#me posting ???? ​I’m not dead apparently

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck, family & alcoholism

Collection of thoughts and speculation on Chil’s upbringing, his dynamic with his family and how alcoholism ties into it all. If you want the groundwork info on Chil’s background I recommend my masterpost on his family, here it’s really just me speculating from the crumbs we get of his parents and siblings, how it’s all affected him and in turn affected his own wife and kids etc etc.

There’s nothing more I’d like on mother’s day than to speculate about Chilchuck’s maladaptive attachment style. I’m fascinated by how distant everyone is and how much he’s been devoted to them all despite having been so absent. Intergenerational trauma get over here

Actually it’ll be easier if I make a rundown here too, it’s just stuff I reiterate from my masterpost tho.

Tiny table of contents: 1- rundown: family facts 2- rundown: alcoholism 3- dad 4- parenting 5- daughters 6- wife

^ Every time his dad gets mentioned. His mom never gets mentioned. His siblings I think are only ever mentioned in this extra, and then there are more ambiguous relatives cameos.

We know is hometown isn’t Kahka Brud, but we’re not sure wether he moved there upon getting his own house (presumably around when he got married at 13), or if it’s only after his wife when he rented out his place to relatives then rented the place in Kahka Brud.

If he rented it out to relatives, maybe that meant it was in his hometown? Especially if he and his siblings are "almost strangers" so presumably he doesn’t really keep in touch with his family. And I mean, he hasn’t seen his wife or daughter in 4 years so you can imagine how he’s like with his more distant family…

Additionally half-foots and Chil are very coded to be from an impoverished opressed working class people. So that’s the context.

I’ll say that I mentioned intergenerational trauma at the beginning, and I def think the distrust of elves is part of that, but here I want to focus on the interpersonal effects rather.

Copy pasting my masterpost thoughts overall: Chilchuck is hinted to have had a rather dysfunctional family himself (alcoholic father, distant siblings, etc). So he doesn’t really have the best model on how to raise someone and such. I imagine it was a sort of neglectful home situation, where the kids are encouraged to be independent. If they didn’t have to work or help around much, then a free range parenting sort of thing.

We do see how the family has full and warm feasts, where someone cleans his mouth with a rag, so it’s not like he didn’t have caring people or had a tragic childhood though! I don’t remember if it’s explicitely stated but he’s heavily implied to having grown up poor, as most half-foots, and I just think it’s the hardened hardworking family type of childhood where just like he does with others, they instilled somewhat harsh life lessons in him, which in turn encourages him to indulge in the simple pleasures of life like alcohol and sex, or at least women’s beauty and crass jokes. We do see he seems more optimistic when he’s younger in flashbacks, so a bunch of his harsh view on the world is still likely learned and earned rather than taught.

I still think he inherited many flawed views from how his father acted, like his attitude about excessive drinking not being a big deal, it being worth it. That work hard play hard, enjoy life die young mentality he has, shown mostly in the “alcohol” section of his Adventurer’s Bible profile, could very well be partly a result of the general poverty half-foot communities are that he grew in as well, like how he doesn’t hope for things to be as best as they could be and contends with good enough.  As far as I remember, his mother is never mentioned, but I doubt it implies she was out of the picture. She was probably a regular sort of mother that took care of the home and was still around when his father died, not unlike how Chil’s wife was implied to be a housewife. It looks like there’s a good age gap between one sibling to the next, that could be interesting to speculate about too. Mostly though I think it’s big family because it’s just sorta what happens when you regularly have sex and you don’t have contraception, being poor often makes family planning harder for various reasons and leads to more children.

Alcoholism context rundown:

Good Chilchuck analysis baseline here. Alcohol seems to be his main stress reliever/coping mechanism, especially for how emotionally constipated he is, and his job is being stressed about his party’s safety. Then he also mentions as a changeling that having his senses dulled feels relaxing to him, further confirming alcohol, as a drug that dulls senses, is something that he likes for the intoxication aspect and feels it’s relaxing. Alcohol also acts as a hunger suppressant, so it for sure has played a role in his dieting and unhealthy eating/diet habits, especially since he shows the instinct to drink to soothe hunger, all of that about how going hungry for 3 days used to feel manageable. Chil dieting info compiled here.

Chilchuck is at his most effortlessly cheerful when drunk or drinking. Compilation of every time he was drunk here.

And to be clear, a cheerful drunk is still a drunk. He literally will drink anytime he gets the opportunity to even if he’s aware overdrinking leads to health problems and death. Like canonically. He does NOT see how drinking should be a problem and does not seek to show restraint with it.

Dad of the dad

Marcille and Chilchuck having a talk on how losing a dad be like "You lost your dad young too…? I know how it is, it must have hit you hard…" "No not really tbh. Do you want lasagna or chicken for dinner?" <- either genuinely doesn’t feel much about his dad’s death or has 10 layers of repression, idk which is worse

I think Chil not making a big deal out of his dad’s death, not having worries in following into his footsteps that way in the least, is super interesting.

As a buddy @saccharineomens puts it: " I kinda imagine chilchuck and his dad didn't have a bad relationship, but in general chilchuck is so blase about drinking (he sees it as a delightful time, a wonderful thing! he wouldn't mind dying doing something he loved!) that he's not very upset about his dad's passing? like "yeah, he died, but i was already an adult, he was an adult, he made his choices, i make my choices, it's cool" " And I’ll nitpick that we don’t know how old he was when his dad died, I always assumed it was pretty early since Chil left home when he got married, and like I’ve gone into he doesn’t seem to be the keep in touch type. It’s on the table though, and he could have learned about it through letter if nothing else and that contributes to the "meh" reaction.

And that is very Chilchuck, the whole "we made our choices, it is how it is, he died doing something he loved", and you can totally believe that that’s the crux of it, but I do think the nonchalance hints at the family overall being distant and not only the siblings, that there’s dysfunctional shenanigans going on in there more than just… Healthy coping and having moved on.

I wonder when Chil first drank… And I wonder how he came to realize he liked alcohol a lot. His father probably gave him sips… Or he stole them

No because, with how disaffected he is about his father and siblings I could definitely see him having started to kind of numb himself/dissociate with the help of alcohol in that home environment that felt so… Either devoid of feelings or too messy to get attached.

Because too… We saw him have a family/community feast of some sort presumably when he was a kid, in that chapter cover, so it’s not like there’s no warmth or sense of family at all, but then like… What went wrong? If as I theorize that girl with short black hair in that panel is his future wife, since she’s his childhood friend and all, what if his family/home life was always kind of cold and distant, even when gathered and cheery or despite those occasions? So then it’s like, at the family gatherings, she’s the most important person there to him, the one he actually connects to the most, the warmest presence he has…….. Someone he jokes around with that feels on the same speed as him, that doesn’t have the same connotations as everyone else present, a bit of a haven, someone different, a breath of fresh hair and a regained sense of childhood… Spitballing of course of course

I feel like they had a pretty big family and they were poor and such so there were always chores to be done etc, so their household might have operated like a mini busiess of sorts where everyone’s too busy, always has this and that to do and the mother asks them to go do tasks. I used to think it might be more of a neglect situation, where the kids are expected to provide for themselves and so cook their own meals and whatnot, both parents distant, but I don’t think so with the feast illustration. Chil at the beginning of canon used to see eating as a practical thing more than anything, you have to eat to live but don’t eat much or your weight will make your job more dangerous, might as well skip meals and have beer instead, etc etc. So the thought that he doesn’t know how to cook all that well despite this speculated background where he cooked for himself and keeps cooking minimalistic, since he does tell Senshi he taught him about cooking, is fair, but still… There could definitely be a situation where his older siblings were pushed into a parental role too, where they helped with the food and raising the younger siblings etc etc. As mentioned, the age gap between siblings may play into the dynamic as well. But on this front I have less ideas…

So yes my general take on Chil’s family is that everyone was too busy to emotionally connect as much as is normal, the parenting leaving things to be desired with alcoholism and emotional neglect.

Fathering

And I think that’s especially interesting considering he hasn’t been keeping in touch with his daughters either. It’s "they’re independent now" and that’s kinda it. His daughters haven’t sent him letters or visited him or tried to make him talk to their mom again. It does feel like with his own parents and siblings to me, where people are almost strangers, where relationships grow apart and everyone shrugs and goes ‘that’s how things are’. Is it that everyone including all his daughters gave up on trying to keep in touch, or is it that they all went "well divorced or not he’s absent, this is our normal tbh", and which is worse?

So yes, I think his relationship with his daughters is probably similar to his relationship with his parents, sort of hands off. Chil's dad was probably not a good dad but probably not quite a bad dad. A definitive He Was There, to quote another friend heh

Imo the thing with Chil is that he was pretty absent bc of work travels to dungeon dive, right. He’s working hard to provide for his family but in the process he’s not spending much time with them, slowly making a gap grow between him and them as they drift apart and change as people. He’s a career dad who never realized spending time with his family was more important and threw his pager into the ocean— But also here’s the thing!! You want to say being his family is more important, but money is arguably more important! They’re poor, they don’t have the privilege of free time as much. Sure he’s not there, but he is providing for them what they need to keep living and growing healthily. Similarly, you want to say Chil should stop doing harsh dieting for weight management, but, he has a point, maybe starving is still preferable than dying in traps. Of course the ideal would be to change jobs, but again, life is a struggle and that’s not always an option.

^ Truly the classic "if you don’t listen to me, your parent, a cryptid is gonna kidnap you!" international experience………

He is so so so the "What? My way of parenting is kinda bad? But my father raised me like that, and look how great I turned out!" <- emotionally dysfunctional…….. "Pshhh what do you mean having an alcoholic parent negatively affects you? My father was an alcoholic too and look at me"  🤡

All of it was behavior normalized to him. And listen, I’m saying this but not as like, shirking of his part in it. This isn’t a teen or young adult, he’s middle aged, he’s become the one giving and not receiving the generational trauma. He’s chosen to never think deeper on the topic.

And like, he himself is so indifferent to his father and what their relationship was like, of course he wouldn’t notice if a parenting choice wasn’t great for his daughters. He doesn’t have a relationship with his dad, he’s not (at least not consciously) traumatized by him, so from his perspective it’s mission success! He got raised decent enough 👍⭐️ Except he doesn’t realize that like, not particularly caring if he died is sign of a problem between them in itself… And this even as he remains somewhat of an important figure in his life, especially since that’s who he sees on the other side of the life river in the ghost chapter. It’s implicitly the biggest instance of loss through death Chilchuck has in his life I think.

But despite it all he obviously does love his family a lot, right. So I do believe that like, while he has imperfect standards when it comes to parenting he still tries to be better than his dad was, that even if it’s necessary that he has a lot of long work travels, he spends time with them. And there’s sort of this dissonance that he’s both "it doesn’t matter wether i’m here or not, they’ll live, they’re tough girls. Oh they didn’t like my scolding earlier? It’s just how kids are" dismissive and "I love them so much and I want them to have a good life. I want to do my best by them" devoted and so so caring. And like that’s why he works so damn hard, he does it for them, but also that’s why the girls grew up with an absentee father and aughhhh AUGHHHH the unsolvable dilemma of it all Chilchuck in Dunmeshi truly represents like, the harshness of reality & the world and how sometimes things will just suck no matter what, and then of course balancing that with Marcille in their shared arc where she tacks on "And despite that there is beauty everywhere even in the small and menial things, despite that your flawed relationships and dreams are still worth fighting for" ie giving reconciling with his wife a shot, etc.

All that said I think the very strict "you’re gonna grow up to have a stable job by god, young miss" attitude, those strong work ethics he highly values and focuses on and no doubt tried to instill in is own kids, is something he somewhat inherited from his own upbringing and parents.

In my masterpost bit on his parenting, I said I don’t think he’d do any kind of corporeal punishment, but. I do wonder about spanking aftee all. It can be so so easy to rationalize it… Sigh

Daughter pov

Again, my general interpretations for the daughters are written in my masterpost. I think Patti knows her father the least and is the one least worried about jobs and stability and least settled down as a result. Flertom is the more social one who I imagine tended to be the one worried about her parents’ couple and their emotions the most. And Meijack… Ohh Meijack.

When your father tried his best to provide for you but he worked all the time and even when he was home he was either tired or stressed and he’s always liked to get drunk to relax and cheer up. When you know he values work ethics and respectability so you grew up to be capable and quiet. And when he says you’re like him you’re sort of puzzled, does he really know you so little, or does he know himself so little? But you like the feeling of your father ruffling your hair so you accept it and still you stand next to your mother just as quiet and just as stoic during family gatherings. He leaves again and again and when your mother leaves him nothing changes, really. You wonder if it’s more telling that you know him better than he seems to himself or that you don’t know him as much as you wish you did, or that you don’t think about him all that much these days. Out of sight out of mind

Thinking of those posts about how kids never forget and during the "draw your family!" things at school, some of the kids draw their working parents seperate from the rest of them...

Absent father and when he’s at home you get the crumbs of him that you get and you’re grateful for it and that’s that <333

She doesn’t know how much he loves them bc he hasn’t showed them in a long time </3

The horror of drunk Chil in my fics is often about what in this state he can’t do rather than what he could do, how someone who’s as proud of his skills and work ethics as he is has truly changed, not comprehending how he could become so sloppy or how he could allow himself to get like this, marred the values he preaches above all else. It’s in the way that he fumbles with doorknobs, that he could never lockpick a door if you were to lock it, and it both being your salvation and bringing you extreme distress at the thought of it all. His footsteps usually featherlight now sound heavy as stone, like a troll’s.

You know the thing that gets me so bad with alcoholism angst is when people describe the drunk person as a stranger. Often making a metaphor that they’re monsters, have some monster they shapeshift into uncontrollably once in a while, as a way to split the unreconciliable halves of the person sober and drunk in your vision of them……. It gets me soooo bad Little Puckpatti growing up on tales of trolls kidnapping disobedient kids and replacing them with doubles so no one even knows they’re gone… Coming face to face with a drunk Chilchuck that roams the halls of the house with heavy steps in the night, because she wanted to go drink a glass of water, too thirsty to sleep………..

And this is where I reveal that I wrote a fic about just that!! Trolls that thump and tiptoe through the night Mei @ Chil, You made me of stone and still every day you wear me down and chip away at me bit by bit

In the end notes I describe my takes and interpretations: With Mei I tried to give the sense of a kid who sacrifices some parts of childhood to feel closer to her parent, like not playing games to spend more time with him no matter how empty, or wanting to be worthy in his eyes. With Fler, since she was the one in canon to take in their mother and write Chil a letter explaining the situation, I feel like she’s always been the one most involved and aware of the problems in their family. The one most there to emotionally support or to understand what the vibes in a room meant. Puckpatti I think knows her father the least, since with time I think Chilchuck was more and more away from work and more and more cynical like the flashbacks of younger him dungeon diving. I think because of her not minding unstable odd jobs that she’s the most passive, that she’s the most go with the flow. I do also love when Mei is the one most aware of her parents’ flaws and most critical as the eldest, but not in this fic. Meijack grows up to never touch a drop of alcohol, what people joke is the one difference between her and her father. Flertom drinks, too much sometimes, but she considers drinking should be a social activity rather than a habit. Puckpatti only drinks on special occasions when she has the chance.

