#no longer feeling responsibility for how others speak of me has been incredibly healing

[strangefable]

the words you speak about another person will always, always, speak louder about you than them

[tigreblvnc]

BLUE LOCK MATCHUP + ONE SHOT — @bibururokku

Your match is...

— Michael Kaiser

✦ Pardon, but who are you? What’s with this amazing bio and incredible personality?

✦ The first thing I thought when I read your bio was, wow, the vocabulary!

✦ I love reading people who have a unique writing style. You can tell there’s depth behind it, that there’s life experience.

✦ Also, the way Kaiser came to mind, as usual, shook me a little because it was reading a very specific line in your text that suddenly made his entire character take over my thoughts, and I realized this bio could only belong to him.

✦ Conclusion: there’s no other match for your profile.

✦ It’s almost like he directly whispered to me, “This one’s for me.”

✦ And the more I read, the more I confirmed: yes, this is for him.

✦ There were also details that made me smile because I thought, “Hmm, if I put Kaiser in her path, she might actually end up hating him a bit, right?”

✦ But that’s what makes the relationship interesting and human: that it’s full of complications, that it’s not easy, that you have to fight for it.

✦ I can’t see Kaiser settling for a simple relationship where everything is easily won. It wouldn’t be worthy of his character.

✦ On the contrary, the harder it is to obtain, the more he’s the type to persevere. You can already see it on the field when he bluntly tells Ness that he no longer wants the freedom of his football because he thrives under restriction.

✦ In other words: in absolute misery.

✦ And what represents a greater misery for Kaiser than human relationships?

✦ You might think, “No way, the guy is a pro at psychological manipulation!”

✦ But to me, he studied psychology precisely to blend in with the human crowd, to understand it, and then to manipulate it. Probably because, at his core, he grew up isolated with his father, didn’t see many people, and couldn’t grasp social norms. You can see for a long time that he struggles with others, that he even fights when someone offers him something because violence is the only form of communication his father taught him.

✦ He knows how others think, but in a mechanical way. Like learning a concept by heart and regurgitating it as learned. Deep down, he doesn’t grasp the essence of it. It reminds me of that part in your bio: “I treat most like a business partner, so in that sense, I am pretty closed-off and predictable; I’ll give basic respect without letting personal feelings interfere.” It’s an automatic, learned behavior for dealing with specific social situations. Deep down, you’re not like that, but it’s simpler, and it works.

✦ All this to say that I think your existence plays a major role in this whole play.

✦ Oh yes, the passage that directly made me think of Kaiser is this one: “As for motherly, I’m just the type of person who likes to care for and nurture others, which I suspect stems from me having to mentally mature quickly due to a difficult childhood, so if I’m fond of a person, I want to make sure they’re alright and have support in all aspects as I didn’t get that.”

✦ For me, it speaks for itself.

✦ I always thought that what Kaiser needed, besides a few sessions with a therapist, is a general detox where he could purge all the evil that’s been eating away at him since birth, and that the only cure is the sincere affection someone could give him: a mother’s love.

✦ The one he never had.

✦ It’s hard to imagine Kaiser in a healthy romantic relationship because his view of humanity is so skewed, but I think that by starting a healing process, everything in him could blossom — pun not intended, of course, given his affinity with roses...

✦ At the same time, I think one has to be able to handle the responsibility of a relationship with someone as psychologically unbalanced as he is, and for that, besides having thick skin, you need the temperament to match. “Funny and sassy probably go hand-in-hand with the things I say since I’ve got quite a mouth on me, which is surprising for peers and acquaintances who see me with friends. It’s fluent in sarcasm and doesn’t mince words, which can be amusing.” I think when he meets someone (typically Isagi), Kaiser tries to establish dominance right away to secure personal safety — that is, to ensure the other doesn’t dominate him first. It’s a typical defensive mechanism.

✦ On the other hand, I think he can quickly be destabilized by someone who doesn’t falter in the face of his attempts at dominance. Someone who responds, who stands up to him, and who even manages to challenge him in areas where he usually feels comfortable.

✦ And you see it multiple times: the stronger Isagi becomes, the more he gains the upper hand over Kaiser, the more the latter is completely shaken because all his certainties crumble, and that’s when we start to understand who he really is. You have to slip into his cracks to see him in his most human, hidden aspects.

✦ He clearly resembles that bully in the schoolyard, who’s quite pleased when everyone bows down to his reign but gets scared when a teacher comes to grab him by the ear and put him in his place. A bit like with Noa: Kaiser despises him to the core but doesn’t challenge his status in the hierarchy.

✦ Kaiser, with his very complex psychology, could be a real challenge for you.

✦ “an ‘elegant strength’ about me due to my ‘intelligence and talent’ that I ‘carry all so gracefully’” Oh damn. So much power and beauty…

✦ “I’d make for a good lawyer since I’m very persuasive as I make good arguments and am good at playing semantics and twisting things in my favor thanks to those traits.” Someone skilled with words… Someone who knows how to stand their ground and defend their opinions… Hmm. Could I have stumbled upon our German emperor’s ideal?

✦ (Honestly, I can hear Kaiser melting over a description like that)

✦ (The attraction of the challenge, meeting someone of his caliber…)

✦ I’m quoting a few details from the things you like that clearly connect with Kaiser: “acting, documentaries, flowers, floriography, food, learning, music, psychology, reading, researching, social studies, symbolism, traveling.” All these keywords fully evoke me Kaiser, really, these are exactly the interests I imagine for him. Damn, I’m so glad I received your description.

✦ To me, he’s a man who presents himself with a lot of elegance and distinction but who deep down prefers very simple things, whether it’s in terms of food (we learn this in the pages of the latest released volume) or even in the small pleasures of life.

✦ I even wonder if he would let you touch his tattoo, from his jugular down to his biceps, then the tip of his elbow, forearm, and the back of his hand.

✦ (^ his ultimate love language, in my humble opinion.)

✦ (Especially since I think his neck is a very sensitive area for him, both for the worst and the best reasons *cough cough*)

✦ OH, speaking of physical contact. I was particularly struck by your testimony about the experiences you’ve had. I won’t go into details since this post remains public, but: “dislike: unsolicited physical contact.” That and the whole part where you explain it to me really resonated with me, and I’m sure it would have resonated with Kaiser too.

✦ Honestly, it gave me chills, and I even felt a wave of sadness because it could so easily echo within him as well. I mean, in the deepest parts of him. His entire childhood was built on the unhealthy relationship of violence he experienced with his father; he grew up with beatings as the only form of affection. It’s acknowledged by the manga that he inflicts pain on himself as a traumatic response to his past.

✦ In my understanding of his character, he can’t stand being touched, and this is one of the reasons he paradoxically allows himself to touch others and cross boundaries without any shame, like he does with Isagi, grabbing his chin and then his wrists during their first meeting. Kaiser attacks before being attacked.

✦ Deep down, I think even a simple caress on his skin deeply unsettles him, possibly provoking sudden violent reactions that no one could have anticipated.

✦ He resembles you.

✦ (Another thing regarding your dislikes; I’ve rarely read dislikes as specific as yours in the bios I read for matchups) (Quite funny, I won't lie)

✦ “Behaviors I’m not fond of in a person are abusive, controlling, impatient, inflexible, obsessive, possessive, prejudiced, tactless, uncooperative, violent and volatile.” This is the part that made me smile and think, “This will create sparks between these two.” These are traits Kaiser exhibits at various points in the manga or that I can perfectly imagine him displaying in a relationship with someone. Obviously, most of them are consequences of his traumas, which he projects onto others. It reminds me of the moment when he admits he wants to be the “father who inflicts suffering on others on the field.” He’s repeating a behavior he experienced in the past.

✦ Someone once told me, “Children are mirrors: they reproduce everything they see, hear, and experience.” And it’s true.

✦ Daaamn, there are so many things that match!!!

✦ I’m as excited as a scientist who’s just made the discovery of the century AAAAARGH

✦ (I’ve noted down plenty of little details to create connections with Kaiser, no worries)

✦ "My love language(s) are quality time and acts of service." "If I were on the receiving end, though, I'd probably prefer quality time and physical touch." It's funny because I think Kaiser has the exact same love languages, in the same order. That is, he comes across as the king who has all the servants doing everything for him, but with someone he genuinely cares about, he'd be the one to offer acts of service. The same goes for you, which doesn't surprise me given your backgrounds: letting people touch you is actually the ultimate proof of your love. It's such a sensitive and intimate thing for you both that you can only imagine it as the purest expression of your feelings for each other.

✦ Wow, that's beautiful.

✦ In my opinion, Kaiser does everything he can to protect his inner self from others, even Ness, who’s been closest to him these past few years, doesn’t truly know his deepest motivations and wounds (at least, that’s how it seems to me). So someone like Kaiser, who works hard to keep emotional distance from others... can only become obsessive once he falls for someone. It’s inevitable. It’s like the reins have been loosened, like a hungry beast has been set free. To me, Kaiser is starving for affection, and he needs it so badly that once he gets a taste... he won't be able to turn back.

✦ It becomes addictive for those who’ve missed it the most.

✦ And that can be just as dangerous as it can be the start of healing; it’s all about the right dose and timing.

✦ "I’m also extremely touch-starved" I don’t need to say more. I know you understand exactly what I’ve explained about Kaiser.

✦ Now, a little compilation of common traits with our German prodigy: "I also tend to write one-shots that fall under those genres since I like them." Without saying he writes fanfics or anything, I think anything related to creating a character might really captivate his attention. I can totally picture him sitting in his chair in the evening, wearing a bathrobe like we saw in the video room, reading your script, the pages you've written about your characters and universe. He’d do it very carefully in complete silence, with his glasses on and one knee crossed over the other. He’d silently turn the pages, and if he had nothing to say at the end of his reading, it’s not because it left him indifferent: I think it would keep turning in his mind, eventually deepening his interest in other people’s art. In your art.

