#it's so rare im eating this ship raw

[harringroveera]

“Are you listening to me, Heather?”

“Yes, I am,” Heather said, rolling her eyes as she pressed the handset to her ear. “I’m listening to how much you blabber about your pretty boy, Billy. He’s so gorgeous. He’s so adorable! Have you seen him in his sailor costume!”

Billy snickered, his voice echoing through the phone. “Do I talk about him that much?”

“Only during work, after work, and before work.” She shrugged, brushing the nail file against the freshly painted nails. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I did this to myself, honestly,” she said, sighing softly. “I got you two together, now I’m suffering the consequences.” 

“Heather!” her mom’s voice echoed from inside the kitchen, and Heather looked up.

“What, Mom?” 

“Heather!” 

“I gotta go,” Heather said. “My mom is playing the game where she’ll keep calling my name until I come in to see her.”

“Want to go to the mall with me and Chris later?” Billy asked. “You don’t have a shift today, right?” 

“No.” She pursed her lips, pushing up to her feet. “Okay, yeah, sure. Maybe we can catch a movie.” 

“Cool. I’m picking you up in an hour.” 

She let out an approving hum, hanging up the phone and dropping the nail file to the couch before she strutted into the kitchen, where her mom was busy pouring orange juice into a thermos while she hummed to a song.

“Heather—”

“I’m here! God, Mom,” she said, stopping short before the kitchen counter with a forced smile on her lips. “What do you need?” 

“Okay, I need you to bring this lunch box to your dad,” her mom said. “It’s late now, but if you drive there, it’ll be faster. Your dad doesn’t like it when I don’t bring it on time.” 

“Why can’t he bring his own lunch in the morning when he goes to work like any capable person would?” 

“Don’t speak that way, darling.” 

Heather rolled her eyes, gazing at the brown lunch box on the counter. “I thought you always brought it to him, Mom.” 

“Oh, yes, but I have a spa appointment with Dorothy, Terese, and Karen. I won’t be back until later.”

“Why do you need to go to a spa?” 

“I’m going to the pool tomorrow!” 

Of course. Heather’s lips curled downward, but she didn’t say anything. Billy had a shift tomorrow, and that explained it.

“Don’t hang around with Karen Wheeler and her friends too much, Mom,” she said, turning around to grab a brown bag from the cabinet.

Her mom seemed surprised, though, as her eyes slightly widened when Heather came to put the lunch box and the thermos in the bag.

“Why would you say such a thing, darling?” 

She shrugged. “It’s just a general observation thing,” she said, taking the bag into her hand. “I’m going. And I won’t be back for lunch.” 

“Why—”

“I’m going out with Chrissy.” 

She left the kitchen without saying another word, going through the back door to the garage. It wasn’t that far from their house to the Hawkins Post, and afterwards she could head to Billy’s house, picking him up instead. Just one conversation with her mom had ruined the mood. She needed to get her mind off it for a while.

The mixtape Billy had put in the other day was still in the stereo, and Heather let it blast loudly on the way there, finding herself tapping on the steering wheel before she came to a stop before the building. 

Heather walked through the door, putting on a smile at the lady at the front desk. “Hi, Doris.” 

“Oh, Miss Holloway! Hello!” the lady said. “Are you looking for your dad?” 

“There’s quite literally no one else I’d be looking for here, Doris,” she said, holding up the brown bag in her hand. “I brought my dad his lunch, because he’s a grown man who still makes his wife bring his own food to his mouth.” 

Doris swallowed, the smile on her face twitching for a second. “He’s in the meeting room, sweetheart. But he’s already asked his assistant to get him lunch.” 

“Of course he has.” She sighed. “He has an assistant?”

“Oh, I mean the intern girl here, darling.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she gave Doris another smile and walked to the meeting room, her good mood souring even more the second she saw the group of men in the meeting room. 

She pushed the door in, and her dad’s head jerked up in surprise. “Heather! What are you doing here?” 

“Brought you lunch, Dad,” she said, stepping into the room and scrunching up her nose at the smell of cigarettes. “Mom has something else to do.” 

“Such a sweet daughter you are, Heather,” the man sitting next to her dad said. 

“Thanks, honey, but I’ve already asked someone to get the food for all of us.” 

“Well, I already drove here to give you your lunch, so you’re eating it, Dad,” she said, dropping the bag to the table and standing next to him. “Mom cooked all of that, and you’re going to absolutely neglect the effort she did for you?” 

Her dad pressed his lips together, and Heather smiled, patting his shoulder. “I think she made your favorite, Dad.” 

“That may be better than hamburgers.”

“Of course it is,” she said.

“You’re growing to be a beautiful woman, Heather,” Phil said, taking a drag of his cigarette, his eyes roaming over her body blatantly even with her dad’s presence here.

“Thanks. How’s that receding hairline of yours? Is it still growing, or are you going to be bald soon?”

Phil’s smile dropped, and her dad clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Heather, don’t disrespect them.”

“Tell your employees to stop staring at my ass then. I’m not even eighteen yet, I can get them arrested, you know,” she said, and all their eyes darted away from her body, which was a relief.

“Oh, here’s Nancy Drew with the food,” another man said, a hand resting on his stomach. His name was Robert, maybe. She could never be bothered to remember the names of these men. 