They already don’t have that much time together because of his work, I wonder how big of a percentage the amount of memories the daughters have of him are when he’s not himself truly… How they kinda reconcile it all. It’s their normal. 

And the thing that’s gutting too, is that Chil always looks so so much more open, relaxed, cheerful and happier when drunk than he usually is. He doesn't know how to get his defenses down without alcohol

"you're all that's good"

Because we do see how he truly used to not be so closed off and bitter. But distrust and fearing for betrayals from both coworkers and then his wife aka the person who’s supposed to be closest to him (he doesn’t even have close family besides his daughters. Does he even have close friends) turned him into what he is now. He was so cheerful!! Happy and trusting and optimistic.

He leaves and she left

God there’s the whole ‘wife leaving him’ trauma too is the thing… It had to have fucked him up so bad like no wonder he got paranoid and decided not to open up to ANYONE like. He never saw it coming is the scariest thing. He didn’t expect her to just up and leave. He didn’t see the warning signs. He won’t know if it’s coming this time either.

….. But then also, why he didn’t reach out to her (besides hurt) was because it was a petty silence treatment, like "oh she left without saying a word? Fine well I won’t reach out to her either" <- man who is so not fine and collected about it. It’s been FOUR YEARSSSSSSS I wonder if he always was like… "This week she’s gonna send a letter. … Ok fine, this month she’s gonna crack. … Within the year she’ll come crawling back." and it’s a bit why it was allowed to go on for this long unchecked like… Why he still considers her his wife even though functionally she’s more of an ex by that point after 4 years.

I can never stop thinking about him and his wife they’re fucking crazyyy. Him not reaching out to her started as a silent treatment from frustration. She never reached out to him either, she just up and left, didn’t even leave or send one last letter she’s just gone and has left this all behind, the house and everything in it. It’s been 4 years but he still considers her his wife and considers themselves only "estranged", "due to circumstances we haven’t seen each other in years". His face in the panel he said this is interesting too, trying to be casual but defensive and exasperated, already dreading the judgement and questions. He moved out of his house to rent a place in Kahka Brud instead. How much of him not reaching out was avoidance… Guilt, frustration, sadness, confusion, just procrastinating and dread and fear of a rejection more concrete, or something else… Maybe realizing he doesn’t miss her as much as he should, not enough to chase after her or try to get her back, just resigning himself to it… Is he a bad husband, is he a bad person? Should they reconcile?

Not seeing it coming… It’s half trust, that this person who’s so dear to you could never just up and leave and hurt you like that, half entitlement, thinking that she would never think of leaving, and third it’s blinding himself to the warning signs, not wanting to believe or acknowledge them. Because like, there WERE some, he said she "suddenly fell into a bad mood on the way back [from the outing]" and I don’t think he’s too dumb to be aware that something was off, he literally just dismissed it and then went surprised pikachu face when it turned out things were indeed off.

Part of it is definitely, how do you even react if your wife walks out on you without warning. If it happened to me I think that I wouldn’t reach out for a while either, wait for them to reach out to me first, give them space. As I put it in one of my marchil wips, "I respect your right to be rid of me too much to try and shackle you to me if you want to leave". Inaction is easier than admitting he’s scared to check and find out that the worst case scenario is true. It’s been years and he still hasn’t worked it out why she left. Do you think that’s on purpose. That he doesnt want to know for sure. It’s so so so scary to try and do anything about it

He said he didn’t reach out right away when she left because he was petty and wanted to give her the silence treatment back. Ok but is it that he blames her for their marriage falling apart or does he blame himself and he’s just misdirecting the conflicted feelings? Did he not reach out because a part of him was too scared to know why she left or if she would refuse to come back? Did he just think that she’d come back on her own, and things would get fixed while still staying unsaid and unconfronted like they always have, the first month, then the next and the next, until it was a year in and it sunk in that oh, maybe she wasn’t coming back?

He seems genuine here when he says that he was angry about it and gave her the silent treatment, but it is an habit of his to lie to make himself look worse instead of showing vulnerability, so who knows.

He is so so scared of being affected by relationships. Same thing with his compulsive habit to disguise his worry for anger. It’s why he doesn’t want people to have expectations of him, "I’m a coward I’m selfish", because then they can’t be disappointed, they can’t be surprised if he bites, they can’t leave when you lose what they’ve been staying for.

He has avoidant tendencies too. Every time there’s an interpersonal issue he just accepts it’s out of his control immediately. He’s passive when it comes to relationship problems, just like with coworkers, relationships are a ticking time bomb to him, and he just wants to be left out of it and come out unscathed. It comes back to his pessimism. He doesn’t think that like, things could be better. According to him life is tough and cruel, you accept your lot in life and make the best out of it and that’s it. If people are scummy you don’t whine about how unfair it is, you close yourself off and work to not be taken advantage of again and adapt. So then with his wife, when Marcille is like "Have you tried… Talking?" it’s such a crazy idea that it might work at all, that he could have the power to fix things… And that’s why it’s such a big deal when he goes "Alright I’ll try… I don’t know if it’ll go as well as in the stories, but I’ll try". That CRUMB of allowing himself to be hopeful is so huge

Honestly for the longest time I misread this bit, I thought she left in the night like how Marcille framed it, but no she left after he left for work. She left after he left again.

The way it’s told, it really sounds like Chilchuck just came home from work, stayed probably a couple of days in which they went to that outing together, then left for work again right away/soon after and it’s like. Was that outing the most special thing you guys did together. You came home from like a month of work, you had one outing where she ended up having a bad time, y’all didn’t talk about it further and then you left for another couple of weeks. Are you kidding me

Your married life is waiting for your husband to come home, spending mediocre time together, being shut down when you voice discontentment, and things being left unaddressed before he leaves again.

She left when he was gone for work, but did she leave the day of, or did she flip flop on it and took a while before working up the strength to leave? Was she waiting to see if he’d say anything before leaving and when he didn’t that was the last straw?

Chilchuck trying to prove a point that half-foots can make it out there, trying to rely more on himself because that’s the only person he can trust. His wife feeling like he's leaving her behind (because he does. over and over and over and over.) This guy just keeps throwing himself into work because he thinks it's what's best for everyone. Hey sir neglecting emotional needs can be kinda detrimental to everyone involved, I think you might wanna know that ^ quotes courtesy of @soappox

And to come back to alcoholism for a bit, alcoholism is alcoholism, and someone asked why I thought that a Chilchuck with depression would drink and cope through alcohol, since drinking seems to be something cheerful to him. It does puzzle me a bit but it’s worth going over, so… I don’t think him using drinking as a coping mechanism is far fetched at all. Cheerful drunks that are alcoholic still can absolutely use alcohol in ways like that. If something makes you happier, or even just more numb which translates to you feeling more free etc etc, then I definitely think it tracks that he’d keep drinking. Like personally I do think he’d drink a lot after his wife left him, and in rough patches like that. Depression -> not wanting to have to think, the days are blurring together and you either don’t want to be conscious or you want to feel something etc etc -> drinking for the alcohol. Alcoholics tend to be, well, dependent on alcohol. If something bad happens etc they’re usually more likely to go harder on it rather than stop. We can debate on when and why Chilchuck first started to drink but it’s straight up his favorite food now and it’s deeply ingrained in his life, in his favorite outings and activities and priorities and moods and meals. A CHEERFUL DRUNK IS STILL A DRUNK!!! They drink to get happy not drink because they are happy, though obviously the two can have overlap.

Chil represses sooo much. His solution to interpersonal conflict and feelings is just don’t think about it and dull your feelings & senses to everything ✨ I love him. I need to kill him with hammers Like the other day I was thinking about an AU where he might have ran away from his neglectful home or something, but then I remembered he deals with everything including his family by dulling his feelings and senses to things 🫠 He wouldn’t leave

I’d say he doesn’t look troubled by loss through death, moreso loss through mistakes. His nightmare is his daughters dying yes, but moreso them being killed, there’s an axe in the wall etc, it’s about having failed to protect them.

If he can’t fuck something up or if he’s already fucked it up there’s this pacifying sense that he can’t have the rug pulled from under him, because that’s what having connections is, having a wife isn’t an insurance it’s a rug waiting to be pulled. And his brand is sort of Flawed Mr Mistakes Man so he’s kinda been having to cope lol. I do think he throws himself into workaholism, because it’s sort of the only way to live he knows, making yourself capable and useful and spending his days working like that, less time to think, too tired to think. Senses dulled, senses that are usually too sharp, cutting with clarity that he prefers ignoring and avoiding. Work is something he doesn’t have to feel through, something that gives him pride and self-esteem, something through all the danger and life or death risk feels safer, emotionally. No one taught him how to deal with things another way, it’s always been suck it up and work.

Conclusion

Stop smoking we love you and we don’t want you to die

No drinking will not externalize your feelings no it won’t vent them out well please Chilchuck ple-ea-ease…….

</3 They should invent an alcoholism that doesn’t make you dysfunctional and hard to be around

^ Drunk, by The Living Tombstone

I’ve been thinking about enneagrams and Chil is 6w7 highkey. Becomes 3 when stressed, a little 8 but it’s more that he wants security so much that he becomes paranoid rather than having the core of an 8 y’know. I haven’t dug into it for quotes yet but this paper goes hard if you’re curious.

Dropping my relevant Spotify playlists here bc why not: Chilchuck & his wife, marchil angst

[softceleste]

The fact I honestly thought I'd pull off playing College Craze and being normal about it, and then less than a week later I've already played it multiple times, made a duel MC au, a Pinterest board, and recreated some of the PopMe pages, is genuinely not lost on me.

[sea-jello]

WHAT A YEAR ONE MONTH AND FOUR DAYS DOES TO A MOTHERFUCKER this is actually crazy

AND

LET ME BE FREE OF AMAA

[thjslove]

how r things going with ur crush?

😳😳

well it’s complicated lol because we're both in exam period to finish our training and he might not pass this year, we put things on hold...

but we'll see near the end of june basically lol, his state of mind mostly depends on his exam results

BUT we might be going together to a music festival together in july to see kiss !!!

[digitaldaizy]

a cool Thing i want to buy:

impulse buying concert tickets:

[faeriekit]

New In Town (dp x dc)

ALRIGHT! 👏🏽 A prompt. (Or, well. A premise.) I’m schtealing a lot of worldbuilding from @mediumsizedpidegon‘s post here so bear with me please.

The Bats, however they catch wind of Amity, catch wind of Amity Park. Of course they do. Amity Park has a very distinct presence— Or, well, a lack of a presence. It may have an abundance of documented weirdness online, from folk stories to abandoned livestreams to concerning details in expats’ online blogs.

But there is no online evidence of Amity Park that leaves Amity Park.

So. What is a family of detectives to do when confronted with the need to gather physical evidence? Road Trip, baby!🏄🏽‍♂️🚗🚞🚡

Everyone hops in the car/Batplane and makes their way to Amity Park; they make hotel reservations, ring up the only reasonably rich enough people to even touch their social circle (the Manson family, and Vlad Masters, apparently), make an itinerary for all the documented tourist stops to hit up while in town off the town website, and prepare themselves for whatever dimensional weirdness is causing a complete tech blackout on the town and an inability to be found by satellite.

They get about ten feet into Amity proper when they meet the first local.

His name is Danny. He’s nice! Affable. He looks a lot like any other Wayne sibling, actually, if a little on the younger side. He notices it’s their first time in town. Do they need any help getting around?

Best way to get information is to ingratiate with a local, so...sure, why not? They get a free tour guide, Danny gets to show off his town; they see all the sights, like the local burger joint, the school, the Manson home, the town hall, the city proper. They’re having a clothing swap in the temple parking lot, actually. You should go check it out!

For whatever reason, it’s all...Punk? Goth? There’s a couple of lolita dressed tossed in, and some crocheted things. Everyone has a trunk out their car, eyeliner, and at least two piercings in their face; everyone here seems to know each other on a personal level. Well, small towns are small towns. Whatever.

Danny isn’t deterred by their reactions. If they want, there’s the movie in park tonight! If not, they can catch dinner, though; their hotel restaurant closes at 8pm sharp. (He just...knows this off the top of his head?)

They split up. Some of the family people watch at the restaurant. Everyone is...weirdly courteous to them. A little standoffish. But not at the Wayne name, just at...them being there.

The people at the park find out they’re watching The Night of the Living Dead. This would be much more normal if the park wasn’t also clearly the cemetery, in the middle of July? Which is. Why? It’s not even for any holiday or special time of the year? It’s just...clearly a movie night in the summer? There are little kids here, playing among the gravestones while their parents set out blankets and snacks. Why is this considered a family event??

Well. At least Jason has fun.

Everyone goes to bed and reconvenes in the morning. When they wake up and roll out for the day, Danny manages to find them again, this time with two new friends, bright and chipper in the morning. There’s a farmer’s market today! Everyone’s worked really hard on this week’s harvest; don’t they want to see?

...Sure?

And the longer they’re in Amity Park, the more they begin to realize how convenient it is, that they’re ferried around so easily; that there’s immediately a local who takes a liking to them, that there’s always something else to do; how suspicious it is that no data can get in or out of Amity now that they’re in it, or how they can’t seem to get close to any of the more suspicious parts of town they want to infiltrate. The town is entirely closed to outside influences. The fashion trends are strange and foreign. They only eat things grown in the area, by people they know, and it’s all sort of...green. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone knows where to go. Who to talk to. The superstitions— make no wishes, step on no cracks, wear no large jewelry, cross no shadows of any person (living or dead, apparently), speak to no one without full view of their eyes. 

But nothing seems dangerous— not until a few of them try to investigate Axiom Labs, a subsidiary of the otherwise national Dalvco company, and are met to the face with a blaster that uses tech they’ve never seen, by a red fighter in an ultra-synthetic suit.

Overnight, the extremely polite and welcoming town becomes a hostile entity to fight their way out of.

[passionpeachy]

🤍 Shuffle Playlist Game 🤍

tagged by @swamp-satyr

Rules: you can tell a lot about a person by the music they listen to. Put a playlist on shuffle, list the first 10 songs and then tag people!

