#mastering streaming targets

[babygorewhore]

Dirty girl

Rafe Cameron is your favorite porn star and you’re determined to make your fantasies come true. Even if that means sneaking into one of his parties.

Thank you to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me with this one!!! And the divider! Also idk what happened to me but the horny demon decided to show up and possess me. So enjoy this filth 😌

Warnings! Male and female masturbation! One mention of breeding kink! Daddy kink! Oral! Fem recieving! Unprotected sex! Not proofread

Your crush on Rafe Cameron led you to do crazy things. Follow him around school, graduation and now you look at his posts like a puppy following their master on his only fans every single time he streamed. It wasn’t a secret that he was a porn star, everyone knew but it wasn’t openly discussed. When you saw him there weeks ago, your panties got damp from how hot he looked jerking himself off while he wore that SnapBack of his. His creamy fluid coating his large hand, fingers slick as he continued pumping.

“That’s my fucking girl,” He moaned and rolled his hips to the pace of his strokes. Your own fingers were buried inside your cunt, curling them upward as you wished they were his while your vibrator was glued to your clit mercilessly.

“Fuck, baby girl. You’re so good at this,” And then…

His said your name.

You immediately stopped for a second. Gasping for air but then he said another girls name. It wasn’t directed at you, another girl with the same name who requested the praise. You laid back down from leaning on your elbows, returning to your motions as your digits found their way inside your pussy, vibrations pressing tightly against your swollen center.

You bucked your hips as Rafe started grinding on his bed, his thighs caging the pillow while his dick slapped against the material. “Fuck, you feel so fucking tight. Baby, let me cum in you. Wanna fuck a baby in you.”

You whimpered at his dirty words as you continued fingering yourself, drawing close to the edge when Rafe let out a throaty moan and that made your orgasm hit you like a crashing wave and you threw your head back, covering your mouth with your other hand to stop yourself from waking up your roommate in the next room.

As the seconds went by, you pulled out your fingers and wiped them on your bare hip. Rafe was breathing heavily, just like you were and it made your hole tighten when you saw his naked chest heaving as he recovered from spilling on the sheets. You needed him so badly it hurt but more than that.

You wanted him to fuck you. You didn’t want anyone else. You wanted him and you were determined to get him.

Every weekend, Rafe threw a party at his house. Your friend Barry usually provided him coke for the entertainment and that could be your opportunity to get an invite. Which is what you were currently trying to convince him the next day.

“Come on. Let me give it to him.” You pleaded and he gave you a condescending look.

“For what? So you can fuck him? Nah. He’s the one who pays me. It’s my business.” You huffed and crossed your arms. Your sneakers were sticking to the floor of his house.

“Barry. Come on. I’ll owe you if you do this. I won’t bother you for a whole week.” You offered and he snorted, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Yeah, right. Make it a month. No favors. No ‘borrowing’ my shit without giving it back. And you buy your own stuff. A whole ass month.” He replied and you stuck out your hand.

“Deal.”

And that’s when you snuck into the party, booming music, laughter, fucking disguised your lack of invitation as you tried to find your target. You were surprised he wasn’t at the center since he loved attention but instead, when you went up the stairs, he was sitting down counting cash. You swallowed your nerves away before approaching him. You wondered if the money was cashed out from his Only fans. Which in turn made you clench at the memory.

You walked over, your heels clacking against the wood floor and Rafe’s head snapped up. But instead of criticizing you as a stranger, he stood up with a smirk.

“Hey, haven’t seen you before, baby.”

You swallow your nervousness and give him a little smile. “I’m here to give you the goods. Barry wasn’t able to come.”

Rafe furrows his brows slightly. “Doesn’t sound like him. Maybe you should tell me why you’re here, baby girl.” He says and wraps his hand on your hip, tugging you close until you’re pressed against him.

You shrugged but put your hands on his chest, rising up a little so you can press your lips to his ear. “Maybe I want you to fuck me like you do in your little videos, baby.”

Rafe quirks his eyebrow before gesturing with his head to the right. “Hmm, maybe I can give it to you. But first you have to ask me nicely, baby. Use good manners.” He teases.

“Please fuck me, Rafey. I want it so bad. I want you to stuff me with your cum.” You press your hands together in contrition. “I promise I’ll be good and take it.” You pout slightly.

Rafe gently takes your arm and starts walking to the right, taking you down a dimly lit hallway and passing people who are grinding against each other. He finds the last door, opening the wooden entrance and you see a modern style bedroom. With sleek furniture and a wide bed to accommodate his large frame.

He turned and smashed his lips to yours, sucking your lower lip and sliding his hands to your ass. He squeezed and pulled you against him, grinding against you, you felt his hard cock and you reached down, palming him and he groaned. “Did you just come here to be a cum slut?” He asked and you nodded as you slipped your tongue in his mouth.

“Mhm, just wanna fuck you daddy. Maybe make our own video.” You smirked against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, pulling away.

“I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” Rafe growled and pulled out his phone, turning on the record button. “You won’t be able to touch yourself without thinking of it right now. With my cock inside you. Without my tongue and fingers inside that pretty little pussy.”

He reached forward and grabbed your hair, yanking you to the bed on your back. He wasted no time, pulling off your panties and lifting your short skirt. Rafe moaned at the sight of your sticky cunt. “Mmm, so wet for me, aren’t you baby girl?” He said before sinking to his knees.

He shoved his face against your pussy, licking you with a flattened tongue on your clit and you gripped his hair. Rafe bobbed his head up and down before pushing his tongue inside you, fucking you with it as he made you whimper and grip harder.

“Fuck, daddy, it feels so good.” You whined as he sped up, bobbing his head up and down as the flash of the camera was on in his free hand, his other holding you down by your left hip.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He grunted, lapping his tongue and you breathed harder, feeling your stomach coil.

“Yours daddy!” You cried out and he smirked against it.

“Fucking right. One more time?”

“My pussy is yours, Rafe.” You said against and he smacked your ass before lifting up, crawling on top of you and unbuckling his past. His chin dripping with your slick as he shoved his boxers down his thighs and off, throwing them to the side.

Your eyes widened at his size, his red tip leaking with precum as rubbed it against your clit before sinking inside you, “Fuckkk.” He moaned and leaned down, his face in the crook of your neck. “Such a tight little cunt. Sucking me in like a fucking slut.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist and his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly while he kissed your skin, sucking in to leave a mark. “Everyone will know I fucked you. No one will touch you. You. Are. Mine.” He said as he thrust, deep in you hitting the good spots. You huffed out pornographic noises and humped him animalistically.

He continued his pace for minutes before speeding up as he saw your eyes roll back as your belly tightened and you spilled all over his dick, giving him more slick as he pounded into you and he slammed his lips to yours, teeth and tongue and you tasted yourself.

He came in you, dripping and ropes of cum leaked onto the bed and he moaned loudly. You matched his volume as you clawed at his back.

He stayed there for seconds before pulling out and scooping you in his arms, laying down. “I’ll clean you up in a minute…fucking hell baby girl.” He chuckled and you nuzzled against his chest.

“I think you did ruin me now.” You whispered with a sly grin.

“Give me fucking five minutes. And I’m gonna turn that camera off. You’re really going to cream over me.”

Tagging! @rafescurtainbangz @drewstarkeyslut @rafesthroatbaby @slvt4jamesmarch @marchsfreakshow @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @oceandriveab @voyeurmunson @impmunson @redhead1180

[thissying]

“On Wednesday afternoon the news came that the Grand Prix was cancelled and then Max himself came up with the idea of organizing a sim race, so that there is still something to experience for the fans this weekend, but also to draw attention to what is happening in Emilia-Romagna and to support the people affected by the storm. "So this really happens on Max's initiative," Atze Kerkhof of Team Redline told Motorsport.com. “Max will of course participate and there will be quite a few members of the Red Bull Junior Team with Enzo Fittipaldi, Ayumu Iwasa, Arvid Lindblad, Jak Crawford and Isack Hadjar. There will also be drivers from Formula E, including Antonio Felix da Costa and Oliver Rowland. Three-time Supercars champion Shane van Gisbergen and Luke Browning have also agreed to participate.”

F2 driver Richard Verschoor, Aston Martin reserve Felipe Drugovich and Alpine reserve Jack Doohan have also been confirmed via Twitter. A grid of twenty-five to thirty drivers is targeted. Kerkhof himself will also participate, just like a few other riders from the Team Redline stable. “But also Sebastian Job, who is part of the Red Bull Racing Esports team. So it will be a nice mix of professional sim drivers and names that normally come out on the track.”

Just like the previous races that were held under the name Real Racers Never Quit, they will be driven on iRacing. “We will be running four races in a row at the Imola circuit, with four different cars,” Kerkhof explains the format of Sunday's event. “We are doing a race with a Formula 3, a race with a Formula Ford, a race with a Mazda MX-5 and a race with a Toyota GR86. Max chose these cars because they are not too difficult to master in the game, are fun to drive and can make for entertaining races for the viewers. We could also have gone for a Formula 1 or GT3, but then you will spend a lot more time getting to know the game version of the car and it might also be less competitive in the races. But because we want to have races that are fun to watch first and foremost, Max picked these four.”

As mentioned earlier, Verstappen wants to raise money with the sim race for the victims of the storm in Emilia-Romagna. “We will support the same action as AlphaTauri,” explains Kerkhof. “As you know that team is based in Faenza and that place has also been hit hard. We will show a link and QR code in the stream that can be used to donate money to the emergency fund. We will encourage anyone watching to make a donation."

Setting up a major sim racing event this hastily is no easy feat. Kerkhof: “Verstappen.com Racing and Team Redline have worked together to get this event off the ground. And Verstappen.com Racing is in turn supported by Red Bull, which has helped to gather some of these drivers. So yes, it is a lot of work, but the fact that Verstappen.com Racing and Team Redline have joined forces makes it a lot easier.” - Atze van de Kerkhof about tomorrow's RRNQ (X)

[carionto]

Humans and Boredom II

The planet cracker.

A devilish name that somehow still does not do this type of Human ship justice. Arrays of massive gravity hooks capable of tearing out kilometers wide and deep chunks of mass from any celestial object one of them decides to settle in orbit of.

The process is slow and tedious and, luckily, unsuitable for any practical military application, but unimaginably rewarding nonetheless. Once a chunk has been lifted, a fleet of harvester drones meticulously tears it further apart and separates into individual minerals and any other categorizable substances. From there the internal refineries of the planet cracker process them further into more usable metals, alloys, resins, and countless other resources. Finally, another fleet of transport ships ferry those back to where they are needed.

The land based production capacity of an entire (small) planet, with a single (albeit metropolis sized) ship, crewed by no more than a hundred Humans and thousands of drones.

One of these immense beasts - The Hardy Gal - was stationed around one of Saturn's moons - Epimetheus - that was recently voted out of the global popularity contest "Who's Even Heard of This One?" and thus sentenced to become part of the Dyson Ring.

The drone fleet that was supposed to be tearing up the unfortunate little moon, however, was recently recalled for refitting after a report showed a key part was manufactured using an outdated guideline by a suspiciously licensed corporation, that was also caught up in an unrelated embezzlement scandal.

Suffice to say that chief Gravity Master Boris Fruischtyen didn't have much to do. Laws and regulations do not permit any unsupervised extraction results to just be left in orbit. Oh no, can't preemptively arrange chunks for processing later, nope, "efficiency? what's that?". *sigh* Lift, hold, harvest, repeat.

Boris would have nothing to do, except the gravity hook arrays were a set of fifty per array, and The Hardy Gal had eight arrays. Four hundred individually aim-able and moveable chunks of matter.

While his day job was not very productive for now, his social media activity shot through the roof. There's a lot you can draw with four hundred "pixels" and the literal cosmos as your canvas and backdrop.

His personal favorites were water features and creatures set against the blue of Saturn, and he arranged quite a few of the extinct whales and penguins too. Additionally, every day he would fulfill one of the audiences top ranking requests.

Through these he discovered he has a fascinatingly good sense for flower compositions, especially from unusual angles. It's odd. He's only ever seen flowers in images and videos, perhaps lacking actual real life flowers to compare to allows his imagination to fill in the gaps in a way referencing factual knowledge would limit him. Who knows.

Despite having access to a three dimensional canvas, he preferred to keep things flat.

"What can I say, 2D is better. *chuckle*"

However, that doesn't mean he keeps things simple. The gravity hooks are quite good at selective manipulation, they have to be to target certain spots beneath a whole lot of other matter (which is then raised alongside the "elevator" matter). He demonstrated how the same image can look wildly different if you just change the "pixels" from squares to spheres, or how certain material compositions change color when squeezed more densely.

His personal favorite part is the finishing touch. After he's had a drone go out and stream his latest piece from plenty of angles for the viewers, he gives the whole image a simultaneous and gentle push back towards the moon. After a few touching hours of people in chat saying farewell, sharing personal stories and just asking questions Boris is always happy to answer, the image impacts the surface where the majority of parts were extracted from in a spectacular show of minor impacts and a shower of debris. Too bad it doesn't have an atmosphere, just imagine how cool it'd look burning up on reentry.

[scarfgirl]

weird worm shit posting but i saw some art of fem uber and fem leet running around and im all for it . my take on it Leet being a total sugar gremlin who is not adverse to conflict (but is adverse to regularly changing clothes or brushing her hair ...swet pants for life /cheeto stained lips and fingers !) and has incredible up and down mood swings (usually because a favorite piece of gear got destroyed followed by a upswing as a new favored piece of gear she just created comes into creation ) she has some old favs that have stood the test of time like her Captain N the game master belt and gun , her power glove , pokeball ,back to the future hover board and ghostbusters spagetti strainer cap and dosnt always bring all her gear with her (knowing that once its gone its gone !) Uber could go and be successful on her own (she is athletic and good looking ) but god she loves the little cheeto eating nerd and ubers twitch stream actually got a influx of viewers when teamed with leet (prior to leet joining it was more of a T and A fake gamer girl stream but sad swety men paid the bills ) with leet helping pick out cool characters for Uber to cosplay as, current games that resonated with the player base as well as the two of them good naturedly arguing and fighting (viewers will try to goad leet into going anger gremlin in the comments ) uber enjoys the cosplay hijinks even if most of the costumes are less then productive for fighting and running (wardrobe malfuntions are definitely a thing ) they generally avoid prolonged conflicts much prefering to run in , cause a commotion, steal or tag something then run away and usually picks targets that will resonate with their viewers and avoiding harming innocents civilians (though innocent civilians will be bumped , bruised and inconvienced !)

[turquoisephoenix]

Master Eon Versus the Town-Devouring Ghoul

A Skylanders one shot

Ghost Roaster becoming a Skylander Origin Story.

Several decades before the destruction of the Core of Light and the banishment of the Skylanders, Master Eon and Hex are called upon by one of the rulers of the Underworld to journey to the Land of the Undead and fight one of the most dangerous undead creatures - a ghost-devouring ghoul. Can he and his witch companion conquer this dastardly foe, or is Skylands’ most powerful Portal Master about to meet his match?

This story takes place several decades before the events of the first game, so Master Eon is still alive. Count Moneybone also isn't considered an evil villain yet. He's on his best behavior, don't worry.

Characters: Master Eon, Hex, Ghost Roaster, Count Moneybone

Content Warning: Minor body horror.

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

Out of all the wonderful locations in the infinite realm of Skylands, one of Master Eon's most treasured places was his garden. He was picturing his idyllic retreat right now, remembering its many abundances of colorful fruits and vegetables. The ripe strawberries, juicy tomatoes, and fragrant herbs, the rows of vibrant sunflowers swaying gently in the warm breeze, and the butterflies flitting from blossom to blossom all entered his mind and he smiled. Yes, he could even hear the bees buzzing, their gentle hum harmonizing with the gentle stream trickling through the field. His garden was a symphony of Skyland's endless bounty and a peaceful retreat whenever his Portal Master duties got a little too stressful.

A femur bone struck the wall inches from his head and Eon's smile instantly vanished. He certainly wished he was in his garden right now.