Her eyes flitted up to the person walking in through the door, and she wouldn’t say she wasn’t surprised to see Nancy Wheeler entering the room. She didn’t know Wheeler was working here, but again, they weren’t friends. 

Heather didn’t have the fondest of feelings towards any member of the Wheeler family, but that might have been spurred up just because of Karen Wheeler. And, well, that was enough of a reason already. 

Nancy seemed surprised to see her too, halting in her steps for a mere second before she resumed handing out the packed hamburgers from the brown bag she held against her chest.

“Where were we?” her dad said, tapping the pen in his hand against the table. “Yeah, we still need something good. We’ve been slacking these days.”

“How about a piece on Iran?” a man on the other end of the table said.

“I want something local.”

“I hear there's a beauty pageant at the fair this year,” Bruce said. 

He was the worst one here, and everyone knew it. Even Nancy, as she shot the man a look before she walked past Heather with hurried steps.

“Excuse me,” she whispered softly, and Heather stepped aside, letting her go around the table and giving the men their food like she was feeding a bunch of pigs in the hogpen. 

“Yeah, I'm looking for above the fold here, Bruce.”

“Then clearly you haven’t seen Lucy Lebrock, because I’m not sure she’ll fit above the fold!” The man held his hands over his chest, barking out a loud and unrefined laugh as Heather’s lips twitched.

How annoying it would be if she had agreed to work for her dad in the summer. She would have quit on the first day.

“Fellas! In six hours, we go to print. I need something real,” her dad said, rubbing a hand over his temple.

“Oh, I think they’re real.”

The men laughed, because, of course, that was the kind of thing they would laugh at. Heather sighed, clutching her car keys in her hand and patting her dad’s shoulder. She had to leave before she decided to say more things that would ‘embarrass’ her dad in front of his colleagues.

“What about Starcourt?” Wheeler began, stopping abruptly in front of the door, blocking Heather’s path.

Everyone in the room turned to look at her, including Heather, and Wheeler's throat bobbed, her eyes darting around as the anxious look painted her face.

“I—I was just…thinking,” she continued, shaking her head. “I mean, I know everyone loves the mall, but how many small businesses have closed since it opened?”

Her voice turned firmer as she went on. Heather could see that Wheeler wanted to be a journalist from the passion that filled her every word. And at least she could come up with a better article to talk about than any of these men here.

“Like, five on Main, at least. It's changing the fabric of our town in a way—” 

“The Death of Small-Town America,” Bruce said, and Wheeler nodded eagerly, seeking validation, seemingly the only validation she had gotten since she worked here. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“But I think I've got something even spicier,” he continued. “It’s about the missing mustard on my hamburger.” 

Heather rolled her eyes, watching as a hint of dejection flashed across Wheeler’s face while the rest of the men burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

“You think you can follow the clues and solve the case of the missing condiment, Nancy Drew?” Bruce said, and Wheeler nodded, coming forward to take the hamburger back from his hand.

“Sorry.”

“Look out, Phil, she might be after your job!”

Wheeler turned around, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open, and Heather heaved a sigh, shaking her head.

“Can’t you just eat it without the mustard?” Heather decided to speak up, hearing the laughter die out in the room as she folded her arms over her chest. “What’s gonna happen if you don’t eat mustard? Will you die?” 

“I just don’t like my food without mustard,” Bruce replied, while she felt Wheeler’s stare from the corner of her eyes.

“Shame, I was hoping for the latter to be true.” She gave him a smile, turning to Wheeler with her hand stretched out. “Give me that.” 

Wheeler looked at her, eyes wide with confusion, before she put the hamburger in her hand. Heather tossed it in the middle of the table, wiping her hands together.

“You either eat it, or starve.”

“Heather,” her dad said. “Watch your language.” 

“Are you gonna sit there and let these imbeciles insult her? Would you have wanted them to say the same things to me, Dad?” she said, looking back at the men. “She’s an employee here, she’s not your assistant or your unfortunate wife. If you want one, get one, and get them to fetch your food instead.” 

“That’s her job,” Bruce said.

“Her job is to work on articles, like the one she just talked about, which, by the way, is much better than what you just proposed,” she retorted. “So, eat your burger with no mustard, or don’t eat at all. You could lose a few pounds, you know, before your wife realizes how much of a halfwit man you are. The only thing you’re good for is money, and you don’t even make that much.” 

Heather inhaled softly as she finished, flashing them a smile one last time, and it was her dad who spoke up first.

“You can have mine. It got mustard. I’ll have the lunch my wife made me.”

“God, you men and your goddamn mustard. It’s such a big problem!” she exclaimed with a deadpan look. “People are losing jobs out there!” 

She gave her dad a final look and pulled the door open. “I’m leaving, Dad,” she said without looking back, and she stepped out of the meeting room.

The last time she was here was Take Your Child to Work Day, which was four years ago, and she left with the same amount of annoyance as she did back then. It was insufferable to stay in a closed space with those men without losing her mind.

She waved at the ladies outside, getting into her car as fast as she could to drive to Billy's house. He wouldn’t mind that she was early.

“Jesus—” Heather kicked at the brake as Wheeler stopped in front of her car. She rolled down her window, poking her head out. “Do you have a death wish? I mean, I get that working here makes you feel like it, but don’t jump in front of my car.” 