✦ "The same goes for my other hobbies, like baking and cooking." I don't see him as extraordinarily talented in the kitchen, and his current appearance might suggest he enjoys fine dining: but nope. As I mentioned earlier, I think his culinary tastes are actually the same as when he was a child, and he loves the simplest dishes. Family meals... Oh wow, a good beef stew. A fondue!!! A Sunday barbecue at noon in the summer...

✦ A turkey on Christmas Eve.

✦ The symbolic evening of his birth...

✦ Now, I’m not sure he’d be very expressive because I think his relationship with food is a bit peculiar, especially when someone offers him something—like cooking for him. So I think it would take a lot of time and effort for him to finally accept tasting your dish. Not because it disgusts him, quite the opposite—the delicate smell of smoked meat would make him crack—but because he doesn’t know how to accept kindness from others.

✦ And you know what? I can totally see him being moved to tears by tasting a warm, delicious meal cooked just for him. He wouldn’t show it, he’d try hard not to show anything, but the expression in his tear-filled eyes would say it all.

✦ (Though he might eventually give his dish back due to the overwhelming emotions, but I promise: he loved it.)

✦ "Dancing and singing are covered by the clubs I’m in, and since I picked them, I’m satisfied with them, especially when we perform and make covers." In the category of more specific hobbies, I think he might eventually enjoy opera and museums (culture and art in general), and also come to watch your performances. He’d probably start in the back, discreet, a bit withdrawn from the crowd. And then he’d be the first to applaud you at the very end, you know, and that would prompt everyone else to clap along with him.

✦ He’s proud of you, and you leave the room together. He’s planned something and insists it’s just for the two of you. He’s never liked crowds or groups; he prefers small gatherings where he can focus on the one person who truly matters to him.

✦ The kind who’d wrap a scarf around your neck because it’s cold. You’d comment on it, and of course, he’d reply, "The cold? I’m used to it. I don’t feel it anymore."

✦ "There’s also cosplaying, but I only do it for conventions, meetups, and photoshoots with friends. But there are time and financial restraints, so it’s much less frequent." He might come to see you, not necessarily standing directly in front of your booth but watching from afar. Watching people line up at your stand for autographs and photos, maybe gritting his teeth or furrowing his brows because there’s a hint of jealousy. But he’d never interfere because he knows it’s your moment. His moment will come later.

✦ And the fact that he puts himself second is a sign of his devotion in itself.

✦ "For appearance, I’m honestly built like Hoshino Ai" Honestly, I can totally see Kaiser preferring people with a physique that’s the opposite of his, meaning shorter people with dark hair and a somewhat innocent look, but who have a strong personality.

✦ "from the way her body physically looks down to her height of 4’11” or 151 cm" Hehehe, shall we talk about hugs between 151 cm and 186 cm?

✦ "Lastly, my MBTI is INFP-T" (I won’t lie, I was a bit surprised by that MBTI, I thought you’d be something else) Kaiser is really hard to type due to his unique childhood, which, in my opinion, forced him to develop cognitive functions that he didn't have in order to survive. These functions are called “shadow functions,” and according to Carl Jung’s theory, they shouldn’t be developed at all in someone whose cognitive stack doesn’t include them. I have my own idea of Kaiser’s type, which is nothing like what Personality Database gave him, and I think it’s the most complementary to INFP.

✦ "my enneagram is 4w5" It’s commonly accepted that Kaiser’s is 3w4. You both share the 4, which in his case is a wing. This means that his 3, which represents the achiever profile, is supported by the 4, the profile attributed to the individualist. When combined with the 3, the 4 makes Kaiser someone who is motivated by achieving success while asserting who he is through his work. This is exactly what we see when he seeks to develop "a shot that defines me" and when he wants to be recognized for his work. There’s a strong identity quest in Kaiser’s relentless journey, and this is represented by his 3w4 enneagram. We can also see it throught the "wholistic restrictive ego" that Isagi describes in chapter 267.

✦ Well, because you both inspire me so much, here’s a little one shot.

Content warning: angst, self-harm, hurt/comfort.

The room was dark, silence hanging like a heavy shroud. It was late, and a bad dream had pulled you from sleep. In the bed, an immense coldness lingered. Your hand groped blindly. You could hear the sheets crumple under your grasp. The place beside you was empty.

This was usual.

And because it was usual, you got up, rubbing the corners of your eyes with your fists. Then you slipped out of bed, pulling on a robe before heading downstairs to the living room. There a light was on.

The TV was on but it was strange, you didn’t even hear the sound because all your senses were focused on the figure on the floor.

"Michael!" you cry out.

He was slumped on the floor but not asleep. Your first instinct was to approach, drop to your knees to lift a hand... Then you remembered not to touch him unless he gave his consent.

"Michael, look at me..."

There was something around his neck. His own hand, clenched like a vise. His breathing was short and erratic. A clammy heat battled across his forehead, down to his temples. The sound from the screen continued to crackle in the background. His gaze lifted to it, revealing the replay of an old match.

"It’s... the first one I saw." his murmur barely escaped his throat. "Before I started playing."

His grip gradually loosened on its own. You watched, helpless, worried.

"It was Christmas Eve, I was on the street. There was the store window. A sports shop."

"Micha..."

"I saw a vision of my father."

He slowly straightened up on his knees, his palm wiping away the sweat clinging to the roots of his hair. You moved to brush a few blonde strands behind his ear, always careful not to touch him directly.

"Fuck..." his head tilted back, exposing even his Adam’s apple. "It’s been a while."

"Is there anything I can do?"

His blue eye landed on you.

"...Nothing."

"Alright. Then tell me when..."

"There is. Hold me."

Your heart began to pound harder in your chest. A fire ignited within you. Your arms opened to welcome the one who let himself fall against you. The tattoo encircling his throat seemed to emit a faint scent of roses. You inhaled its fragrance, wrapping your arms completely around Kaiser.

"Like this. I... feel okay." His face nestled into the curve of your neck. His warm breath settled there. "You’re not leaving, right?"

"I’m here."

"You’re here."

A word about your match: You’re the sexiest Hollywood couple of all time, hands down. I absolutely LOVED writing this matchup, thank you so much. Give Kaiser all the love you can; I'm convinced he has so much to give too. He just needs time to blossom...and love.

And OH MY GOD I see on your blog that you were born on 10 December like me????

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | AUGUST '24 MATCHUPS EDITION.

[ladamedusoif]

Paper: A Visiting First Anniversary Update

Paper is the traditional gift for a first anniversary. What could be more fitting for a pair of academics still trying to figure out their future? 

A year ago, I posted the first chapter of my first foray into fanfiction and my first attempt at writing fiction since I was a teenager. Visiting took a lot of courage to write, let alone to post; but the sheer pleasure in drafting and planning Ben and Lydia’s story made me feel I should share it. 

There are still three chapters of the story to come, and I know I’ve been slow and not a very good or engaged writer.

Life has been complicated lately, and for various reasons it has just been easier not to be on here as much (if at all - and if it was noticed!) But I had to mark their anniversary, somehow. So, a year in, and with the story still unfinished, here are some reflections - and, if you read to the end, a (slightly smutty) sneak peek for chapter 13…

I launched the two dorks into a fic world dominated by DBFs and age gaps and all sorts of other tropes that Visiting just wasn’t, never would be. The tropes have shifted somewhat but their story still doesn’t speak to any of the big ones. That’s Ben and Lyd, though. They never were ones for following trends.

At times I’ve felt strongly that this wasn’t a story anyone really wanted, that it was my fault for writing it badly. Some chapters felt both vital and nigh impossible to write, as I second-guessed myself and the readership and wondered what I was doing wrong, exactly. And then sometimes a chapter I’d poured everything into just… went unseen, it seemed.

And then I would receive the most beautiful comments and responses to the story, as readers find it and connect on some level with Lydia, Ben, and their little world. In my sort-of Tumblr hiatus I know these comments have built up and I need to respond properly to each and every one. But know that I am eternally grateful, incredibly touched, and that many of them have made me cry. The same goes for the people who recommended the story on fic lists, who sent wonderfully kind anons about the work, who have made me want to keep going with it.  

There is a bittersweetness to the anniversary of starting Visiting. There are people on here who were such vocal, enthusiastic cheerleaders of the story both in public and in DMs who just fell away after a chapter or two. (I still wonder if they have been keeping up.) There are people on here who I was so close with, who knew the motivations for the story and its inner workings, who chose, out of the blue, to act as if it - and I - no longer existed. Such is life. Such is the nature of online friendship. But it’s particularly strange when someone has been there for the drafting and writing and then…isn’t. 

But such instances are in the minority. The readership for Visiting might be small, but it’s brought me into touch with some incredible, wonderful, generous people who have become firm friends. There is no greater feeling than knowing that your little story about two middle-aged academics finding themselves falling for each other when they least expected it is liked - heck, loved, even, by even one or two other people. (Tell your friends! More readers welcome! But you guys are the best ones.)

A final, more general observation about this story and why it exists. We have often seen statements on here about how dark!fic is “healing”, a way for people to work through experiences and issues in their own lives. I would argue that softer fic is healing, too - that healing doesn’t have to be sought or validated through creative explorations of brutality, violence, coercion and pain. It can be, of course - but it’s just as valid to seek it in stories that are softer, kinder, warmer, even. Lydia’s conviction that she is permanently broken, that she is fundamentally unlovable, could not be undone with anything other than love and safety. And the story does seem to have reached some people in that way, and for that I’m really delighted and proud. 