Instead of spending this lovely spring morning knee-deep in loam and tending to baby trees, Master Eon had been summoned on Portal Master duty by his old friend Count Moneybone to deal with, in Moneybone's words, "a horrible creature the likes of which have been unseen in hundreds of years." So now both he and Hex, his chosen partner for his journey through the Land of the Undead, were standing in the hallowed halls of Count Moneybone's Villa, waiting for an audience.

The problem was, so was every elected official that answered to Count Moneybone's district, and some of the Undead had the tendency to be rowdy.

Both Master Eon and Hex stood unmoving and unwavering in the doorway of Count Moneybone's mansion study as they waited for the right time to make an entrance. They watched, brows furrowed and lips pursed in unison, as a crowd of undead mayors, barons, and councilmen yelled at each other in a horrid cacophony of noise. Master Eon was the only creature within the vicinity with a pulse, and yet he was far less animated than the legions of rotted corpses in front of him as decayed limbs gestured at a map on a large dining table, at the air, or at the unlucky owner of the manor.

Despite the writhing mass of gleaming bones and putrid flesh all fighting for attention, and despite his less-than-remarkable stature (Moneybone would object to the word "short"), Count Moneybone was still easy to pick out in the crowd. Unlike the ragged robes or the ghastly cloaks befitting most Undead - even the ones that held a position of office - Moneybone liked elaborate purple cloaks, fancy purple gloves, and flashy golden armor. Under the highly expensive chandelier dangling above his head, Moneybone practically gleamed like a spotlight. 

Which, unfortunately for him, made him an incredibly easy target in this high stress situation. Even from the other side of the room, Master Eon could tell that his old friend was highly stressed out from the constant complaints. With a drooping mustache and a rapidly moving golden eye, Moneybone was fidgeting in place and was alternating between a customer service smile/grimace and quick flashes of temper depending on what was being said in his direction, and he was finding success with neither approach. 

He was in the middle of yelling at a smartly-dressed skeleton of a lizardman when his eyes spotted Master Eon and he immediately grabbed for that lifeline. Moneybone straightened up, put on his most charming smile, and assumed an extremely regal, composed tone of voice that he often practiced in front of the mirror.

"Ah, Master Eon and Mistress Hex, I do hope your trip to the Land of the Undead went w-"

Count Moneybone immediately realized that he had made a mistake. His efforts were dashed as the crowd of terrified undead noticed that he was talking to fresh blood and turned its attention to Master Eon and Hex. Moneybone gave an indignant yelp as the crowd unceremoniously shoved him aside. Skeletons, ghosts, and zombies began to plead pitieously.

"DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE GHOUL!" screamed a floating skull wearing a top hat.

"Yes, we're getting to that-" Moneybone tried to interject, but he was outnumbered.

"A GHOUL! A GHOOOOOUL!"

"WHO WILL FALL NEXT TO ITS INSATIABLE HUNGER? HOW MANY MORE TOWNS MUST FALL!?"

"SAVE US, MASTER EON!"

"TURN THE GHOUL TO STONE, HEX!"

"ENOUGH!"

A ball of crackling green magic formed in Count Moneybone's right palm, and with a swift, fluid motion, he thrust his hand into the air. There was a crackle of lightning, a powerful hum of necromantic energy that smothered all sound in its wake, the harsh smell of ozone, and then the crowd instantly fell silent. 

The rest of the undead stood frozen in place, eyes wide in terror, as they stared at Count Moneybone. Arcs of green magic still raced up and down his arm as he glared at the crowd, reminding them that the last hour or so of him tolerating their complaints was actually an act of mercy and patience from their benevolent leader.

"Let Master Eon speak!" Count Moneybone ordered. Everyone in the room was more than happy to oblige.

Master Eon, now feeling every eye on him, quickly moved through the room. The atmosphere was so quiet that the rustle of his blue robes sounded deafening as he shuffled across the carpet until he was face-to-face with Count Moneybone, who was now casually rolling a spark of necromantic energy between two fingers. Eon frowned as he looked at the giant, hand-drawn map on the table. Included with the map was a drawing of the ghoul. Eon picked it up and studied it.

"From what I can gather, we've been called upon to deal with...a ghoul? I must admit, I'm not familiar with ghouls. Are they rare?"

"They're exceptionally rare monsters, yes. And damned powerful too." Count Moneybone said, the other members of the undead in the room hanging on his every word. "Ghouls are not natural creatures. Usually, as the stories go, an evil necromancer living in a castle made out of bone will capture some unlucky villagers, horrifically transform them into ghouls and thus cursing them with an eternal hunger, and send them rampaging through the countryside as they devour everything in their path. Awful creatures, really."

Master Eon nodded. He was not at all surprised that Count Moneybone of all people would know about a rare creature created by awful necromancy gone bad. Although he wasn't doing the best job at hiding it - Eon was eyeing the magic still crackling off of Moneybone's hand - it was a well-kept secret that Count Moneybone used to be a necromancer back when he was alive. As far as Eon knew, Moneybone never created any ghouls. Moneybone was more of "reanimate the bones and sinew from his wife's pig farm in wacky experiments or resurrect the corpses of his pets" kind of necromancer before his untimely death. 

"And what makes them different from, say, an army of trolls or an army of dragons?" Master Eon asked carefully, his gaze still on the ghoul drawing. He could instantly recognize Count Moneybone's art style. The creature was very serpentine, with a snake-like tail in place of legs and a skull-like head lined with razor sharp teeth, piercing yellow eyes, and four pointy head spikes. The ghoul was depicted in the drawing wearing a black suit with a striking red collar that rose behind its head like the hood of a cobra. The drawing made sure to draw the ghoul's bony arms held outward like it was roaring in anger. 

Eon made note of the clothes. Non-sentient creatures didn't wear clothes. Creatures that wore clothes could be reasoned with...

Count Moneybone continued, tugging at one end of his mustache. "You know how, when a dragon eats someone, they don't eat the ghost part of the person, and you usually get a very crispy spirit asking for residence in the Land of the Undead? Ghouls can eat ghosts. They're eternally hungry apex predators that can send anyone alive or dead to the afterlife, and a lot of my constituents want to remain uneaten and in this current life as they work through their unfinished business, thank you very much!" 

The crowd of undead upperclassmen started to murmur words of agreement before being silenced by a glare from Count Moneybone. 

The gears were turning in Master Eon's head. So a ghoul's power was its hunger. He could work with that.

"Give me a timeline of this ghoul. When did they first appear, and where can I find them." Master Eon pressed on. If he felt any strong emotions about being asked to face a creature that could instantly send him to the next plane of existence by eating him, his voice did not reveal it. Hex was even calmer than him as she stood next to him, her face completely serene and unreadable.

Count Moneybone sighed and pinched his forehead. He was desperately fighting off the beginnings of a stress headache, despite not having any of the flesh to get a headache. 

"About a month ago, this ghoul randomly materialized near the ghost town of Ribcage, where it immediately and swiftly devoured the entire population of ghosts. I of course acted quickly and had sent the mayor of Ribcage and a scouting party to kill the ghoul, but instead of doing what they were told, they trapped it, attached a ball and chain to it for reasons unknown, and let it roam free-"

The fashionable lizardman skeleton from earlier cut in, and it was immediately obvious from the way he grinded his teeth and gestured with his hands that they had suffered this conversation multiple times before.

"For the last time, I put the ball and chain on the ghoul because the best way to kill a ghoul is to root it in place and starve it to death!" The Mayor of Ribcage said this in an irritated snarl.

"Oh? And how heavy was the ball and chain?" sneered Count Moneybone.

"About fifteen pounds, give or take."

"Fifteen?! Did you want to starve the ghoul or did you want it to work on its triceps?! My mother could lift fifteen pounds! Fifteen pounds is nothing!" Count Moneybone snapped.

"Gentlemen! I believe we're getting off-topic!" Master Eon decided to cut in before things got violent. The lizardman, finger still raised in protest, then gave a quick bow and scurried away as Count Moneybone cleared his nonexistent throat.

"As I was saying, this ghoul has spent the last month haunting the surrounding area of Ribcage, eating anything it can get its horrible claws on. We still don't know how many citizens have lost their unlives and its territory has been gradually expanding as it's hunting for more food. I want you to take care of it before this problem gets out of hand! The entire Land of the Undead is at stake here!"

Sensing that the crowd of undead was still watching both his and Eon's every move, Count Moneybone then grabbed one edge of his cape with one hand and raised his other hand in the air as if reaching for heaven's light. He raised his voice in volume, going from "conversational" to "operatic". 

"So what do you say? Will you help us in our time of need, Master Eon?"

Master Eon paused, weighed his options, and, feeding into the theatrics for a bit, smiled and performed a bow and scrape before Count Moneybone, flourishing his hand as he did so.

"Consider it done!"

And with those words, Master Eon and Hex left the room to the sound of rapturous cheers and applause.  -----------------------

After quickly and reluctantly discussing the matter of Master Eon's payment with his new employer away from the crowd ("I have no need for gold coins." "Eon, you are not doing this job for free. If you won't take money, will you at least take a rare book from my collection?" "If you insist."), Master Eon and Hex left Count Moneybone's Villa and set off towards the town of Ribcage. Master Eon, with his long grey beard and sky blue robes making a stark contrast to Hex's midnight black, merrily trudged through the desolate land of the undead with his silent witch companion by his side. 

The air was thick with the stench of decay, and eerie moans echoed through the twisted trees that seemed to reach out with skeletal fingers, but Eon's mood remained cheery. Despite missing his garden earlier in the hustle and bustle of Count Moneybone's crowded study, he had to admit, it has been quite a while since he was asked to do a more traditional "Slay Thy Monster" quest. It felt nostalgic in a way. The Portal Master and his companion pressed on, their determination unwavering, for they had a quest to fulfill!

Hex did not share his enthusiasm. She quietly floated beside him, her face still passive and unreadable, as she exuded an aura of immense power. Her eyes glowed with a faint white light that pierced through the fog that permeated the land of the undead. She was always on high alert and she refused to waste more than a single word on such frivolities as "nice day we're having, Hex" and "it's been a while since you've last traveled to the Land of the Undead, Hex."

Master Eon had, of course, brought his trusty magic staff with him on his adventure. It crackled with energy as he used it as a walking aide. In addition, he also shouldered his enchanted satchel. Made of dark brown leather and decorated with a single red jewel, it looked like a regular, unassuming traveler's satchel, but it was enchanted to hold so much more than it seemed. Why, if it fell into a lake, it would easily swallow the entire body of water without changing size or weight. No self-respecting Portal Master went unprepared, after all! 

Today, however, his satchel contained no pilfered sea. Instead, he had packed his magical antique ladle (for making magical antique soup), a thermos that was currently holding a frightening amount of ectoplasm soup, more ingredients for soup in case Eon ran out of soup, various notes on the monster that they would soon face, and a map that would lead them to their destination (that now smelled faintly of soup).

It didn't take much travel time to enter Ribcage. Like most villages in the Land of the Undead, Ribcage lay in ruins, its buildings crumbling and decaying from years of neglect. But the unnatural stillness - the lack of unlife in the vicinity, the complete absence of friendly ghosts or zombies happily forming a community through broken boards and windows - was what made Ribcage feel particularly unwelcoming. The streets were littered with debris and overturned carts, evidence of the chaos that had ensued when the entire population was devoured. Clawmarks were gouged deep into the walls of several structures. Broken panes of glass and shattered doors lay on the ground.

Neither Eon nor Hex said a word as they searched the abandoned village for their monster. They could see that Moneybone's hunch was right. There were the telltale signs of a chain dragged through the dirt, and they looked fresh. The air was thick with an oppressive stillness. Not even the usual sounds of nocturnal creatures filled the air. Even the lowliest undead cricket was terrified of a hungry ghoul.

Their search did not last that long. The ghoul's tracks led to Ribcage's largest restaurant. It was once a quaint little hangout called The Spirits' Tavern ("Where the menu is to die for and the atmosphere is positively ethereal! Four point five stars on Yelp!") and it was in the same pathetic state of existence as the rest of the town. The windows were shattered, and a crowd of overturned chairs and tables sadly lay splintered and abandoned. Despite the constant decay that surrounded them, there was also the smell of something fresh wafting through the air. Master Eon gripped his walking staff with determination. He knew that they were close. Steeling his resolve, the Portal Master pushed open the restaurant's creaking doors and held them open long enough for Hex to float in first. Master Eon always held the door open for his companions as a common courtesy, even during death-defying monster quests. Inside, the remnants of several meals lay scattered across the tables and floor. No phantom pho, spectral soufflé, or midnight macabre martini was spared. The ghoul had been feeding here; its hunger so insatiable that no scrap of food was left untouched. Hex scanned the room for any sign of movement as Eon's staff began to glow with energy, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The Portal Master and his companion moved cautiously through the restaurant and made their way from the dining room to the kitchen and food stores. Once in the kitchen, they were greeted with an odd sight. There was a large smear of food mixture sitting on the floor, still wet and freshly made, with handfuls clearly ripped out of it rather than cooked. Master Eon bent down to examine it.   The Portal Master knew enough about cooking from his centuries of living in Skylands that he could tell that he was staring at one and a half cups of all-purpose flour, one cup of unsweetened natural cocoa powder, two cups of sugar, two teaspoons of baking soda, one teaspoon of baking powder, one teaspoon of salt, two teaspoons of espresso powder, half a cup of melted coconut oil, two large eggs cracked at room temperature, two teaspoons of pure vanilla extract, one cup of room temperature buttermilk, and one cup of coffee. But instead of baking this concoction into a fluffy, moist chocolate coffee cake, the creature skipped all of those other steps and gobbled up the raw cake mix with its bare hands. 

"I see our ghoul knows a thing or two about cooking. They even used measuring cups." Eon said in mild amusement. 

Hex didn't reply. She remained still, her entire body tense. Her head kept scanning the room, her hands raised and magic beginning to dance on her fingertips.

She could sense it. They were being watched. Inside the kitchen, next to the ruins of an uncooked cake, there were three occupants.

"Eon!" Hex cried. 

The air shimmered, and a hungry, malevolent ghoul suddenly materialized in the room. The long, sinewy creature with sharp teeth and glowing yellow eyes floated in front of them, sniffed the air hungrily, and then lunged towards Hex with a loud, wordless scream, its greedy claws extended. Hex swiftly dodged the attack, her black cloak billowing behind her, as she countered with a blast of magical energy. The ghoul howled in pain as the undead magic struck it in the chest, but instead of slowing it down, it seemed to enrage the creature further. 

"SKREEAAAA!!!"

The ghoul swung its spiked ball and chain attached to the end of its body wildly through the air in a giant arc, forcing both Hex and Eon to dance out of the way to avoid being struck. Ceramic bowls exploded into shards. Flour and sugar filled the air. An egg timer ricocheted off the wall.

'Fifteen pounds is enough to do a decent amount of damage...' Hex mused to herself as the creature swung around and pounced on her, teeth snapping at the air and the ball and chain clattering on the floor. She caught both of its hands in her's as fangs closed shut inches away from her face. The ghoul's breath smelled of rot, ectoplasm, and cake batter.

"Hex!" Master Eon yelled as magic burst forth from his outstretched hand. The ghoul was knocked aside and away from its prey but it immediately rose to its full height. It howled in hunger and attacked again, saliva foaming at its mouth.

In its frenzied, feral state, the ghoul didn't realize just how hopelessly overpowered its opponents were. The Soul-Devouring Terror of Ribcage was used to inexperienced members of the undead and the occasional poorly trained lackey under Count Moneybone's employment. As the ghoul lunged, Hex and Master Eon both focused their powers, casting a series of spells that sent bolts of lightning and a cascade of conjured skulls hurtling towards their monstrous opponent. Their magic blended seamlessly as the two of the most powerful sorcerers in all of Skylands worked together in perfect harmony. The creature roared in frustration as it tried to defend itself against the onslaught, but Hex and Eon were relentless.

"Immobilize them!" Master Eon commanded.

Hex nodded. With a final incantation, the sorcerer summoned a powerful wave of dark energy that summoned a prison of bone that burst forth from the ground. The creature was instantly pinned in place, its body wracked with pain as it let out a piercing wail. Its energy drained, the ghoul was rendered helpless, and it could do nothing but thrash weakly and helplessly like a dying fish on a line. 