Wheeler marched to the opened window, glancing at the empty street before crouching down to meet her gaze. “Sorry.” 

“Okay,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

“Oh, uh,” Wheeler began, resting her hands on the window, and Heather looked at her confusedly. “I want to say something.”

“Are you going to say it any time soon? Because I have somewhere to go.” 

“Yeah, I—” She exhaled sharply, her throat working and her shoulder stiff with tension. “Thank you.” 

“Is that all?” Heather said. “That’s what got you looking like you’re about to tell me you have an undying love for me? A thank you?” 

Wheeler’s face fell, and she stammered, “Well, I mean, you helped me in there, so I thought—”

“I didn’t do it for you.” She tapped the steering wheel impatiently. “I did it because those men were irritating me.” 

“Oh.” 

“And I don’t need your thanks, Wheeler,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s useless.”

Wheeler seemed taken aback, her lips parting. She uttered, “Well, still. I still want to say that. Actually, you’re the first person to ever stand up for me, and I—”

“Not for you.”

“Right, yeah, not for me.” She nodded. “It got them to shut up for once, and I felt like I needed to tell you that.” 

“It wasn’t necessary.” 

“But could you just accept it?” 

“Why do I have to accept it? I didn’t stand up to those men for you, Wheeler.” 

“I still want to say thank you—”

“What’s your problem with insisting on making me accept this?”

“What’s your problem with refusing to accept this? It’s just a thank you, Holloway.”

“And I told you it wasn’t necessary. Words are useless. I don’t need your ‘sorry’ or your ‘thank you’,” Heather said. “Now, would you please let me leave? The longer I stay here, the sooner I feel like the stench from those men is going to get to me.”

Wheeler furrowed her eyebrows, and she said, “Words are useless to you.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you accept other than words?” 

“My god, Wheeler, what’s with you and this need to please everybody?” she groaned. “If I just take your words, will you let me go?” 

“No, because I know it’s not genuine.” 

Heather blew an exasperated breath, chewing on the inside of her cheek, before she nodded. “Okay. Scoops Ahoy. Ask Robin for my favorite flavors.” 

“What?”

“Two scoops of chocolate pudding, one scoop of U.S.S butterscotch. Extra cherries on top. I work tomorrow at one. So bring it to the pool half an hour before my shift.”

“You want me to bring ice cream to the pool for you?”

“That’s what you’re insisting on,” Heather said. “Now, can I leave?” 

Wheeler blinked, straightening her back and taking a step back. “Okay, um, I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” 

“Thank you, again,” she said. “And sorry. Again.”

Heather eyed her expression, her gaze roaming over Wheeler’s face, her wide brown eyes, and her rosy lips. She seemed grateful. Genuinely grateful.

She lifted her hand and wiped the smudge of lipstick against the line of Wheeler's lips, startling her. Her pupils dilated, but she didn’t recoil from her touch.

“You have a voice, use it. They’re men, not monsters, though it’s pretty close,” she said, cradling the side of her face. “Speak up, Nancy Drew. You usually have a much smarter mouth than this.”

“You’ve been looking at my mouth?” Wheeler asked, and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

She smiled. “Don’t be late, Wheeler,” she said, patting Wheeler’s cheek before she withdrew her hand and drove away into the vacant street.

Wheeler was still standing frozen on the spot when Heather checked her side view mirror, seemingly taking the time to process everything.

The smile was plastered on her face even as she hung out with her friends, and they might have both guessed that she did, in fact, stand up for Nancy Wheeler. So maybe she did, and maybe she thought Wheeler wasn't bad like her mom, not to mention that she was much prettier than Karen, but Wheeler didn't have to know all that.

[jangofctts]

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy 

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.  

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn​ THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are. 

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that? 

Not much, as it so happens. 

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding— 

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail. 

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought. 

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in. 

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.            

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics. 

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…  

So you ran. 

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.    

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.  

Maker—how did everything become so tangled? 

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out. 

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift. 

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.  

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.     

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground. 

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.  

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and— 

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. 

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving. 

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”       

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.   

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz. 

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now. 

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.      

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”  

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.  

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.  

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”   

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.   

“No more bounties.” 

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.  

“No more hunts alone—“  

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.” 

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.  

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”   

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”    

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”    

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire. 

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond. 

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails. 

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”    

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.   

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.   

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.  

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.    

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble. 

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.      

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night. 

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over. 

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits. 

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.  

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.  

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.   

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.    

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you. 

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”       

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow. 

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—  

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.” 

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.  

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.       

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”  

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.        

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.   

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.   

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.     

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.   

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous. 

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”  

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh. 

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?” 

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”    

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers. 

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling. 

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal. 

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“ 

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.       

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.   

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.  

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.  

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.  

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you. 

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now. 

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"  

He continues without missing a beat. 

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck.  “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity. 

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.    

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly. 

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.   

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.   

Maker you hate this fucking planet—   

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up. 

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.           

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”    

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.      

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar— 

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.    

You were right. 

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand. 

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”     

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.   

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants. 

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought. 

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath. 

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.  

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.  

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward. 

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance. 

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.          

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.  

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs 

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips. 