And I’m really touched and grateful to all of you who have stuck with the story, have got in touch to comment, to ask if there’s more, to talk about how much you love it. You have no idea how much it means, truly. There is more coming: three chapters more, in fact, if I can just get my brain together. But, as a thank you and an anniversary gift, here’s a little bit from the next chapter:

You rest your head on his shoulder and bring your arms around his waist, hugging him close to you under the blankets as you enjoy the symphony of nocturnal sounds in the back yard. 

He chuckles as you hold him tight. “You must know by now I’m not going anywhere, Lyddie.”

“Don’t laugh when I say this, but - sometimes I feel like I need to hold you extra close, just to be sure you’re real.” 

He tilts his head and smiles at you. “That I’m real?”

“That you’re real. That all of it is real, Ben. I’m not used to things… working out, I guess. All my life I was left lonely or things fell apart, and - I still have to remind myself that yes, this is real, I’m not dreaming.” You sip your champagne thoughtfully as he kisses the top of your head, broad hands caressing your body.

“It’s real, love.” He kisses you again, gently squeezing your hip. “Even if I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky.”

You push away the blankets and wrap your arms around his neck as you begin to make out, his hand snaking up under the skirt of your floral-print summer dress and pressing greedily into the flesh of your thigh. 

He breaks away to kiss and suck on your neck, pausing to whisper in your ear: “Does this feel real enough, baby?”

You give a little cry of pleasure before breaking into fits of giggles, grinning as you feel Ben’s smile against your skin. “I guess it’s pretty real, Ben, as these things go…”

“As these things go?!” He pulls back, leaving a parting kiss on your collarbone, before spreading out the blankets a little on the wooden decking. “Lie back, Lyd, and I’ll give you real.”

And now, if you don’t mind, I will enjoy a celebratory ice-cold Corona, and raise it to my idiots-in-love who are still waiting for their happy ending.

[desceros]

Hi!

So, if you don't mind me asking, what's the meaning behind Symphony 25's chapter title?

i don't mind. that said, i'm going to put it under a cut because 1. it's a longer analysis and 2. i'm heavy on death of the author and like people to interpret things in their own ways, so i'm going to have this be an "optional" bit of meta. it's word of god, but whatever that means to you as a reader of my fics is your choice.

the chapter title for 25 is mr.kitty's "hollow." as i've said before, sometimes the chapter songs are by mood, sometimes it's because the song itself appears in the fic, and sometimes it's for the lyrics. this is a case of the latter.

so it's a song largely from alopex's point of view, though some of them are viola-chan about her. i'll go by the different parts and extract their meanings as i interpret them.

When hearts collide The blood will flow To end the pain I'll let you go

alopex and viola-chan ended their relationship after a fight, including actual physical violence in one instance that, while not intentional, did cause physical harm (the blood will flow). this passage refers to viola-chan deciding to bury her feelings about alopex down deep (to end the pain/i'll let you go) but also to alopex deciding to end the relationship so that the pain of being with someone who makes her feel inferior can stop.

How is it I know Where you've gone for so long?

this in my head is alopex watching viola-chan in her performances and being close enough to see, but not close enough to reach back out. it's closely paired with the following line:

Hollow is my ghost That will haunt what you've done

which is appropriate both for alopex's impact on viola-chan's life (affecting how she interacts with people, how she isolates herself, how she approaches romance with donnie and friendship with leo); but also viola-chan's ghost haunting alopex. to what degree she's processed what she did to viola-chan, how much blame she takes, how apologetic she really is is not yet clear in the fic. but what is clear, i hope, is that she is far from free of guilt. she is, in a manner of speaking, haunted by viola-chan.

the two lines repeat over and over and over again through the song and form the chorus. it's for this reason that it feels so crucial to alopex's character; over and over and over she thinks about viola-chan, their relationship, and what to do about it. in-text, viola-chan is referred to as "The Ex." not an ex. the. this is because of the incredible impact viola-chan has had on alopex's life, and her current relationship with sinclair. i imagine she and sinclair would have talked about the ramifications of the breakup thoroughly, which, in a way, allowed alopex to process things in a way viola-chan has never been able to do.

(what affect that has had on the way she sees her relationship with viola-chan will be explored in-text in future chapters. heehee.)

Into the light We'll rust to dust Clarity feels As clear as us

clarity feels as clear to us as dust. the light rusts. lines that indicate that although truth is sought, it is neither found nor healing. this speaks to the way that viola-chan receives alopex's side of the story... but it feels incomplete. there isn't a lot of emotional catharsis from it.

but also, the same is true of alopex. we see in-text that she's troubled by viola-chan's lack of response. what was she seeking? it's not clear yet in-text, but it is clear that she was looking for something and didn't get it.

so yeah! that's the meta on the chapter song. as i said, i always like seeing what other people think, and you're totally open to disagree or interpret things differently. :D

[riddlerosehearts]

🐍(signing with a snake for convenience) thank you for the good luck wishes, i finished the exam and it went alright! i saw your earlier post, how are you feeling right now? i myself have a cat too and can only imagine how devastated i would feel if the same thing happened to me, i'm really sorry you're going through this and hope you're still taking care of yourself. if it helps as a distraction, how would you imagine nico (& leo if you wish!) as new students at NRC?

signing with the 🐍 emoji reminds me of jamil, which imo is good because i love jamil haha. so hopefully you like him too. glad your exam went well! i'm feeling a little better now than i was earlier, but still not great, honestly. my family took that cat in as a stray who we have evidence to believe had been abandoned, and we'd given her a matching name with our other cat--our first cat is named daisy, and the one who died was named lily. we knew she'd have to be put down sooner or later but everybody felt so sure that it wouldn't be this soon. i sincerely hope your cat lives a long, healthy life.

as for your question: hmm, well, i'm terrible at explaining my thoughts sometimes. let's see if i can come up with something that makes sense LOL. i'm going to imagine an AU where rather than being isekai'd like yuu, nico is just a character from the twst universe.

so the way i see nico in the current riordanverse canon is that he's made a lot of progress toward healing from his trauma and trying to be happier and more outgoing, like he was when we were first introduced to him in titan's curse. he cares about others and wants to be able to have friends. but he still has a lot of anxiety about putting himself out there, and he still barely understands modern technology (which, i'm unsure how that'd be explained in this scenario, but it's a magic world, anything could've happened. maybe he's a fae or half-fae, or maybe he was stuck in some sort of magical stasis for decades like in PJO.) and has this lingering fear that he doesn't fit in with most people. i also see him as a natural extrovert who mostly became withdrawn as a trauma response.

so i guess if we took nico with his canon personality/development and made him a character in the twst universe, then he'd be incredibly nervous about going to NRC and not knowing how people there will react to him, but he'd also be willing to try his best. and if he got placed into ignihyde, then he'd soon end up feeling frustrated because, okay, sure, he can see why the dark mirror looked at his soul and thought he should be put into this gloomy, lifeless dorm full of quiet serious people who keep to themselves. not too long ago he might've thought that was perfect! but now because most ignihyde students keep to themselves or to their own groups while also hardly leaving their rooms, it makes for a very lonely atmosphere when nico no longer wants to be alone all the time. and when he does try to speak to his dormmates he doesn't really get most of what they try to talk about because they're engineers and tech nerds and he... very much isn't. he also doesn't understand how to operate most of the technology the dorm is filled with and runs on.

i can imagine him wanting to transfer dorms but being terrified of not fitting in any better anywhere else, until he ends up talking with yuu during alchemy class and finding out that they live in a dorm that's haunted by ghosts and otherwise only has a population of two. nico and yuu could relate to each other in a sense because even though yuu has ace and deuce as friends, they still feel lost and out of place in this world. and they think it's pretty cool that nico can control and summon ghosts. they sort of joke that it'd be a lot easier to keep the ghosts in line if they had his magic, and he's like. well what if i moved into your dorm and helped you out. which crowley decides to allow and nico is a lot happier there because even though ramshackle is way smaller than ignihyde, it's also less lonely. he can talk to the ghosts and to yuu and grim. and as he gets more used to being there and a little less afraid of opening up, he could make friends with some of his other classmates. maybe even with some of his old dormmates. if all the canon NRC students are also around in this, then i'm sure he and the shroud brothers could find something to talk about given nico's interest in mythomagic.

nico's development in the later books is also heavily influenced by will, so if we had will in this AU then that might change things a bit. i'm very indecisive just in general and also i don't get will nearly as well as a friend of mine does, so it's possible that he could get accepted into RSA which would separate him from nico, or that he could get into NRC but definitely in a different dorm because he doesn't fit ignihyde at all (will have to ask my friend her opinion on this, actually). in the latter case i think nico would especially look forward to the classes they share, but would vent to will about still not fitting in and would wish that he could transfer dorms to be with him. but crowley would discourage him from trying to transfer because of how difficult the process is and will would encourage him to put himself out there more and try harder to make friends, which could lead to his conversation with yuu and his transfer to ramshackle (it being a different case since it's not, like, an official dorm anymore and nico's magic is well-suited to crowley's own needs). leo or other characters being there at the same time might change things slightly too.

but yeah, either way, i think he'd love chilling with the ghosts in ramshackle and with his canon development where he's starting to become more open and less brooding, he could end up really enjoying being at NRC even if he still struggles sometimes! if we were talking about a version of nico who was still 100% convinced that he could never fit in with anyone and that he needed to be alone all the time, i guess he'd probably just stay in ignihyde and cause yuu a lot of confusion by summoning ghosts from ramshackle into his room to give himself someone to talk to. if he was from the PJO universe and got isekai'd into the twst world then i don't think nico would adjust well to that at all. i have a feeling that as he is right now in canon, he'd consider going to school in some other world a complete waste of time in the first place and would tear twisted wonderland apart trying to find a way home if that happened.

i am going to stop here though because i rambled about this way more than i did before though LOL. i hope this is the kind of answer you were looking for and that it doesn't all seem like. completely OOC and that what i'm trying to say makes sense. i love sharing my opinions but i'm also not very confident in them sometimes. i could try to come up with something for leo if you wanted, but i'd also love to know if you have any thoughts on how he'd be as an NRC student!