I’m using my liked playlist on spotify for this one, which is like 2k songs

1. to death - The OBGMS

2. Forward to Death - Dead Kennedys

3. 1999 She - Deaton Chris Anthony

4. Angels we have heard on high - Chanticleer

5. Pitch the Baby - Cocteau Twins

6. Exit Only - Fugazi

7. That Sedative - Bad Waitress

8. The Static Age - Green Day

9. Dark Entries - Bauhaus

10. I Dropped Out - And The Kids

I tag…….anyone who wants to do it. coward response I know I'm just scared of tagging someone who doesn't want to do it. what if they kill me with hammers. edit: apparently this post ended up tagging people anyway??? embarrassing.....well you know who you are

[doomedmoth]

Not fast, just furious

Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Warnings : use of y/n, smau, unhinged behavior, alcohol and cigarettes consumption, kys joke, suggestive texts, chaotic fluff, grumpy x sunshine, lando getting bullied

Synopsis : During his winter break in Australia, Daniel meets a barmaid with a big heart and a bigger mouth. When she starts following him during the races, fans are a bit unsure of how to deal with her unhinged behavior and total lack of media training. Daniel loves it.

Moth’s prophecy💡: Hi friends ! Pls be kind, it’s my first attempt at a smau and I’m on mobile, so the formatting might be weird. Also sorry if your name is Malva, it was the first one that came to mind lol.

[Instagram] yourusername just posted a photo

yourusername Walking in the club like we regulars

Liked by yourbff, melbournemirage and others

view all comments

yourbff leaving the club like an overworked mom

Liked by yourusername

melbournemirage our favorite employee 🤩

Liked by yourusername

yourusername wouldn’t mind a raise then 🤪

user1 gorggggg

yourbrother stop drinking on the job bitch

yourusername get a job before judging me bitch

*****

[Twitter] f1.driv.updates just posted

*****

[Instagram] yourusername has added a story

[Instagram] yourusername has added a story

[Instagram] daniel3.jpg has added a story

*****

[Messages] Daniel has sent you a text

*****

[Instagram] wagupdates just posted a photo

wagupdates New wag alert ?? Daniel Ricciardo has now been seen a few times with an unknown woman around Melbourne and Perth during his winter break. At first thought to be a childhood friend, sources say they met at the bar where the young woman is working, and they have been getting quite cozy 👀 What do you think ??? 📸 via Australian celebrity press

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danyfanclub she looks cuuuute

user1 anyone got her @ ???

user2 apparently he been hanging out at melbournemirage so maybe she works there ???

malva she looks messsyyyy, doubt it’s gonna last till the season starts…

danyfanclub stay mad

*****

[Instagram] daniel3.jpg just posted a photo

daniel3.jpg Aussie adventures before going back to vroom vroom

Liked by lando.jpg, yourusername, and others

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maxverstappen1 honey come home the kids miss you

Liked by daniel3.jpg

user1 what camera do you use ???

wagupdates do we spy the new girl on the 4th and 7th slide ??? 👀

user2 THANK YOU I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE

user3 sneakyyy

danyfanclub can’t wait to see her in the paddock ‼️

landojpg we missed you at karting mate 🥺

daniel3.jpg sorry, too busy drinking cocktails 🤪

*****

[Messages] Your coworker has sent you a text in Charlie’s Angels

*****

[Instagram] melbournemirage just posted a photo

melbournemirage Today we mourn the loss of our best bartender, yourusername . She had been with us for a little over a year now, and was the light of Melbourne Mirage, our pride and joy. She always won employee of the month, and not just because she created and awarded the title herself. A gathering in her memory will be held tonight at 9pm, everyone who knew and loved her is free to attend 💔

Liked by daniel3.jpg, yourbrother, and others

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yourbff LMAOOOOO

yourusername WHY THE FUCK DO YOU MAKE IT SOUND LIKE I’M DEAD I JUST QUITTED ???

melbournemirage sometimes we can still hear her voice… 💔

daniel3.jpg don’t worry I’ll take good care of her 😇

yourcoworker you better 🔪

user4 DANIEL ???

danyfanclub finally we have the @ !!!

*****

[Instagram] yourusername has added a story

[Instagram] yourusername has added a story

[Instagram] daniel3.jpg has added a story

*****

[Instagram] yourusername just posted a photo

yourusername last month stuff

Liked by danielricciardo, lilymhe and others

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yourbff damn girl, money suits you well 😍

yourusername right ???

malva wow, gold digger much…

danielricciardo thank you for getting Max to fly us around babe 🥰

maxverstappen1 as if I was not offering after every race…

landonorris why don’t you offer me after every race ???

maxverstappen1 you can walk

landonorris TO SILVERSTONE ???

user1 from barmaid to wag, girl is living the dream life

user2 smoking is not cool girl…

yourusername minding your own fckn business is tho

*****

[Twitter] paddockwags just posted

[Twitter] yourusername just posted

*****

[Messages] my sun 🌞 has sent you a text

*****

[Instagram] daniel3.jpg just posted a photo

daniel3.jpg Sorry my cat bites, I found her in the streets. She’s a good girl irl.

Liked by yourusername, carmenmmundt and others

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yourusername don’t reveal my secrets 🙄 (love you)

daniel3.jpg the world has to know ❤️‍🔥 (love you more)

lilymhe I can confirm the good girl part

yourusername I’ll be the best for you 🥵

alex_albon HM EXCUSE ME ???

danyfanclub ppl love to hate on her because she’s not trained like a nepo baby but honestly relatable queen !!

user1 boy is simping so hard

user2 she looks so fun to be around, finally a wag that doesn’t look fake

malva yeah she definitely got the street cat look…

user3 OMG GET A FUCKING LIFE GIRL

danyfanclub being this salty won’t make him like you go get a grip

*****

[Instagram] yourusername has added a story

user1 replied to your story :

Did you and Daniel break up ???

malva replied to your story :

fucking finally, so looooong

danielricciardo replied to your story :

have fuuuun, I’ll call you when my plane lands 🐶

******

[Instagram] yourusername just posted a photo

yourusername Back where everything started. I know I sound like a bitch sometimes, but to my love, my sun, my pup, I am so glad I met you 6 months ago. You turned my life around and I can’t wait for more shenanigans with you. You make any place feel like home. I love you. To everyone else, especially those who thought we broke up because I had the audacity to go home two days before him : Fuck you all ❤️

Liked by maxverstappen1, yourbrother and others

view all comments

melbournemirage we were so happy to have you back, even for just a night ! Soon a #speeddating night at the Melbourne Mirage everyone ? 👀

Liked by yourusername

yourusername stop promoting yourself on my account

maxverstappen1 glad to have met you this year bro

yourusername #mates4life

user1 I didn’t know they were so close !!

danielricciardo my love ❤️‍🔥

yourusername my sun 🌞

user2 highway looking pretty good for a nap rn

user3 goooosh they are so cute I’m gonna kms

danyfanclub FROM THE MAIN ACCOUNT TOO ‼️

malva still not buying it

This user has been blocked

yourbrother you did not have to come back so soon

yourusername jeez 🤡 at least pretend to be happy for the gifts you little shit

yourbrother thx I guess

yourusername you’re adopted

landonorris can you bring me back some Tim Tam ? 🥺

danielricciardo no ❤️

yourbff no ❤️

yourusername no and kys ❤️

landonorris damn 🥺

[ginasbaby]

Hi nit of a weird request but can I request a Regina x reader smut based on the song dead girl walking from heathers? Like Regina knows she's about to loose her status either because of Cady or because she's about to be outed or something and comes over to y/n the day before. Idk why but I can't get the idea out if my head and especially the idea of Regina saying the line "hope I didn't wake you, see I decides I must ride you till I break you".

Thank u:)

Dead queen walking

Requested by anonymous 👍🏼

(Not a big fan of this one)

Regina George x reader;

A/n: Your welcome for the post! Thanks for the request, I hope this meets what you wanted- if not tell me and I’ll re-write!! I hope you enjoy the story!

Warnings: Smut with a bit of plot, Dom!regina sub!reader, thigh riding (Regina receiving), swearing. Lmk if there’s more!!

She stormed out the school, furious. Not only had the show gone wrong, but her social status had dropped. The next day would be humiliating for her. She didn’t even mutter a word to Gretchen or Karen. Not even they knew why the queen bee was angry. Sure they knew the talent show went wrong - but they didn’t think much about it. Then again, they didn’t think a lot.

“Bye Regina,” they both waved as Regina got into her very expensive, hot pink, jeep. Knowing that the hot-headed blonde would definitely not drop them off like she usually did, they walked along the path not uttering a word to each other.

^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^••^

As quickly as she could, Regina drove to your house, she thought that, somehow, you would be able to release some steam for her. She rapidly knocked onto the wood of what seemed to be Y/n’s door.

“Hello, Gina. What-“ the Y/H/C girl got cut off by a threatening but inmate kiss. “Okay, what’s wrong Gina?”

Regina still didn’t say a word and just closed the front door behind her. The troubled girl stormed her. The sweaty girl followed after her like a lost puppy.

“Gina, baby,” she said trying to grab the queen bee’s arm. When she finally managed to latch onto her arm she pulled her to look at the poor girl. Regina had mascara running down her cheeks and puffy eyes. The Y/S/C coloured girl close enough to kiss, moved backwards to give Regina some space. “Baby, really what’s wrong”.

“I’m sorry if I woke you, I decided I must ride you until I break you” she mumbled.

“What’s that honey,” y/n wipes away the falling tears.

“I-it’s just… Cady has been plotting against me the whole time, apparently, she’s been making me fat” she choked out a sob falling into the tired girl’s arms.

“Gina darling, I promise you didn’t wake me up, I was working out. And sweetheart I don’t care if you’re fat. I’ll still love you. And anyway, cady doesn’t matter just me and you okay?” her voice trailed off but was stopped with a passionate kiss. Y/n got pushed to the edge of what seemed to be her sofa. She finally knew what was happening and smirked into the kiss. When air was required they pulled back.

“You know you could have just asked if you were so desperate, I would have given you it,” her swollen lips formed into a small innocent smile.

Pushing herself onto her butt, she brought Regina forward placing an inmate kiss on her lips. She whimpered into the kiss when Regina bit her bottom lip, giving her a chance to slip her tongue in. Exploring all of her soulmates mouth. She brought her hands up to her peers rosy red cheeks and caressed them. She stopped for a moment and put their foreheads together. “Tell me when you want to stop, kay, cutie”. Y/n nodded eagerly - which made the blonde smile- she whispered a good girl which made the y/h/c girl smirk mischievously.

They both pushed their lips back against each other, Regina’s hands dropped down to y/n’s hips caressing them. Her mouth kissed her jaw all the way to her neck, sucking gently in the skin (just enough to leave a mark). A moan got caught in Y/n’s throat to which Regina squeezed her throat gently. Then the whimper finally came out as Regina found her pulse point and sucked on it. The bottom girl’s eyes fluttered shut waiting for further movement. But the she heard the movement go away from her. She opened her eyes and peeked through her eyelashes. The sight that beheld before her was Regina getting undressed. “No peeking baby” she giggled.

Regina peeled each layer off leaving y/n waiting impatiently. Once done, the blue-eyed girl moved towards Y/n and slowly uncovered her eyes.

"What's got you so horny Gina?" The y/h/c girl asked flushed but curious. The school star just put one finger to her lips, indicating for y/n to shut up. Regina slowly moved towards Y/nn, making her impatient. Quickly, she pulled Regina onto her thigh, Regina let out a whimper and threw her head back. Y/n, now that she has access, carefully bit down on her neck, licking to stop the soreness. Regina gripped onto her hair, tugging on it; smirking in satisfaction when the girl below her moaned onto her neck.

Subconsciously, Regina started to grind against the y/e/c girl her juices leaking all over her leg. Y/n guided her hands to help Regina hump against her thigh.

"Why-why are you still wearing these, baby," she moans out, tugging on Y/n's clothes.

"Just wait lovely." she gasped as Regina moaned on her pulse point, her movements getting sloppier.

"Y/n, m' gonna cum." She whined, chanting out her name as the liquids flowed out of her body, leaving Y/n's denim trousers dirty a nd sticky. Regina's body went limp for a moment as she regained her stamina. She pulled Y/n up shedding of her many layers and massaging her breasts.

"My turn babes". Y/n prayed that she could even walk tomorrow.

(Spoiler alert, she couldn't)

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[save-the-villainous-cat]

ok hear me out,,,,,,, the hero is on a mission but they dont find the villain anywhere UNTIL they find them half-asleep with fever but their still willing to fight but heros like NU UH so they just care for them-

“The walls have ears,” the hero said. They dragged out the words, trying their best to gain the villain’s attention. However, the villain only let out a noise close to a whimper. “You have to be more careful around people who might not be your friends.”

“You’re so charming,” the villain croaked. They pushed themselves up but the hero was quicker.

“I know.” With their flat hand on the villain’s chest, they pressed them back down into the mattress while simultaneously sitting down.

The hero felt the villain’s bare chest glowing under their touch, hot and sweaty. Definitely a fever. In all of this, the hardest part had been getting into the hotel room.

After the hero had tried to get into the villain’s room countless of times, the villain had let them in, completely unaware of who the hero was.

Apparently, they had woken up from a nap. Groggy and confused, they had stared at the hero and only recognised them later.

Which was bad, really bad. The villain was able to identify them no matter how creative the hero’s disguises were.

The hero hadn’t planned on playing nurse for their nemesis this weekend and they weren’t in the mood to neglect their duties. But it was the villain.

“Quite a lot of people want you dead. Did you really think it was smart to plan an assassination with other villains? And you planned on murdering another villain with them?”

“Eh.” The villain turned around in bed, pulling the blanket up to their nose.

“You’re aware how messy these villain relationships are, aren’t you? Each of them can betray you at any given moment, each of them would give out your information for five bucks, did you really—”

“Okay, fine. Let’s just fight,” the villain sighed. They shuffled.

“I’m not done.” The hero pushed the villain into the bed again, clearly frustrated. “Now you’re sick, hiding in a hotel room instead of home. You’re weak and an easy target. What were you thinking? Starting a war with no one in your corner?”

“You’ve come to lecture me, is that it?” the villain asked. Their face was red, their body heating up. “Because I really don’t have the energy right now.”

“I was supposed to clear out one of those nasty hideouts. I found a bunch of messages and posts on a strange server mentioning you. About you getting beaten up and hunted. I went out to find you immediately,” the hero admitted. They scratched their neck. “Found you with some detective work and the tracker that I put on you a while ago.”

“You’re tracking me?” the villain asked. They didn’t seem surprised.

“You’re tracking me too,” the hero reminded them.

“Aww. You found it and didn’t remove it?”

“Neither did you.”

“Softie,” the villain whispered. Their smile, although sleepy, seemed to be of genuine nature. “Always a softie around me.”

“Keep those little fantasies to yourself, will you?” the hero asked. They liked not to think of this aspect of their relationship. It was distracting.

“Hm.” The villain closed their eyes again. “You went through all of this trouble to make sure I’m alright?”