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.” 

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up. 

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you. 

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.           

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.” 

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. 

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.  

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.      

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.    

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.     

Another time for that game maybe. 

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.” 

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.  

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.  

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works. 

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.      

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.” 

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind. 

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.  

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things. 

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim. 

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss. 

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue. 

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?” 

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.            

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent. 

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.   

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” 

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches. 

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.         

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been. 

Tag List: @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aeryns-library @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @cptnbvcks @thesoftdumbass @krissology @starlite41 @legally-a-bastard @basslinedweller @cloud-of-roses @elenamiria @goldafterglow @maybege @equalstrashflavoredtrash @wandxrlust @hdlynnslibrary @calamity-queen @sgtbookybarnes @pinkninja190 @lackofhonor @darthstyles @spacegayofficial @absurdthirst​ @blue-writes-a03​ @max--phillips​

[ccsthemovie2]

trick or treat 2021 letter

DEAR MY KIND AND HARDWORKING GIFTER,

hi there my ao3 is zagspect and thanks in advance for making me a piece of fic or art in this fun little exchange! heres some food for thought to munch on.

i loooove slice of life, character moments, outsider povs that make things we’re used to in canon seem absurd or funny or weird or scary, humor, horror-in-fluff’s-clothing, sweetness-found-in-horror, and also just plain sweetness. feel free to get weird or experimental with your writing if you think the moment calls for it :3 im not really requesting anything sexy-nsfw in this exchange so pls keep things down to a nice pg13 (high-rated gore for higurashi work is an exception, lol, like, it’s when they cry. that’s just part of the deal.)

🌸✨

cardcaptor sakura (trick or treat!)

clear card manga spoilers are fine with me! manga and anime canon are both fine, and mashing them up is cool too. no aus past that though, please!

clow reed

the big man himself! scare me with his his manipulative tendencies, his eternal pushpull fear of both being eternally relied on and being no longer needed, the way he treats other people, especially people who love him. (yue! the madoushi! i am into both of these being unrequited romantically on his end, but he’s not gonna just gonna tell them that, you think he’s straightforward like that?) what’s daily life like in the clowse? creating a new card, what’s that like? does everybody get along with the normal, non magic neighbors? 

yelan li

what’s up with her??? what’s her relationship with her children like, what are the responsibilities of a magician family’s head, how weird is it that clow is kind of back all of a sudden, what’s her thoughts on sakura? fleshing out a minor character is always fun :]

eriol & li

okay, so, we get to the end of the original series. syaoran returns to hong kong. ????????. syaoran is in cahoots with eriol to (vaguely alluding to cc spoilers in case you haven’t caught up in the manga), do some pretty serious magic behind sakura’s back.

so, like... what went down in the ?????

kero & sakura & yue 

they’re FAMBILYYYYY. magic found family i love them so much. show me the depths of their care for her, and hers for them, the way there’s absolutely some ice to break with yue but when he gets loyal he will DIE for you, the way sakura can mend the rift between kero and yue, the way the two of them are balancing this wonderful openness and equality with oh yeah, she’s eleven, we kind of said some seriously dark stuff in the haze of sleepover talk didn’t we? 

ruby & spinel & eriol 

pre-canon or mid-canon or post-canon! what’s the dynamic between them, a quiet night in, a day out telling people that you’re connected by whatever lie you find funniest. going to tomoeda and having to pretend youre a kid, a teen, and a cat, but goddd you could all go for an elegant and adult glass of wine right now (especially the cat). what horrors are lurking in that house from the clow era that no one cares to address? like emotionally and also because it’s a magic wizard house with magic stuff in it. 

touya/yukito/yue 

i am here for any and all angles of this ship- all together, your touyukis, your yuetouyas, your yuekitos if you wanna get in on a rarely seen angle! (but pls have touya and/or yukito be 18+ at a time where yue shows interest in them). i wanna see the way they interact! how they deal with, you know, the everything! pre-relationship pining, going on a date, touya and yukito in college wondering if they’ll end up having different majors, different paths for the first time. yukito seeing yue on video for the first time (OH NO HES HOT), yukito and yue figuring out internal boundaries, etc etc etc.  

naoko and touya 

the girl who loves ghosts and the guy who sees (or, used to see), ghosts! does she follow him to one of his haunts (pun intended)? does he have to go to her for ghost sensing advice now that he’s a regular old human? does he have to save her from a ghost that means her harm? how excited is she to tell sakura about the COOL GHOST I MET WITH YOUR BROTHER OMG U DIDNT TELL ME HE LIKES GHOSTS??? and how much does sakura wanna sink into the ground lololol

🌹⚔️

revolutionary girl utena (trick or treat!)

ohh, what a place of scary happenings! tell me a fairytale, even if it’s not such a good idea. pre, mid, postcanon, im fine with it all. feel free to weave a web with easter egg references to any other media you feel is right for the moment- utena is all about Genre and Stories!

shadow girls 

i love them i love their whole everything. i wanna see a play, i wanna see them interact with other characters! what if they do a play AS the other characters, ooooh.

anthy/utena 

THE GIRLS WHO INVENTED LOVE THEMSELVES. ive read a thousand stories of them finding each other and it never gets old. id love to read about their life post-ohtori, especially the not-so-happily-ever-after parts- the old wounds reopening, the fights, and how they work through it, wont lose each other ever again. 