[glitchdollmemoria]

once again beginning this with a disclaimer that i experience disorganized thinking and i dont think my wording really does justice to the thoughts i have on this topic, but im doing my best here, so my hot take of the day is i dont think its the most important thing in the world to tease out aromanticism and asexuality from trauma responses, and i think that trying to fit everything into boxes can cause more distress than it soothes.

i am NOT saying one shouldnt address trauma and work to heal from it. that is incredibly important and i will always be a loud supporter of healing from trauma and supporting trauma survivors. i am ALSO not saying that being aspec is inherently tied to trauma - aromanticism and asexuality are completely normal aspects of existence and they dont need to be tied to a "reason", just the same as any other queer identity.

personally speaking: i have a lot of trauma around intimate relationships. i am also on both the aromantic and asexual spectrums. looking back at my childhood, i think those aspec identities have always been a part of me, but i also have no way to know for sure if my trauma has amplified them. am i (usually, not always) deeply uncomfortable with and even afraid of people being attracted to me because of my intrinsic lack of reciprocation, or is it because of the way ive been hurt by people who were attracted to me? is my degree of romance- and sex-repulsion inherent to my being or a result of trauma? trick questions! the answers are unknowable and i dont have the time or energy to keep trying to know.

the unfortunate truth of trauma is that no matter how much you heal, no matter how far past it you move, traumatic events will always be a part of your personal history. i dont know if ive ever heard of a single person who can go back to who they were before a traumatic event. and especially when that trauma occurs during youth, its going to have an impact on the way your brain functions, the way you maneuver through life, and that includes intimate relationships. and thats okay! the goal with trauma treatment shouldnt be some lofty aspiration of forgetting what you went through, it should be learning how to manage the effects of your trauma, learning how to continue to find joy in life and minimize the hurt from what happened to you, and learning how to handle the situations when you DO feel that hurt.

and personally, it helps me more to embrace my aromanticism and asexuality and celebrate those parts of my identity, rather than treating them as symptoms of trauma and trying to force myself to engage in relationships that only end up hurting me worse. it does not serve me to constantly question whether my feelings on romance and sex are intrinsic or caused by external factors, because that isn't going to change those feelings and i dont really WANT to change those feelings. if treating my trauma leads to me no longer identifying as aspec, then thats cool, but its not what im seeking out. if i try to force myself to be allo, i will only further traumatize myself.

its okay to be traumatized. its okay to be aspec. its okay to be both. its okay to not where one ends and the other begins. its okay if you dont CARE where the boundary lies, as long as youre doing what you need to to take care of yourself. its okay to use aro and ace labels if you feel like they describe you, and its okay to stop using those labels if they stop benefitting you. its cool. its chill. focus on your own comfort and boundaries and happiness, and do what you need to do for your own wellbeing.

[hexonthepeach]

Taking a break from spending my Saturday writing and editing to say that some of the comments/commentary I've been receiving on agtbtb are broaching a personal boundary I feel I should be more clearly stated so as to not cause confusion. I don't think this has been done intentionally or with ill will so I want to address it from the lens of my personal feelings on the issue and allow those who feel differently to decide whether or not they would like to continue engaging with my work.

This is not the initiation of a conversation, this is me stating my boundaries to my readers before enforcing them as needed. My apologies if this is long, but there's a lot to unpack here.

tw: potentially triggering commentary under the cut re: SA and CPTSD

First, I don't think it's necessary to qualify my writing or my choices in how things are written with regards to my own trauma or identity. I would urge anyone who thinks this is necessary for authors to consider that many people do not have the ability to speak to it, and I say this as someone who physically and emotionally is still shaken by it (like full body tremors and feeling sick just having to write this) even if I decided a long time ago that I felt it necessary to share my experience as part of my own process of healing. Which is not something that I believe will ever be complete, by the way.

I have been writing and reading darkfic (dubcon/noncon) for as long as I have been an adult. I have also been a survivor of violent SA and DA for much longer. The two are not interchangeable in any way so much as to say that a lot of people who have experienced violence find comfort in writing/reading about it. I believe that fiction is a realm where individuals can explore things, including their own complicated experiences, without repercussions. It is a literal safe space to work through one's personal feelings in the face of a world that is incredibly skewed towards unjust exploitation. Just adding also: I do not believe there are moral ramifications to engaging with or producing work that is transgressive, it is only right to be cognizant and respectful of your audience, especially wrt proper tagging etiquette and keeping things accessible only with consent.

But I also think an audience should be respectful of creators, especially when this work is offered for free at great personal effort and care on their part. I welcome commentary and engagement, am desperate for it even considering the ratio of time spent making it to how little response some things get (all while knowing that engagement isn't easy and I could do more of it myself).

So as someone who knows intimately the conversations that happen internal and external in the wake of abuse and assault, I would ask you to not say stuff like "x deserves/deserved it" or other victim-blaming statements in relation to any of the characters I write experiencing sexual trauma or its repercussions.

In the context of agtbtb I bookended one assault with another on multiple experiences from the victimizer's POV not as a form of narrative punishment but as an attempt to demonstrate how fragile the boundaries of control/consent are in a world deliberately designed to enforce a hierarchy of domination and sexual violence. Omegaverse as a genre has this coded into it, it's why it's incredibly rewarding to deconstruct it and play with and I am hopeful that those who have been enjoying my take on it continue to do so. If not, I absolutely respect that and ask that you refrain from criticizing my interpretation unless I have made a clear misstep in tagging or am offensive, esp. re: inclusivity.

On a final note, I have also been through several fandom experiences where I have seen an unconscious bias towards judging the actions/motivations/interests of women, female or fem-coded characters outsized to those of men/male/masc. It's just gonna happen, especially when said male characters are idols who are being interpreted through ones own personal attachments vs. a self-insert proxy. I knew what I was wading into by making y/n a female aggressor in this story but I hope I have also made it incredibly clear that the circumstances of this person's life and relationships with others are formed on a foundation that is broken. I didn't write 100k reiterating the experience of enduring medical trauma and forced submission, dehumanization and imprisonment, suicidal ideation and hopelessness for a frankly normal response to their trauma to be read as "this person is being treated too kindly". I find that deeply unjust. The false ideal of the "perfect victim" has been used to subjugate women and to minimize their trauma, it is reactionary and patriarchal and if you have adopted that mentality I ask you to examine why. On the other side of that coin is how they recover or address that trauma, it is always personal and does not minimize the original harm.

I write flawed people and complex consequences, because I recognize that systems of abuse/oppression often lead to our own complicity in them or re-enacting that violence on others. The answer to breaking that cycle isn't retributive justice, ever. It's restorative. Of all the things I write related to self-insert fantasy that's the one that feels the most impossible for the world to accept so I understand if it's a hard pill to swallow for some, but I'll stand by it.

No one is exempt from this and my treatment of one character within the context of their relationships and their history is not a diminishment of anothers. As stated in another ask, this story is ongoing and I am doing my best to tell it the way I feel flows naturally from an unnatural premise.

Thanks for your patience as I tell it, and for your sensitivity to my perspective and boundaries with regard to its subject matter.

all my love

- ash

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  ��Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[allmightluver]

**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana. 

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy. 

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further. 

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury. 

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on? 

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him). 

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

[luna-writes-stuff]

I would be honored if you could do an imagine for Fili crushing on someone who went on the journey with the Company. He thought she liked his brother, but after seeing him with Tauriel, Fili feels like he has a chance and offers everything to make her as happy as he thought she would be with Kili. Lovely fluff and some misunderstandings with everyone living because IF I CAN'T SEE CANON THEN IT DOESN'T EXIST

Mixed signals, Fili Durin (platonic Kili x reader)

what do you mean they don’t usually live???? Idk I always skip the last half hour of botfa. If I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.

Ahahah I got taken away a bit so it’s a long request. Sorry….

Headcanons, female s/o

Tw: misunderstood feelings, mention of injury and blood, tiny sprinkle of angst, fluff, Kili being a lil shit, Fili being jealous, few mentions of Y/N I’m so sorry.

- This man is whipped for you. I posted a request similar to this one yesterday, and I feel like it says enough.

- The moment he sees you, he knows you’re his One. Yet, he can’t allow himself to show you. His brother wouldn’t shut up about it and besides that, after Erebor was to be reclaimed, he had to marry royalty in order to form an alliance.

- But Thorin wasn’t blind. He has seen the look in Dis’ eyes many times before. He had seen his sister find her One, so it came as nothing out of the ordinary when he witnessed his nephew do the same.

- And this is pre-dragonsickness. Back when Thorin was all “I hate everyone but I guess I have to keep up with these two idiots so I’ll tolerate them.”

- And he wanted to grant Fili the opportunity to be with his One. He had even told him to simply go for it.

- But Fili was a bit insecure. When you met him, you didn’t seem taken away in any way. It was almost as if it had only been him who was in love.

- And with that, you had grown remarkably close to his brother, Kili. You two joked around all the time. You sat together during the evenings, Kili would help you up on your horse/pony, he would take offer your watches and he even let you hold his bow and arrow. That is basically dwarven language for “I love you and I wish to court you” or “I love you and I’m so glad to have you in my family.”

- What Fili didn’t know is that Thorin told Kili about you being his One. But instead of teasing Fili about it, Kili had made it his duty to agitate his brother so much that he would have no choice but to confess to you before Kili would sneak you away.