“I…hey, I am warning you, alright? You have to be more careful with information and the people you share it with.” The hero pushed up the blanket even further. “Do you have any medication?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m dying.”

“My god, you have a cold.” The hero stood up and went into the bathroom. Once they had found a towel, they let it soak in cold water and returned to the “dying” villain. “You’re so dramatic.”

They put the towel on the villain’s forehead. The villain winced, sensitive to the cold touch.

“But they haven't found you yet, have they?” the hero asked, softer this time. They didn’t know why but they didn’t feel as anxious as before. The villain shook their head

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” they asked eventually.

“You haven’t made the smartest decision.”

“Fuck, I’m so stupid,” they mumbled. “I really thought I could help you a little.”

“I don’t need help,” the hero answered. Although, they were quite surprised this was about them.

“You’re working yourself to death.”

“Not your problem,” the hero said. They shifted the towel a little. “Don’t do anything like this again, got it?”

“No promises.”

The hero didn’t know if they were worried or flattered.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Oh, you wanna play psycho killer? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 1

RAAAAA! Excited about this one! Based off this post. Inspired by this drawing from Andalusia_Lu on Tiktok. Not proofread. Tbh I’m kinda nervous about this one but…Enjoy! Also in this story MJ and Peter are just friends. This is probably the darkest think I’ve written.

(Y/N) - Your name.

NSFW!!, Cursing, use of alcohol, death, murder, yandere behavior, Reader has a bf who does die, violence, blood, said reader’s bf calls her derogatory remarks behind her back, religious imagery(I think???), stalking, male masturbation, invasion of privacy, reader being drugged, panty stealing, stalking, implied kidnapping, gore, cameras being placed in readers home without their knowledge, it’s a horror one shot so… you know what you’re walking into. Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!

Word count: 2.5k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

October 31st, Halloween night. Also know as the night that gives college students an excuse to get fucked up while in a shit quality costume that cost 50 bucks at spirit Halloween.

That little rule you are not exempt from, that’s how you found yourself in a random college frat party at NYU, a bottle of beer in one hand, and your boyfriend’s in the other as you drag him through the crowd so you both can dance. The alcohol in your system made your whole body relaxed and your cheeks glow with a dash of red over them, your eyes half-lidded and your smile wide as you looked up at Daniel while Promiscuous from Nelly Furtado blasted through the house. You looked like an angel straight from heaven, although that might be due to your customer, being dressed up as Juliet from the 1996 movie, while your boyfriend was clattered in armor as Romeo. The costumes being your idea after having rewatched the movie a few weeks ago.

You both had lost the rest of your group in the crowd, Jess and MJ had said they were going to the kitchen while Miguel and Peter had said they were going outside to get fresh air but you haven’t seen them since, you wouldn't have extremely worried, if it wasn’t for the reason sightings of the ghostface killer that had been popping up on the news though. Sure maybe going to a party wasn’t the best idea either but you figured you would have been fine since you were going in a group, I mean, what wouldn’t you be okay? It’s not like an actual serial killer goes after a group of young adults who are all drunk right? But now you’ve lost 4 out of 6 people in said group. But maybe in the small chance you do get targeted, you should be able to stand a chance since your Daniel was always in the gym with Miguel, so he was pretty jacked (not as jacked as Miguel though but you’ll never say that out loud).

One song turned to two then to three, just like the beers in Daniel’s hand, you had slowed down so you could at least be sober enough to order a Lyft for when the night was over. Eventually you were whisked away from your boyfriend by MJ and Jess, thankful that they were still at the party and nothing happened to them.

“Hey, have you guys seen Peter or Miguel?” You shouted over the music after a while, Jess just shrugged, before MJ answered.

“They texted me that they found Daniel and he’s like, fucked up apparently.”

—

“Please!”

Stab.

“I don’t want to die! Please stop!”

Stab.

“I’ll give anything! Just don’t kill me!”

The begs and pleads become more desperate and sloppy with every second, the words slurring more together from the alcohol and the crimson red liquid dribbling out of Daniel's mouth. The sight was almost enough to make the two men feel pity. Almost.

“Anything?” The shorter one asked with an agonizingly slow head tilt, his voice altered from the voice changer attached to the plastic mask, signaling for the other to stop plugging the knife into their victim’s stomach. Despite not liking being told what to do, he dropped Daniel on the floor with a snarl. Daniel quickly retracted into a small ball, shaking arms going to cover his bloody wound with a groan and whimper.

“We want (Y/N).” If it weren't for him being in excruciating pain and bleeding out, Daniel would have thought they were joking, but the tone in which the words were spoken made his blood that was spilling out from his stomach and mouth run cold.

“W-what?” He asked as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming shallow and his head from becoming too dizzy, but he was failing miserably.

“You heard us. We. Want. (Y/N).” The larger one spoke this time. How badly, he wanted to emphasize each word with another stab, the knife in his hands twitched a bit as he tightened his grip on the black handle. He was itching for an excuse, but he’ll refrain.

For now.

Maybe it was the way he responded to a stressful situation, or maybe it was the lack of blood finally affecting his brain, but Daniel had the nerve to laugh. Fucking laugh. The laugh was breathy, and in between coughs and groans, causing Miguel and Peter to look at their prey like he was the crazy one. Rage filled their bodies when Daniel finally composed himself enough to talk again.

“Y-you can’t be serious? …Right? You-you’re gonna kill-kill me over some bitch?”

How fucking dare he.

How dare he speak about you like you were some random skank, like you were a pile of dirt. You were a fucking goddess, Miguel and Peter knew that, because they worshipped you like one. They didn’t see what you saw in Daniel, he didn’t deserve you, no one did, except Miguel and Peter, they would treat you better than any other man that roamed this stupid planet, and especially far better then the sorry excuse of a boyfriend that they had on the ground like he was a wounded animal.

For someone who was about to die, he sure had a lot of nerve.

He didn’t love you like they did, he didn’t know your every move like they did. They were like your real life guardian angels, always following behind you to make sure no one would harm so much as a hair on your pretty little head, and how lucky were they, that you were juuust oblivious enough that you don’t notice them, just enough to brush of your rummaged trash as raccoons, just enough that you didn’t noticed when a pair or two of your dirty panties go missing, you had too many to keep track of all of them anyways. Never knowing that one of the two would sneak into your apartment while you were asleep to grab them from your hamper, no matter which boy had decided to embark on their mission, both of them had to fight against the struggle to not stay and watch you sleep, fighting the urge to release their painful hard members and stroke while watching you sleep. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they haven’t lost the battle at least once before, biting into their free hand to stop any moans from escaping and waking you up, while they fist fuck their cocks with the other, but can you blame them?

They just loved you so much and you loved them too, you just haven’t realized it yet. How could you when that pest of a boyfriend of yours was pumping your head full of false thoughts? He didn’t love you like Peter and Miguel did. Sure Daniel might seem like he loved you so much, going as far as to get you flowers and gifts from time to time, but Miguel and Peter’s gifts they would give you were so much better, because these gifts were all given to you with the same purpose. To help them watch over you, make sure you were safe, strategically planning to make sure to eventually fill your entire home with cameras right under your adorable nose. The teddy bear that sits on your bed and the light up mirror over your bathroom sink were first of course.

Peter couldn’t help himself, with all of his force, he kicked Daniel right in the balls, causing him to curl up more in pain. Miguel was going to do the same when his phone pinged in his pocket, he quickly took it out and checked it, your name filling his screen made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s (Y/N). She’s asking where we are, and wants us to meet her at her apartment after she drops off Jess and MJ in 15 minutes.” Miguel mumbled as he looked down at his phone, before looking up at Peter then down at their prey on the ground. “She probably thinks we’re still with him, what should we do with him?”

Peter’s eyes followed Miguel’s gaze down to the half- conscious Daniel, silent as if thinking about what to say, or more likely what to do with him.

“We could leave him here for dead?” Peter suggested, but Miguel shook his head at the thought, too risky, they couldn’t have the chance of him being found by someone and taken to the hospital, that could ruin everything.

“You both… ar-are fucking psychotic! Killing me over some-some bitch who doesn’t eve-even give good fucking… fucking head!” Daniel yelled between coughs, more blood falling from his blue-turning lips, he looked like he had seen a ghost due to how pale he was becoming from the blood lost, and now he’s gonna become one. Miguel’s phone buzzed again, this time you only sent a single question mark, looking down at his phone.

“I want you to know that if I wasn’t about to be late to see you, I would beat this guy bloody, for the way he talks about you.” Miguel said out loud as if you could actually hear him, as if you were actually here to hear how true those words were, but instead Miguel raised his knife with one hand and grabbed Daniel’s hair with the other. Enjoying the way the Dani’s eyes widened in fear, his weak arms flailed around as he tried to fight the larger man off of him, but it was no use. “Guess I’ll just have to cut straight to the point.” He said, the smirk evident threw his altered voice before putting his knife against Daniel’s throat and slashing it open. Watching whatever life that was left in him drain from his eyes.

Peter being the skilled photographer he was, took a selfie of the two with their slayed animal, now it’s time to go claim their trophy.

—

Something was off.

Like seriously off, ever since Peter and Miguel disappeared at the party neither of them had answered their phone, and as soon Dani disappeared neither had he. Maybe the party wasn’t the best idea in retrospect, you let out a sigh as you entered your apartment, and collapsed on your couch, wanting to try and calm your racing thoughts a bit before you changed out of your costume. Closing your eyes, and taking in a deep breath.

Your phone started to ring.

Usually, you didn’t answer calls from people who weren’t already in your contacts, so the “blocked number” would normally set off red flags, but maybe the alcohol was still making your brain foggy, because without thinking you answer the call and put your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

No answer.

You left out a huff and tried again.

“Hellooo?”

When you didn’t get an answer again you rolled your eyes.

“I think you got the wrong numb-“

“Wanna play a game?”

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“I said, wanna play a game?”

“Um no thanks. I'm hanging up now.”

“Hang up and you won’t get to see your special surprise though.” Oddly enough, you grew a bit curious.

“Wha..what do I have to do?” You asked.

“It’s simple, We’re gonna play a small game of hot and cold.” You had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you shouldn’t answer the call. “Right now you’re cold.”

Without another word, you slowly got up, and made your way down the hall, your floorboard creaking underneath your heels.

“Warmer.”

Your heart begins to beat in your ears, you bring a shaky hand up to the doorknob of your bathroom, you go to open the door when the voice from the other end of the phone spoke again.

“Colder.”

You quickly bring your hand back down to your side and let your heavy footsteps make your way into your bedroom.

“Hotter.”

You swallowed the thick lump of saliva down your throat as you made your way to the left side room, your eyes dead set on your closet.

“Hotter.”

You closed the gap between you and the closet, and brought your hand to the handle, mentally preparing yourself for whatever hides before the wooden doors.

“You're on fucking fire baby.”

Your hand drew back the door, the sight made you let out a blood curdling scream, almost dropping your phone in the process. Your Daniel, dead, sitting on the closet floor, gutted out like a fish. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sly chuckle before speaking once again.

“Sorry about your boyfriend, guess all those muscles didn’t help much.” He mocked before the call went dead, and you finally released your phone, it falling to the floor, as your body began to shake and your breathing became rapid.

You let out a sob and began to stumble away from the mangled corpse that you once called your boyfriend, only for your back to meet with a what felt like a wall of muscle, you quickly look up over your shoulder, being met with the infamous ghostface mask that has been plastered all over the news.

“What’s the matter (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The altered voice taunted. No, no, no,no. This cannot be happening. You shook your head as another sob left your lips stumbling away from the masked killer and into the hallway, expecting him to follow after you, but instead he just watched you. If you were thinking straight. You’d probably realized that this was a trap, but you weren’t thinking straight, as you finally reached the front door, you went to unlock the door and leave your apartment, but before you even stepped foot out of the door a large hand came and grabbed you around your waist. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to scream, but instead a white cloth came and covered your nose and mouth, the strong smell of chemicals quickly filling your lungs.

“Surprised (Y/N).” This voice was a bit deeper, then the one from your bedroom, your head became dizzy as you eyes fluttered, your vision was beginning to blacken, before you were fully go under, you saw the man holding you still was a lot larger than the other one, it clicked, there were two of them.

You black out.

—

“She out?” Peter asked Miguel as he slipped off his mask, Miguel following suit.

“Like a light.” Miguel smirks as he goes to pick you up bridal style, your body limply laying in his arms. The two couldn’t help but smile as they watched your sleeping form, so peaceful looking, like an Angel. Their angel. Their plan played out just as they wanted, you were theirs now, and theirs alone. No one could come in the way of you three anymore, all they had to do now was make sure you wouldn’t leave them. But how would you do that if you didn’t know where you were? You couldn’t. That’s why Miguel gently placed you in the backseat of Peter’s car, before getting into the passenger’s seat. They were going to make sure you were far, far away from your old life, so you could start your new one with your lovesick killers.

[tripleyeeet]

I'M STARVING, DARLING (8)

SUMMARY: For the first time in a long time, you and Astarion find yourself experiencing a sense of normalcy through the chaos.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,346

WARNINGS: Sexual tension (there always is with these two, whoops), a bit of bloodsucking, mentions of past abuse, angst if you squint.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this took so long! I'm back from vacay at work and died for four days straight but now we're back! Sort of!

Updates from now on might not be as frequent but I'm going to try and post weekly; maybe on Saturdays?

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

 “Don’t you dare.”

At this point, you’ve been lying there for what feels like hours, locked inside his arms —unable to bring yourself to move thanks to the comfort you feel surrounding your frame. A comfort you haven’t felt in a long time as you listen to the raspy way his voice tickles your neck, prompting you to sigh and give in, knowing that resistance is futile.

“They’re going to kill us, you know.” 

Shifting awkwardly to face him, you try not to smile when he peaks one eye open, quickly closing it when he catches your own. “I’d like to see them try considering I’m already dead.”

“Yes, well I’m not.”

He huffs, clutching you further into his chest. “And that’s my problem?”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully smack his face before wriggling from his grasp, moving to sit upright with a groan. As you do, you quickly remember the events of last night and slowly roll your bare shoulders, feeling them click in and out of place before you raise your arms to the sky with a yawn. 

Despite your better judgement, you stayed up far too late, enjoying the ever-growing intimacy the night had to offer. All of the lingering touches and longing gazes mixed between small bouts of passion and a rather lengthy dip in the tub were nothing short of worth it. In fact, if you were honest, it was better than anything you could’ve imagined. A proper break from the chaos you’d been unwillingly thrust into as of late.

You knew because of that it’d be hard to wake up. To let your mind move from fantasy to reality as the sun hit your face and the reminder of the oncoming doom filtered through your tired mind.

What you weren’t prepared for however was Astarion’s lack of restraint as his curious fingers begin to slip across your back. Carefully drawing up and down your spine, his fingers move in delicate motions, sending an onslaught of shivers down your spine that have him chuckling under his breath, shuffling closer toward your frame. 