saionji/touga

what’s spookier than toxic masculinity? both of them miserably stuck, saionji obsessed with touga, touga believing anyone who believes in friendship is a fool. bro we are taking shirtless pictures among 500 potted cacti....why does my heart hurt..... oh shit its the cactus i rolled onto it ow ow

nanami

nanami being nanami! she’s got no clue how to act ever, she’s desperate, she’s trying SO HARD. i’d love to see a nanami finally getting out of there, too. leaving home with nothing but the clothes on her back, diamonds in her necklace, and a wheeled suitcase of raw eggs.... (crunch crunch crunch)

🎲🗓

higurashi when they cry (trick or treat!)

i’m a gou/sotsu enjoyer and gonna prompt about that a lot but original flavor is, of course, great too. pls dont go too heavy on info outside the main 8+saikoroshi+gou/sotsu? i haven’t read those. ive read umineko+ciconia though so references there are fine :3

rena/mion/keiichi

college days! getting together, crushing on each other, poly relationship figuringouts? dates that are just club meetings with kissing and all the ridiculousness of that.

satoko/rika

gou/sotsu era TOXIC LESBIAN EPIC MOMENTS!!!!!! obsession and desperation and satoko putting all her emotional eggs in rika’s basket no matter how angry she is with her, rika’s love for satoko across 100 years and how that all crumbles (to satoko) in the face of rika’s Cool School. rika wanting satoko to go to school with her so so so bad. deep pain and misunderstandings and acting badly (like, murder badly), and then, we hope, atonement and something new beginning? i love character moments where someones so obsessively in love it feels like its eating them up inside.

rena & satoko

look, rena’s smart and really pays attention to how people feel and i think, before or after satoko becomes a looper but especially after, she would make an attempt to have a heart to heart with satoko. and satoko, as a looper, will politely brush her off, will go you dont know me you can’t affect me. youre just a chess piece. when i get to the miracle world where rika loves me, ill listen to you. this you is here to die, or to kill. 

eua

oh eua is just using satoko up like a bar of soap and it takes satoko way, way too long to realize. evil girltalk/crush advice from the witchmom perhaps?

shion

meakashi made me LOVE her. internal shion moments, perhaps? shion being an empath (decides what ppl are thinking and instantly believes it)? shion in gou-era wanting to talk to satoko about st. lucia’s, but she never shows up to dinner?

okay i think that’s all for now!!! thanks and i hope you have fun!!!

[things-we-used-tc-share]

magical creatures

Warnings: uuuh mentions of animal death n eating raw animal meat. 

Ship: LAMP

Plot: The four seasons all have their own schedule, and they come in the form of four fae princes. (None of this is canon lore to do with the fae this is just my interpretation of them)

Four magical creatures sit in a room of a shared home. One, dressed in a light blue sweater that falls down to his knees and white pants, sits in a circle of every growing flowers, he talks to them, and to him, they talk back. His deep green eyes blink at the petals and acknowledge they have a spirit.  Another, balancing lazily across a ceiling beam, is wearing a black tunic and leggings, gold embellished in the buttons and a cloak that is almost frozen in ice. His eyes, one a stormy gray and the other ice blue, fall closed in his exhaustion of doing absolutely nothing. The third sits in a chair, light balancing at his fingertips, dressed in royal red and deep gold, a red cloak draped over the back of the chair he sits in, his eyes burn bright scarlet. And the last, who has not quite made it to the room yet, but will, is storming up corridors rather tiredly, a dark, almost burnt gold, cloak moves behind him, symbolizing his status. Two fiery orange eyes address his purpose as he finally rids himself of a long day’s work.

--

“You’re too peppy,” Virgil groans from the ceiling,  laying across a wooden beam that kept his body from falling to the ground. Ice pooled around the beam where he lay, too tired to try and reign in his magic for the time being. As long as the Winter Fairy didn’t freeze up the room, the other three had no qualms. 

From his place on the floor, daisies growing in his hair, sat Patton, who beamed up at the other “No need to be a gloomy grump, Virge!” Insufferably cheerful all the time, the Spring Fairy paid no mind to his counterpart’s angsty ritual of moping from the ceiling. Around him, a circle of flowers hummed with life and his attention was stolen by them again. 

“Or so cold,” Roman adds, the Summer Fairy moving light and heat between his fingers in a small, golden ball effortlessly. 

“Don’t be rude, Roman,” The eldest says gently, looking up from his circle of flowers again. Out of respect for his elder, Roman falls quiet with a nod, focusing instead on the small star between his fingertips. “Logan is taking a while, are we sure he’s okay?” Virgil shrugs with a yawn and wings his legs up so he is instead sitting, icicles had begun to form underneath the beam he was balancing on. 

As if he’d been waiting for someone to ask, the door swings open to reveal a rather tired Autumn Fairy, pushing his brown hair from his orange eyes in a move so fluid, it was reminiscent of leaves caught by the wind. “I hate Autumn,” Logan says decidedly, flopping unceremoniously down onto a chair. “I rather wish I could just delay it, don’t you?”