"State your business," Hex commanded the growling, pinned creature as she held a ball of crackling energy near their face. 

"HISSSSSSSS!!!" answered the ghoul.

"Now now, Hex. It's hard to state your business when you're hungry." Master Eon said. Already, he was pouring some ectoplasm soup from his thermos into one of the few bowls in the kitchen that remained unbroken from the onslaught. He then kneeled next to the ghoul and gently placed the bowl in front of its face.

The monster was so hungry, so ravenous and starving, that it temporarily forgot its imprisonment once it smelled the hearty stew of ectoplasm and spirits. Greedily, it ate, its face shoved into the warm liquid like a starving dog, sending droplets of green glowing ooze flying through the air as it inhaled the food. Horrendous lip smacking noises filled the room. The contents of the bowl were gone in seconds, and the ghoul rested its head on the ground, panting from the exertion.

A second bowl slid to a gentle stop near the ghoul's face.

"Take your time; I brought plenty. I'll ask you some questions when you're feeling better." Eon said.

"Hnn..hn..wa...?"

The ghoul's expression softened a bit as the ravenous hunger subsided and higher intelligence started to flood back into the creature's brain. They coughed, ectoplasm rising from their throat, as they slowly remembered how to talk. No one has asked them to say anything in a while now.

But instead of speaking, the ghoul instead devoured the contents of a second bowl of soup. Not as greedily as the first bowl - the ghoul actually grabbed onto the bowl and tilted the liquid into its mouth this time - but still just as hungry. A third bowl of ectoplasm soup was already waiting for them before the second one was finished. 

Eon and Hex patiently watched the ghoul in silence as it ate the third bowl, then the fourth bowl, and then the fifth. With each finished meal, the ghoul changed. This creature, still pinned to the ground by a fortress of bone, became less like a slobbering, feral beast in a fugue state and more like a person. When the wooden bowl clattered to the floor for the fifth time, the creature was holding their head in their hands, like the sudden onset of lucidity was causing them physical pain.

"Do you want Hex to free you so you can get more comfortable?"

"Nnn...hhh...no, I'm fff...fine...I'm fine. I'm fine. Fine." 

The words were hesitant at first, like the ghoul was remembering how to talk as they went along. The ghoul also seemed unsure about their own voice. Their brow was furrowed, and they tentatively sounded out some vowels to themselves. The ghoul held out a hand in front of its face and tentatively wiggled its clawed fingers as if seeing its own body for the first time.

They didn't want to ask for freedom yet. As the ghoul regained their humanity, they remembered that they weren't supposed to be a ghoul.

Despite the ghoul's pleas, Hex, her eyes still watching the creature with her stern, emotionless look on her face, made a gentle motion with her hand and the bone prison shimmered and melted away like a fading summer's memory. The ghoul didn't move from his spot. Those piercing yellow eyes that once glared at both Eon and Hex with malevolence and hatred were now wet with unshed tears.

Master Eon leaned down and placed a hand on the ghoul's shoulder.

"Do you have a name?"

Master Eon's voice was calm, patient. Understanding. 

"I should have a name..." the ghoul replied, a sob escaping from the back of their throat. They...He - he remembered that part - HE dragged a hand across his face as he lay there pitifully on his stomach. Everything felt wrong.  "But I can't remember it. Can't remember much of anything..."

Eon took out his thermos and poured out another bowl of soup.

"What would you like us to call you?"

The ghoul accepted more food and pulled himself into a sitting position. Chains rattled behind him and then around him as his unnatural tail - his punishment for his monstrous acts - formed a small, tight, protective circle around his body.

"What were they calling me...?"

As Master Eon stirred the soup with his antique soup ladle, he unfolded the piece of parchment from his satchel and squinted at the various titles written on the ghoul's rap sheet. "The Soul-Devouring Terror. The Fall of Ribcage. The Ghost Gobbler. The Ghost Eater. The Ghost Roaster. The Ghost Ender. The Nightmare Beast. The Spirit Shredder-"

"I like Ghost Roaster." The ghoul said glumly, choosing the least monstrous out of the list. It was starting to dawn on him that he just tried to kill and eat Master Eon, the most famous Portal Master in all of Skylands, a couple of minutes ago. He grabbed the bowl that was handed to him and stared down at the tasty, nourishing broth.

"I remember...roasting things? Before all of this..."

Master Eon remembered the cake mixture on the ground. There was a natural talent there, he recalled. Perhaps this ghoul had a hobby in cooking?

"Ghost Roaster it is."

"This could use a little basil and maybe half a clove of garlic..." Ghost Roaster said to himself without thinking as he examined his bowl of soup, confirming Master Eon's suspicions. This was the first serving where Ghost Roaster was using a spoon, stolen from The Spirits Tavern's storage.

"What do you remember?"

Ghost Roaster gnawed lightly on the spoon and racked his brain.

"I remember..."

Then the memory struck him and the spoon fell from numbed fingers.

Hot fire. Burning. Back arching. Muscles twitching. Cry of pain. Guts rearranging. Sinew ripping, tearing, reforming into new shapes. Cry for help. Mouth forced open as teeth kept growing. Growing. Skin melting. Reshaping. Hair falling. Legs growing. Fusing. Needles of lava piercing head. Writhing. Screaming. Howling. Hunger. Starving. Famished. Hunger hunger hungry hunger hunger-

"...pain." was the only word that fell out of his mouth. He looked down at his hands again, at his claw-tipped hands made out of yellowed bone, and then looked up at Master Eon. A raw and powerful disgust enveloped his body as his chest tightened. When he asked the question now burning in his mind, his voice sounded weak. Fragile. 

"Is...is there a way to change me back?"

For the first time this entire trip, Hex's face showed emotion. She - as well as Master Eon - winced as if struck as Ghost Roaster looked up at both of them with pleading eyes. When neither of them answered Ghost Roaster's question fast enough - how could they answer such a loaded question? - he tossed the bowl away from him as his emotions got the better of him. 

"Answer me! There has to be, right?" Ghost Roaster yelled, his voice shaking. His trembling hands grasped at Master Eon's cloak.

"I-I'm not supposed to be like this! I was something else and-and-and but then I tripped! -and I fell a long way and now...now I'm a monster! I don't want to be stuck like this! What if I hurt anyone else!? What if-" 

"I know how you feel."

Ghost Roaster's complaints died on his lips. "What...?"

Hex repeated herself. 

"I know how you feel." 

Hex turned her head and looked off to the distance as her voice became pained.

"Years ago, I too became a monster. I too was hunted." 

Ghost Roaster gazed at her in shock. He let go of Master Eon's cloak. Master Eon gently placed a hand on Ghost Roaster's shoulder but the ghoul didn't feel it.

"I was also cursed to join the Undead against my will, long ago. I hated myself too, at first. My skin was cold, my heart was still. I was a living corpse, forever tainted by undeath. I was abandoned by the people I once protected. Hunted by the people I once protected."

Hex turned her head to look at Ghost Roaster. Their eyes met. 

"I have wasted years trying to find a cure for my transformation. What I learned...is that the most common solution for an undead curse is destruction. You have been changed permanently and the sooner you make peace with that, the better."

But then, in a rare moment, Hex smiled.

"But you don't have to suffer your curse alone."

Hex held out her hand towards Ghost Roaster. Ghost Roaster, misreading her gesture and forgetting that handshakes exist, rushed over to her and instead swept her up in a hug. 

Hex awkwardly floated there, arm still outstretched, constricted in a rib-bruising embrace, as the ghoul that once tried to eat her was now loudly sobbing into her shoulder. She could feel her shoulder become wet with tears. 

Master Eon walked up to both of them, a warm smile playing on his lips. Hex shot Master Eon a look that screamed "do something!"

So Master Eon did the thing he was most known for.

"Have you considered joining the Skylanders, Ghost Roaster?"

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

Count Moneybone sat at his mahogany desk in his office, organizing paperwork. The soft glow of the chandelier above him (for Moneybone had a chandelier in almost every room of his manor) cast a warm light on various office plants and stacks of paper from the various undead towns and provinces that surrounded him. Politics was rapidly becoming a fun pastime for him but bureaucracy also took up lots of room in his office. 

'Mental note - hire a secretary,' Count Moneybone thought to himself as he sipped on a cup of tea, and that was when the door loudly burst open, sending some of his paperwork flying. Count Moneybone, his floral printed teacup still hovering near his mouth, narrowed his eyes as Master Eon triumphantly entered the room in a flurry of blue robes and greying facial hair. 

"Well!?" Count Moneybone asked, mildly annoyed. "Did you take care of the ghoul?"

Someone behind Master Eon cleared his throat. A spiked ball and chain dragged itself and dug grooves across Count Moneybone's plush purple carpets as Ghost Roaster, still signing official paperwork marked with Master Eon's signature with Master Eon's favorite fountain pen, floated into the room.

"He did, yes."

Count Moneybone said nothing as his teacup fell from his hands to the floor.

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

End

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Do you have any recommendations on Dr. Who books/audio format things? I haven't watched the show in a bit because Moffat wasn't my thing and I can't seem to find the old stuff. (If you have any advice on where to find that too I would be very grateful) Following your blog has been a nice reminder of why I liked the show so much. Hope you have a good day!

Aw thank you! Depending on your location, you can find classic who episodes either on BBC iPlayer or Tubi (with ads).

As for books/audios, I'll try to keep this brief as I could write an essay on this.

For books, my favorite author is Kate Orman. Orman writes wonderfully, and my personal favorite is The Year of the Intelligent Tigers. I also really liked Goth Opera, Camera Obscure, History 101, Autumn Mist, Lungbarrow, Divided Loyalties, Somewhere Never etc etc etc etc (so many more but I'm forcing myself to stop here). You can often find free versions of basically every novel (at least all I've looked for) on the internet either as pdfs or epubs or whatever. The Internet Archive is particularly useful. Some examples:

And now for the audios! I personally have sold my soul to Big Finish. I have literally hundreds of recommendations. They do have some audios for free, such as those that came from the Paul Spragg Memorial Competition. You can also find a lot of them (up until Zagreus I think) for free on Spotify. There is also almost always a killer sale going on on the website on top of that too.

As for my recommendations, it's pretty dependent on what Doctor or companion you want to listen to. They even have series centered on UNIT, Romana's Gallifrey, Benny Summerfield, and a ton of other things (including a Masterful special that just had a bunch of Masters fucking around and finding out). I'll put in some of my favorites, one for each Doctor, from what I own (which is far from everything, but I do my best).

One: The Sontarans. It was the first time the Doctor had ever encountered the Sontarans, so he was unfamiliar with them. It takes place during Dalek Master Plan, so Steven and Sara are there.

Two: Lords of the Red Planet! It's a good Ice Warrior origin story and has Jamie and Zoe in it. :)

Three: Terror of the Master. I had pre-ordered it as soon as I heard about it. Three....Delgado Master....what more do you want from an audio? It's narrated by Jon Culshaw.

Four: The Wrath of the Iceni. It was a brilliant historical with Four and Leela and Boudica. Leela gets quite a lesson in this one, first being mad at Four for not helping Boudica and then at Boudica for being cruel.

Okay now we are getting into my favorite Doctors (5-8), so these decisions are going to get difficult.

Five: The Kingmaker! Shakespeare spikes Five's drink to get him absolutely wasted to sneak on the TARDIS, the TARDIS gets hiccups as a result, leading to Peri and Erimem being separated from the Doctor. Shenanigans ensue.

Six: Doctor Who and the Pirates. Six and Evelyn have a really meaningful discussion with one of her depressed students. The third part is a musical!

Seven: The Shadow of the Scourge. Benny Ace and Seven against 8th dimensional eldritch abominations. Seven gets turned into one of these insectoids, and body horror ensues.

Eight: Oh dear I can't choose. At the moment, probably the Great War from Dark Eyes 1. Eight meets Molly and is still grieving here. He is very much doomed by the narrative.

War: The Neverwhen. Lots of the War Doctor is good if you like Time War horror, but this one has a lot of time-as-a-weapon and is well written.

Nine: Battle Scars. A nice short story about that one family Nine saved from the Titanic mentioned in the episode Rose. Has a really fantastic girl in it and a Nine dripping in PTSD.

Ten: The Time Reaver. Ten and Donna! There's this gun that basically slows down time for a single person, so that a few minutes for everyone else is centuries for them. Ten is a self sacrificing dope.

Eleven: The Geronimo boxset is the best in my opinion, but I haven't been able to listen to many of these yet.

Twelve: Another one I haven't managed to buy a lot of yet, but Dead Media is amazing. It's written to sound like a podcast with adverts and everything and is set during his time at St. Luke's. And I cried at the end.

Anyway, I'll shut up now. This was so much fun! Thank you!

[atinylittlepain]

Your Creed, My Quest - Chapter 1

Din Djarin x jedi!reader/jedi!oc

series masterlist

Traveling the galaxy being chased by bounty hunters is starting to wear her patience. Will they be able to put an end to the hunt for the kid? Or will her newfound powers unfurl greater destruction?

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst, eventual smut

..........................

She’s getting tired of bounty hunters. It seems like it will never end, this relentless stream of people seeking the child, all carrying one of those damn tracking beacons. It would be foolish to travel to her master now, with mercenaries constantly hot on their trail, so they’ve been switchbacking through the outer reaches of the galaxy, dealing with danger as it arises. While she and Din have no problem dispatching these hunters, it’s getting more and more difficult for her to resist the whispers of power, to resist using the Force in this newfound and reckless way. 

It was one of the last things her master advised her on. A Jedi must not get attached to anyone or anything, lest their emotions muddle the clarity of their relationship to the Force, the only relationship they are allowed to maintain. Emotion breeds disorder when it is not restrained, but she is struggling to do just that whenever the child or Din are in danger. It’s like a live wire of electricity running through her, jolting her into action before she can even think, the energy in her body amalgamating with the sole intention to protect those who had been mere strangers not too many moons ago.

She knows that she is making herself a target, such concentrated Force is easily tracked, and in turn is putting her companions in greater danger. This is perhaps the only thing giving her some restraint in her powers, but she has still slipped up many times, Din always seeming to watch in quiet shock when she does lose control.

Something has changed in her, something unsettling itself, and during their long jaunts through hyperspace, her mind swims in worry, eyes darting between Din’s sleeping figure in the pilot’s seat and the child dozing in the bassinet. 

It’s during such a moment that she’s startled out of her thoughts by an incoming comms message, Din shuffling awake to the sound just as the holovid begins.The last person she wanted to see on the comm was Greef Karga, but even she has to admit that his proposition is intriguing, to return to Nevarro and put an end to all the bounty hunters seeking out the child. By the way Din tilts his helmet to look at her, it’s clear that he feels the same, already charting a course back to Nevarro on his nav system.

She knows this won’t be easy. Whoever the client is who so desperately wants the child, she knows he is part of what remains of the imperial forces, and that if she reveals her powers in Nevarro, she will become just as big of a target as the child is.

“You should get some rest. We’ll be in Nevarro before long.” Din has twisted in his seat to look at her, snapping her out of her swimming head. She clears her throat, nodding as she stands and shuffles over to the child’s bassinet to take him with her for a nap, but Din interrupts her movements.

“You can leave him with me. I’ll watch him. It’s hard to sleep when he’s crawling all over you.” That makes her smile as she turns from the bassinet back to Din. It was nearly impossible to sleep for long with the child in her bunk, constantly being woken up by searching hands and fussy coos.

“Um, alright. Thank you– I’ll just sleep for a little while. You should get some rest too.” He nods at her words, and she goes to exit the cockpit, but he clears his throat and stops her in her tracks.

“Are you– feeling ok?” Her heart seizes at that. 

They had a tough run-in the day before, and she had killed another man. It had scared her, and she thinks it had scared Din too, how she had willed the man’s body into a rockface, slamming him into it so hard that his neck snapped on impact. He had Din on the ground, his boot pressing into his neck and a blaster aimed right at him, and that whisper had moved her to a violence she had never known. She had crumpled down to her knees immediately after, shaking all over in shock, but also something else, something righteous. It terrified her, and she didn’t speak the rest of the day, only sending a comms link to her master late in the night, begging for guidance.