“If you told me last night I’d be enjoying such a delicious view…”

When you turn to give him a narrow-eyed look he trails off, looking at you with feigned innocence as he kisses your shoulder blade, allowing his lips to linger as you stare him down. 

“You’re lucky you're cute.” 

“And you’re lucky my blade’s still attached to my clothes. Otherwise it’d be at your throat threatening you back to bed.” 

“Kinky.” 

Immediately he snorts, pressing his forehead against your back. “For fuck sakes— come back to bed, please. I won’t ask you again.” 

Biting your lip, you look around the room for a moment, picking apart the disaster of discarded clothes and muddied floors mixed between half-opened packs of supplies. Somehow despite the disarray of it all you still manage to smile as you crane your neck back, knowing that you should get up but ultimately give in to temptation, shuffling around Astarion’s frame to rest your head back on your pillow. 

“Fine. You win.”

“Win?” He slips effortlessly into your side, leaning over to place a chaste kiss to your cheek before tracing the edge of your jaw with his finger. “And what pray tell is my prize?” 

“My company.”

He scrunches up his face in false disgust, softly taking hold of your chin. “I was hoping for something a bit more exciting.”

It’s apparent then that he’s looking for a repeat of the hours prior. More moments of shared ecstasy before the inevitable shift in focus occurs and you’re most likely left wanting for another few weeks.

It’s tempting for sure. Especially when he slips a leg between your own, gently pushing his thigh against that spot that has you swallowing hard as you close your eyes. 

“You and I both know—“

He cuts you off with a long kiss. One that’s devoid of anything other than the hunger of a starved man, reaching for that initial bite. It’s all tooth and tongue —a mess of movements that have him shifting upright to straddle your leg, breathing hard against your open mouth as he slots his teeth against your lower lip, making you groan.

“Sorry darling, what were you saying?” His grin is wicked when he pulls away, using the moment of dazed confusion to stroke your cheek as you open your mouth to speak. When nothing comes out he merely chuckles and places a much softer kiss in the same spot, resting against you for a second or two before pulling away. 

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re easy,” he muses, moving his thigh against you. “Desperate even.”

Immediately, there’s a part of you that wants to argue that the feeling of your legs suddenly tightening around his own as your breath begins to falter isn’t the result of your desperation, but his. That you’re merely just a victim to his charms like always. However, the bigger part of you knows he’ll probably make you feel otherwise. More than likely, he’ll retort with something far too clever and make you second-guess your words.

So instead, you merely give in to his claims, humming quietly as he explores your frame, quickly laying waste to your neck with an open-mouthed kiss that makes you crave that feeling again. The cold nothingness brought on by his teeth latching against you.

Despite its somewhat violent cause, you still long to remember the feeling. The incomparable bliss of that icy jolt before total numbness occurs, leaving you lightheaded and empty. Suddenly, it takes over your mind, flashing amongst the current movements of his mouth trailing down your torso.

All of it’s enough to say his name. Quietly through the haze of desire, you feel him pause and look up, raising a brow at your heavy chest as you cup his cheek. “Are you hungry?”

He looks at you confused. “If this is some sneaky way of trying to get out of bed, I can assure you—“

“No.” You shake your head, moving it slightly to the side to showcase your throat. “Are you hungry?”

For a moment there’s an undeniable tension that grows. Festering amongst naked skin and scratchy sheets, it builds by the second, making your chest ache with the kind of nervous anticipation that has you wondering if maybe you shouldn’t have spoke. 

He may be a vampire but thus far he’s managed to keep himself from feeding on you since that first time. Something you were both surprised and disappointed by, considering you had expected him to ask for more. Especially after the reaction of his previous feed. It was obvious that it was enjoyable. A moment of pure decadence that left him wanting more despite the consequences.

“Wait a minute, am I dreaming?”

His face is suddenly inches from yours, his breath wafting against your face through a grin that makes you chuckle. “No.”

 “Are you sure? Because I’m sure I’ve dreamt of this exact scenario once or twice.” 

“Have you now?” 

He hums with a nod, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “Yes. However, the only difference is that I was in a castle and Cazador’s head was on a stick in the corner.” 

You snort and wrap your arms around his head, pulling him closer. “Sorry to disappoint. Hopefully you can consider my offer the next best thing?”

“I suppose. But only because you were my first.”

First?

Immediately, you wonder if it’s a slip of the tongue —another one of his flirtatious lies sent to woo despite already having you. Given the nature of his past, it wouldn’t be all that surprising. Considering his role under Cazador’s thumb was to charm and lure, you know that lies like this are still second nature. A mechanism of lust ingrained into his psyche. 

Plus, it’s not like it’s possible for you to actually be his first. Having spent most of his time in spaces like this, a bit of bloodletting was bound to happen at some point. It was inevitable really when you think of Astarion’s voice and face and overall ability to manipulate. 

Surely it’d be hard to resist. But then it dawns on you —the severity of his abuse. The tightened leash so carefully tied around his neck for hundreds of years. There’s no way Cazador would’ve allowed him such pleasantries. Despite his efforts —despite the countless opportunities to take his fill, it quickly becomes apparent that he wouldn’t. 

Because he couldn’t. 

Because despite the allowance to explore the city, he was still considering nothing.

It makes your heart simultaneously skip and break, watching the sudden nervousness that clouds his features. The way his cheeky grin sort of falls out of place, showcasing an underlying fear that has him licking his lips and searching your face.

“Is that true?”

All he does is nod his head, looking at you with such sincerity that the only way you’re able to respond is to inhale slowly. To stop and stare and subtly nod back, hoping that he understands.

When he does you’re met with nothing but anticipation. A breathless series of moments leading up to Astarion’s mouth against your throat, warming up the skin with languid licks that have you closing both your eyes, waiting for the pain. 

“I don’t understand what I did to deserve you.” 

The edges of his teeth scrape gently over your skin, making you swallow and sigh, unable to answer because you’re too busy preparing. Too busy expecting the pain before it eventually subsides into that numbness you so desperately crave. 

“Thank you, for this. Truly.”

His voice feels like velvet on your skin. The way it coasts the expanse of it in the softest of praise before it’s surpassed by that first initial jolt, ripping through your flesh in one quick push. Groaning lowly, you feel the presence of his teeth slide inside before you can even process, his lips haphazardly slotting over top to suck.

Without much warning you find yourself lost. Laying slack against the bed, unable to even bring yourself to grab his hair like the first time, you merely ride the wave of pain and pleasure that repeatedly breaks against you. Allowing it all to sink in with a quiet hum that has him smiling against your throat, lapping up bloodshed after bloodshed until he hears the door crash open. 

“It's way past sunrise what the hell are you —oh fucking— Astarion, seriously?”

Both of you look over in horror to see Karlach looking down at the floor —her one hand covering her face as she disapprovingly shakes her head, realizing what she’s just witnessed. 

Upon noticing, you know she isn’t all that surprised —just disappointed. A feeling that makes you sick to your stomach as you work to sit up, swearing under your breath and reaching for the nearest sheet despite your head starting to spin.

“I know we’ve been without proper shelter for months but for god's sake Karlach doors exist for a reason!” 

Mortified, you look between them as Astarion scolds, noticing the subtle smirk that rises over Karlach’s lips. “Well, maybe if the two of you got up when you were supposed to instead of lying around sucking each other off I wouldn’t have to fucking come up here in the first place!”

“To be fair, we never got to the part where I suck him off.”

Immediately, Karlach groans while Astarion snorts, prompting you to press your lips together to suppress a laugh as the energy in the room shifts toward your favour. 

“You two are just —just… come downstairs, please. Gale was supposed to cook breakfast but his hand’s still sore from the fight yesterday.”

“What the hell does that have to do with us?” Astarion asks but unfortunately, you already know the answer.

“You know how protective he gets over the cooking duties.” Annoyed, Karlach rolls her eyes, dropping her hand from her face to motion to you. “He won’t let anyone else but Blood-Bag over here do it.” 

Both of you groan but relent, telling Karlach you’ll be down soon before she grumbles a low you better be before shutting the door. 

When she’s gone you let out a sigh of relief, moving to sit up and shuffle towards the edge of the bed, trying your best to ignore the aching in your neck and the piercing gaze of Astarion’s frustration honing in on his handiwork. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you tell him then, narrowing your eyes at the hunger that lingers beneath the surface, threatening to rise all over again at the sight of your bloodied skin. 

Despite this, you know he’s most definitely thinking about it. Intensely and angrily, it’s probably the only thing he’s thinking about as he watches you push off the bed and move to your pack to grab a washcloth. 

“Can’t I just finish you off?” 

As you wipe down your neck, watching the way he frowns at the waste of blood you groan. “Astarion—“

“Please?” 

He’s at your side in an instant, wrapping his greedy hands around your waist, pulling you in all over again. Convincing you that despite the importance of your compatriot’s breakfast, his fill still reigns supreme. 

“Fine but—“

“I promise to return the favour.” He cuts you off with a smirk. One that’s laced with lust and quickly finds its way back to its home, stopping at the entrance with bated breath.

You can’t help but roll your eyes through your suppressed grin in response, feeling his fangs hit your neck only to stop when the door rings out in a series of knocks causing you both to close your eyes and groan, knowing it’ll have to wait till later. 

A fact that stirs an anger in both of you as you begrudgingly clean and throw on your clothes, attempting to ignore all the tension as you head downstairs to the communal kitchen space. 

Inside there’s about half a dozen bodies, slaving over pots and pans and chatting with their peers as they await their meals. In the corner, Gale and Shadowheart stand chatting amongst themselves, unaware of your presence until you’re standing before them, hands crossed grumpily over your chest. 

“Ah! About time you two showed up! We were beginning to think you’d abandoned the crew —or worse.”

“What could possibly be worse than leaving all of you behind?” Astarion asks dully, prompting you to shoot him a glare that has Shadowheart cocking her head.

“Where’s Karlach? Did she find you?” she asks.  

Both of you nod, trying your best not to reveal the events of her findings before quickly changing the subject, signalling Gale to go into some long-winded rant about the importance of breakfast. 

After that Astarion zones out completely. Standing alongside you, you can tell his mind is elsewhere as you and the wizard discuss the various ingredients you have on hand, working together to ultimately decide on a simple breakfast hash you could’ve easily whipped up without the lecture. 

“Do you want me to supervise or?”

You shake your head. “Seriously Gale. I’m fine. I’ve been cooking since I was five. Go rest with the others.”

It takes some further reassurance; mostly from Shadowheart who insists that you’re right because of how starving she is. But eventually, he manages to set aside his pride with a sigh, muttering something about spices before being dragged away, leaving just the two of you. 

“I swear I’ve never seen a more uptight wizard.” Astarion shakes his head while you wander over to the nearest prep table, producing a cutting board and a blade from Gale’s leftover pack. “I mean, I know they’re all pretty tightly wound but him—“

“Can you start peeling potatoes for me?”

He looks at you like you’ve just insulted his character. With widened eyes and open lips, he takes a minute to look around the room to see if you’re speaking to someone else before he realizes he’s the only one there. “Me?”

“Yes, you. C’mere.”

He does, but only to further stand there and stare, letting out a laugh. “Oh darling, I don’t cook. Hunt, yes, but obviously considering the fangs and all that you and I both know I no longer have a need for culinary skills.”

Ignoring his words you hand him the knife and motion to the spot next to you, watching as he reluctantly obeys. “Peel these then cut them into chunks about this big.” You show him the sizing with your fingers, hoping he’s smart enough to understand before tossing a couple of potatoes in front of him. “Then cut these peppers about half that size.” 

As you hand over the peppers, Astarion continues to look at you in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, darling.”

“Dead, actually.” You grin mischievously, procuring some eggs that Gale managed to trade off of one of the other cooks before you arrived along with a bowl. “Besides, I recall a moment earlier when you said you’d return the favour?”

“Sexually,” he states. Then, he grabs the nearest potato and begins to peel, shakily slicing off a piece of potato skin. “Also, if I recall we didn’t even finish your end of the bargain.”  

“Yet.”

Realizing that you’re right, he merely huffs and continues to peel, wreaking havoc along the knuckles of his fingers in the process. 

It makes you frown, watching him struggle as you crack your eggs and mix, remembering that he probably hasn’t done this in years. For the last two centuries, he was too busy hunting whatever he could find underground, desperately consuming whatever crossed his path —meaning he probably hasn’t used a knife for anything other than violence since before he was turned. A depressing fact that has you reaching for his hand and examining his wounds with tired eyes.

“Can I show you how to hold it?”

There’s a moment where he goes to protest but ultimately accepts, looking at you half-annoyed as you explain the angle at which the knife should sit in his hand and the amount of pressure you should use. 

“I don’t know why you insist on having me help. I don’t eat any of it.” 

As he speaks he still takes your advice, letting the knife carefully slide across the potato, avoiding his knuckles entirely, making you grin. “It’s not about eating. It’s about making something you’re proud of.”

“How can you be proud of something that will no longer exist in an hour?”

You shrug your shoulders, unsure how to explain as the two of you then work in silence. As he peels and cuts, you prep your eggs before moving on to the sausage, dumping the meat into a pan with some simple spices that most definitely weren’t on Gale’s list. 

You discover then how easy this all feels. From the moment you woke up, it’s as if you’ve been transported to a new life. One where the threat of danger is lost just like the stagnant tadpole behind your eye. In your mind, there’s not a care in the world other than Astarion’s knife skills and the hungry bellies that impatiently sit and it’s nice. Simple. The kind of life you quickly find yourself longing to have as the two of you continue to cook, occasionally joking about your peers between flirtatious touches and suggestive comments that have your chest feeling warm.

“You know with some practice you might actually be a handy prep cook.” 

Bumping your hip against Astarion’s you notice a flicker in his gaze. One that’s filled with something foreign and happy as the two of you begin walking out your freshly cooked meal. “I’d say you’re wrong but considering my toxic pride, I’ll merely agree.”

Before you can respond the whole table catches your attention. Their eyes are wide with want as you set the bowl of hash at the centre of the table, barely blinking before they’re shovelling it onto their respective plates and expressing their thanks; filling Astarion with a new kind of pride that makes him fully understand just what you meant earlier. 

-

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[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[bucks-babe]

maybe angel!reader helping bucky thru a panic attack? like he thinks when he dies hes gonna suffer in hell for the stuff the winter soldier did and we calm him down and help him? u can add smut if u want but u dont have to !!