Virgil replies with “Yes,” at the same time both Roman and Patton rather indignantly reply with “No!”. Patton, especially, loved his work. Every flower that bloomed he spends handcrafting himself, each design drafted and painted by his own hands. He adored his season, but that is perhaps because he loved to create. Logan had no such hard work, he simply disliked destroying all of Patton’s creations when his season comes around. Not that the other minds, “It’s a chance to make more new things!” He exclaims. 

“I’m hungry,” Virgil interrupts, now hanging upside down with the icicles on his beam as he tilts his head and stares down at Patton. 

“You’re always hungry,” The Summer fairy replies, standing up “But in this case, I too am rather hungry,” He looks outside and then hums in discontent “Is it too early to hunt? The sun’s still up,” Patton shoots him a warning look. The Spring Fairy disliked the mention of hunting, though the Summer Fae were well known for their abstract views on life, the other three seasons faced no such qualms with it. “Sorry, Patton,” Roman apologizes “I forgot,” 

“You always forget,” Virgil sighs, and finally defeated, lands on his feet on the ground, the icicles shatter around him. “After 300 years one might remember the only rule Patton has,” Roman glares at Virgil, but it holds no heat in reality. 

“There’s food in the basement,” Logan mutters, already picking up a book. Playfully, flowers sprout around it and he looks down at Patton, who is giggling. He smiles despite himself because this is simply the other man’s way of cheering people up. 

Patton was a playful fairy, he would never harm a human or animal, but sometimes he likes to see confusion as flowers and trees pop up in places they weren’t supposed too. Occasionally, Roman would have to help him clear out areas, random fires if you will, so that new forest may grow. They always control it, but Roman particularly finds Human fear somewhat bemusing. Patton finds human confusion endearing.

Logan and Virgil were the least tricksy ones. Virgil, mainly because he is simply too lazy and is almost reclusive, and Logan simply because he has no interest in playing games with Human lives. Humans rarely see Autumn and Winter Fairies, who live in burrows and holes in the forests, but if they do, it’s Virgil or Logan they see. Winter fairies were notoriously anxious, they liked the cold and damp places, and easily scuttle should light come their way; whilst Autumn fairies were business fairies, they liked timekeeping and books, and minding their own business. It is perhaps why Logan was the Prince of Autumn. That wasn’t his only role, his unique talents in the world’s clock made it easy for him to be in charge of making sure that the other’s also do their job. With Roman and Patton, who love their work, this is easy, with Virgil, it’s like prodding a dead mouse with a stick.

Roman fastens his red cloak around his shoulders as he and Virgil head off to find food. Logan places the now ivy covered book on the desk “Okay, you’ve got my attention, Patton,” He says with fondness, and a hint of irritation The eldest, who acts predominantly like the youngest, springs to his feet and grabs Logan’s hands. 

Patton too, had his own unique powers, as every Fairy did, as he touched Logan’s hands, the other’s eyes calmly fall shut on instinct. Patton had a habit of making people feel very alive, something in his energy and touch sends waves of liveliness straight through Logan, like his heart had been clenched all day and suddenly it was beating normally again. He smiles. “There you go, Lo, much better,” Logan opens his eyes again too Patton’s beaming face, there are flowers growing on the backs of Patton’s hands now, some of them curling around Logan’s fingers. 

The younger places a gentle kiss too the other man’s forehead, disturbing some of the flowers and eliciting a gentle giggle from the other. “They better not come in here smiling like dead meat, otherwise they will be dead meat,” The Spring Fairy hums, plopping down on Logan’s lap. After a long day, this was possible all the younger man needed to relax. Although he is missing two of his partners here. 

When Virgil and Roman do return, smelling like dead meat, Patton curtly instructs they both go take a wash before they bother to try and interact with him. With him being the eldest, and in Fae tradition, therefore demanding respect, they did as they were told (Poor Virgil, being the youngest, only go respect if he held a knife up too their throats, which in fairness he would not do). 

Another ten minutes past before they return, smelling like berries. Patton is suitably pleased with that. 

The sun is now beginning to set, and the four of them sit on the large windowsill and watch as the night fae work their magic from the trees. Roman holds a small star in his hand, and hands it down out of the window, too the night fairy that always visits them. He watches as the star floats up into the sky, growing bigger as it grew further away. 

“I love watching you do that,” Patton says gently, whilst Logan hums in agreement. Perhaps one day there will be too many stars in the sky, perhaps, but not tonight. “Virgil stop freezing,” The Winter Fae hums tiredly and the cold starting to spread across the windowsill seeps back towards him. Roman presses a kiss to the youngest’s head, warming him up. 

