a lot of time, none at all really. But he’s likely to be drowning in scenarios playing out in his head, so you have to say something. 

He’s undertaking his usual ritual of equipping munitions and weaponry to every limb and every piece of beskar on his body. Blades of various length and utility are taken down and jammed into hidden sheaths with force. He tugs rifle slugs and detonators off the weapons rack like they’ve offended him before clipping them to bandolier and belt. 

Stepping up beside him, you take down your favoured vibroblade, toy with the hilt and look up at his profile. The T visor doesn’t turn your way. 

‘You know,’ you start, feeling out of your depth already. ‘It was hard. Those months apart…’

‘Seems like you got by,’ he murmurs, focused on adjusting a vambrace and glove. 

Ouch. You accept the blow and push on.

‘Din, please,’ you say, holstering the hand weapon and hugging yourself. ‘It was hard. I was just never sure what to tell you about, about it all.’

‘The way they look at you tells me plenty,’ he says, just a hint of a growl behind his words. ‘Flew with them on a lot of jobs, did you?’

‘Psh, I got a hole blown in their ship,’ you scoff, arms dropping and going wide. ‘I was just trying to pay back on the repairs.’

‘Hm.’

An awkward beat of silence as you flounder about what to say next. 

How about…

I was alone and I needed a pilot and they were helpful and let me do what I needed to do. We slept together one time because I was so lonely I thought I might die. I felt worse than ever and then I disappeared on them because I’d joined the Guild and it got hired by the Imps set on destroying your people and I escaped to come find you again and warn you and…

Uh, no. Saying all of that will not be of help right now. 

You think you might just burst into tears. But Din tilts his helm like he’s had a sudden thought and asks, ‘You were paying back on the repairs?’

‘What?’

‘You didn’t just do the repair work yourself?’

Huh, fair question. If something like that ever happened to the Razor Crest, you’d have had the lovely old gunship back in action within the day. None of this ‘paying back on repairs’ business.

‘Wh- no…’ you say. ‘I wasn’t… I was trying to—’

‘Keep your cards close to the chest?’ he finishes – the tiniest, blessed hint of a smile in his voice.

You give him a full grin. ‘Yeah, pretty much. Always used to try to keep that particular skill-set under wraps, before uh-- before I met you… And, and it just wouldn’t have felt right… you know, with another ship…’

Another silence follows. But gentler, more companionable. As Din nears the end of his process, you chance it to lay a hand on his elbow, smooth it over the rough fabric of his flight suit. He lets you, closing up the locker with the other hand.

‘Does it matter how they look at me?’ you say. ‘Isn’t what matters the way I look at you?’

You swallow your sigh of relief as a gloved hand closes over yours, gives it a gentle squeeze.

‘Mm,’ he says. ‘You’re right, I just-- Maybe if you’d told me about them before now…’

‘You didn’t ask… I would’ve if you’d asked. I’ve told you anything you’ve wanted to know, anytime you’ve asked,’ you’re rambling. And losing track of what your intent here was to begin with. 

‘You know all about my past. About my- my old family. But all I’ve ever gotten about yours is the “Narrated History of the Mandalorians”,’ you say, aware of your petulance but unable to stop. Where is this coming from all of a sudden? ‘But what about you? What about your fami—’ He cuts you off by turning to you fully and leaning in.

‘Is this really the time?’ he asks, low and just shy of dangerous again.

Drop it. Drop it now.

‘No, guess not…’

‘Okay then,’ he says. He mounts his jetpack, hands you a blaster pistol and strides to the cockpit ladder. Conversation over. ‘Let’s go pay off your debt.’

--

Quick note on breath play… this story is fantasy, it’s just make-believe, and it feels plausible to me that the characters – via their respective fighting techniques and training – have the knowledge of anatomy and skills around the neck, head and chest area to reduce the risks. But it is risky, and if you do it – do your research first. (Or maybe don’t do it at all?) As with all kinks, education, communication and explicit ongoing consent are key. Thanks for your time. Ily.

Hope you enjoy the read.