- For your information: Kili had no intention of sneaking you away. He just wanted to make it look like it for Fili, and, lucky for him, you had just been going along with it subconsciously.

- But it did not agitate Fili. It made the poor lad confused and tired. You were showing so much affection and endearment to his brother that he felt like he could never compete. Even though Kili had never been attractive in dwarven standards, he knew his way around women. And seeing someone finally pay attention to him, made Fili happy for his brother.

- And Kili just kept up with the act. He was oblivious to what his brother was feeling. Thorin had quite specifically told Kili not to tell his brother, and for once, he didn’t. But when days turned into weeks, Kili made more advances. Not in any way uncomfortable for you, but they had been a step further.

- He would let you rest against him during night shifts, he would let his hand linger on your waist when he helped you get onto your horse/pony. This sneaky bastard even managed to toy with your hair.

- Fili grew absolutely devastated at these moments. He had distanced himself more and truly felt as if his One had been taken away and he would die alone.

- But then Mirkwood happened. It was obvious to Fili that his brother had taken a liking on Tauriel, the female elf that saved him earlier. You had been passed out of exhaustion in your cell, not paying attention to your surroundings anymore.

- And that was when Fili finally decided to speak.

- “What are you doing? I thought you liked Y/N and now you’re flirting with that elf? You can’t treat her like that!”

- And now Kili was confused.

- “I thought you liked Y/N?” He had questioned, not even knowing whether his uncle had been lying to him or not.

- “That doesn’t matter. What matters is, you can’t just run around-“ but Kili had already cut him off. “It does matter. Because Y/N isn’t my One. I’m not attracted to her!”

- And now Fili was dead silent. He had been contemplating on whether to act furious or taken aback. In reality, he had been a bit of both.

- “You don’t like Y/N?” Fili asked, nearly insulted.

- “I was only trying to agitate you. Uncle said she was your One but that you wouldn’t confess.” Kili admitted finally, knowing that keeping the act up any longer wouldn’t work.

- “So you tried to beat it out of me?” The only response the blonde got was a quiet hum.

- “You thought I would take away your chance of happiness?” Fili wondered aloud, his anger now showing more clearly. “Well, not if you put it like that-“ “How else am I supposed to put it?”

- With those words, the space grew quiet. One more question lingered on Fili’s mind, and he had to ask it.

- “Does she know you don’t like her?” A short pause was heard from Kili before he responded. “She does. When we grew closer she told me she wasn’t attracted to me and I told her she wasn’t my One.”

- A sigh of relief came Fili’s way, but his brother kept on talking. “She grew all confused by the concept of ‘Ones’. Had to give her a whole history lesson. She thinks it’s adorable. I’m sure she won’t reject you.” With those words, Fili’s ears pricked up.

- “How so?” “Because every time we are together, she won’t stop asking me about you.” Fili never thought someone could ever bring him more butterflies than when you smiled at him, but as Kili’s sentences reached him, his stomach felt all light again.

- “At first I thought it was because you were ignoring her, but I quickly figured out that wasn’t the case.” Kili shot a quick look his brother’s way, even though he had been in a cell on the other side of the hall. “She likes you, she really does. She’s not as good at hiding it as you are. If you ask her to court you, she won’t say no.”

- Fili had spent the entire night pondering over his brother’s words. Even as they escaped the dungeons and took the boat to Laketown, his anxiety bubbled up.

- But as soon as the orcs entered the city, reality sunk back in. They had been on the run while simultaneously claiming their homeland. There might be a chance neither of you would make it. And it terrified him.

- As you were busy holding off the orcs in Bard’s home, Fili had been right beside you covering your back. He knew asking you to court him would require more steps. Up until this moment you had only held a handful of conversations, but Fili was running out of patience.

- “When all this is over, I need you by my side.” He told you quickly, his voice heavy as he fenced off the attackers. You grew confused at your words, yet your actions did not falter one bit. And it only made Fili more attracted to you. How you maintained yourself on a battlefield, yet somehow managed to hold that perfect look. It could quite easily take his breath away.

- “But I am by your side.” You answered, not catching his meaning, thinking it had been too good to be true.

- “I mean by my side at Erebor. When we reclaim the mountain. Will you stay with me?” Upon your silence, Fili tried explaining his speech. “I know asking you to court me requires more steps but we might not have time for them anymore. I need you to stay with me. We can do all these steps afterwards, I promise.”

- You cast him a quick look before giving him a sincere nod. “I’ll stay with you.”

- And that is exactly what you did. Upon finally arriving at the mountain with the four dwarves, Fili finally got the time to braid your hair, even if Thorin told him to look for the Arkenstone. You had even managed to braid his hair too, even though you had no beads yet.

- Even as Thorin slowly grew insane, Fili had done what he promised; he remained by your side, defending you against his uncle and keeping you as safe as he could.

- During the battle of the five armies, you stayed with him and Kili. You traveled with the three of you, not once separating. Not even when Fili decided you should split up. Because of that, you managed to do quite a number on Azog before Thorin called out to him.

- Azog had gotten a good slash on your leg, nothing life threatening but enough to make you collapse on the spot. Fili had been so worried. He had promised to look out for you, but now you were bleeding out on the snow covered floor. Kili had already ran off for help, even though the possibility he would come back with one would be highly unlikely, as battle was still raging on.

- On top of Ravenhill everything had grown silent. Bodies of dead orcs were littered over the floor but all that mattered to Fili right now was you being safe. Eventually, Kili had ran back with Bilbo, Thorin and Gandalf by his side. They had successfully beaten Azog, finally putting an end to the bloodshed.

- As the mountain was being rebuilt, Oin had put you on bed rest to let your leg heal and Fili had been with you the entire time. Thorin hadn’t even tried to get him for royal duties. He knew he had been awful to you during his dragonsickness, and this was his way of apologizing to you. And you had been fine with it.

- When you had finally recovered, Kili took you to the forges to make beads for Fili. You wanted it to be a surprise for him, but you needed supervision. At first, Dis, Fili and Kili’s mother, had offered to help, but it had become her duty to distract the crown prince.

- A few burns and scratched had started to form on both your and Kili’s hands but it had been worth it. The beads were incredible.

- Fili was so happy when you gave them to him. He was so surprised by the amazing details and the thought and time your poured into them.

- He wears them the entire time. Now exceptions. Not even for bed or bath. None. They must always be in his hair.

- I WANNA WRITE MORE BUT IT’S ALREADY SO LONG BUT JUST ASSUME HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND WILL TREASURE YOU FOREVER AND LOVE YOU FOR EVERY LITTLE THING YOU DO

[mercurial-madhouse]

Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

************

This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

[guardianspirits13]

I wanna talk about Natsuo Todoroki for a second here.

tw// mentions of abuse, self harm, and suicide

Natsuo visibly has the most emotional trauma out of anyone else in his family (Touya not included), and I really wanna talk about why that is.

For starters, we haven't seen him really smile since he was introduced in chapter 187. He's introduced as having a friendly, easygoing persona and it's easy to imagine this is how most people outside of his family know him. However, every time we see him appear since then, another layer of his trauma is revealed and expanded upon, and it cuts DEEP.

I think the main reason that Natsuo still seems so vulnerable compared to the rest of his family is different than what you'd assume. Fuyumi and Shouto both spend a lot of time around Endeavor, and have been in close proximity to his (relatively recent) decision to atone. They have seen his growth firsthand and come to terms with it. Rei has obviously taken a very different path to healing- not entirely voluntarily- but she has been working with doctors and therapists for years to change and recover and reconnect with herself and her children. Natsuo is off at college, and takes every opportunity he can to avoid Endeavor. He (understandably) wants nothing to do with him, and shows stagnant resistance to his attempts to atone.

The reason why Natsuo can't move on from the past is because his trauma didn't come from Endeavor. It came from Touya.

Now initially we were led to believe that it was simply Touya's untimely death that still bothers Natsuo, and it makes sense seeing how Endeavor drove him to the edge. Losing his best friend and brother as a young kid without parents to support him or any therapist to speak of can absolutely been the source of persistent emotional damage, but the more and more we learn about Touya's situation, the more evident it becomes that Natsuo's trauma is much much deeper than even grief.

Touya, as we know, was driven by an ambition instilled in him by his father and experienced extreme rejection sensitivity when those ambitions were no longer realistic. Touya's relationship with his parents could be described as insecure attachment, a psychological term primarily regarding how kids react and respond to their parents and other close relationships. As he was raised, Touya learned to equate his potential to be a hero with his personal worth and similarly confounded attention with love. The difference being, of course, that love is unconditional, but even attention was being continually directed away from him as a punishment for continuing to train and burn himself so he could once again become worthy in his fathers' eyes.

This is where Natsuo comes in. At first it was assumed that all of the Todoroki children were born out of Endeavor's strong-willed desire to have a child that could surpass All Might, but we learned that this isn't exactly the case. I'd argue that it was narratively poetic on Horikoshi's part once this was expanded upon. Fuyumi was born to support and encourage her brother, and that is the exact role she plays 23 years later, keeping her family together.

Natsuo's case is even more intersting.

It was bad enough if Natsuo was only born for the potential of his quirk, but it's even more sinister that the sole intent behind his birth was to discourage Touya from his ambitions. I'd say it was to replace him, but it was more to promote the idea that Touya was expendable than to raise aonther kid with the same ideals but the potential to actually achieve it, although that was definitely a secondary motivation.

The parallelism in this is how much Natsuo's life revolves around Touya. He was born because of Touya, he looked up to and took care of Touya as a kid, and the absence of Touya in the present continues to drive him and his decisions in life (but more on that later).