“I’m fine. Just tired. But ready to put a stop to these bounty hunters.” She tries to sound convincing, squaring up her shoulders as best she can, and Din seems to accept her answer, nodding before turning back around in his seat.

In her bunk, her sleep is light and fitful. She dreams only of the dead.

…

“Hey. I just told you to stop that. You need to stay put.” The kid stills in his movements, Din having caught him about to hop out of his bassinet, again. He had nearly made it all the way to the ladder down to the hull, twice, and Din had picked him up both times and tucked him back in his spot in the cockpit, telling him firmly that they needed to let her rest, alone. 

The truth is, he’s worried about her, a feeling Din is not used to having about other people. There are newly dark circles under her eyes, and she seems constantly distracted, until they’re in combat, and then she finds some new way to shock him every time with her power.

Din didn’t think that he could really like people. Sure, he could tolerate folks long enough to get a job done, and he could respect others for their skill or position. But this is different. He’s grown to enjoy her company in the cockpit, her presence puts him at ease, even if they are both sparse talkers. And watching her take care of the kid sets a feeling off in his chest that he has trouble even defining. He likes her, and he’s worried about her, and he knows this will probably be a huge mistake.

The kid tilts his head at him, letting out a high-pitched “eh?” Din sighs.

“You really like her, don’t you, kid?” The child blows a raspberry at that, slumping back in his bassinet with a huff. 

“She’ll be up soon. Can you wait here with me until then?” It becomes clear that the kid cannot wait when, a few minutes later, Din’s attention is jerked around by the sound of a muffled thud, followed by the kid’s light whimpers that threaten to turn into full blown cries. He’s quick to pick up the child where he had tipped right out of his bassinet, shushing him as he’s already walking over to the ladder down to the hold. At least she got some rest alone.

As he reaches the bottom rung of the ladder, he stops, his ears pricking at the sound of another voice, one that isn’t hers. The hatch to her bunk is cracked just slightly, and he can see the glow of a holovid from the opening.

“It is natural for you to make these mistakes. You are young, and still a student. But you must not let mistakes bloom into darkness. These feelings will come, but you must not get attached to them, or violence is sure to follow.”

“I understand, master Tano. But it is unlike anything I have experienced before. It doesn’t feel like darkness exactly, but it still scares me.”

“It never feels like darkness at first. Trust me, this is a slippery path you find yourself on. Take care of the child, of course. You may even protect your new companion. But do so from a pure intention of duty, not from the tangled web of affection.”

“Yes, master Tano, I will not fail you. May the Force be with you.” “And with you, my student.” With the soft click of the transmission ending, Din rushes back up the ladder, the child making questioning grunts still held in his arms. His mind is a haze as he gets back into the cockpit, ignoring the child’s indignant whines as he tucks him back into the bassinet. She had been talking with her master, and it didn’t sound good to him. 

A few words stand out to him, the way they both talked about a darkness, was that what he was seeing happening to her? Was it like a kind of illness for Jedis? But then his mind darts to their discussion of feelings, and the affection her master referenced. Affection for the kid? For him? She’s a tough one to read, as quiet and reserved as he is, but could she be feeling the same thing that he is? And why would that be so bad? Is there some rule against Jedis liking people? 

He has to shake his head to clear these troubling questions away. He should never have listened to her conversation in the first place, and shame creeps hot up his neck that he did. He doesn’t have much time to roll all this over in his mind before she’s rejoining them in the cockpit, immediately moving over to the bassinet where the kid is doing little hops at the sight of her. She scoops him up in one arm before sitting down in the co-pilot’s seat.

“Did he give you any trouble?” He swears the kid cocks a wispy eyebrow at him before he answers her question.

“No, not at all. He slept almost the whole time.” 

“Patu.” She breathes out a laugh at the kid’s babbling. Din didn’t know a baby could be such a smartass.

“Well, I can take care of things up here now if you wanna go get some rest too.” He glances again at the kid, who’s looking all too smug as he nuzzles his tiny cheek into her arm. He nods, checking the nav system one more time before standing from the pilot’s seat to head down to the hull.

“Din?” He stops in the doorway. He’s still not used to it, hearing his name in her voice.

“Thank you. For, uh, babysitting.” He huffs out a small laugh at that.

“It was no trouble. Come get me if any problems arise, alright?” There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips as she nods. 

When he lays down in his bunk, he dreams only of that smile.

…

She doesn’t like the way the ugnaught looks at her, like he knows what she is without her having to give anything away. She supposes that he would be able to tell, given that he served under the imperial order during the time of the Great Jedi Purge. She holds no animosity toward him, knowing that he was enslaved, another pawn in that insidious game. But she still doesn’t like the clear recognition she sees beneath his bushy brows as they cross the barren plains of Nevarro, being led by Greef and two of his lackeys.

The night before had been restless, reptavians wreaking havoc on their encampment in the blank darkness. It had caused her physical pain, restraining herself from giving in to the whisper to use her power, uselessly shooting her blaster into the air like the rest of them. It almost felt like a sick joke when, immediately after, the child exposed his own abilities in healing a gash across Greef’s arm. She had felt Din’s attention on her the whole time, but she didn’t dare acknowledge it for fear of what her face might give away.

Now, in the bleak light of day, she feels dizzy with the power she refuses to tap into, her lack of sleep certainly not helping anything as she shuffles limply toward the town, toward the client, and toward an end to the constant danger the child has been in.

As they reach a crested hill and see the town before them, the plan is laid for she and Greef to present Din to the client as a captured bounty, before taking care of what Greef has assured them will only be a few guards. Kuiil is already bounding back to the Crest with the child as they survey the town.

She can’t believe that she didn’t catch it. Foresight had never been her strong suit, but she was usually able to anticipate next moves, so when Greef’s two grunts turn on them, she’s lucky that Greef has a change of heart and guns them down before they can shoot while she stands there, slack-jawed and shocked at her own unresponsiveness. She can feel Din’s focus on her again, but she keeps her eyes on his wrists as she cuffs him, willing herself to pull the loose threads inside her back together.

“You ok?” It’s a crackly whisper coming through the voice modulator of his helmet. The cuffs click into place with a hiss, and her nostrils flare as she tries to calm herself, Din’s concerned question doing nothing to help. She huffs, finally looking at him and nodding tightly.

“I’m fine. Ready to get this done.”

As they move through the city, it’s clear to her that Greef had been undershooting his estimate of “just a few guards” by a considerable amount. The streets are teeming with troopers and it’s doing nothing to help the crackling she was already feeling under her skin.

It shocks her, to see the man, the client, in his full imperial regalia, emblems of an order that all but destroyed her kind. The whisper gets louder as they enter the tavern, a fierce flame crawling up her spine. 

“I have not seen you before, girl. From where do you come?” She struggles to find an answer to the old man’s question, but Greef is quick to save her.

“She’s one of the best hunters around. I had her on an assignment on Tattoine for quite some time. She has only just returned to this neck of the galaxy. And lucky for us, seeing as she managed to finally bag this one.” Greef motions to Din who is sitting next to him in the booth, his cuffed hands in his lap. Luckily, his words draw the client’s attention away from her and onto her so-called “bounty.” 

“Yes. Lucky for us indeed. But what a shame things must go this way. Mandalorians are such a noble race, but I fear it has been their downfall.” To anyone else, it would appear that Din doesn’t react at all to the man’s words, but from where she’s standing next to the booth, she can see the way his gloved fingers flex. 

The man finally shifts his attention to the closed pram hovering alongside her, the pram that she knows is empty. But before he can examine it, one of the troopers comes to let him know there is a call for him. As he moves over to the bar to take the message, Din slips his wrists out of the cuffs, Greef handing him his blaster. Her own gun sits in the holster belted around her tac pants. She hopes it will not come to this, but, for the first time in a while, she has brought out her sabers, tucking them inside her vest to keep them hidden. It is a comfort to her to have them with her, but she knows that wielding them must only be her last resort.

“We have the baby. It is sleeping.” 

“Are you certain? I would, perhaps, check again.” Her blood runs cold at the man’s words coming through over the holovid, but there’s little time to think on it before blaster fire is bombarding the tavern, bursting the windows and killing the man and several of the troopers as they all scatter for cover.

It’s over as soon as it begins, silence descending on the bodies strewn over the tavern floor. She and Din press up against the wall along the now blasted-through windows, Greef sidled up across from them. She glances out, seeing a blurred array of stormtroopers in the town square.

“You have something that I want.” Her eyes dart to Din. It’s the same voice from the holovid.

The man continues speaking, of the child’s power, of how they cannot fathom what that power means to him, of how he knows who they are, first identifying Greef, and then Din. She’s surprised that the man knows his name, and from the looks of it, so is Din.

“Yes, Din Djarin, I am quite familiar with you. And your unique distaste for droids. Though it’s my understanding your parents weren’t fond of them either.” She turns back to Din, who has gone completely still at the man’s words.

“But there is one more among you, is there not? It embarrasses me to admit, I do not know who this one is. But certainly, she must be a formidable woman to have garnered the affection of a Mandalorian hunter. I’d rather not have to kill such an intriguing individual without first making her acquaintance.” Her stomach twists at his echoing words, heat rising to her face at his insinuation. She can’t look at Din, not now, or she really will unravel.

“The reason you are all still alive is simple. I still require you to give me what I want. If you come out and comply, you will be spared. If you do not, you will leave me no choice but to bring your lives to an insignificant end. I will give you till nightfall to decide.” Her mind races as she looks to Greef, and then to Din.

“Is the child safe?” Din sighs.

“I wasn’t able to patch over to Kuiil. But we’d be dead by now if he had already taken the kid.” Greef huffs.

“Who is he? And where did he get all this firepower?” She presses her lips into a thin line, having no answer to his question.

“It’s Moff Gideon.” The name means nothing to her, but Greef scoffs at Din’s words.

“Moff Gideon was executed as a war criminal.” 

“No, he wasn’t. It has to be him. He knows my name. The only record of that name was in the records of Mandalore when I was pledged to the Creed as a foundling. Gideon was a soldier during the Great Purge, when the temple of Mandalore was seized, and all the records with it. That’s how he knows my name. It has to be him.” It’s a great deal of information coming at her all at once. She had assumed Din was born a Mandalorian, he certainly adhered to the tenets strictly enough. It shocks her to find out that he was a foundling, much like she was. 

She takes a deep breath, breaking out of her swirling thoughts to come back to their dire situation.

“Are we sure the kid is safe? Try to hail Kuiil again.” 

“Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil, do you copy?” Din looks to her as silence falls over the comms link, both of them jumping when a crackly, high-pitched gurgle patches through.

“Kuiil has been terminated.” Her heart sinks. It’s the voice of that damn, refurbished droid. Din visibly tenses as he holds his comms link closer to his helmet.

“What did you do, droid?” More crackling, and then that tinny voice.

“I did what I am programmed to do. Nurse and protect.” The comm clicks, leaving them in silence, but not for long, as her ears prick to a faint whirring sound that seems to be getting louder and closer.

The explosion sends all of them staggering on their feet. She cocks her blaster, peering out the window, and her heart clenches at the sight. IG-11 is laying down troopers hard, with the child strapped to its metal chest. The whispers she had been tamping down are rolling over her, every fiber of her being lit up. Her head whips around to Din.

“I have to get him. Cover me.” She shoulders out into the fray, Din and Greef hot on her tail as they start taking out troopers left and right. It’s a messy swirl of blaster fire as she tries to get to the droid, though she has to admit it seems to be holding its own pretty well all while keeping the child safe against its chest. 

She focuses on picking off troopers on the periphery of the droid, but her fingers are itching at how useless she feels, the whisper becoming a constant thrum in her head. Then she sees Din struggling against a dark trooper, and she can hold herself back no longer. She drops her blaster, pulling out both her sabers as she darts toward him. It’s a faint noticing in the back of her mind as she slices clean through the dark trooper. What once were her clear, brilliant, blue blades are now a dark, violent, purple.

The whisper becomes a scream.

…

He hears her before he sees her. A whirring woosh like rushing electricity, and then a purple flare as the dark trooper before him is toppled to the ground, split in half. She stands before him, wielding dual sabers, something Din didn’t know was possible. He had never seen a lightsaber before now, and the sight stills him only for a moment, before she’s whirling away to run down more troopers.

He mounts one of the artillery blasters, unleashing a rain of gunfire around him, but he can’t help how his eyes keep darting back to find her form. It isn’t human, the way she’s moving. Impossible speed as she cuts through the fray and impossible precision as she takes down more troopers, a blur of violet light all the while. A dark trooper sets its sights on her, and Din aims to take it down, but she’s already leaping over its head, flipping through the air as she lands behind it with a clean slice right down its middle. Well, now she’s just showing off.

A trooper dings him in the shoulder of his armor, knocking him off the artillery blaster and into the sand. He scrambles back onto his feet, pulling out his blaster and taking out the trooper who hit him, but is knocked back again by a hit to his helmet. Gideon is coming toward him, blaster cocked just as Din aims his at him. Before Din can fire, Gideon points his gun at an ammo box near Din’s feet. 

The explosion knocks him flat onto his back, his ears ringing as he grapples for consciousness. His vision is blurred, just making out the hazy figure of Gideon coming closer to where he’s laid out, gun pointed at him. He braces for the blow at the sound of the blaster firing, eyes scrunched shut. But it never comes, and when he opens his eyes, vision coming clearer, he sees something extraordinary. Gideon is continuing to fire at him, but the blaster shots, as they rush toward Din, are getting bent off course, swinging down into the ground or off to the side. Gideon looks beyond perplexed, but then his eyes dart away from Din. 

He cranes his neck from where he’s crumpled on the ground, his breath stuttering when he sees her, now holding only one of her sabers, her other hand held up, palm open. Gideon points his blaster at her, firing once, but with a wave of her wrist she crooks the gunfire off course, instead hitting another trooper. He goes to fire at her again, but this time she closes her palm into a fist and Gideon cries out, dropping his blaster and cradling his now bent hand to his chest as he keels over in pain.

Din feels like time stops as he watches her moving singularly toward Gideon, flicking away oncoming troopers with the smallest twitch of her fingers. When she comes upon the bent over form of Gideon, her arm stretches out toward him, palm closing into a crook as Gideon is forced to stand up straight before her. 

He thinks to himself that it’s impossible, something of lore, but he can come up with no other explanation to what he sees. Gideon’s eyes are bulging out of his skull as he claws at his neck. Din glances down and sees that his feet are barely on the ground, the toes of his boots skittering to find purchase. She raises her outstretched arm just slightly, and Gideon is lifted a bit further into the air, struggling for breath. Troopers try to come to their master’s aid, but with a tilt of her head, they’re sent hurtling away. Din has heard enough myths, enough history, to know that what she is doing is forbidden, an action that left Jedis exiled and stripped of their title. He also knows that what she is doing demands an unfathomable amount of power, a power not many people know of, a power on the edge of darkness. He is witnessing her do something he didn’t think he’d ever witness in his lifetime.

He is witnessing a Force choke.

…

There is nothing else but the power she feels coursing through her, like flames licking at her skin, coaxing her to push further, to see the light leave Gideon’s eyes. Part of her still screams against this power, this darkness closing in, but there is too much anger flowing through her to fight it. 

It’s his shout that finally breaks through the darkness, through to her. She snaps out of it immediately, releasing Gideon to fall to the ground, heaving in the dust as she turns around to see Din getting hauled up by his neck by a stray dark trooper. She’s on them in a flash, saber dragging hot through the trooper as Din falls to the ground on his hands and knees. Though she feels completely drained, she helps him up, slinging under his shoulder to get him back into the relative cover of the tavern, the droid and Greef close behind. 

IG-11 bolts the door shut as she props Din against the back wall, his head lolling to the side in his helmet.

“There’s a grate behind that couch. It should lead down to the sewers and you can tunnel your way out of the city.” His words are labored, fits and starts of breaths in between, but she nods, turning to look at IG-11.