My Guardian, My Angel, My Love

Pairing: Bucky x angel!reader

Summary: For the first time Bucky gets to experience peace because of his sweet angel.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Angst?, actually a lot of angst, I don’t know how it got that way but it did, it gets happy though, fluff, smut (I can’t help myself), oral f!receiving, handjob, awkward sex talk, like really awkward, talk about heaven and dying, talk about life after death and immortality, angels based off of Supernatural but I changed a few things, blood, nearly dying, gunshots, reader doesn’t have a soul but can still love because I said so, reader knows when and how everyone dies but can’t tell them, reader has wings, 3rd person, age gap (reader is eons old), wings being a metaphor for sexual assault?, think Maleficent, no use of Y/N, so many emotions

A/N: This is not supposed to force any religion nor be an accurate representation of any religion. I din't go with panic attack, rather I had him almost die. I was feeling angsty

The moment Bucky’s knees hit the ground he knows it's over, that this is the end. He knew this was the way he would go out, on a mission, desperately trying to atone all his misdeeds. Tendrils of pain shot throughout his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. When his side hit the ground, he knew it wouldn’t be too long before he went, limbs feeling too heavy. He couldn’t hear Steve screaming for help, scrambling for anything to stop the bleeding.

What Bucky did hear though, was a ruffle, almost like a flock of birds flying by, then a figure he’d never seen before stood above him. She’s here to take me. It didn’t strike Bucky as odd that she was the only thing that was clear, the rest of his view blurry and unfocused. He tried to speak, he really did, but no words came out, the breath leaving his lungs not enough to push any words out.

The woman crouches down, hand cupping his cheek with such softness tears leave his eyes, wiped away by Steve in the quinjet who seemingly can’t see her. “Close your eyes, my love. When you wake up, I’ll be there.” Fuck, this is really happening. Fear coursed through his body, scared of what punishment his sins earned him. I deserve to go to hell for what I’ve done. 

A guttural whine passes his lips; Steve chokes back sobs next to his lifelong friend. “Shh, none of that, now. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise. You can rest now.” All at once, the pain is gone. Bucky feels like he’s floating - it’s wonderful.

Bucky has no problem opening his eyes. What the fuck? This is hell? Well damn. The most wonderful sound meets his ears - a giggle, soft and delicate. “No, my love, this is not hell and you’re not dead.” She comes into view. She’s gorgeous. Wait, I’m alive! Apparently, Bucky says that last part because Steve’s gasp enters his ears.

“Yeah, Buck, you’re alive. Gave us a scare though, didn’t uh, didn’t know if you would make it.” Bucky doesn’t respond right away, too busy looking around for his mystery woman, only to be met with the walls of the med bay. “Hey, I’m right here, Buck, look at me.” It’s not the woman, rather it’s Steve.

“How long was I out? What happened?”

“A few days. It was touch and go for some time but you bounced back. When we were on the mission, Hydra had a sniper posted outside. He got you right in the stomach.” Bucky could hear the emotion in Steve’s voice, the fear of losing his best friend still leaving him shaken up.

“Well, they’re a pretty shitty shot if you ask me. Could have gotten one right between the eyes with one of those shit guns we got in the war.” Steve coughs out a laugh, turning into a belly laugh a few seconds later. Bucky would laugh with him, but the bullet wound in his abdomen says he shouldn’t. He still doesn’t see the woman, though. Maybe I just made her up. 

A few days later, doctor Cho gives him the all clear to leave the med bay; however, he’s off duty for the foreseeable future and not any amount of his grumbling changed her mind. Still, Bucky hasn’t seen the woman. He feels a little crazy that he misses her, well crazier. 

Slowly, he makes his way to his room. Steve offered to help but Bucky wanted to do this on his own, having been tended to his whole stay in hospital. He puts in his password on the keypad Tony installed when Bucky first arrived, when the fear that Hydra would come back and take him was too much to bear. His room is the same way he left it, except for a woman on his bed. Not just any woman though, it was his mystery lady. 

Someone’s gonna have to put me in the cuckoo's nest. She laughs as if she can hear his thoughts. God, I hope not. “God has bigger things to worry about than such an inconspicuous fear as that, my love.” She sits up, facing him, the most beautiful smile gracing her lips.

“Can you hear my thoughts?” He feels like he already knows the answer, but asks anyway. If this woman is made up, of course she can read his mind. She just smiles and rises to her feet, walking over to him.

“What do you think, my love?” She tilts her head, a soft smile still resides on her lips. He feels so safe with her and she isn’t even real, just a figment of his imagination, a ruse to comfort himself in what he thought were his last moments. “I am very real, I’ll have you know.”

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he believes her. He believes this woman who showed up randomly on a field, who his best friend couldn’t see, and who disappeared without a trace. “How then? How did you do it?”

“Do what, my love?” She grabs his hand and leads him to the bed, helping him sit, finding a spot next to him.

“Save me, hear my thoughts, hide from Steve, disappear, get into my room, all of it. It’s not natural. Either you’re a ghost, or a mutant, or a reaper who was trying to take me. I don’t know, but you’re something.” Another laugh escapes her. He should be terrified of her, but he can’t find it in himself to be, her presence emanating calm.

“Well aren’t you a clever one? However, I’m none of those things nor did I save you. It just wasn’t your time yet. I’m an angel, though, to answer your question.” Bucky just stares, not believing her. This has to be a joke. “No joke, my love. If you want, I can prove it to you.” Bucky doesn’t even question why she calls him my love, the sound of it just too nice to stop.

Bucky just nods, words failing him. She rises to her feet, turning to stand in front of him. He hears them before he sees them, the same ruffle he heard as he lay dying. Then he sees them. A pair of dark wings coming from her back. She doesn’t spread them all the way, too big to fit in the small space of his room. “They’re black.” She throws her head back, a loud, beautiful laugh fills his ears. 

“That was your first thought? You don’t like them? Personally I think they’re quite nice.” It was the first thing that came to his mind, the rest blank. Maybe he should have asked for more proof, but he knows she would never lie to him. He doesn’t know how he knows, he just does. 

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought they’d be white. With the whole angel thing, you know?” She hums.

“There is a lot humans have wrong about us. I mean, plenty of us have white wings, but they come in many colors. If you can believe it, this isn’t even my true form.” Bucky is confused, she looks so real. A tangible human, someone he can touch.

“What is your true form then? Can I see it?” That’s a little personal to ask, dumbass.

“Well, that is a little complicated. Only one human has seen my true form and it didn’t go well. I thought she could handle it, but when she saw me, well let’s just say she couldn’t see from then on.” Bucky’s eyes widened, not expecting that answer. “Anything else you want to ask me?”

Her wings are still out, folded against her back. They look so soft. “Can I touch your wings?” Her wings shift slightly. If he wasn’t trained to observe everything and everyone, Bucky wouldn’t have known that she was uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t know-”

“That’s okay. An angel’s wings are very personal. They’re sensitive and even for an ethereal being, it's very personal - intimate.”Clearing her throat, she changes the subject. “I know your name, my love. Might I say, it’s very pretty, but you don’t know mine.” Bucky picks up on her attempt to move his attention away from her wings.

“What is it then? I can’t call you angel forever, however fitting it may be.”

“Well I don’t exactly have a name. I’m a cherubim. The only angels who have names are the archangels, the first borns.”

It was Bucky’s turn to smile.”My little cherub.” She doesn’t tell him that cherub is the plural of cherubim. Until this day, Bucky didn’t know that angels could get shy, yet here his sweet cherub is, shying away from his piercing eyes. He bets if he felt her face he would feel the heat on them. “I have to ask though, my little cherub, why did you come to me?”

She became serious, staring right into his eyes. “Because God commanded it.”

“What does God want to do with me? Out of all the people in this world, he chose me?” A pained look crossed her face and she walked over to him, kneeling in front of him like he was her God. Her hands ran up his arms, goosebumps rising at the pass of her hands. He almost stopped breathing - he could feel her hand on his left arm. He hasn’t felt anything with that hand since he fell of that train.

Hands still rising, she cups his face with both hands, making him look into her eyes. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” It wasn’t a question. She knew. “That is why he sent me. He sent me because you deserve it. You deserve to let go.” At that moment, Bucky broke down. Sobbing uncontrollably, somehow without pain in his fresh wound.

She pulls him into her, wrapping her arms around him. His face buried in her neck, arms clutching her back. She hesitates for a second, no one having touched her wings in thousands of years, yet she cocoons him with them, shielding him from the world. It only makes Bucky cry harder, her wings holding every bit of softness he thought they would. The comfort she brings unlike any other he experienced before.

Her arms rub his back as she coos to him. Soft words spoken into his hair. “Shh, my love, I’m here. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again. I will die before I let that happen.” The conviction in her tone sets him off more, unable to comprehend someone would do that for him without a second thought. A being, older than he can even fathom, is ready to give it all away for a mesley human. A speck of dust in her life. His entire existence no longer than a second when compared to hers.

That’s how it was for a while, Bucky’s sweet cherub staying with him. At night she would wrap her wings around him, keeping him safe. Bucky knows that her powers are the reason his nightmares are gone. At first he was glad that he could finally sleep, but then the guilt crept in. Why should he be allowed to forget the horrors he committed? Their families didn’t get that condolence. 

When he told her this she wasn’t having any of it, wings jerking in annoyance. It was something that he picked up on, how when she experienced emotions her wings would move in different ways, always giving her away. 

“I swear, my love, you’re going to make my wings turn gray with all this. I have lived a long life, longer than you can comprehend, so when I tell you that I have seen the best and the worst of this world, I mean it. And you, my love, are a good man. There is a reason God sent me to you.” Her wings surrounded him and he felt himself relax. “There is no quest to send you on, no mission that the world hangs in the balance of. It’s just you. A man who needs to see the good in himself.” Bucky hangs his head in shame, not meeting her eyes.

“You think your purpose is suffering for the things you couldn’t control? My purpose is to save you. My love,” she cups his face in her hands, wiping away the tears he didn’t know had formed, “I have done far worse things in my life. Horrific things, yet I’m here right now, with you. Please, let me take your pain away.”

None of this was easy for Bucky. No one has ever had their sole purpose be him. Back in the forties he took care of Steve, he stepped up when his father left. When he was no longer the Winter Soldier, Steve helped him, but Steve’s care never felt like this. Bucky knows that he’s fallen in love with her. He knows that she knows, but what he doesn’t know is if she feels the same.

What he doesn’t know is that she is fighting the same battle, the feeling of love is one she has never had before. It all came to a head one night, Bucky wrapped in her wings, her head on his chest. “Cherub?” She felt the vibrations in his chest.

“Yes, my love.”

“You said that we could be together for the rest of my life, right?” She did say that when he was worried that she would leave him after her mission was complete.

“I did.” One thing about her is that she never gave long answers to questions, not used to having to talk with humans.

“What happens when I die? Where will I go? I want you to be there with me.”

She sighed, thinking about how to convey her words properly. “When you die… you’ll go to heaven. It has already been decided. If you choose, when you go, I will be there with you for the rest of our existence, but you don’t have to make a decision now. My body will age with yours, follow you to the end of your life. When your time comes, we will leave and go to heaven where we will both be young again.”

Without hesitation Bucky answers, “I want that. I want you to be with me for the rest of eternity.” There was no doubt in his mind. Even though he met her a few months ago, he knew. “I have to ask, what is heaven like?”

She sits up a bit, shifting to lay on his chest, wings still cocooning them, keeping them in their own little bubble. “There is no one heaven. Not everyone who ever went there is in the same place. Heaven is made up of small pockets of personal heavens. People who lost their loved ones meet again, your happiest memories are relived, there is no pain or sorrow, you can have anything you want.”

Bucky felt the pull of his chest, emotion bubbling up. “Is my ma there? And Becca?” The words come out thick, a lump forms in Bucky’s throat. “Please, don’t lie to me.”

She looks into his eyes. “Yes, they are. They’re together and they’re waiting for you. I have seen them myself, right before I left to meet you. They talk very highly of you, my love.”

Tears fall from his face, the pain in his chest all the time at the greatest loss of his life eased slightly. “Can I talk to them?” He knows it's a long shot, but if there is a chance he wants it.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but I can’t. Even I don’t have the power to do that. If I could, I would.” A pained whine leaves his lips. “Hey, you know who is waiting for you too?” She waits a beat before speaking anyway. “Your dog from when you were a kid. He’s in his prime, always will be. His days are spent chasing rabbits around the yard.”

“Balto’s up there too?” A small smile graced his face, crows feet appearing by his eyes.

“Yeah. If it is any consolation, time passes differently up there. The longing you feel right now for them, they feel the same only it’s made easier by us.” Bucky only nods, staring into her eyes, seeing nothing but truth. His eyes flicker to her lips and back up. “You can, my love, I want you to.”

That was all Bucky needed to hear. Gently cupping her cheek, he guided her lips to his. There was no rush, no sense of urgency. They had all the time in the world and then some. Bucky never felt anything this good in his life and he was only kissing her. When she licked his lips, he opened mouth without a thought, brain clouded with love just for her. 

He moaned into the kiss, the feeling of her tongue on his incredible. At his sound, Bucky felt her wings flutter under him. Breaking the kiss, he giggled. Bucky actually giggled. She reared her head back, slightly affronted by his laugh when she just kissed him.

“I’m sorry, my little cherub, it’s just that your wings tickled me.” She huffs and a second later, her wings are gone the only sign they were ever out is the small black feather on the bed. “No, cherub, don’t put them away. I love them.” She wasn’t really offended, but she wanted to tease him a bit.

Her wings were always out around Bucky, comfortable enough to reveal the most intimate and personal part of herself to him. He was the first human in thousands of years to touch them, but he was the only one to be wrapped in them. The only time they were touched was when a man cut them off her back. It was a time when she trusted humans, not knowing the atrocities they were capable of. 

Her wings were white then, when she was pure and unknowing of the hate humans possessed. God crafted her a new pair. Of course she accepted them, but her feathers turned black, scared she looked to her father. When he said that it was because of the wrongs his creations did, it broke something in her, took away her purity, teaching her a lesson. Father never blamed her for it, he knew she would heal with time. It was part of the reason he sent her to the man she lays in bed with.

Bucky didn’t know this, he didn’t know how much she was betrayed by humans, only for her to trust him and him alone. She playfully glares at him before bringing her wings back out, sitting up on his lap. Gently, more gentle than he has been in years, Bucky reaches out to touch them. She lets him feel them whenever he wants, even wrapping him in them as he sleeps, but this was a completely different setting.

She was so vulnerable at this moment. Her wings flapped, a nervous tick of her’s, making Bucky pull away immediately. “Cherub, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She swallows before meeting his eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to touch them. It’s just that only one other human has touched them. There was a time where I was naive and innocent, not knowing what humans were capable of.” She pauses and Bucky sits up, back against the headboard and laces his fingers with hers, feeling the softness on his metal hand.

“It was a man, he had a family, a kid and a wife. They struggled to survive, trading their valuables for a slice of bread. Father sent me to help them, take away their sorrows. Said he was an honest man trying to make an honest living.” Bucky senses where her story is going, hoping that it doesn’t end the way he fears, but the pain in her eyes is palpable, a human emotion angels almost never experience.