I continue to pray that we will eventually get more solid backstory on Natsuo and Touya's relationship as kids and where it cut off, wether on a bad note or not, but there are a few things we know for certain. One, Touya was mentally ill. Yes, he was rejected by his parents but he seems to have been particularly vulnerable to this compared to any of his siblings since he was the first of them and thus relied only on his parents for validation in his early years. He shows early signs of a variety of different mental disorders, particularly BPD, which I have previously written a whole analysis for on its own. Touya is shown self-harming both by the very nature of his quirk and even by very directly ripping his hair out. He was incredibly self-destructive.

This is why it is so much more concerning to me that Natsuo, who was AT LEAST four years younger than him, was his primary source of comfort. Natsuo was too young to have known anything more than 'my big brother is sad that daddy won't train him anymore' and he obviously wasn't equipped in any way to handle Touya's severe mental illness. Touya most definitely needed professional treaatment as his forms of coping were abnormal even for the neglect and rejection that he experienced. Natsuo comforted Touya through breakdown after breakdown, and more than that Touya relied on him and came to him voluntarily for support. Natsuo was the best option he had, and he took full advantage of that. The main source of Natsuo's trauma was Touya's reliance on him.

Not to say at all that this was in any way Touya's fault- he was mentally ill and desperately in need of some form of comfort to keep him sane; it was almost a survival method at this point since neither of his parents really acknowleged him at all anymore. Touya's instability hurt Natsuo more than parental neglect ever did, but it was the neglect that enabled it and striped Touya of the supportive atmosphere he would have needed at this point not only to prevent but to heal from the mental damage he had already suffered.

Natsuo dealt with this for years and you can see how much it hurt him to see Touya in so much pain, not only from Endeavor's rejection but from his own self harm as well. For Natuso to know that his brotherly love would never be the same as having loving parents; would neve be enough- but at least it was something so he continued to love and care about his brother for little in return- is indicative of the kind of character he is.

(Edit: After the events of chapter 302 we know that Natsuo's relationship with Touya wasn't perfect. I will elaborate more on this in a different post, but I just wanted to clarify that although we were shown a very high-tension scene between them, it is implied that this was a regular occurrence that Natsuo was usually more receptive too but tired out of, in addition to Touya's spiraling mental health. It fit with the natrative to show the tension Touya was feeling with his family from all directions, but Natsu and Touya clearly had a stronger relationship up to and before this point, evidenced by their sharing a room and playing together regularly.)

He is incredibly selfless, and it's interesting to note how many of his positive qualities as an adult stem from negative experiences as a kid. He never really felt love from his parents, so he relied on Touya (and likely also Fuyumi) for that as well. If he grew up learning he had to give love in order to recieve it back, it absolutely influenced who he became in the future, a solid example of this being the responsibility he feels to reach out and have a relationship with Shouto and further regrets that he wasn't able to help his abuse in the past either. Another aspect of his character that intruigues me is how gentle he is. Personality-wise he seems about as opposite as he could be from the awkward, stoic, emotionally-stunted person that is Endeavor.

There are a couple of reasons for this, beyond what I've already discussed.

One, he had little to no contact with elements of toxic masculinity growing up, especially not from Endeavor.

Two, most of the influence he did have growing up was from Fuyumi, who is established to have endlessly cared for him since he was a literal baby.

Three, he grew up in a household where almost everyone around him was in much more literal, immediate pain than he was so he developed a very strong sense of empathy that might also have been tied to early survivor's guilt.

Now I have one important distinction to make, and that's the temptation to label him as a 'softboy' or something of the like after seeing him caring for his family and more pointedly, watching him break down in tears during chapter 252. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with men being soft or vulnerable (on the contrary it's actually so so important and relevant that Hori is writing characters like this in a mainstream shounen manga but that's an essay for another time), it is unfair to label him as such based on a moment when his trauma is being exposed.

Because his truama stems from such a young age, there is a blurry line between just being born with more emotional intelligence and the situation he was in fostering those traits. You know, the classic nature/nurture thing. My point being, it's important to tread carefully when discussing the nature of his personality to avoid invalidating his trauma; I have no doubt that he is very strong for having survived these things, and the moments we see of him onscreen are definitely among his most vulnerable.

Another thing that people less familiar with Natsuo's character might assume is that he is hot-headed and argumentative. I thought that at first too- after all, he doesn't seem to shy away from yelling at Endeavor when given the opportunity. However, this doesn't seem to be the case at all.

The first real scene we see him in with Endeavor, the man walks into the room and Natsuo decides he can't handle it and goes to leave. However, Endeavor happens to be blocking the doorway. Endeavor physically stops him and provokes him to his face, asking him to say whatever is on him mind. While Natsuo is notably not confrontational, Endeavor is. I think it's fair to say that he felt at least uneasy at this gesture. Natsuo is very honest with his feelings, and it's obvious that he's pissed at the audacity of Endeavor to be so oblivious to his own son. This is presumably one of the first real interactions they've ever really had, and at this point Natsuo has been dealing with trauma (caused by Endeavor!) on his own for years, and Endeavor seems completely oblivious to his pain and dismmisive to the rest of the family's as well.

Again during the internship arc Natsuo tries to get along with Endeavor and this time he actually gives it a fleeting chance. Tensions are high, however, and the conversation very quickly becomes uncomfortable, at which point he leaves. It is continually implied that Natsuo is uncomfortable being around Endeavor because his very presence brings up painful thoughts and memories of a time when sharing the same space as him was a warning to run and hide. This is later directly confirmed by Natsuo as he says that every time he looks at Endeavor's face he remembers Touya and the pain he was in.

I feel like an important side note is that we have never seen Natsuo outside the context of his family, which is understandable, as the role he plays in the story directly relates to them. However, if you take a look at Shouto, even though his experiences have shaped him to become who he is, he definitely acts differently when Endeavor's not in the vicinity.

Back to Touya's death, it would be very rare that someone would mourn a death for an entire decade without finding closure unless there are other factors preventing it, and uncomfortably this seems to be the same thing for both Natsuo and Endeavor: guilt.

This is getting incredibly long already, but it's important to note that Natsuo probably felt an incredible responsibility to take care of Touya and protect him because of his empathetic nature. His love was never going to be the same as having loving parents. His encouragement was never going to be the same as having support from Endeavor. Even further than then neglect and abandonement, it was not being able to save Touya that really made Natsuo feel worthless.

He seems to try and remedy this inability to save Touya and diminish his guilt by doing everything he can to be better. He reaches out to Shouto to be a better brother, he consistently pushes his limits to entertain Fuyumi's notion of a happy family, and he's working hard towards a degree rhat will allow him to help people like Touya (and Rei) because he failed to do so in the past.

His bio mildly implies that he didn't have much of a direction he was heading in after high school, but Fuyumi's encouragement led him to seek out his current college career. This goes back to Natsuo's 'purpose' in a sense revolving arount Touya, from his birth to his relationship with him to his death, after which he lost his direction. They were always rather inseperable, so naturally their seperation hit Natsuo hard. He lost his direction in life so when Fuyumi encouraged him to rediscover it, he thought of helping people, because that's ultimately what he was born to do.

Thank you so, so much for reading this if you made it to the end! I clearly have a lot of thoughts on this. Let me know what you think about it as well, and hopefully we'll get more info on this soon in the manga :)

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  Part XI - - - - Part XII - - - - Part XIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Plo Koon woke to find himself chained in a dark room.

Somewhere behind him he could hear steady dripping; it was uncertain if that was deliberate or not.

He strained to discern anything in the dim light, but the walls of his prison refused to form into anything recognizable.

Cautiously, the trapped Master cast his senses out, only to find them reflected back at odd angles. He decided to wait before attempting to push any further past what his captor wished him to see.

Time passed strangely, but sooner than expected there was the sound of a pressurized airlock opening and, distantly, a raging ocean.

The airlock cycled through its rotation and Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped out of the amorphous shadows looking...decidedly worse for the wear. 

Plo ached at the sight. His normally carefully maintained beard was a scraggly mess. His robes hung tattered and bloodied. Of particular concern was how dry he looked, skin cracked and bleeding for want of water. The figure standing before him with a dead-eyed glare resembled less an accomplished Jedi Master and more the wretched husk of one. 

“Who are you?”  Obi-Wan's shade hissed. The chains around the Kel Dooran tightened. 

Well, however he might view himself and others...at least he’s willing to fight to defend what remains? At the bare minimum he’s not acting intentionally self destructive...

“Good Morning, Obi-Wan. I am a Jedi Master and your friend. I have been attempting to reach you through your rather impressive shielding. I must say, you’ve done a remarkable job confining me in this mental construct, its been sometime since anyone has managed to get the best of me in this arena.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Don’t try and flatter me, you barely fought back. You could easily have forced your way anywhere, but for some reason you let me corral you, presumably to try and gain my trust. Now answer my question. Your presence is very much light so I doubt you’re Sidious or...Vader. I could be wrong obviously, but i can’t see either of themselves putting this much effort into that sort of mask...just tell me who you are, and why you’re with them.”

“I am Master Plo Koon, a High Council Member, and I am not unknown to you” he elaborated without hesitation. “I am glad that you can identify that I am a light force user. Can you not sense familiarity within my force presence, even so far within your domain?”

Obi-Wan reared back and the dripping noise in the corner stopped.

“It’s a trick. We might be in my head but that doesn’t mean I’m surrendering any of my thoughts to you,” Obi-Wan snarled. “I felt Plo Koon’s death, he was one of the first...and even if he somehow survived he would never work with the Sith to invade my mind. Never.”

“Obi-Wan. Listen to me. Please. I am not dead. I am not working with the Sith. I was brought in to reach you because no other method was working. You are in the healing halls at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Plo spoke calmly, but implacably, “We believe you have either experienced a uniquely detailed vision, or a run in with a dark-sider. Whatever has happened, I can feel the lingering impression of unsafety. But here and now, you are not in any immediate physical danger. There must be something I can do to convince you of your present physical location.”