“Droid, get that grate open!” The child still strapped firmly to its chest, IG-11 effortlessly moves the booth out of the way, starting to kick in the grate that seems unwilling to budge. Her attention is brought back to Din when he wraps a gloved hand around her wrist.

“You have to go without me. I’m done. I’ll just slow you down.” Just then, a hard pounding begins on the door of the tavern. She struggles to keep her focus on Din.

“You’re not done. I’m not going to leave you here.” The door busts open, a burst of flames coming through into the tavern. Din squeezes her wrist.

“Take the child. I can hold them off for you to escape. This is how I am meant to die. This is the way.” Another swath of flames blows into the tavern, a trooper coming into the doorway. She’s afraid to use her own abilities to fight him off, afraid of getting pulled back under a current of darkness.

“I’m not leaving you, Din.” They all freeze as the trooper opens fire again, flamethrower blowing a blinding plume of fire toward them, and she braces for their end. But it doesn’t come. The flames are being held off, but not by her. She looks down and sees that somehow the kid has slipped his pack, standing in front of her and Din with his small hands outstretched toward the flames. With a minute sway of his hands, the flames are suddenly being sent back the way they came, triggering an explosion that shakes the building. The kid, meanwhile, has slumped down into himself, eyes barely open from the exertion. She’s quick to pick him up, moving over to the droid that has just busted open the grate. 

“Take him and go. We’ll catch up to you.” She slips the child back into the droid’s pack, looking between it and Greef one more time before they’re ducking into the grate opening and she’s turning back around to DIn. 

“You should go.” She kneels down next to him.

“Stop saying that. Where are you injured?” He lets out a pained sigh.

“It’s my head– I think. I can feel the blood pooling in my helmet.” She immediately brings her hands to lift off his helmet, but he stops her with firm fingers wrapping around both her wrists.

“Din.”

“No. I must never show my face to another living being. This is the way.” She’s getting really tired of this way he keeps talking about.

“Would you rather die than break this damn vow?” She realizes it’s a dumb question, because of course he would choose death. She huffs before he can answer.

“Well I’m not giving you that choice. I won’t tell anyone I saw a Mandalorian’s face. But I won’t let you die if I can help it.” His hands slacken around her wrists, seeming to give in to her will as she carefully lifts off his helmet. She takes a sharp inhale when their eyes meet for the first time. Deep brown eyes, strong nose, scruffy jaw. She has to blink her eyes a few times to refocus as she checks over his skull for bleeding.

There’s something new rising in her. It’s not a whisper, more like a tide of energy, something less volatile, something she knows isn’t darkness. She closes her eyes, her palms cupping his skull as she lets the tide wash over her. This power isn’t the same lashing that she had let take her before, frantic and demanding. This is steady, pulsing, moving like flaming waves through her body. When she opens her eyes again, Din’s breathing has steadied, the bleeding across the back of his head has stopped, the gash completely healed. Where his eyes had been hazy and unfocused, they’re now clear, searching her face.

Neither of them speak as he puts his helmet back on and she helps him get to his feet, both of them dropping down through the grate and into the sewers. Greef and the droid have not made it far, and they hurry to catch up with them.

“The covert is this way, I think. They’ll be able to direct us out of here.” He is clearly still weak, but Din’s voice is firm as he starts to lead them down one of the tunnels. 

All that’s left of the Mandalorian covert are abandoned helmets, and the armorer who is salvaging the scraps. 

“I see you have made friends of our people’s enemies. A Mandalorian traveling with Jedis. It is a new galaxy afterall.” Her jaw ticks at the armorer’s pointed words. 

She is familiar with the Mandalorian-Jedi War, the conflict that destroyed the planet of Mandalore and swore Jedis and Mandalorians as eternal foe. It was part of the reason why she concealed her identity from Din in the first place. Truthfully, when he had discovered what she is, she had been entirely prepared to kill him, anticipating that historic animosity, and instead being surprised by his willingness to continue traveling with her and the child. But that is not what bothers her most about the armorer’s words. She had called her a Jedi, a title she now knows she will never bear, not after what she did to Moff Gideon. 

“This creature is a foundling. He must remain in your care until you return him to his own kind.” The armorer’s words snap her back to the present moment and she steps forward to address her.

“That is my quest. I am to bring the child to my master so he may begin his training.” The armorer’s helmet tilts slightly between her and Din.

“You must work together then. It is your quest, and his creed.” With that, the armorer fuses a beskar emblem, a signet, into the shoulder of Din’s armor. A mudhorn skull. He had told her about that day, how the child had suspended the beast in the air, saving him from death. 

“Follow the descending tunnel, it will lead to the underground river that flows out to the lava flats.”

…

He places one more rock over Kuiil’s grave before standing with a sigh and walking back to the hull of the Crest. They managed to escape, barely. Not without losing the droid, it sacrificing itself in the face of ambushing troopers, and not without sending Moff Gideon’s aircraft spiraling to the plains of Nevarro. Watching the explosion had brought a bit of peace to Din as they began their trek back to the Crest, Greef staying behind to clean up the mess they left in the city.

She’s hardly spoken since they’ve gotten back to the Crest, only quiet murmurs to the child here and there. Din still can’t quite believe what he saw, what she did to Gideon, and what she did for him, trying to reconcile the dark and the light of her. 

As he enters the hull, he stops immediately at the sight of her putting on her pack, the child watching her with a crumpled expression of worry.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks like you’re leaving.” She stills in her movements, turning around to look at him, her expression set and steeled.

“I am. I must leave the child with you. My quest is over. I have failed.” He can’t believe her words, and lets out a breathy laugh. Surely she must be kidding.

“What are you talking about? The kid is finally safe! You have to bring him to your–”

“I can never face my master again. Not after what I did today. Din, there is a darkness in me. A darkness I cannot control.” He moves before he really knows what he’s doing, striding toward her and taking her downturned face into his hands, forcing her to look up into his visor.

“There is darkness in everyone. But you– you saved me today, multiple times. And you saved the kid too.” She shakes her head in his hold.

“That may be true. But what I did to Gideon– it is unforgivable to my kind. If these were the high times of the Jedi, I would be exiled for performing such an act, or worse. It is something only the darkest wielders of the Force do.”

“Maybe that’s true. But you said it yourself. These aren’t those times. And maybe what you did came from darkness, but I can tell you it also came from something else, something burning so bright inside of you.” He’s not sure where his words come from, just that he means them as he continues to speak.

“What you did– you did for me. That wasn’t darkness. That was– I don’t know what– but it wasn’t darkness.” He does know what it was, but he’s too afraid to say it out loud.

“The way you healed me? You can’t tell me that was darkness.” She’s still silent, but her expression softens at that. He holds her face a little firmer.

“That kid needs you. Jedi or not, your quest isn’t over.” She sighs, curling her hands around his wrists as he still cups her face.

“Your creed, my quest. Right?” His heart kicks up in his chest at her words, and he nods.

“That’s right. We’re in this together.” Her next move deeply surprises him, drawing a breathy “oof” out of him as she wraps her arms around his torso, tugging him into a hard hug, a feeling he hasn’t experienced since before he started wearing the Mandalorian armor. He tentatively brings his palms to her back, her cheek pressed against his chest plate as she quietly murmurs to him.

“At least we won’t have to be apostates alone.” All he can do is let out a tight laugh at that, tamping down the simmering anxiety at the truth of her words as he holds her a little closer. 

The moment is quickly over, however, as they’re interrupted by the sound of whiny gurgles. She pulls away from him with a sigh, both of them looking down to see the kid grabbing at her pants leg, eyes wide as he huffs at her. She laughs lightly, crouching down to scoop the kid up, his tiny hand going to her cheek as she rights herself. The kid tilts his head at her, ears twitching as he lets out what sounds to Din like a questioning babble.

“Not going anywhere, kid. I promise. We’re going to get you where you need to be.” She glances up at Din after speaking, and the kid’s eyes follow, his head craning around to look up into his visor. They’re still standing close enough that when the kid removes his hand from her cheek, he can easily reach out and pat Din’s chest plate, a small “eh?” leaving his wobbling mouth.

“She’s right, kid. We’ll take care of you. Together.” 

................................

taglist: @totallynotastanacc @mymindfuckery @wrathofcats

[dokk-fukuro]

Shrift [Fyodor Dostoevsky x f!Reader]

A/N: mentioned of female genitals, smut, slight degradation, orgasm denial, aphrodisiac, some sort of dubcon.

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

The instinct of self-preservation is only half of the requirements that are necessary to avoid problems. A sense of tact and banal politeness can also help prevent worse outcomes, but not for me, apparently, because I still don’t quite understand what I did to deserve the fate of being a prisoner in some damp basement. How long have I been here, what am I for, and who is my kidnapper? I don't know the answer to any of these questions. However, sometimes it is better not to think about such things, especially if the fantasy is rich. And yet, how could a thug from the Black Lizards unit be useful to someone? I only know how to kill. A kid picked up from the slums, taken from his parents who didn't care about me or my brothers. From us it was possible to blind anything, so they blinded. But none of us complain about it. Life in the mafia is not so bad, at least it's better than stealing and getting punished if we get caught.

Twilight reigns in the basement where I sit. Almost nothing is visible here, but even subtle sounds echo. All this time, it seems to me that I became a target simply by accident. Whether they torture me or not doesn't really matter. After all, my comrades most likely abandoned me, and none of them even look for me. In my mind, I apologize to Gin, who instilled in me the will to fight no matter what, to Higuchi and Akutagawa-san. I can't escape, they don't know where to look for me, so leaving me to my fate is the best decision they can make.

I hear someone's steps. It doesn't bother me, it doesn't confuse me. I was preparing for this moment. Now the one who will torment me will appear before me. In exchange for what? Not a single idea comes to mind what anyone might need from a Black Lizard fighter. We all know only what will be useful. We are not initiated into the details, and no one asks for more. Everyone is satisfied.

“It was not easy to drag you here, but the Master ordered.” I hear a voice. I raise my head to see the one in front of me. A pale, slender young man appears in the light of the lamp. It's hard to say for sure how old he is. His wide smile from ear to ear is a little unsettling and reminds me of the times Higuchi saw Akutagawa-san at the end of the corridor. She always frightened me much more than this freak with a bandaged head, who keeps looking at me with unblinking eyes. “And his wishes are my command. Tell me, darling, are your hands numb?”

I frown, trying to guess who put me in the basement and why. And only at the moment when this someone voiced, I realize that I can’t lift a finger. The blood has drained from the limbs, so they almost don't feel like my own. For the first time I wanted to cry like a little girl, ask questions, burst into three streams of tears, but I suppress these desires in myself. This shouldn’t be in my nature, otherwise shame on me as a fighter of the Black Lizards.

"What do you need me for?" Still, I can't resist asking a question. The young man in front of me squints contentedly, as if he had been waiting for this moment. True, he definitely does not like that his question is ignored. I get punched in the stomach, knocking all the air out of my lungs.

"I think I asked a question. It's impolite of you to leave it unanswered," he reminds me, but before he clearly wants to hit me again, I hear someone else's steps. Someone in front of me abruptly stops and clears the passage, standing near me. Clearing my throat, I raise my head to see the one in front of me. Pale, black-haired, with a snow-white cap on his head. His purple eyes are dead, as if there is no sign of life behind them. Even in Akutagawa-san's eyes, I didn't see that. He has a little life in them.

Silence reigns. No one says a word and it honestly pisses me off, which is pretty amazing. After an indefinite time of silence around, I hear someone's voices, and now, when silence is around again, I want to scream. Why was everyone silent? The silence feels like torture.

There is a stir on my right as a young man with a bandaged head moves away, leaving me alone with the man who entered after him. Compared to me, he is tall, which is even a little uncomfortable. Even Akutagawa-san, who is also taller than me, doesn't push as hard as a stranger does. His gloved hand grabs my lower jaw and squeezes it hard.

And it begins to dawn on me who is in front of me. In the meantime, I heard Kouyou-sama raging about Ace, saying that he allows himself too much. To be frank, no one liked him much. I didn't like seeing him around from time to time. Head of the Port Mafia Executive Committee. His ever-sly squint and smirk, as if he won the lottery from this life, strained. I wonder if this asshole is still alive? Most likely not. And now the one that Ace was holding back in his prison is holding me in the basement. Fyodor Dostoevsky.

“And you are not one of the talkative ones,” it only dawns on me at this moment that he has been addressing me all this time. I purse my lips and... I hear clicks above my head. Hands fall, located along the body, and rushing blood pricks unpleasantly in them. I still can't move a finger, so trying to grab the hand that's still holding my face fails miserably. But why would he release me? Even more, why does he need me?

Through simple deductions, the only completely rational thought comes to mind. I can be used as one of the possible leverage. Dostoevsky is not so stupid, and probably already knows enough about me to use it. The brothers will definitely not be able to ignore my sudden disappearance, so it will only benefit him if those whom he challenges arrive in his lair. And, it seems, with this conclusion I fall into the very “ten”. At least that's what Fyodor's grin indicates. Can he read minds? Or is my thought process so obvious to him? Most likely the second.

“You are not so stupid if you managed to figure out part of my plan so quickly,” comes to my ears in confirmation of my guess. A closer look seems to eat away my soul by the teaspoon. Under the gaze of dark purple eyes is so uncomfortable that I want to scream. I can hardly restrain myself, for which I get laughter in response. Quiet, slightly husky. The whole situation seems to amuse him.

He doesn’t say anything to me anymore, he just leads me like I’m on a leash. On the other hand, it will be better if I obey, although I have nothing to lose anymore. However, it still surprises me that no one is going to force any information out of me. Although, knowing who Fyodor Dostoevsky is, this is also not surprising. He doesn't need to torture anyone to get what he wants. He, like a rat, can penetrate anywhere, get the right information and go unnoticed. It remains only to hope that my brothers will be smart enough not to be provoked and not to be led by their emotions. This will lead to fatal errors. The mere failure to comply with the order for all of them can be very costly, to say nothing of the fact that one of my older brothers may well question the correctness of the decision taken by our leadership. If only they had enough brains...

The corridors seem the same. Only the people in them are different, so it makes no sense for me to remember the path. I walk in complete silence with Fyodor. He doesn't give any explanation, he doesn't say anything. On the other hand, it's even better. Around the next turn, the same young man with a bandaged head is waiting for us again. His thin lips curve into an ear-to-ear smile. All I hear is “So she’s ready,” but I don’t attach much importance to this, although my mind is hysterically rushing about in search of explanations. What am I ready for, what will they do with me? For the first time I am so scared that I am ready to call for help. I'm being handed over to that strange person, but I... don't mind.

There is darkness before my eyes, I can’t see where I’m going, I listen to every rustle, as if my life depends on it. However, there is some truth in this. Any of my wrong actions can entail such consequences that death seems to me the most humane solution. In front of me, someone hums a simple tune, leading me by the hand. Disorientation in space leads to the fact that I seem to almost collide with something, but I am abruptly pulled to the side with the words: “What a careless creature.” It sounds with tenderness and even some pity. I'm still not asking questions. I obviously do not need it on foreign territory. Here I am destined to play by the rules dictated by the one who runs everything. And this is Fyodor.

It looks like we're going outside. At least fresh air without a hint of dampness gives an opaque hint of it. Behind me, someone chuckles nastily, fixes my wrists, and a stabbing pain pierces my shoulder. It's like a syringe. Apparently, they decided to poison me or stuff me with something that would force me to kill my own people, and then carry myself away after them. They push me in the back and I fall onto the metal floor. Something closes behind me. The sound is similar to the doors of a truck or minivan. The rattling of the ground beneath me makes me think I've been pushed into a car and taken somewhere.

Where are we going? “I need to keep my mouth shut. How many more times do I have to repeat myself in order to remember once and for all? In answer to my question, I hear laughter. Nobody gives me a clear answer. “You will find out everything yourself,” and I begin to like it less and less. As well as the fact that I get hot, my breathing becomes heavier, and my body begins to tremble. Is this the effect of poison? Not likely. More like the effect of some kind of drug. And, what is most disgusting, the way the car is driving on obvious off-road makes the situation worse. Any bump, any unevenness in the road makes the car shake, sending vibration along my body, and the inability to see anything in front of me only aggravates the situation.