He waits for her to continue, not forcing her to speak. “At first, they were grateful, having everything they needed. They had their health, food on the table, but the man grew greedy. He wanted more. One day, as I was watching his child in a field, keeping her safe from the horrors of the world, he snuck behind me with a sword he got from a blacksmith, sharper than any blade. He-he cut my wings right off my back.”

Tears fell from her eyes, not having relived that moment for thousands of years. Bucky felt his heart physically ache. She was sent to heal him, but it was his turn to do the same. “You know, my wings used to be white?” She looks into his eyes, red with tears. “When he hurt me, Father took me back to heaven, crafting me another pair. They were white but when he gave them to me, they turned black.”

A whine leaves her lips and Bucky pulls her into him, careful not to touch her wings. “Oh, my sweet little cherub, I’m here and I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I’ve never felt as content as I have with you, never so happy and I will do anything to keep you safe. I love you, no matter what you have done, I’ll still love you.” This only made her cry harder. Human emotions were foreign to her, but spending so much time with Bucky caused her to develop them. It was almost overwhelming, going from not having anything to having so much fill her body.

“Father said that it was because the man took my innocence, showed me the evil of the world. I’ve never seen him apologize for anything, yet that day he was broken, realizing that his creations, even the ones he thought were good, are capable of unspeakable atrocities. They will never turn white again because I’m ruined.” Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes. His sweet cherub thinking she is anything less than perfect breaks his heart.

“My cherub, you saved me, now let me do the same for you. Let me heal you like you have me.” Leaning back slightly, she took his hands in her own, drawing them up her waist to her back, moving them to touch her wings. At his touch, she gasped, eyes closing forcing more tears to cascade down her face. The feeling of his gentle hands, hands that have done so much harm, resting on the most violated part of her body was something she never thought would happen.

She didn’t know she could love until she met Bucky, finally placing a word to the indescribable warmth that spreads throughout her body every time she thinks of him. “I love you too, my love. Forever and ever, til you die, til the end of time, in heaven and on earth.” They were both crying, neither experiencing the tenderness of love before.

He brings her down, kissing her with as much passion as he possibly could, tasting the mixture of both of their tears. Her arms clutching onto him, trying to get closer. He did the same, one hand running across her wings like he was trying to wash away the taint of betrayal his kind caused. 

Shifting on his lap, she feels the bulge of his cock, half hard pressed up against her. Gasping, she pulls away. “Cherub, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, it just-.” She silences him with her lips, drawing a groan from him, subconsciously grinding down onto him. “Cherub, we have to stop, I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re vulnerable right now, I can’t do that to you.”

Her hips stutter on his. “My love, I want to, I need to. Need to be closer to you, please grant me this.” His hands run up and down her sides, soothing the heat of her skin.

“Any time you want to stop, or don’t like something, you tell me. Okay? This is about me showing you how perfect you are.” She nods, kissing him one more time. Bucky’s hands slide up her shirt, resting on her soft skin, palms feeling the goosebump under his touch. Looking up at her for permission to take her shirt off, she nods.

Bucky did that with every piece of clothing, every move he made. Soon they were both naked, her wings splayed out on the bed, twitching in a way he never saw before - arousal. “My, my love, I have to tell you something.” He pulls his eyes away from her wings to look into her eyes. “I’ve never done this before. Angels, we don’t do this, I don’t know what to feel right now.” 

Hands cupping her cheeks, he smiles at her, relaxing into his touch. “Do you feel safe?” She nods. “Do you feel like you have to do this for me?” She shakes her head. “Do you want me to please you?” She nods once again. “We don’t have to do anything with this,” he gestures to his throbbing erection. 

“I want to, I just need you to show me what to do.” The thought that she trusts him enough to take care of her makes his cock pulse, aching for some type of relief.

“Let me make you feel good, okay? All you have to do is lay back and tell me how it feels.” She nods her head in understanding, worries slowly fading away. He kisses down her body, taking the time to swirl his tongue around his sensitive nipples, grinning at the small gasp it draws from his cherubs lips.

Going further down, his face is right in front of her pussy, smelling her intoxicating scent. “Keep your eyes on me, cherub.” She gulps. For a minute, Bucky just stares at her pussy, breathing her in, memorizing how wet she is before his tongue flicks out onto her clit. 

“Oh, that feels good. Can you do it again?” She was so sweet, asking so kindly for him to deliver her pleasure.

“Of course I can.” And with that, Bucky dives into her pussy, restraining himself from devouring her. He groans into her cunt, already addicted to her taste, the moans she lets out are soft and breathy, yet it’s one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard, only competition being her laugh.

“My love, I don’t, what is happening to me?” Bucky pulls away from her cunt, reaching up to lace their hands together. 

“Just let that feeling wash over you. It’s okay, I’ll catch you when you fall, I’m here.” He goes right back to her pussy, lapping her juices up, eyes boring into hers. She was twitching on the bed, hips bucking up to meet his tongue. Bucky chuckles when he sees her wings flap, not knowing what to do with the pleasure coursing through her.

Her orgasm comes as a surprise to her, never experiencing one before, nor knowing what they were. Her eyes shoot open, wings beating wildly, body almost convulsing on the soft sheets. Bucky pulls away, not trying to overstimulate her. He almost cums at the sight of her, it was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

It takes her a while, but she comes down, wings falling limp on the bed as Bucky crawls up her body, resting in between her legs. “My love, what was that? I thought I was about to die.” 

Barking out a laugh, Bucky leans down. “That was an orgasm, sweet cherub. How did it feel?” She whines, not able to put what she felt into words.

“Like nothing I have ever felt before. It was incredible.” Her eyes close. Bucky is perfectly happy to hold her, not caring about his own orgasm, but her eyes shoot open, wide and curious. “Can you have one, too?”

Another laugh leaves him. “Yes, cherub, I can. It’s a little different from yours though.” Her eyes squint in confusion, clearly not understanding what could be different. “Well, for one, what I have looks a little different to yours, doesn’t it?” She nods. Bucky never thought he would be giving “The Talk” to an angel, but here he was. “When I have an orgasm, stuff comes out of this tip, right here.” He grabs his cock to show her. 

“Can I see it? How do I make you do that?” It was Bucky’s turn to be surprised. 

“Cherub, you don’t have to do that.” Her glare is enough to make Bucky continue. “Um, there are a few different ways. I could put it inside of you, that feels good for you too.”

“In where?” Bucky huffs, not in annoyance, but this talk is turning him off. Not that he’s mad at that, but the conversation feels like talking to a child, someone who hasn’t experienced anything sexual and it wasn’t exactly turning him on, it felt wrong to have this talk naked.

“In this hole right under where I was touching you. There is another one under that, but it’s different from the other. Or your mouth, but also a hand. Pretty much anything that could rub against that area.” Bucky felt his cheeks heat up. His cock was going soft right in front of her eyes.

“Can I do one? I want to see you orgasm.” Her eyes were so bright and eager, he couldn’t say no to his cherub. He nods, only for her to glance down at his soft cock. “Why is it smaller now? I think it’s kind of cute.”

This has to be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him. No woman has ever called his dick cute, or made a comment on its size when soft. He gets compliments on how big he is when he’s hard, but soft is a different story. He’s a grower not a shower. He has to admit, his encounter is damaging his ego a bit. “It gets bigger when I’m aroused, but if it’s not touched it gets softer.” He’s lying straight through his teeth, he can stay hard for hours without touching his dick.

“If you touch it, it gets big again.” She switches positions, having him on his back, resting between his legs, face right next to his cock. He feels himself twitch and she jerks her head in surprise, giggling at her own reaction. She begins to almost pet him, it feels good but not what he needs.

He reaches down, guiding her hand to gather the precum at his tip, slowly pulling it back down, tightening her grip on his dick. “Oh, wow, it’s getting bigger. It’s so hard.” Her amazement at something so simple as a dick getting hard is endearing. 

Bucky grunts when he twists her hand. “I liked that sound.” Her words make him groan again, cock all the way hard. His hips buck into her hand and he lets her hand go, trusting her to keep her pace. It’s slow but firm, driving him insane. He wants her to go faster, harder, but this is about her, letting her discover at her own pace.

“Spit on the tip, it’ll make it easier to move.” She does so without hesitation. Bucky’s head flies back into the headboard, moaning at her soft hands working his cock. “Just like that, cherub, you’re doing so good. This feels incredible.” Bucky meant every word of it. Her hand honestly felt better than the full blown sex he’s had in the past. Maybe it was because he loved her with all his heart, or maybe it was because she was an angel, either way, Bucky didn’t have it in himself to care.

“You look so pretty like this, my love. I love this, making you feel good.” Bucky’s hips pick up speed, feeling his orgasm building up in the base of his cock. 

“Cherub, I’m going to cum. Please keep going just like that.” She figures he means orgasm since he is jerking just like she was. The urge to make him orgasm was almost too much to bear, wanting him to show her how beautiful he was when he lets go. “Oh, cherub, I’m about to, oh fuck.” He moans long and loud, cum spurting out of his tip. She gasps at the force of it but doesn’t let up her pace. She had never seen anything more beautiful than her love in this moment.

He has to stop her, not knowing that he needed a break. “Love, I want to make you do that again.” She scoops some of his cum off his stomach with her finger and just stares at it.

“You can taste it if you’d like.” She eagerly licks her fingers, eyes bulging at his taste, dropping down to lick the rest of it off his body. “Come here, cherub.” He pulls her into a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. He pulls the cover over their bodies, her wings instinctively wrapping around him.

“Thank you, my love, for always taking care of me. I was sent to save you, yet I feel that it’s the other way around.” Bucky doesn’t think so. He knows that she saved him. They fall asleep together and in the morning they will find that her wings are just a bit lighter than the night before.

[shrimz08]

AANG ＆ OZAI PARALLELS: DEBUNKED

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Because apparently the true villain is the sole survivor of a genocide of his entire nation, and not the imperialist colonizer.

Where do I even begin?? Because I’m genuinely holding in laughter writing this, it’s absolutely insane how certain people can make such egregious parallels that aren’t even found in the first place. 

AH, so a little backstory on how this fucking shit stained idea even came to existence, well our dear z^tara fans pissed their pants over Zuko and Katara not tying the knot, so, as a way of retribution for their supposed “honour” They take any chance to jump on the Aang hate train and make him into some irredeemable abusive demon, aaand they got that perfect opportunity because the LoK decided to take a lick out of the great “Main Characters Must Be Bad Parents In The Sequels” Trope. Which personally, does absolutely nothing to the protagonists resolution aside from cheap family drama but I digress. 

Now, I’m not behind the idea of the writers trying to make Aang a “flawed” Parent, I think it really makes no sense by how they went about it, (I might touch on this in another post) 

((And it’s so very clear that they’re trying to give it a soft “retcon” And even taking extra steps saying that Kya and Bumi just “remember wrong” Which I’ll actually take, because season two of LOK was hell on earth anyway so you might as well give it some saving grace.)) 

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

There’s three main parallels that they got from Ozai and Aang: (god help me)

Favouring a child

isolating the rest

leaving pressure On the golden child

I’m going to debunk all three of them while trying not to fall into complete lunacy over how ridiculous they are. 

Favouring a child + Leaving pressure: 

OK, so people are clearly blind with context clues and media comprehension, got it. No surprise whatsoever. I can’t be disappointed if I didn’t even have any expectations to begin with. 

Let’s compare the treatment on how Ozai treats Azula, and how Aang treats Tenzin. (Holy Shit)

Beginning with Ozai, well.. It doesn’t take much of a rocket scientist to understand that Ozai essentially could not give two fucks about Azula, as she in essence, serves the role of an attack dog, as long as it does its job, it’s worthy. 

Ozai favoured Azula because she was molded to match his ferocity and hunger for power, she was a prodigy bender, and was cunning and calculated, all traits that Ozai found endearing and someone worthy to be crowned the next “fire lord.” His “favouring” Of her didn’t come out of genuine love or care, she is his tool who serves a purpose. In short, she showed more competency and more ruthlessness and callousness in comparison to Zuko. Which earned her, her place as the “Golden Child.”  

-------

None of this is even remotely similar to how Aang treated Tenzin and his kids, aside from the fact he supposedly “favoured” Tenzin more, but that is such a baseline statement and has absolutely no relation with Ozai's reasons.

You have to understand that an entire FUCKING NATION IS DEAD. History, Culture, Tradition, is at the BRINK of being wiped out, Tenzin is quite literally the only Airbender that will be left after Aangs passing. Why do people devalue this concept so much? 

“B-BUT THE AIR ACOLYTES1!!” Still have limited knowledge, airbending is so heavily tied to its spiritual roots, you LOSE your ability to AIRBEND, if you aren't inclined to your spiritual side. Which is a core part of the air nomad culture. Tenzin is... Literally the only god forsaken part left of that, so yeah. It’s a pretty big fucking deal. Aang values his culture and teachings to such a high degree, he is literally the survivor of a genocide. His favouring of Tenzin was done out of necessity and love, not out of a need for power and a new attack dog to send orders around. 

Tenzin will literally be the future “Director” Or guide for the next avatar to learn airbending, people still forget this, and it’s hilarious. He needs to know all the moves, all the teachings because he will be the next avatar's personal guide. 

Aang constantly reassures him, and apologizes for the pressure that may be put upon him but he always reaffirms that he’ll be there to guide him and they’ll “learn together”

---------

So yeah not the same thing at all. Fuck you for being so inept at understanding the different reasons and perspectives of those situations, just for some petty ship discourse, genuinely disgusting.

Isolating the children:

OK this part, I have to say that the writers definitely messed up with aangs characterization, but I think the execution came out way differently than the intention, so I will try to look more into the intention of each decision.

Ozai isolated Zuko, mistreated him, belittled him, PHYSICALLY ABUSED HIM, but yeah totally on par with Aang actually. 

I don’t wanna touch on this part much mainly because his treatment was literally explained all throughout the show, and granted, while I understand most of these people haven’t touched the show aside from reading fanfic 300000 Where Aang is revealed to us as satan himself, but perhaps, even a small peak at Ozai's parenting would reveal the laughable contrast between the two.

Zuko was a slow learner, and much more of a softie, and a “mama's boy” To Ozai’s heavy dislike, he was thus treated as such, he was belittled, turned down, and literally burnt alive for showing “weakness” He is meant to serve as a direct contrast to Azula, ”The everything he isn't.” 

Kya and Bumi on the other hand, don’t show any actual signs of trauma aside from some petty jabs they threw at Tenzin, 

Bumis talk with Aang at the statue was *very very* Clearly, meant to highlight his own inferiority complex that he internalized growing up. His need for proving himself to be capable of doing just as much if not more than a “bender” Probably happened because his two parents were both prodigy benders and him being a first born son who was a non-bender must’ve hit pretty hard for him, and I’m so sure that katara and Aang reassured how special he is but that kind of thing doesn’t really go away.