“I love you,” Roman finally says, smiling down at Patton, then at all of them “I love all three of you,”

Ko-Fi

@analogical-mess //  @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten//@theresneverenoughfandoms//@charmingprincey//@aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife//@heck-im-lost//@k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad//@sanderssideslibrary//@max-is-tired //@therealmoshar//@punsterterry //@trashypansexual

Add yourself too my taglist:  Sanders Sides/Thomas Sanders

[sickjoonie]

fantasy au

ive been making this au for like a month now and im hoping to write some of it eventually!

ships: namgi, 2seok, vminkook

seokjin: unicorn keeper

yoongi: dream fairy

hoseok: merman

namjoon: creature hybrid (no one is really sure...)

jimin: witch

taehyung: sun demon alongside jungkook

jungkook: moon demon alongside taehyung

general info:

jimin runs a potion shop and his roommate is hoseok

only jimin can really control taekook lol

taekook are mischief demons they love causing trouble

taekook loves pranking hoseok. someone save him

yoongi is a dream therapist and works at night fixing dreams with magic. namjoon bought the service but because of his magic it didn't work out so instead yoongi does his work then visits namjoon and talks with him until namjoon falls asleep

seokjin is friends with namjoon and thats how he met everyone

2seok actually are dating but their friends don't know cause they keep forgetting to tell. they're little shits so their friends introduced them to each other and they decided to pretend not to know each other and ridiculously flirt with each other

namgi have feels but they're emotionally constipated. rip

vminkook are a thing they love each other. they're chaotic

here's the descriptions:

seokjin the unicorn keeper

basically he can communicate and summons unicorns. it is a family inheritance

inheritance come with a lot of money

the unicorns can grant two wishes (theyre greedy smh) to anyone when seokjin summons them

has a unicorn hair necklace to show his status

no, he can't communicate with horses, jungkook

yoongi the dream fairy

can summon glitter. fear him

he can change dreams with magic

he has wings, but he can hide them and choose who sees them. personally yoongi only lets people who are really close to him see his wings

can shrink lol

nails are always painted

hoseok the merman

can use legs or tails. legs will have scales on them and he has to keep them from drying out with special lotion

has to turn into his tail form at least once every two weeks for twenty four hours or else he will get very sick

merman scales are very powerful in potions so people like to try to buy them off him or take them but it is extremely painful to remove

his singing puts people in trances. his rapping does not however. he can also remove memories with his singing

vampire like teeth because i can. also only eats raw fish and sushi

namjoon the creature

pointy ears, wings, slitted eyes, claw hands

claw hands made him very clumsy

can see in the dark

stimulates plant life

antimagic - magic does not effect him and his touch can take away magic in potions or spells. if he drinks a potion, it'll make him very sick to his stomach

can fly obviously

jimin the witch

potion specialist, very good at it especially love potions

simple telekinesis spells

can make a potion to heal all wounds but rarely does it

can remove demonic spells/possession

taehyung and jungkook the sun and moon demons

powers based on day and night (light and dark)

mischief demons

horns and slitted eyes

got in trouble for their mischief and got stuck in a rock for a while

get on their good side and theyll protect you forever

phase in and out of existance, teleport, can even fuse their physical form together

kind of like a ghost

memes

[knittinganarchist]

the flower questions?? yeah bud do all of em go hard or go home

Ageratum: Are you friendly or wary of strangers?

I’m terrified of strangers but treat them unfailingly politely. It’s kinda the way your supposed to treat the fey; don’t trust them, but be very nice to them.

American Marigold: Is there anything you will not/cannot eat?

Keep your raw tomatos away from me pls. I don’t want their soggy soggy juices wetting my sandwiches/burgers/salads thank you.

Black-Eyed Susan: Have you ever given/received a black eye? Why?

I’ve never gotten or recieved a black eye because confrontation scares me and i avoid it At All Costs. 

Bleeding-heart: Do you open up freely with their emotions, or do you bottle it up until you burst? If you do hold it in, what is usually your breaking point?

I’m a big bottle of repressed emotional issues and worry 100%. My bursting point is usually after i’ve been too stressed for a couple of days and get over-tired, bc then i just start crying over something stupid, spill my guts to someone via text, and regret it absolutely the next day.

Butterfly-Weed: What is one thing that always makes you stop and admire, no matter what you were doing prior?

As someone who is both constatly distracted and looking for art ideas that a lot of things! Usually its either the outfits of people in town, or the sunset when im on the bus home of the evening. 

Common Yarrow: Do you easily blend in with the crowd, or do you wear/act so that you are noticeable and stand out?

Thats kinda tricky because i love wearing quirky opshopped clothed and ridiculous shirts, but i also kinda wear them in the hope that people wont bother me too much? I want to look cool, but not Too Cool.

Cornflower: Is there a color you don’t particularly care to wear? Is it because it clashes with your style, appearance, or any other reason outside of simple dislike for said color?

I don’t think theres a colour that i wouldnt wear? I dont wear a lot of green but thats more because i tend to gravitate to either warmer colours or crazy prints.

Creeping Zinnia: Do you listen into other people’s conversations, either idly or purposely? Has there been anything you learned from it? Have you gotten into trouble?

I absolutely do not. I feel so so terrible when i listen in and im so scared that they’ll say something very personal i should never hear. I wear headphones a lot of the time though so its not a huge problem.

Daylily: Do you have any daily routines/habits? Are they ingrained into you as a child or have they been recent additions?

I’m too scatterbrained to have too many daily habits, but the one that has carried over from my childhood is packing my bag the day before. For someone who worries a lot knowing im all ready for uni the next day, and having a vague idea of what i want to wear, is very helpful in helping me calm down before bed. 

Field Pansy: Have you ever gone and flown a kite before? Do you wish to do so if you haven’t?

Yes! There’s a big spare block up on a hill not far from my house, so when i was about 11 maybe(?) me and my neighborhood friends would make kites out of balloon sticks and rubbish bags, then ride our bikes up to the spare block.