The silence around is alarming, and only somewhere in the distance is heard how someone plays the cello. Hope I'm not mistaken. But for some reason even this does not calm me; on the contrary, I start to get even more nervous, and every step becomes only more difficult to take. All sounds, smells, even a slight change in air flow - everything is felt many times brighter. I bite my lips, feeling the heat build up between my legs. I need at least some touch, at least a minimal amount of friction... no, it only makes the situation worse.

Someone else's touch on the shoulder makes me stop and breathe out noisily. I can’t think clearly, I can’t concentrate on at least one thought. My hands are behind my back, the handcuffs are unpleasantly pressing on my wrists, my clothes also seem to fetter my body. And it dawns on me what they did to me. But for some reason I'm not even horrified by the realization that I somehow don't care. My mind has been drugged, my body yearns for someone else's touch, but I don't care if it's because of what I've been injected with. Desires override common sense.

The melody gets louder and then cuts off. I hear the rustle of clothes, as someone rises from his seat. Steps. One, two, three. I shake a little when the sensation of someone else's warmth gets too close to me. Touching my hair feels good. I purse my lips, it is not clear why, I can obviously be easily read, like an open book. The door behind closes. Clicks behind the back.

“No, no, don’t take off the blindfold, it’s not time yet,” yes, he definitely sees right through me, so I let him do whatever he wants with me. Hands rest on my shoulders, and I exhale noisily. A smile is heard. “It seems that Ivan went too far with the dose. But that's even better. You're so receptive and it's so dirty. I will cleanse your body and soul from sins. Come with me.”

It's Fyodor by the voice. He languidly draws syllables, his speech is viscous like syrup, just as cloying, the touch of his gloved hands - I'm still sure that he wears them - slow, studying, and I almost squirm in his hands in impatience. Anything, please, but let this agony end. The desire, which already painfully reduces the inner side of the thighs, does not come to naught, but is only fueled by someone's touches. It is unbearable!

He takes me by the hand and leads me somewhere. Apparently, I was too immersed in the concentration on other people's touches that I notice the coolness of the air only moments later, when Dostoevsky pushes me, and I fall on the bed. It's cold, it sends goosebumps all over my body, and I can't hold my breath on the verge of a moan.

Rustling of fabric. I can't figure out if it's because I'm fidgeting in the cool bed, or if Fyodor is undressing, but his hand is touching my bare thigh. My parted lips tremble; the touches are so weightless, there are so few of them, that in this agony I am ready to beg for more. I almost suffocate, my head is spinning, and the ghostly touches, which already seem like a dirty joke of a naughty imagination, do not stop. My body is being explored with hands, as if studying reactions to touch here and there. When a hand comes to a stop on my neck and squeezes it, I let out a moan, unable to control myself.

“Your sinful desire is so strong that it’s disgusting to touch you. I have not yet begun to caress you, and your face is already twisted in sweet agony. Such a vicious one,” Fyodor clicks his tongue and laughs huskly. His hand unclenched and grabbed my chest, squeezing noticeably. “But I can't do anything about myself. You poison my mind with your desire, you should be ashamed.”

His words, like poison, penetrate the skin, spread through the veins, igniting the flame only stronger. I should be embarrassed, that's a fact. I should be ashamed that I can't control myself, can't just find the strength to push him away, pull off the blindfold, and just run away. However, even if I try, it is unlikely that it will go unpunished, and then I will have to guess: he will beat me, or someone else will do it. But in this case, I definitely won’t leave alive.

My mental tossings do not go unnoticed, that's for sure, because again I hear laughter in my ear, and a whine escapes my lips. I can't take it anymore! That's too much! His voice sends goosebumps down my spine, turns on a drugged mind, and the pain from the force with which he pinches my nipple brings me back to reality. I am in a stalemate, completely naked on the bed in the arms of Fyodor Dostoevsky, who does with me whatever he wants, as if I were a toy to satisfy his desires. Exactly his desire! And somehow I don't mind at all.

The palm that tormented my breast descends lower to my parted legs, stroking and squeezing the inside of my thigh, slapping it as dry, hot lips attack my neck, leaving painful kisses that will bloom in hickeys. I can't hold back any longer. I arch my back, long moans and pleas to touch my pussy, to stop this torture, break from my lips. I can’t take this anymore!

His hand circles around my labia, parting them a little, but his fingers don't push any further. Where Dostoevsky touched me with his palm, it was burning hot, as if it was still there, but I hear rustling and something falling on the bed, and now another slap on the thigh feels more painful, it is more sonorous. The brunet took off his glove. And now he is attacking my body with double fury. I can even feel the teeth digging into my skin, but all I can do is moan and move towards him. More. I want more!

Once again, my breath tightens in my chest as I feel two fingers pierce inside me with that characteristic wet sound. Shame washed over me from the bottom of my stomach to my head, but I had to accept it while Fyodor sucked and almost gnawed into my chest. I don’t even think to bring my legs together. I just spread them wider. He laughs and gives me the order to remove the blindfold, because he wants to see my face in moments of sinful pleasure.

“Such a pleading look. You're so pathetic underneath me But this is not enough, you must understand.” Dostoevsky continues to move his fingers inside me, pulling out moans from my chest. I tighten around his fingers, look at his body. Sickly pale skin, as if he had anemia, without a hint of scars. The brunet is subtle, but with all this he has incredible strength. The look of his dark, purple eyes literally devours me, and the wide pupils give him only more gloominess.

He drops kisses on the places where he left marks. There will definitely be bruises, and then his dry lips cover my bitten ones, while the knot in the bottom of my stomach pulls, dissolving in languor. I'm about to come, but everything is cut off, his fingers leave my body, leaving me on the edge. I'm almost ready to cry.

"Please, Dostoevsky." I can barely manage to squeeze out as soon as the distance between our lips increases. He pretends not to understand what I want from him, and for some reason I am ashamed to say this out loud. The brunet touches my body, squeezes the nipple with his fingers, squeezes my chest, rubs his erection on my thigh, but doesn’t bring me to orgasm. “Please, fuck me. I want to cum.”

Fyodor laughs hoarsely. He clearly has more composure than I do, although judging by the way his body trembles, he's on edge too.

“What a pervert you are. You want to feel the dick inside you so much that you’re ready to beg.” It doesn’t matter what happens to me later, if I feel good now. With one movement, Dostoevsky fills me to the accompaniment of my loud moan. He doesn't give me a minute to get used to it, he starts to move, groaning gutturally, my lower stomach feels nice as I feel the young man pushing deeper and deeper into me. Fyodor stares into my eyes as his pace gets faster and rougher, his hands clutching painfully at my hips, digging their nails into my skin, my legs pinned against my chest as he ram unceremoniously into my body, making me scream.

With another deafening scream and a sharp, deep thrust inside, everything subsides. Dostoevsky freezes, looking at me. Disheveled, out of breath, with a maniacal smirk on his face.

“We are not done with your shrift, sinner. I will fill you again and again until you repent.”

[graylinesspam]

The force was so quiet for so long. So many living beings cut down, their communication and the waves that it caused in the force were just gone. So quickly. So suddenly.

And then for the first few years after, the movement continued to decline. Slowly it grew impossibly quieter. Until the force was so still. So silent.

It still flowed. So long as life existed the force would flow through it's natural paths. But where it had once been a river crashing over stones. Colliding with so many force sensitive beings it had become a slow still creek. Whose water remained glassy reflective and seemingly unmoving from the surface.

Ahsoka knew that the ones she had loved were in there somewhere, returned to the force flowing through all life. But not as themselves. Not as the living thinking beings she'd known before. They were passive now. Part of the will of life with no feelings or motivations of their own.

Until...there was movement again.

Subtle and nothing like anyone she'd known before. The gentlest ripple, like a turtles beak breaking through the surface. It was an old presence. or it felt that way. Like someone who was and had been a part of the force for some time. But who had managed to maintain...not a physical form but something wholly personal within the all consuming sameness of the force.

It was a fleeting visit. Like an animals eye cast in her direction to asses the threat she may pose only to disappear below the surface once more. It came and went always barely a flicker of movement on the edge of her senses.

When there were two, Ahsoka thought she understood what it was. As the observing presence surfaced once more, feather light ripples washing over her heightened senses, she felt something else as well.

Someone else.

Familiar enough in the pattern of ripples that, like echo location, Ahsoka swore she could make out a shape.

"Obi-wan?" She whispered hopefully. relishing in the way the force swayed between them like water beaten in gentle waves by two moving objects.

Once her former grand master entered the force he must have gone to work. Because while her first visitor had only become perceivable in proximity to her location, There was a distinct change to the flow of the force when Obi-wan entered it. Like the introduction of a new species changes the landscape, he changed the flow of the force. A fish making waves as it swam endlessly, never sleeping.

The dakside users stomped into the flow, kicking up stones and splashing but never catching the slippery target.

New ripples were forming like children reaching in for the first time. letting their fingers play along the surface. A new generation dipping their toes into still waters.

And then Yoda came. He changed the landscape once more. Not by making waves but by breaking them. By sitting his whole presence down in the force like a rock in a stream. Splitting the flow and breaking apart the ripples rings. The first stone for the flow to beat it's self against.

The waters were becoming alive again. Teeming with newness and oldness all the same. She was able to put a name to the little turtle beak. Ancient and observant despite their years, was Qui-gon.

Ahsoka was not afraid anymore of dangling her feet in the water. Where before she had crossed over stones to keep from rippling the surface, now she splashed through the water as recklessly as the sith did. calling attention to herself, but letting the ripples break along Yoda's back before they could be traced back to her.

She wasn't sure how they managed to preserve themselves in the force in such a way. And she doubted she'd learn to do the same. So she may as well make as much movement as she can now.

Then....there was Anakin. She'd become spiritually acquainted with every version of him. She knew the shape of his soul, light and dark. And when he passed into the force it was like the gates of a damn being opened. The rush of the force was strong again. Not raging like a river but moving enough that you could see the shapes bending along the surface. The various plant life bending with the flow.

And Ahsoka dipped into the flow like a child being baptized.

The force is alive again. Not just a by product of life, but full of it. Of the souls of the past mingling with the will of the living.

For so long she'd endured the still, now she'd bathe in the flow. whatever it brought. Wild waters meant hot spots and cold depths. Slippery algea and jagged stones. But come what may, it was the waters of life. And she'd been sitting on the banks for too long. So she'd endure all of it.

[es46]

A temnoceran based on pycnogonids / sea spiders, designed as an elder-level of superb proportions. This is the superboss of the story, filling a similar role to the likes of Alatreon / Safi'jiiva. - OJOZ-KADAKI Title - Abyssal spider Monster class - Temnoceran Known locales - Isolated coral reef islets Element/Ailment - Hellfire + Water + Bubble + Ice Elemental weakness - Ice (3), Dragon (3), Thunder (1), Ice (0), Fire (0) Ailment weakness - Poison (2), Blast (2), Paralysis (2), Sleep (1), Stun (0) Ojoz-Kadaki is a temnoceran residing in the deepest depths of the ocean, only emerging on the surface on secluded islets near temperate coastlines. It is easily the largest and most influential temnoceran known to the Guild, immediately identified by its dark-blue colouring and various bizarre features. The head and mouthparts expand into a gaping maw, perfect for intaking energy from hydrothermal vents. The first pair are for grappling with the second and third pair are for walking. The fourth pair support vast fin-like membranes that contribute to its bizarre influence over surface conditions. Little is known of Ojoz-Kadaki's ecology. What can be ascertained in that it usually resides deep underwater, sustained on geothermal energy and special chemicals obtained from hydrothermal vents, though occasionally supplementing this diet with filter feeding. What compels it to leave the ocean depths and arrive at the surface is something of a mystery; researchers differ on whether the temnoceran arrives to lay eggs, moult its exoskeleton, or simply seeks an alternative food supply. More research is required, though that is difficult to obtain since Ojoz-Kadaki is such a rare and reclusive species. What is apparent is that Ojoz-Kadaki is a grave danger to surface ecosystems. It possesses an ability to induce changes to the weather, which manifests either as rainstorms or snowstorms, risking flash floods or frozen conditions on environments unable to handle dramatic change. Its abdomen and massive fin-like membranes apparently released special gaseous chemicals that provoke these conditions, essentially diverting water from the ocean to the sky. It is not known how Ojoz-Kadaki facilitates this process, though some believe the temnoceran may obtain energy from elder dragon carcasses deep underwater that grants it a level of near-supernatural power. In combat, Ojoz-Kadaki is near indomitable. Sheer size and strength would be enough, alongside hook-like claws and an armoured carapace reinforced by symbiotic sessile shelled organisms. However, its control over the weather manifests in Ojoz-Kadaki's elemental attacks. From the gaping maw can be unleashed either raging torrents of bubbling water or a supercooling chemical that freezes everything around it. Its limbs likewise alternate these conditions, either liquifying ice into powerful waves or freezing streams into jagged floes. In addition, chemical reactions in its abdomen can unleash short-ranged bursts of flame akin to Hellfire. Ojoz-Kadaki will alternate various states in which one ailment is more prominent, changing the way it fights or even the weather around it. Low rank hunters absolutely must not engage Ojoz-Kadaki unless in exceptionally dire circumstances (High Rank - 8, Master Rank - 6). The sheer environmental discord this monster brings alongside its own raw strength and elemental power makes it a truly formidable opponent. Only master hunters can be expected to take it on. Hunters must carefully manage the temnoceran's different states and exploit particular weaknesses, alternating between targetting the limbs and abdomen. A creature of phenomenal influence, Ojoz-Kadaki knows next to no competition. Even a monster as large as an adult Yondrei Illavius is little match for the temnoceran; only exceptional beasts such as Amatsu or Sharah Ishvalda could hope to overpower Ojoz-Kadaki. - This is the final monster of this MH fanart series (barring some expansion muse). Thank you for reading and take care.

[anawkwardlady]

Dadbastian week day 2 : Identity

(poem referenced is The Wolf and the Lamb by Jean de La Fontaine)

The reason of those best able to have their way is always the best: We now show how this is true A lamb was quenching its thirst In the water of a pure stream. A fasting wolf came by, looking for something; He was attracted by hunger to this place.

Humans are grasshoppers. Children are worth even less. After all, they're just beginning to gain a sense of value to humans themselves since it's so easy to make them, to lose them, to make some more. They’re nothing but an unshaped clay of potential for creatures like him. Shaped by knives, intentions and expectations, probable pain— until maybe one day, one or two walks outside, reeking of blood and rage, right into his mouth. And it's been this way since the dawn of time, time he killed for centuries to fill the gaping hole where a soul should be, which he filled with many others. 

When that unshaped clay signed his soul away, the demon signed away his freedom for a mere potential. No choice was left for any of them. He was to take on the role of hands and knives but did not think through it very much. He was himself unshaped clay of somesort, walking within the human skin of a protective adult. The demon looks down on the tiny thing that called him over. 

—What makes you so bold as to meddle with my drinking? Said this animal, very angry. You will be punished for your boldness

The now Butler looks at his wet gloved hands. They burn. Pain of the flesh is inconsequential, he could get a new one some time soon, it's a foreign feeling, while obviously unpleasant. Like maybe cutting a finger up while dreaming away. Pain of the ego however rings through his entire body. The unshaped clay now Master is behaving like a newborn pulling a cat’s tail over and over again. It soon enough will become a bit of an endearing trait of his, probably. When it’ll stop triggering his desire to maim. He looks up at this weak master who slowly gains a shape. 

—Sir, answered the lamb, let Your Majesty Not put himself into a rage; But rather, let him consider That I am taking a drink of water In the stream More than twenty steps below him; And that, consequently, in no way, Am I troubling his supply.

Blood is on the grass and more will pour. Body filled with adrenaline as it rips more intruders, more targets. Nothing is known of them, and the demon wouldn’t care to learn such things as family, names or any pleadings, any excuses. Death doesn’t come out of anger nor is it personal. He is ordered to execute and execute he does. Soon enough he only knows executing, can only smell blood and starts to drown inside his limiting cage. 