“A uniquely detailed vision, huh? ha!” Obi-Wan replied, gesturing wildly. “Ha! You expect me to believe that what, the last four years of my life were a detailed prophecy? Why?”

“You...believe you have lived years beyond the rest of us. I take it the- what you remember has been dangerous enough to warrant maintaining abnormally tight control over your mental walls, precluding simply reaching out to ascertain the truth yourself.”

“Clearly my control wasn’t enough if you’re in here.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I do apologize for the intrusion, but we’ve already used every other tool at our disposal to reach you. I repeat, is there anything that can be done to convince you that you are, from your perspective, ‘in the past’. You are a High Council member with a grandpadawan. It’s been two years since the start of the clone wars. You recently finished an extended clean up of the Mon Cala sector after your victory.”

Obi-Wan stared at him curiously. “If I set a test and you fail, will you agree to dispense with the pretenses?”

Plo-Koon hesitated. “Perhaps I’m making this deal in bad faith, as I am know I am Plo-Koon, and that everything I have said is the truth... but I swear that if you somehow prove that neither of those things are true and I am secretly working for a sith lord, I will...reveal that.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Best I’m going to get, I suppose.”

The chains holding Plo-Koon loosened. Before he could respond, there was a hurtling rising sensation that he struggled not to fight against. After a disorienting moment, he found himself in his own body, feeling vaguely seasick. Obi-Wan blinked awake, apparently unfazed by the precautionary bonds holding him in place. Master Aerdo’s gaze flicked between them intensely. Plo-Koon held up a clawed hand to forestall any interruption while the two gained their bearings.

Obi-Wan spoke first:

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation”

“...What?” Koon replied, honestly confused.

“Cihynglo was a renowned Kashykian Jedi, her mediations are, well i suppose were considered a quintessential example of High Republic cosmic poetry.”

“I’m familiar with Cihynglo- my master used to speak of her fondly.” Plo Koon said slowly. “Though I can’t say I’m familiar with her Fourth Mediation.”

“Hmm. Yes, well her poetry in the last few decades of her life got increasingly, well, esoteric. While most of her work was widely translated and distributed, she requested that those who wished to read her fourth Meditations do so in person, so as to experience without dilution the full calligraphy and artwork that accompanied her words. She only ever produced two copies. Any guesses where they were kept?”

Obi-Wan’s voice started out in the steady tones of a born lecturer, only to grow bitter towards the end.

“Is one in the temple?” Master Koon asked.

“Yes, one was held in the Master’s wing of the temple archives. The other was housed in a place of honor in The White Forest’s Great Tree of Knowledge. Considering both libraries were reduced to ash in the first month of the Empire, it is quite impossible, even for the Emperor, to find a copy.” 

His vague attempt at a smirk quickly fell flat. 

“I was privileged enough to be granted time to begin reading it once, but, alas, an emergency situation in the intergalactic war you created meant that I had to run off mid-sonnet. Bring me that book, let me hold it, read it, and I will believe that I somehow unlocked the secret of time-travel while overdosing on Spice.” 

Obi-Wan paused, catching his breath. “In the next fifteen minutes, please. Any more than that and you might try tracking down the few surviving Wookie scholars.” Koon flipped open his comm. “Master Nu, I have an urgent request.”

“Nu here, go on,” came the response.

“This may sound strange, but it is crucial that Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation be brought to the healing halls, room seven. Within the next 15 minutes.”

“You do understand you’re talking about a physical book, not a flimsi-stack or a holocron. It’s not meant to leave a climate-controlled room.”

“I promise you, I would not ask if it weren’t life or death. Please Jocasta, I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll be there in 10. It had better be one durned good explanation.”

Obi-Wan looked bemused. ”You’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“I am glad you were able to come up with a test you found meaningful. Remember, you have friends here, regardless of whether you experienced subjective time travel or an incredibly detailed vision.”

They waited a little longer. Obi-Wan critically examined Master Aerdo.

“I’m a Senior Soul Healer” they offered at the non-verbal prompting.

“How interesting.” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

They sat in awkward silence for another minute. 

They were all equally trained in suppressing fidgets, coughs, or other nervous tics, which made the wait that slightest bit more unbearable, each second nearly imperceptible from the one before.

Eventually the sound of heavy boots moving at speed approached.

Master Nu strode in, gently cradling a great burden. The book gleamed large and vital in the light of its stasis wrap. Her eyes widened at they took in Obi-Wan, still cuffed to the bed. 

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation, as asked for. I trust you have an excellent explanation for how a book of poetry is a matter of life or death.”

“I’m hoping that it will convince our friend Master Kenobi that I am who I claim to be and we are where I claim we are.” Koon gently pulled the book from her grasp and reverently placed it on Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“Obi-Wan, I’m going to uncuff you now. I trust that you will use your freedom to examine our ‘proof.’ We will physically intercede if you make any attempts at self harm.”

Master Nu gasped. “Then the temple rumors...I don’t understand.”

Obi Wan picked up the book as if he was afraid it might bite him. With an irritated snort, he opened brusquely to the middle, and began carelessly flipping ahead.

Master Nu started forward, offended, but Plo Koon held her back. “Please Master Nu, patience-”

Finally Obi-Wan seemed to reach the page he was looking for and stopped. “..And still the rain fell like blood of the womb” he murmured. “That...I tried to think of how the line ended but I...”

Everyone watched as the book shook in Obi-Wan's grasp. He turned the page, gasping slightly and murmuring as he read. “This is...a little gross, but oddly touching. I certainly would not have come up with it myself...but its so clearly...” They watched his react, eyes darting wildly and brow furrowing in confusion.

Several pages later he dropped the book abruptly.

“This is impossible,” he gasped.

Nu darted forward, carefully snatching it from his lap, "I am endeavoring to practice tolerance, but how is destroying an irreplaceable piece of literature supposed to help anyone?!” she snapped

“I admit I wondered that myself, but when I imagined what harm the Sith could do with some of the archive’s more practical works, I understood your decision to torch the collection” Obi-Wan responded dreamily. “I suppose the more beautific works would likely have been destroyed anyway...”

“Torch the archives? I would never.”

“But you did,” Obi-Wan insisted feverishly. “I found your message when we searching for survivors. There were so many bodies piled at the archive door that I was almost hopeful that they had managed to...but I suppose they held out just long enough for you to complete your task.”

Nu backed away slowly. “That sounds like quite the disturbing vision, Master Kenobi.”

“It wasn’t just a vision, it was my life. It-visions don’t last years!” he said, finally growing hysterical. “I remember everything! That gods-awful mission to Cato Nemodia! Getting takeout food with Anakin! The smell of burning flesh in the creche! Singing to Luke! The last year of the war! All of you! You crying after Dooku’s death,” he added gesturing wildly at the archivist. “It was so awkward! You were embarrassed! You told me that for some stupid reason you had ‘held out hope’ it was all an insane uncover mission, that he wasn’t really- Three years alone in the desert! I remember three years of living on fucking Tatooine, how could that possibly be a vision!”

“I...hadn’t told anyone that,” Nu whispered with a hint of alarm. She glanced at Plo Koon, daring him to comment. “I know its very much unlikely at this point, and by any measure, he’s taken things too far, but he’s gone on such long shadow missions in the past...” she looked away.

“Oh, Jocasta...” Plo sighed.

“Master Kenobi. I cannot explain how you came to have such detailed knowledge of the future,” Aerdo said, drawing focus back to the bewildered Obi-Wan, who had shifted into a defensive crouch on the bed. “But I do know one reasonably sure fire way to establish that this, us, is the present. Open yourself up to the force, please, just let yourself listen to what it has to say.

“I...want to, of course I want to believe- but the idea that I’m here- it’s, if you’re real than you can’t possibly understand, its too good to be true.” Obi-Wan responded brokenly.

“I know things have been clouded of late, but, if nothing else trust in the force to not lie to you.” Plo-Koon urged. “If you keep closing yourself off like this, how can you possibly learn if things are better than you think”

Obi-Wan collapsed from his crouch, knees folding underneath.

“If I am...even if I am in the past... Sideous might be watching...i didn’t- i don’t know the extent of his gaze- even if...” he trailed off.

“If it makes you feel safer, you are of course free to again raise your shields to whatever extent you feel necessary once you have verified your reality.” Aerdo replied smoothly.

Obi-Wan looked warily at the three Jedi in the room.“I...” he started, trying to articulate the swelling hope and fear only to find himself at a loss for words.

Aerdo shot him a reassuring smile, “If you don’t feel ready right now, that’s perfectly understandable. We’re very happy you’re willing to reach out as much as you have already. Would you like to pause this discussion for now so we can find you something to eat? I believe a simple broth is a customary first post-bacta meal, but if you have any special requests I’ll do what I can.”

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands. “I- I need to know, don’t I?” he mumbled. “Force help me...you win.” He took one last, searching look at the faces of his fellow Jedi before closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the force.

He opened a small hole in his mental barricades and tentatively allowed his thoughts to drip out. Tentatively, he trickled over the bank of Plo Koon’s being (expecting a frigid burn) only to find a warm and heartbreakingly familiar pool of tempered kindness. 

He ran, slightly faster now, over the other Jedi presences in the room. Having finished his course without encountering any dark undertow, he ebbed back. There was an indistinct impression of something heavy giving way.

Obi-Wan’s Shields Fell Like A Dam Beneath a Tidal Wave -

[crowfootwrites]

Safety [Nestor Oceteva x Reader]

Get ready for some danger and comfort, because I couldn't help myself! This one is longer than what I've been posting, because I'm a wordy bitch.