Flowering Cabbage: Name one thing you keep, despite it being pointless or purposeless other than sentimental value or you simply cannot throw it away, and state the reason why you hang onto it.

Ummmm? Everything? I’m hopelessly sentimental. I’ve got clothes, books, letters, and dried flowers collected up simply because they remind me of happy times or people i care about.

Garden Impatiens: What causes you to lose patience? How do you react when you lose it?

Generally i have endless patience for others, but for myself? I’m constantly frustrated by my inability to concentrate for a long time, and when i’m trying to draw and it just Wont Work, usually that just leads to me just stewing in my annoyance for a few hours. 

Gooseneck Loosestrife: Is there anything strange or unusual you can do, or have noticed happening around you without an identifiable cause?

There’s nothing unsual that i can can do, although sometimes i wish that were true. Although i must say that art school has a ton of weird things i wish i could explain; like when you hear voices in a computer lab but you go in and its empty. Or the people who i swear i’ve never met before who stand outside the classrooms until you use your swipcard to let them in. 

Hosta: Do you enjoy the time out in the sun, or do you relax in the shade whenever you get the chance to do so?

I love the sun in every season except for summer, my pale pale skin cannot handle it at all so i stick to the shadows like a vampire. 

Ivy Geranium: Do you have any pets? If so, how are they doing?

I have a dog called Scruffy, who is cute but constantly a mess, and seven chickens all named after Doctor Who characters!

Japanese Bloodgrass: When was the last time you drew blood, either from yourself or from another? What was the reason?

I might have sliced my ankle shaving the other week because i was bopping along to the music i had playing and slipped...

Lady’s Mantle: What is one outfit you remember your mother/guardian wearing when you were a child?

My mum used to wear these striped tshirt dresses around the house all through summer, i actually got a few of these handed down to me!

Lambs Ears: Do you remember how old you were when the last time someone tried to censor their speech around you?

About 20mins ago... My mum was about to swear and just gave me a look before rephrasing hahah

Lavender: Is there a particular scent you are fond of? Do you smell this scent often or rarely?

I love lavender and rosemary in summer because it reminds me of the veggie patch that i planted near my back door a few years ago, but in winte hot chocolate and cinnamon are the best for feeling cozy.

Million Gold: How much money do you make, if any? How much money do you have currently?

I’m currently unemployed while i move out of home and settle in, but at the moment i’m housesitting so i think i get about $200 for the month, and then i dogsit again for someone else next month. Other than that my only income is from commissions..

Moss Phlox: Have there been any new friends you have made? What do you want to know about them the most?

Last saturday was my friend Katie’s birthday picnic and i met some lovely people there who i really hope i can stay in contact with.

Nasturium: Have you ever been the one to be told a secret? Did you keep it or did you share it with someone else? Was the secret worth being kept?

It’s not often people tell me secrets, but if they do tell me one i always keep it. I know how gross it feels to have someone betray your trust and i wouldnt do that deliberately to anyone. 

Ornamental Purslane: Do you wear any jewelry? Which ones are your favorites? Do you favor certain metals/gems/styles?

I don’t usually wear a lot of jewlery because i forget to change my earrings, and bracelets get in the way when im drawings, i used to wear a necklace all the time though. It was a teardrop shaped blue-goldstone on a silver chain, but my sister pulled it off when she was mad and it snapped. 

Rose Campion: If you had to fight, which one person would you chose to fight at your side? Would you pick them based on skill, on trust, or both?

I don’t know anyone personally who’d be any good in a fight so im going to have to say uhhhhhhh... either The Rock lmao bc he’d just punch danger in the face, or Ship ( @glumshoe ) because i just think he’d be prepared for even the weirdest stuff we could encounter.

Salvia-May-Night: What your habits/rituals you do when preparing for bed? How long do you usually sleep for?

The classic shower, facewash, text people who make me happy, and reluctantly set an alarm so i’ll get to class on time. I usually sleep fine all night no matter how early/late i go to bed, but i always wake up at 8am and have to check my phone to see if im late for anything.

Snapdragon: What sort of things would you hoard, if given the chance? Would you?

So so many things, its a good thing i dont have the chance. Books? Art supplies? Cool dresses? Pot plants? 

Snow-In-Summer: Would you rather have winter or summer? What are the benefits or reason to your preferred season over the other?

Autumn all the way. I love the coloured leaves and windy days, and its the perfect inbetween weather thats not too hot or cold.

Sunflower: Name one thing that will always make you smile.

Finding the perfect ugly/cool dress in the back of an opshop

Thread-leaf Tickseed: Are you an insect-magnet when you go outside, or do you insects generally leave you alone?

If im at home? for sure, i get a lot of beetles bothering me. But if im in the park at uni not so much for some reason.

Variegated Solomon’s Seal: What is one thing you wished you could seal away and never see/feel/use/etc again? Why?

99% of highschool to be honest, just a lot of Not Fun stuff.

Wheat Cockscomb: Name one thing you could do that you wished you could do, but cant?

Speak literally any language, i feel like it would open a lot of travel option up for me

Yellow Cosmos: What is your favorite constellation? Why? 

Cassiopeia! I just thought it was a neat myth, and also i used that as a name for a character in a grade 8 story story lmao.