Everything morphs into each other, flesh is wounds is meat is guts is human. Like all the times he reached this state before, he gains the knowledge that better sleeps soundly inside. Wonders if it will finally be the time to toss aside those learned quirks of patience and care, of loyalty and dignity to give in to hunger. He used to quietly slip back inside, soiled with death, towards the master’s bedroom he entered without a sound just to stare at the little figure. The boy doesn’t move, probably won’t hear. He spent too many sleepless nights before, thus sometimes got a little help in his milk before laying down, to avoid complete exhaustion. Works wonders. Humans develop new tricks everyday to avoid children's screams. 

—You do trouble it, answered the cruel beast. And I know you said bad things of me last year. —How could I do that when I wasn’t born, Answered the lamb; I am still at my mother’s breast. —If it wasn’t you, then it was your brother. —I haven’t a brother.—It was then someone close to you;

The child is the weakest of its kind. His prey smells like death and yet it only brings questions. The demon should eat to appease hunger but cannot, because he chose to be Sebastian. Sebastian is a placeholder for a child’s needs but even that part doesn’t reason. After all, even a mother cat eats her sickest kitten. And it seems like deep down even the master knows the wrong kitten was dragged to hell. In the end, Sebastian showed up and ate what was on the plate. Nothing more nothing less. Everything in nature should take this life away. Nothing did. Humans tame themselves for preservation sake. Something valuable to learn about them. Tame yourself and wait. 

For you have no sympathy for me, You, your shepherds and your dogs. I have been told of this. I have to make things even.

Tame yourself and wait. 

As the demon thinks of his hunger, the butler starts to mechanically check a mental list of tomorrow’s imperatives. His stomach tores apart. He wonders if the bread could make a good Pain Perdu for tea time. Blood sticks to his skin. The young master will be wearing his blue coat, because the air starts to get cold. 

He gently puts his tainted red gloves away, rearranges Ciel’s pillow and covers before disappearing like he came. Cleans the mess outside.

Tame yourself and wait. 

Saying this, into the woods The wolf carries the lamb, and then eats him Without any other why or wherefore.

Thankfully he was always more bored than he was hungry.

[dawndelion-winery]

Added Bonus bc @meimeimeirin forced my hand /lh

Streamlined

Ft. Zhongli

He's known to get a little competitive from time to time

Especially when it's in ranked games

There's just something about the way his pupils narrow and follow the target on his screen while his eyes remain wide open, as though he has an in built scope for fps games

And don't get me started on rythmn games the dexterity he has in his fingers has definitely played a part in cementing his fanbase

He's startlingly silent during these competitive moments, not that anyone can complain when blessed with such a sight

But on more casual games? He simply will never shut up

And it's on these casual games that he'll often invite you to stream with him, his expression visibly warmer and voice gentle

He's nothing short of fatherly when he does these streams with you, making him a comfort streamer to many

But there's something undeniably softer about the way he looks at you as opposed to when he's looking at the camera or even his favourite character

Though hard to pick up on at first, the seasoned viewer can easily note how his voice gets a little quieter when he addresses you, as though the words he spoke were made especially for you

"Morax is so in love are y'all seeing this?"

"Broskis he down bad bad"

"You're all very chatty today, if you'd like, we could discuss the lore of-"

The lore was absolutely of two characters that best mirrored the relationship he'd like to have with you

And his chat is absolutely calling him out for it

Taglist: @myluvkeiji @pluvioseprince @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @pumpkindarlingg @cxlrosii @miss-fantazmagoria @lychme @kokomist @lemonswriting @eowinthetraveller @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate @the-lost-anime-dad @ash-astrophel @moonbyunniee

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Peter Montgomery at RWW:

As the aggressive Christian nationalism that infuses the MAGA movement and Republican Party intensifies, journalists and filmmakers are paying closer attention to the threat this political ideology and its adherents pose to freedom in America. A must-watch new documentary, “Bad Faith: Christian Nationalism’s Unholy War on Democracy,” will be available for streaming on AppleTV, Amazon Prime, and Google Play beginning Friday, April 26. Directed by Stephen Ujlaki and Christopher Jacob Jones and narrated by Peter Coyote, “Bad Faith” makes masterful use of archival and current footage of Christian nationalist religious and political figures, infographics, and interviews with scholars, religious leaders, political analysts, and even a former Trump administration official. The film draws a compelling through line from the scheming power-building of Paul Weyrich, the right-wing operative who recruited Jerry Falwell and other evangelical preachers to create the religious-right as a political movement in the late 1970s, to the institution-destroying antidemocratic ambitions of MAGA insiders like Steve Bannon, as well as Donald Trump’s dominionist “prophets” and “apostles” and the Jan. 6 insurrectionists they inspired.

[...]

“Bad Faith” explains how that transformation happened, documenting the role played by the Council for National Policy, a partnership between anti-regulation, economically libertarian oil barons and the religious-right leaders who intended to remake the Republican Party, take over the Supreme Court, and use their political power to enforce “traditional” views of family, sexuality, and gender on the rest of the nation. The Koch brothers poured tens of millions of dollars into “a state-of-the-art political data platform” that Council for National Policy groups use to collect personal information—including personal mental health, behavioral health, and treatment data—and use that information to micro-target individuals. (In “God & Country,” another documentary released earlier this year, Ralph Reed is shown bragging that his organization tracked “147 different data points” on the conservative Christians they targeted for turnout operations.) [...]

As “Bad Faith” makes clear, religious-right leaders viewed Trump as a powerful blunt weapon in a long-term political and spiritual war against the federal government and institutions dominated by progressive forces. “The Council’s gambit had paid off,” the film notes about Trump’s time in office. “Christian nationalists were firmly embedded at the highest levels of government. The Supreme Court had an absolute majority of justices poised to overturn landmark civil and women’s rights decisions. Paul Weyrich’s vision of a Christian nation was becoming a reality.” That explains why Christian nationalist leaders were willing to dismantle democracy to keep Trump in power. Members of the Council for National Policy and its political action arm went into “full combat mode” to promote Trump’s big lie, and, as Right Wing Watch documented, they supported his efforts to keep power after the 2020 election, portraying it as a holy war between the forces of good and evil. As Samuel Perry notes in the film, viewing politics as spiritual warfare between the forces of God and Satan makes it easy for those who see themselves on God’s side to “justify just about anything.”

The Bad Faith: Christian Nationalism’s Unholy War on Democracy documentary comes out today on streaming platforms such as Amazon Prime, Apple TV, and Google Play today. Bad Faith focuses on the history of Christian Nationalism and its very real threat to democracy.

[delicatefury]

I wonder how many people realize that the best way to support the cartoons they love is to… buy the merch?

The official merch.

It really is that simple. It’s why Transformers and My Little Pony keep coming back. It’s why there are so many Barbie movies. Why Kevin Smith’s Masters of the Universe failed but the 3D animated He-Man is thriving. Why Pokemon is the biggest money making franchise of all time and will never not have an anime. Why Bluey, Cocomelon, and other little kid cartoons are having money poured into them while other studios are being cut off ruthlessly. It’s why Frozen and Cars got fucking sequels while The Owl House was reduced to 3 specials for its final season.

Because, for those IPs, people buy the official merch.

Parents aren’t going on Etsy to get a hand-crochet plush of Bluey or Bingo. They’re picking one up at Target. The Transformers collector isn’t buying small batch stickers from a fanartist on redbubble, he’s buying an official hasbro figure at the comic store and his kids a sticker sheet at Walmart. Hand painted cards are never going to replace the Pokemon TCG.

And that’s where companies make their animation budget back. Not through advertisements. Not through subscriptions. Merch.

And it doesn’t matter if the fan stuff is better made. It doesn’t matter if you can commission exactly what you want. As much as it sucks, fan merch is copyright infringement, and the animation companies don’t see a single red cent from it.

You can sign all the petitions you want. You can stream every single one of these cartoons in the background on a repeat to falsify watch numbers, you can post all the fanart and fanfiction you want in an active fandom of millions and it won’t save your show. So long as the cartoon isn’t justifying the expense of animation from official merchandise sales, the companies have no incentive to keep making them.

I’m not saying those actions never work. But the surest way to make sure these companies stay invested in your favorite cartoon, is to make sure their investment in your favorite cartoon pays off.

Edit: it’s in a reblog, but I’m adding it here too.

I’m aware that these companies aren’t making that much merchandise for some of these shows. Definitely not at the level a bunch of shows from my childhood were. In which case we need to be asking three important questions:

Why do they not think these shows are marketable?

Why are they making these shows if they don’t think they are marketable?

How do we let them know we will buy official merch in a quantity that will get their attention?

Money talks to these corporations, so why are they cutting off their ears?

[beyonddarkness]

Always Watching: Part 2

[see Part 1] The Directly-Overhead camera angle is Sauron's camera angle. (I had to omit the reference Eye shot, because I totally missed another very important shot [which you will see at the end], and I've hit my gif limit. But it is in Part 1 twice, so GO LOOK AT IT. lol)

Sauron literally watched the making of the Rings, but he saw far more than that.

In the same sequence in Episode 8, He watched Elrond investigate 'what happened by that stream'.

Now he knows about Elrond's suspicion. But is this sequence the only time we see this camera angle?

No.

Episode 4: The Great Wave

Galadriel: "So, by your standards, I am in this cell, because I am yet to identify what the Queen most fears?"

Sauron: "My very low standards, yes."

Galadriel: "And I suppose you did, having met her for all of a few moments?"

Little does Galadriel know about the Eye of Halbrand. He watched Míriel in her dream. Not only does he know her fear, but he knows about Númenor's future.

After that conversation, he watched Galadriel in the Palantir.

At the end of the episode, he watched Míriel and Pharazôn as the petals of the White Tree fell.

In the same sequence, he woke Tar-Palantir up for a staring contest.

[Miriel: "Is our valor confined to the graves of our slumbering fathers?"]

The shot immediately following shows Sauron gleefully walking away. He sure is a fan of mocking and taunting people. "Look who's here, and guess who can't do anything about it."

[Míriel: "Or is it here, amongst us, even now?"]

It is no wonder that in the next episode, Tar-Palantir sits on the bed in defeat.

Tar-Palantir: "The Kingdom! The Kingdom is in danger!"

Míriel: "The danger is past, father. We are doing now what you always believed we must. We're restoring our connection with the Elves. I'm going to Middle-earth. :)"

Tar-Palantir: "Míriel. […] Don't go to Middle-earth. All that awaits you there is […] darkness."

We are going out of order, but there is so much more.

Episode 7: The Eye

He saw more than what Elrond and Dúrin IV saw. (wait for it)

He watched Dúrin III throw the leaf into the mountain. (wait for it)

He followed the leaf down the cracks of the mountain, to the fellow servant of Morgoth.

We now see that he knows about all of that already. But we are not done yet.

Episode 3: Adar

In the scene after his fight in the alley, Sauron watched as Galadriel discovered the meaning of his own symbol.

Galadriel: "It is as Halbrand said."

Galadriel: "If Sauron has indeed returned, the Southlands are but the beginning." [the music: "Nampat burzum-ank." Death into darkness.]

He absolutely knows what Galadriel found in the Hall of Lore. What does that say about his behavior, later in the same episode?

Galadriel: "How fares the quest for peace?"

Sauron: "Better than expected."

Galadriel: "You are more than you claim."

"I found this in the Hall of Lore."

There is yet more. Does he need to be absent to see things from a Bird's Eye View?

No.

But first, in Episode 4: The Great Wave …

Sauron: "I wouldn't advise that."

Pharazôn: "I can't very well let her leave."

Sauron: "You could, if you knew exactly where she was going."

What was discussed after the cameras cut?

In Episode 5, Pharazôn told Kemen: "It's folly to kick against the current. […] But the trick of mastering the current is to know which way it will turn next." That is exactly what "you could if you knew exactly where she was going" means. [master = red flag word. Abort mission; get out while you still can.]

So, we know that Sauron either planted that idea, or explained it to Pharazôn, outright.

In addition, that is the approach that Sauron takes with every conflict in the whole season. This leads us to another time we see Sauron watching.

Episode 2: Adrift

To everyone on the raft, he urged, "Be still!" Then, he watched from above, to see where the Worm was going.

As he 'washed' his hair, he watched. Why? He was probably keeping an Eye out for danger (he is a target, still).

Hence the shifty eyes in the very next shot.

And what does that say about him watching Galadriel pull him onto the raft, after he saved her from drowning? (he is a target, still; gotta keep an Eye out).

But those are not the only overhead shots in all eight episodes. No, no. Sauron was watching before we even met him.

Earlier in Episode 2, he watched Bronwyn and Arondir in Hordern, and saw what the Orcs were doing. (wait for it)

(notice the eye shape while Arondir is holding the torch, leading to the overhead shot)

So, not only do we know that the Key and the Dam was originally a plan conjured by Sauron himself (Adar using it for his own purposes), but he knows of Bronwyn and Arondir's existence. After seeing that the trench-digging is under way, Sauron knows what Adar is up to. That sheds a whole new light on this exchange:

Míriel: "And where did the Enemy head next?"

Sauron: "Further south, I should think. Towards the watchtower of Ostirith." (Because, you know, Sauron knows where the dam has to be unlocked. Speaking of which … )

Episode 6: Udûn

Right after being hailed King of the Southlands, Sauron saw who unlocked the dam, without his permission. (Oh, you better believe Waldreg is in trouble; and not just for swearing fealty to Adar.)

Earlier in the episode, he saw Arondir try to destroy the key.

Finally, remember when Sauron said this? "A sea that you were on because the Elves cast you out! They cast you out for deigning to beg them for a few, petty soldiers! What will they do when you tell them that you were my ally? When you tell them that Sauron lives because of you?" (1x08)

We think, Oh, of course he must have figured it out at some point. But as luck would have it, he knows a lot more, a lot sooner than we think. Like I said before, he was watching even before we met him.

Episode 1: A Shadow of the Past

Galadriel: "This mark's very existence proves Sauron escaped. He's still out there. The question now is where! [Right above you.] I intend to ask of the King a fresh company. If he supplies enough to—"

Elrond: "You have only just arrived! […]"

Galadriel: […] "I am not some courtier to be placated by idle flattery. I demand to speak with the King directly."

Elrond: "You have made that plain. So, I will be equally plain. It was not your company who defied you out there. But rather you who defied the High King, by refusing to heed any limit placed upon you. In an act of magnanimity, he has chosen to honor your accomplishments, rather than dwell upon your insolence. [Like Sauron will in the end.] Test him again, and you may find him less receptive than you might have hoped."

Sauroncam:

Again, if you have not yet read Chapter 4 on my blog, please do so. These last two shots nearly made me jump out of my seat.

The Boat.

(I have not finished Chapter 6 yet, but it will be done very soon. In that chapter, we will explore the story of Beren and Lúthien, and how it perfectly parallels Halbrand and Galadriel [meaning they're the same, but also completely opposite]. Look at this, read Chapter 6 when it is published, then come back.)

Sauron watched as Galadriel was sailing off to Valinor.

The very moment he saw that his precious Golden Ticket to Power was about to cross the border …

… he called to her, and pulled her back.

When Patrick said, "It's all there," I didn't realize just how true that statement was. All of this makes Sauron even more creepy.

In a future post, I want to thoroughly analyze every one of these shots, what they mean, and how they affect the rest of the story. I am not a pro gif-maker, but I will do my best to include higher-quality gifs (and stills) on my blog, so that you can look at them more closely and analyze them for yourself. :) The music has an enormous role to play in all of this, but I will save that for the blog as well. Consider Chapter 4 a warm-up. It is only going to get more mind-blowing from here.

Update:

WHOOPS! Missed one.

Galadriel: "Year gave way to year. Century gave way to century. And for many Elves, the pain of those days passed out of thought and mind. More and more of our kind began to believe that Sauron was but a memory, and the threat, at last, was ended. I wish I could be one of them."

Hello?

This wasn't just an intro to Galadriel. Sauron was right there from the beginning.