------

------

Kya: [while healing Bumi] I told you those rocks were slippery. You're lucky you didn't kill yourself.

Bumi: You done with the lecture, mom?

Kya: Oh, grow up. You haven't changed one bit since we were kids. You're still trying to prove you can do everything a bender can. Well, you can't. Deal with it.

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

 That talk with Aangs statue was very much meant to unveil an internal struggle rather than a conflict he had with his father. Kya even doubles down on this, telling him “of course he’d be proud of you” Basically spoon feeding to us, the viewers, that this is much more of internal than an external conflict that he has to overcome along the show. 

“Why Didn’t he share his culture with them 1!!1!” 

He most definitely did, or tried to, but it’s clear they didn’t show much interest so he didn’t pester, this is shown many times throughout the show. 

“You know I could never keep all those gurus straight… There were like a million of them!

remember that long boring story about the guy who never ate?”

This is literally Kya’s remark to Tenzin just after he tried teaching the airbender students this story, basically telling us that Aang DID try to tell them about his stories and culture, but much to their disinterest, didn’t try any further. 

And Bumi, literally could not pay attention to the story to save his life, and instead decided to fool around in his literal 60’s!! I mean Imagine what he was like when he was a kid!! 

I could imagine their dynamic was very similar to Jinora with Meelo and Ikki, Tenzin being the only one with actual interest and care, whilst Bumi and Kya goofing off and not putting much focus onto it. WHICH IS FINE BTW!! 

It only goes to reiterate that Tenzin was the only one who was actually giving interest and attention to the air nomad culture, and it was of Kya and Bumi’s own personal choice to not partake in it. To each their own I see. 

“BUT WHAT ABOUT THE VACATIONS” 

This.. I agree, weird for the writers to decide this, but given how they low-key are retconning it in interviews, my best guess is that each of those trips were side-quests during their journey to teach an important lesson that might’ve just drowned out because Tenzin may not have remembered it as well. 

Also keep in mind that Tenzin was put into a lot of pressure, Aang probably saw this, and as a way to still keep it enjoyable, he took him to trips that would help ease the mind for a little kid whilst also learning something valuable. That seems pretty on brand for Aang actually

And given that Kya and Bumi are literally in their fucking 60’s it wouldn’t surprised me if they didn’t have the greatest memory. Hell, they didn’t even fault Aang as a parent until Tenzin started boasting about “trips” That Kya and Bumi gave petty jabs but weren’t actually showing genuine hurt, just annoyance.

Kya even comments how Aang was too busy “Trying to save the world, and doing his duty that he didn't have much time for them” 

Phrasing as if it wasn't anything "important" But it's clear that this was Kya's own personal irritation towards Tenzin rather than an actual evaluation on Aang's duties.

A continuation comic best explains it in a deeper way:

----------

Literally showing that “neglecting” His kids wasn't up to him, and was out of a sense of necessity, trying to cram as much knowledge onto Tenzin, the only one who was basically putting his lessons into practices. Kya and Bumi were left feeling neglected. But that wasn’t out of his decision; he still loved them dearly.

-------

This. Literally highlighting how much pressure was forced upon Aang, so yes, as any person would, he struggled with making time for everybody. Holy shit who knew?? 

GASP!! IS THAT… A REALISTIC BUT UNDERSTANDABLE FLAW!!?? HOW DARE YOU! ITS OZAI #2 

The fact that the smiley energetic person forgets to SMILE, is a big deal, man was put through hells amount of stress but he never cracked.

So tell me, how is a genocidal freak, who treats his golden child like a tool and abuses the other both physically and emotionally for showing “weakness’ 

Even remotely comparable to

 the sole survivor of a genocide, trying to withhold his teachings and culture onto literally his only child that showed actual effort in doing so, while also maintaining the balance of an entire fucking world and being literally the biggest “advisor” And “Mentor” For society, OH! And also building and managing a literal city, but along the way struggling to make time for his children. 

Guess what, they’re not. And if you think they are. You are an idiot, with bias and headcanons.

So the conclusion is, Aang is a flawed parent, but he isn't a "bad" Parent - confirmed by the literal writers.

Comparing him to Ozai a literal dictator, is absolutely sickening, just for your petty shipping discourse when this show's been over for a decade is insane. Indulge in what you enjoy, but stop projecting delusions like they're canon.

:D

[solarmorrigan]

For the dialogue prompt, how about “What happened doesn’t change anything” for either Steddie or Newmann?

Thank you!

Hello hello hello I finally have something for you! I chose Steddie for this one, since I was on a roll. I hope this suits!

[post-S2 Steddie AU; CW: Outing, transphobia, some internalized transphobia; soft ending guaranteed, though]

-

When he sees Hagan meandering over towards them in the parking lot after school, his queen bee tagalong, Perkins, in tow, Eddie knows nothing good is going to follow. The way he feels Steve shift beside him says that he suspects much the same. The rest of the Hellfire guys, all gathered around Eddie’s van, talking and joking before heading home, have fallen silent.

It’s a small consolation that Hagan isn’t trailing Hargrove; since putting Steve in the hospital (briefly, Steve always interjects) last November, Hargrove has mostly given him—and the members of the Hellfire Club, once Steve had been taken into their fold—a fairly wide berth. Hagan, however, has had no compunctions about hassling Steve whenever he gets a bug up his ass about something, and he’s only become nastier since he started toadying for Hargrove.

So Eddie expects trouble, but he hadn’t expected–

Hagan starts small, crowing about how Steve has finally found his rightful place: among the freaks. Steve doesn’t give anything away, no displeasure, no anger, just bored indifference – the same mask he’s always hidden behind (the one Eddie had learned pretty quickly to see past, once he knew what to look for). But Hagan pushes.

“I guess the freaks already have a king,” Hagan snipes, cutting a glance at Eddie, “but I’m sure he needs a lady to rule by his side, right, Stevie?”

It seems like an unoriginal sort of dig—calling Steve a girl, how creative—except Steve goes pale. The mask slips, showing wide and frightened eyes for just a moment, but for Hagan, who’s known Steve for years, it’s long enough. He knows he’s hit something good.

“Do all your new little friends know, Stevie-boy? What makes you fit right in with them?” Hagan glances around the group, apparently enjoying the fact that if looks could kill, he’d be dead four times over. Then he leans in and practically spits at Steve, “Do they know that they got into your pants, you’d be less of a King Steve and more of a Queen Stacy?”

And that does it – shatters Steve’s mask so thoroughly that he actually takes a step back, staring at Hagan with a kind of disbelieving betrayal frozen on his face.

The full meaning of the words hits Eddie about three seconds before Hagan hits the side of the van, one of Eddie’s hands fisted in the front of his t-shirt and the other held firm at the base of his throat – not hurting, exactly, but heavily implying that he could.

Eddie doesn’t even have to reach for one of the many theatrical voices he uses to rile people up or cow them into submission; he’s so thoroughly taken by a type of rage he hasn’t let himself give into in a long time that his tone comes out perfectly threatening all on its own.

“If you ever repeat what you just said to another person, I will find out, and I will make your life a living hell,” he hisses.

Somewhere behind him, someone—it might be Jeff, though Eddie isn’t sure—clears their throat, and when Eddie tosses a glance over his shoulder, he finds the rest of Hellfire standing firm at his back (even tiny underclassman Gareth, with his arms crossed and the meanest look on his face the poor kid can muster).

“Ah, my apologies,” Eddie says as he faces front again, flashing a manic little grin, “we will find out. And we’ll ruin your life, Hagan. Same goes for your girlfriend.”

Perkins, who had been standing off to the side as the snickering peanut gallery right up until Eddie had pinned Hagan to the side of the van, makes a choked noise of offense that goes entirely ignored.

“Tell me you understand, Tommy-boy.” Eddie punctuates the command with a flex of his fingers near Hagan’s throat, until Hagan reluctantly nods, and Eddie releases him. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

Hagan and Perkins hightail it the other side of the parking lot, leaving them be with nothing more than a nasty look from Perkins, but no one is much in the mood to chat after that. No one really knows what to say – except Steve, who offers a quiet thanks to the rest of the guys and, having caught a ride in with Eddie that morning, then asks to be taken home.

Even with the radio playing quietly as Eddie drives, the atmosphere in the van feels silent and stifling.

Asking Steve if he’s alright feels like kind of a ridiculous move. Eddie wouldn’t be alright if he was in Steve’s position – hell, Eddie’s not alright. He’s pissed. But from the way Steve is sitting rigidly in the passenger seat, staring out the window like Eddie is driving him to his execution, Eddie’s anger—even on his behalf—isn’t what he needs right now.

Slowly, Eddie forces himself to let it go (for now, at least for now) and follow the familiar roads home.

It feels perfectly natural to simply head back to his place, where they’d been planning to go before that shitshow of a confrontation, though the surprise on Steve’s face when they pull up to the trailer says that he’d thought otherwise.

“You could’ve just taken me back to my house. I wouldn’t– I’d get it,” he says, and Eddie frowns at him.

“Did you want to go back to your house? We can hang out there if you want, I just figured…” Eddie tilts his head regarding him carefully. “You seem more comfortable here.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment, blank and uncertain, before he breaks back into motion with a shrug. “Okay,” he says, moving to get out of the van.

They head inside and nod a quick hello to Wayne, who looks like he’s just woken up in preparation for his shift, and then they go straight back to Eddie’s room. Eddie’s bag goes on the desk, but Steve’s goes by the door. Eddie sits down on the bed (admittedly one of the few places to sit, but also an invitation for Steve to come sit next to him) but Steve – Steve hesitates before leaning up against the wall, by the door with his bag, arms crossed and gaze cast towards the floor.

He looks ready to run at any moment, and Eddie sighs. This thing between them is new – so new that they’ve been afraid to put a label to it, dancing around each other uncertainly for months before sharing their first kiss barely a month ago. They’ve spent almost every available moment since with their hands on each other in some way or another, though Steve has been a bit skittish about moving past making out (Eddie had thought that maybe it was the unfamiliarity of being with another guy, but he thinks he might have a better understanding of the picture now).

Eddie doesn’t want to break things by pushing too hard, but somehow, he thinks leaving it unaddressed would be worse.

“Look, we don’t have to talk about it,” he says, watching Steve, though Steve still isn’t looking back, “but if you want to…”

Steve shrugs. “I wasn’t hiding it from you,” he says, finally glancing up at Eddie. “I mean, I was, but not– I was going to tell you.”

“You don’t owe me any kind of explanation,” Eddie says.

“You would’ve found out eventually, either way.” Steve lets out a sound that suggests he may have been trying to laugh. “But it was – I should’ve been the one to tell you. That was – that was mine to tell.”

A little bit of Eddie breaks as Steve’s voice does. He’s almost vibrating with the desire to hold and to reassure, to go over to where Steve is standing, still propped against the wall, practically curling in on himself (trying to make himself smaller), but he’s not sure how well it would be received. He tries words, instead.

“Steve, I’m so sorry–”

“That was the one thing,” Steve snaps, anger tearing across his tone, “the one thing Tommy would never touch, the one thing that was off limits, even he knew– and he just–” As quickly as it had come, the anger goes, taking Steve’s energy with it. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and lets his hands slide down to cover his face; when he speaks again, he sounds small. “I wasn’t ready.”

Eddie couldn’t keep himself from crossing the room if he’d tried – though isn’t trying, after that. He’s up off the bed and into Steve’s space before he’s even realized, and it’s probably only his proximity that allows him to hear what Steve says next.

“I’m not ready for things to change between us.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, low and careful, “what happened doesn’t change anything.”

Steve pulls his hands away from his face with a derisive little huff of a laugh. His cheeks are red and his eyes are bright; he’s not crying, but it looks like a near thing.

“It’s – like, I get it. You’re fully into guys, and I’m…” He waves his hands down at himself, sharp and frustrated. “Most people wouldn’t call me a real guy, if they knew.”

“Since when am I most people?” Eddie asks. “You say you’re a guy, you’re a real guy, fucking end of. Anyone who thinks otherwise can fuck off.”

Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes, clearly trying to hold back a much more emotional reaction, and Eddie chances resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve doesn’t move away, even eases a little into the touch when Eddie starts circling his thumbs at the skin right where his shirt collar ends.

“You don’t have to believe me right now,” Eddie says softly. “But I like you, Steve. I like you, andI’m gonna stick around and prove it to you.”

Something about the declaration makes Steve’s eyes snap right to Eddie’s, searching, anxious and cautiously hopeful, and Eddie lets him look. Whatever he’s after, maybe he finds it, because he uncurls from himself a little after that, just enough to lean in for a hesitant kiss that becomes much more certain when Eddie himself doesn’t hold back.

Eddie pulls Steve back over to the bed after that, poking and prodding him around until they’re both settled, Eddie’s back to the pillows and Steve’s back to Eddie’s chest (Steve’s never said as much, but Eddie’s gathered that this is one of his favorite positions to cuddle in; he doubts if Steve’s spent much time being the little spoon).

“Tell me something else,” Eddie says, once he’s got his arms wrapped securely around Steve’s waist.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Tell me something that you want me to know.” Eddie leans forward to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Anything.”

For a moment, Steve is quiet, thinking as he traces absent patterns over Eddie’s forearms. “I could tell you why I picked Steve,” he says finally.

“If you want to, I’d love to hear it,” Eddie says.

“It wasn’t because it was sort of close to my… old name. That was actually kind of a coincidence.” Steve lets his head fall back against Eddie’s shoulder, the tension that’s been wound through him for the last hour finally starting to ease. “Steven was my grandad’s name.”

“Yeah?” Eddie prompts softly.

“Yeah. My mom’s dad. I used to spend a lot of time over at his house when I was a kid. Before he died. I kind of got the feeling he liked me more than my parents did.” Eddie gives Steve a squeeze around the middle. “But he used to tell me all these stories about fighting in World War II. Probably not very age-appropriate, now that I think about it, but at the time I really ate it up.

“He didn’t really, like… glorify it, I don’t think? He just kind of told me what happened, good or bad, and whatever the story was, I always thought he sounded, y’know – strong and brave. And when I wanted to pick a new name…” Steve shrugs against Eddie. “I kind of hoped he wouldn’t mind sharing his with me.”

“Bet he’d be honored,” Eddie says, giving Steve another little squeeze.

“Some days I’m not so sure,” Steve says quietly.

“Well I am. I’ll just have to stick around and prove that to you, too,” Eddie says decisively.

Briefly, Steve’s hands tighten where they rest on Eddie’s arms. “I like the sound of that,” he says, and Eddie turns so he can press another kiss to the side of Steve’s head.

“Good,” he says. “Me too.”