[streamafterlaughter]

Limo 4 Emos

playlist | main master list | part ii (coming soon!)

request: no (send a request!)

summary: you’ve been sulking for three days after breaking up with your serious boyfriend. Eddie can’t let you do that anymore, though.

word count: 3,241

a/n: in the midst of all the FD angst, i thought i’d give y’all some comfortable, fluffy, sweet eddie x y/n, this time in a more modern setting! i was inspired by the song Limo 4 Emos by Watsky, pls stream his symmetry trilogy it’ll blow ur socks off. this is a mini, but i can totally write a part 2 if y’all want some less wholesome content. let me know what u think! Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

tags: modern!eddie x reader, friends to lovers, mutual pining, confessions of feelings, fluff, consumption of weed, mentions of cheating (reader was cheated on)

—

You throw a wadded tissue toward the television. You’re on your third break up movie of the day, Scenes from a Marriage. It’s been three days of chick flicks, rom-coms, and sobfests as you attempt to heal your shattered heart.

It’s dramatic, sure, but after graduating high school, and getting accepted to your dream school far, far away from Hawkins, Indiana, you really thought you had it all figured out.

Until Matt cheated on you.

You hadn’t wanted to believe it. You’d been invited out by Robin last minute, to a club you hadn’t gone to since beginning your relationship. It’s a place you’d always wanted to go, one Matt had claimed to hate, so you took the opportunity for a night out without him when he “fell ill” one Saturday night.

Sometimes you blame yourself, for not mentioning the name of the club. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have run into Matt there, sucking on the neck of some nameless girl in too-tight latex pants.

You’ve since thrown out his letters, blocked his number, and set fire to the pictures of you two while listening to Dead Horse by Hayley Williams, but your stupid heart is still broken. On top of that, now you’re smelly, grimy, and sweaty under far too many blankets as you watch Jessica Chastain and Oscar Isaac yell at each other.

Your phone buzzes in your lap intermittently, and you lazily screen the missed calls and texts:

bobbie🏳️‍🌈👹: (7:20pm) wanna see a movie? coke bear looks god awful. call me pls!

(missed call: bobbie🏳️‍🌈👹 x3)

stevie🏴‍☠️🍦: (8:00pm) hey, just got off work, need anything at target? lmk 🫶

(missed call: stevie🏴‍☠️🍦)

eddie❤️🦇: (9:55pm): come outside

You read the last message again, timestamped five minutes ago. You begrudgingly throw the mass of blankets from your body, revealing your baggiest sweatpants and your favorite giant t-shirt. You peer out your window, and sure enough the gas guzzling monstrosity of a vehicle sits outside on the curb, its engine rumbling loud enough to wake your parents. You snatch a hoodie off your floor and struggle to get it over your head. As an afterthought, you grab the half smoked joint and your lighter from your ashtray and tiptoe down the stairs.

Eddie reaches the door before you and flings it open. “Good evening, my liege.” He bows his head as he holds the door open while you climb into the van. The interior stinks of weed and cigarettes, and the tinny speakers blare Microwave’s Float To The Top, a favorite of yours that Eddie had grown fond of.

“Where we goin’?” You ask innocently, turning the volume down to hear Eddie, who’s adjusting himself in the driver’s seat.

“Wherever you want, sweet thing.” He motions to his phone plugged into the console. “And feel free to DJ.”

You gasp in mock surprise. “Why, you’re letting me pick the music? Has hell frozen over?!” You can’t finish your sentence before he’s nudging you with his elbow, his head thrown back in laughter. “Seriously, what’s the occasion?” You settle on your everyday playlist, avoiding the breakup songs list you’d been abusing. You skip over Phoebe Bridgers’s Halloween, knowing you’ll start sobbing, and instead settling on Watsky’s Limo 4 Emos.

“Please,” Eddie begins, turning onto the main road of Hawkins, the only one that runs through town. “You’ve been moping all weekend, the first weekend as a free bird! No more school! For at least three months. Even more, if I can convince you to join the band.”

You know he’s joking, but you scold him anyway. “I told you, I’m getting my degree so I can design your album covers once you’re famous. If you need another guitarist by then, we can discuss it.”

Eddie chuckles. “Whatever you say, love. Anyway, I had to pick you up. Every time I've driven by it’s been a different sad, heterosexual couple on your TV. I’m surprised you weren’t sucked into the mattress.” You look down, suddenly fascinated by your crocs. “Hey, I didn’t mean that to insult you, y’know. I’m just worried about you. We- we all are.” There is genuine concern in his voice, and you feel your cheeks flush. He’s always been sweet to you, from the day you’d moved into the house next to Steve when you were twelve. Most of the kids were mean to you, making fun of your weird clothes or nerdy interests, but Eddie took an immediate liking to you. He sat next to you in every class, at lunch, and invited you to play with his group of friends at recess. Six years later, and he’s never not been right next to you once.

Eddie’s voice snaps your attention back to the present. “He’s a fuckin’ idiot. If I ever catch that kid at one of my shows again….” He trails off, shaking his head, and you bite back a smile. If there’s one thing Eddie will always be, it’s protective of his people.

“Hey,” You rest your hand on his shoulder, and feel him relax under your touch. “I appreciate that. And this. I needed to get out of there.” You could swear your room had shrunken.

“Of course. I kinda did it for selfish reasons anyway.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “I hadn’t heard from you in like, a week. And, in the year you two had been dating, I’d barely seen you without that parasite attached to you.” You could be mistaken, but you think you hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice. You chock it up to a hopeful coincidence.

Truthfully, it hadn’t been a great relationship. You and Matt weren’t compatible, but both of you had been lonely. If you were being fully, completely honest with yourself, there was one man you could ever want, and he’s sitting right next to you now.

You’d never be the one to tell him first, though. You’re sure Robin and Steve already know, knowing what they do about you. You’re not good at keeping secrets, especially when they involve your feelings for your best friend. You’ve never explicitly told either of them, though.

Eddie pulls into the parking lot of Hawkins Middle, and you snort out a laugh. “Holy shit.”

“Welcome back.” Eddie gestures to the brick building in front of him. “Where it all began.”

“You think?” You rummage in your pockets until you find your lighter and what is now a very crushed, unsmokable joint. “Oh, c’mon!” You groan, inspecting the bent, squashed cone.

Eddie’s brows knit together. “What did you expect us to do with that?”

“Well, it wasn’t always this fucked up!” You begin defensively, but he holds his hand up to silence you.

“Lucky for you, I have some. And it’s good stuff.” Eddie throws his arm over your seat, and your gaze lands on his jawline. Eddie’s always been beautiful to you, despite his “freakish” nature and wide range of facial expressions. You could admire the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips for hours, if you knew he wouldn’t catch you.

You whip your head back to the windshield too quickly as Eddie turns around, and you pray he doesn’t notice.

“Everything okay?” He asks, trying to inspect your features, but you won’t look at him.

“Mhm, yeah. Totally.”

“Right, okay. Anyway,” Eddie flicks the lock of his metal box open, and cracks the lid to reveal a few pre-rolled joints, a grinder, and a lighter. He plucks the thickest of his collection from the box, and flicks the lighter as he brings the joint to his lips. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the smoke fills his lungs. You take the opportunity to watch him more closely, the way the filter sits between his ring clad fingers, the tendrils of smoke escaping from between his lips and into his flared nostrils, the wrinkle in his forehead when he tries not to cough, and the shake of his head when he fails.

He holds the joint out to you, burning between his thumb and middle finger. You carefully pinch the end of the filter, and bring the paper to your own lips. You will yourself to taste the tiny remnants of Eddie’s mouth, but mostly you taste the sweet smoke and thin paper. You repeat Eddie’s ritual, inhaling deeply as your eyes slip closed, letting the flower take its hold on your brain.

Paramore’s Liar hums softly through the speakers as you and Eddie pass the joint back and forth, giggling and talking like nothing’s changed in the last six years. In a lot of ways, nothing has. Matt never liked Eddie, but that didn’t stop you from spending every Thursday afternoon at Hellfire, and every Sunday watching movies. You and Eddie were inseparable, and you had never compromised that for anyone. Matt had even asked, a few times, if you’d stop being friends with Eddie for him. You’d laughed right in his face.

If you could go back and do it all again, you’d make the same choice. Having Eddie in your life was always going to be more important.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie holds out the roach for you, and you take a puff before answering his question.

“I’m just thinkin’ about how much I appreciate you.” You muse, knowing it’s bound to feed his ego.

“Oh, really?” He takes the roach and stubs it out on the console, adding a several hundredth burn mark to it. “And why is that?”

You shrug, teasing him. “You’re just so good to me, Ed. You get me out of my house, smoke me up when I’m all sad and mopey. You know how to make me laugh.” You tick each finger as you lost out your reasons, each one tugging the corners of Eddie’s mouth higher. “I know you’d do it for any of your friends.” You finish, and meet his eyes as he shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t, though.”

“Of course you would! Remember when you took Lucas out for ice cream after his first basketball game because they didn’t play him? Or, when you set Robin up with that girl you met at The Hideout?”

Eddie holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, fine. I’m a saint! But you’re special.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I’m just saying, you’re just so good. I don’t deserve you.” Your voice cracks as you say it, and you clear your throat to cover it.

Of course, he notices anyway. “Are you being serious? You are the most deserving person I know. Deserving of way more than whatever his name is.”

You glare at Eddie with disapproval. “You know his name.”

“Even if I do, it doesn’t matter. Fuck him.” He spits, clenching his jaw. This isn’t some playful hatred of the loser that cheated on you, Eddie is holding some serious malice towards a guy he barely knew.

You touch a finger to where his jaw is locked, and feel his expression soften immediately, like your skin melts his tension.

“It’s okay. Shit happens.” You’re saying it for his sake, knowing how protective he can be of his best friends. He takes your pain personally.

“No, it’s absolutely not okay! You don’t just cheat on your partner. Especially if that partner is-“ He clamps his mouth shut, silencing the ramble before it had time to take off.

“If they’re what?” You’re clueless, unsure what he’d been planning to say about you. Your heart ticks faster, whether with anticipation or embarrassment, you’re yet to decide.

Eddie huffs, expelling a mass amount of air from his lungs like he’d been holding his breath all night. “I can’t. It’s not fair to you, to tell you what I want to while you’re still grueving.” Eddie looks forward, never taking his eyes off the windshield. “I could say so much, but I can’t imagine you taking it well.”

It’s your turn to huff.

“Nothing you could say will hurt me more than I’ve ever experienced.”

“I don’t know if they’d hurt you, I’m more worried about how you’d see me after I say ‘em.” He talks quickly, rushing the words that must be causing his cheeks to turn pink in the low light of the car.

You think you have an idea about what Eddie wants to say. You can’t pretend you haven’t noticed his feelings for you, even subconsciously. He likes to hold your hand, he greets you with rib crushing hugs, says goodbye with a kiss on the forehead. He lends you his jacket on rainy days, and you’ve slept in his bed more than your own in the last three years. He’s always been there, through your parents’ divorce, to your first bully, to your first art gallery feature. You’ve seen every Corroded Coffin show, been at most of their band practices, learned DnD, and started listening to heavy music because of him. The more you think about it, the more you realize why none of your relationships have worked out. The only one you’ve ever been interested in is yours and Eddie’s. Everyone else had been out of convenience, and in some cases because of similarities between your suitors and your best friend.

As you realize this, Eddie’s turning his head to watch you think. “I want you to tell me.” The tiptoeing is driving you crazy.

“Fine, but I have to preface it with something. This wasn’t some ploy to get you, or anything. I didn’t plan to feel like this when I approached you in seventh grade. That being said, it was probably six weeks before I realized I had a crush on you. I didn’t do anything about it, probably because I was thirteen with a buzz cut and body odor. I thought it would just go away as time went on. But it didn’t, so I got like, super stressed out. We started high school and you started dating Jack or something, and remember we didn’t talk for like a month?”

You snort at the memory. “His name was definitely not Jack, it was Simon. And we dated for two weeks. And dating meant walking to recess and back together, not even holding hands.”

“Yeah! And it broke my little heart!” Eddie gestures wildly as he speaks. “Anyway, you demanded we fix our friendship, so I obliged like a gentleman, thinking I couldn’t possibly still have a crush on you after that debacle. Wrong again! I was a lost puppy, wounded and limping behind you while you charmed everyone you met. It was fuckin’ torture.” He looks at you now, and you stay quiet, willing him to go on. “This is all so emo, I’m sorry. I’ve been in love with you the whole time. It’s taken me six years to say it to you, and I still chose the worst possible time to do it.”

You can hear him, but you aren’t absorbing what he’s saying now. Instead, his last words repeat in your head, I’ve been in love with you the whole time. The whole time?! “Why did it take you so long?” You’re whispering now, knowing your voice will betray you.

“I didn’t want to lose you. You’re my best friend, and I couldn’t have you thinking it was only because I had feelings for you. You’re my best friend first and forever. But it still hurt like a bitch, not being able to tell you. I’m sorry I’m telling you now, I don’t expect you to process something like this any time soon. I don’t want a response, I just couldn’t take watching someone hurt you like that. I can’t fathom being that fucking stupid. And I’m still pretty stupid.”

You furrow your brow at him. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that. You’re the furthest thing from stupid.”

“So, we’re still best friends then? I didn’t scare you away?”

You shake your head. “That’s impossible. Believe it or not, Ed, you probably couldn’t scare me off if ya tried.”

“Good thing. I’m still so sorry.”

You offer your hand, palm up to him. He rests his palm against yours, and you entwine your fingers with his. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve been waiting six years for you to tell me that.”

Eddie lurches forward, craning his neck to look you in the face that’s still facing the windshield. “Are you fucking with me? Don’t fuck with me, definitely not right now. Y/n?”

You shake your head, gnawing on your bottom lip as you think of a reasonable response. “Swear on Dustin’s mother, I’m not fucking with you.” You meet his eyes straight on, unblinking, trying to communicate your feelings through your expression. “It might have taken a little longer for me to realize it, but it’s been you. It has always been you.”

Eddie’s eyes stay glued to yours, the warmth of them sucking you in as he searches your face for any inch of doubt. When he seemingly can’t find it, he inches closer to you, his arm resting on the dusty console as he invades your personal space.

Feeling a burst of confidence as Hayley’s Crystal Clear hums from the radio, and you mirror his movements, nudging his forearm with yours as you lean closer to him.

“If you hate this, just let me know. No hard feelings.” Eddie’s voice is barely a whisper. You don’t respond with words, but nod your head dismissively and close the gap between his lips and yours. Eddie’s breath hitches as he catches your mouth with his, your lips crushing against his eagerly, something you’ve wanted since you were thirteen.

Eddie pulls away first, only moving far enough away to look at you again. His face is flushed, eyes wide as he examines your face, probably looking similarly. “Why’d you stop?” You’re brimming with confidence as he blushes, his eyes darting from your face to your hands, resting on the console.

“I had to make sure it was real.” He reaches up and pinches his shoulder. “Ow. Yeah, okay. I guess it’s real.”

“We should do it again. Y’know, just to make sure.” He looks back up at you, and you lean in without another word, connecting your lips once again. This time, you deepen the kiss, tongue swiping against his bottom lip as if to ask permission. Eddie’s lips part wider, and your tongue meets his as you slide your free hand into his hair. His own cups your jaw, his thumb resting lightly on your chin just below your lips. He tastes like smoke and chocolate, his lips soft against yours as he bumps your nose with his.

It could have been minutes or hours by the time you separate, untangling your fingers from his wild curls. “Okay,” You speak first, your voice breathy. “It is real.”

Eddie’s lips split into a beaming smile. “Yeah, shit. I’m so glad.” He exhales shakily and tucks a stray hair behind his ear.

“So,” You pause, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, “now what?”

Eddie doesn’t miss a beat. “I mean, I have plenty of ideas, but-“

“I’ll do anything with you.”

“Movie at my place?”

You hope it means what you think it does. “Yeah, definitely.” You shoot your mom a text that you’re staying over Eddie’s. She sends back a “Yay! Hope he makes you feel better :)” and you respond with a heart. He already has.