Warnings: graphic depictions of guns, violence, and blood (sorry 'bout it!); language

Words: 2,210

You tried to keep your expression unreadable as you clenched your hands in your lap below the table. The man sitting across from you glowered, his anger rolling off of him in waves, a steely grey pistol resting on the table just within his reach. The late afternoon sun pouring into your breakfast nook glinted off the barrel threateningly. Your heart thudded in your chest, blood pumping thunderously in your ears. You bit the inside of your bottom lip to keep it from trembling and giving you away. If there was one thing you had learned from Nestor, it was to show no fear.

But you were afraid. Very much so. This man had somehow managed to get into your house without you noticing, sneaking up on you as folded laundry, that same pistol pressed between your shoulder blades. He had commanded you to sit at the table across from him, not allowing you to ask questions. So, you still had no idea who he was or what he wanted. He seemed to be waiting for something. As you sat quietly across from him, you fervently memorized his features. His dark hair and at least a couple of days’ worth of stubble. The fresh scar, the healed skin still shiny, that traced across his temple, from eyebrow to ear. The murderous look flashing in his brown eyes. His burner flip phone buzzed briefly on the table and he answered it, never taking his eyes off you. You silently berated yourself as he growled Spanish commands into the phone. Nestor had been so adamant about your safety; the two of you had installed a high-tech security system on your shared home, he had taught you how to shoot, and there were various weapons scattered throughout the house. But since you had been caught unsuspectingly, you never got the chance to get your hands on one.

Your knuckles were starting to hurt from clenching your hands, so you took a calming breath and placed your sweating palms on your thighs, staring gravely back at the man across from you. After a few minutes, he snapped his phone shut and grabbed yours off the kitchen counter just behind him. He picked up the firearm and aimed it at you and you shifted in your seat, desperately wishing to put some distance between you and the dark heart of the barrel. He slid your phone across the table, and it came to rest in front of you. At his touch, the screen had lit up, displaying a smiling selfie of you and Nestor at your birthday last year. Your sinuses throbbed as you tried to keep your tears back. No fear, Nestor’s voice rang in your ears.

“Llámalo (call him),” the man spat, his voice gravelly.

You picked up the phone quickly, trying to disguise the trembling in your fingers. You swiped the phone open and clicked on Nestor’s speed-dial icon.

He answered on the second ring.

“¿Qué pasa, abejita (What’s up, little bee?)?” he greeted you, unsuspecting.

“Nes?” You tried to tame the panic in your voice, and thought you had done a pretty good job, but Nestor had always been incredibly perceptive.

“What’s wrong, baby? What’s going on?” His tone had changed from your one word and you could practically see the furrowing of his brows on the other end of the line.

You took a quick breath to quell the panic climbing up your throat. “Hay un hombre aquí. Tiene u– una arma. No sé lo que quiere. (There’s a man here. He has a – a gun. I don’t know what he wants.)”

You heard Nestor’s furious growl just as your captor held out his hand. “Dámelo (Give it to me),” he commanded, and Nestor heard it too. Before you could pull the phone from your ear, Nestor was murmuring, “No te preocupes, mi amor (Don’t worry, my love.). I’ve got you.”

You handed your phone over and waited as the man across from you discussed something with Nestor in low, ferocious tones. Before you could wrap your head around what was happening, the man had hung up the phone and lowered his weapon back to the table.

“Now we wait,” he announced, and you leaned back slightly in your chair, praying that Nestor could get here quickly. You didn’t know exactly what this was about, but you would have bet money that it was cartel business, and that this pendejo was using you to get to Nestor, to get to Miguel. It was an approach that Nestor had obviously thought of, considering how much he tried to secure you and your home. As you waited, you tried to remind yourself that this wasn’t your fault. That you could never anticipate all the ways someone could get in and harm you. But you were both terrified and fuming, pissed that someone had gotten the upper hand on you.

The man across from you had to keep eyes on you, and his gaze was incredibly unnerving, so you kept your head down, examining the wood grain on the table in front of you. The house was still, but the inside of your head was pulsing. You had no way of knowing how much time had passed when the smallest noise caught your attention. Except for a quirk of your eyebrow, you stayed completely still, not wanting to give anything away. The noise had come from the very back of the house, the smallest creak on the hardwood floor. The man made no moves and you hoped that meant he hadn’t heard it.

Moments later, you heard keys in the lock on the front door. Your captor grabbed his gun and aimed it at you again.

“Levántate (Stand up),” he growled, and you quickly rose to your feet as he surged around the table to stand behind you, grabbing you roughly around your waist. He pressed the muzzle of the pistol snug against your temple, the cold metal biting, and held you in front of him like a shield. You couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips. In that moment, Nestor came around the corner of the hallway and into the room, his .45 dangling from one finger in the trigger ring, his hands up in a surrender position. His suit jacket was gone, and you could see that both sides of his shoulder holster were empty. In his other hand was a thick manila envelope.

The look on his face was one you had never seen before, outrage etched into every line and plane of his countenance.

The man behind you barked, “Stop!” and Nestor halted in the doorway. His eyes met yours briefly, before he brought his attention back to the situation at hand.

“I have your money,” Nestor announced, his jaw clenched, and you could hear in his voice the effort he was making to placate the man holding his girlfriend hostage. “You don’t have any need for her now,” Nestor rationalized. “Let her go.”

“Gun on the ground,” the man demanded, and Nestor complied, slowly lowering his weapon to the floor and nudging it away from him with the toe of his dress shoe.

As he rose back to standing, the man motioned to the table with his chin. “Money on the table, ahora (now),” he ground out, much too close to your ear.

Somewhere, behind the blood pounding in your eardrums, you heard another small creak behind you. Your captor had positioned both of you with your backs to the hallway that lead to the back of your house, to a guest bedroom and the backyard. Wanting to make sure no one else heard it, you whimpered again, keeping their focus on you. Nestor glanced your way, worry in his eyes, as he slowly tossed the manila envelope onto your kitchen table. His gaze shifted back to the man behind you, every muscle in his body tensed, waiting for what would happen next.

What happened next happened in a matter of seconds. The man did not, in fact, let you go, but in order to grab the envelope, he pulled the muzzle away from your head. Perhaps because Nestor was unarmed, and you hadn’t put up a fight thus far, he figured he was secure.

He was not.

As he pulled his weapon away from your head and leaned slightly away from you to grab the envelope, a deafening shot rang out. Your eyes slammed shut in response, just as you felt the hot splatter of blood against your check and neck. The world went silent and when you opened your eyes again, just moments later, Nestor was already beside you, pulling you into his arms. You could see his lips moving, speaking to you, but the only thing you could hear now was a resounding, high-pitched ringing. You shook your head slightly at Nestor, not understanding, and he grasped your face in his hands, keeping you turned towards him, not letting you look around at the carnage you imagined laid around you.

As your brain struggled to piece together what happened, you felt your knees start to weaken under you. All of the adrenaline that had kept you going through this ordeal was rapidly fading, and you could feel a collapse coming. You threw your arms around Nestor’s neck, and he grabbed you before you fell, lifting you and carrying you gently to the couch. He sat down heavily, and you draped yourself over his lap, finally allowing the tears to slip down your cheeks and onto his patterned dress shirt. He ran his fingers slowly through your hair soothingly, his forehead pressed against the same temple that a gun had been pressed to just minutes ago. The significance of that was not lost on you.

You slid a hand up to cup Nestor’s cheek, running a thumb along his jaw for a moment before wrapping your fingers around one of his braids, tugging it gently to keep him close. You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that, Nestor’s warm hands trailing up and down your back as you calmed yourself. The ringing in your ear quieted gradually and you could hear a few things, primarily, the sounds of someone in the other room.

You shifted in Nestor’s lap and he glanced up at you, a heartbreaking look in his brown eyes.

“What happened? ¿Le disparaste (Did you shoot him?)?” you asked, your throat scratchy.

Nestor shook his head and his arms tightened around you slightly. “That was Eddie, one of my guys. I had him come in through the back.” His voice came out a little garbled, like you were underwater.

You nodded numbly. “What did that guy want?”

“Galindo money,” Nestor growled, fury distorting his face. “He was going to kill you over some pinche dinero (fucking money).” He sounded like he almost couldn’t believe it. But you did. After all, their whole livelihoods revolved around money.

“I’m ok, Nestor,” you promised. “Just a little shaken up. Mostly I’m mad at myself.”

Nestor blinked at you in surprise. “Mad at yourself? For what?”

“I don’t know how he got in without me noticing, and I’m mad that I didn’t get a chance to grab my Glock. I’m mad that I didn’t fight back.”

Nestor sighed heavily, that heartbroken look returning to his eyes. “Abejita (little bee), you survived, that’s all that matters. He didn’t want you, he wanted Mikey’s money. Keeping your head down was the right choice. You did good, mi amor (my love).”

You sighed, exhaling the air you’d been holding in your chest. You studied his face seriously, the set of his jaw, the furrowing of his brow. He glanced towards the kitchen where Eddie was still hustling around, then back to you. He shook his head slowly, one of his thumbs brushing against your bottom lip.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, his head hung in shame. “I should have been able to protect you. I – ”

“Hey,” you interjected, tilting his head to look at you with his chin between your fingers. “This is not on you,” you told him firmly, needing to hear the words yourself. “There is no way to stop everyone. We do what we can to protect ourselves, but our life… it’s dangerous. It just is. And even with all of that,” you motioned vaguely towards the kitchen, “you did protect me, Nestor. Te necesite y estuviste aquí (I needed you and you were here). That’s all I can ever ask of you.” Nestor gazed back at you wordlessly, looking a little mystified.

“¿Me entiendes (Do you understand me?)?” you asked him firmly. You refused to let the man you loved beat himself up over this. Nestor was always the strong protector. But unlike most people in his life, you understood that sometimes he needed protecting. Usually from himself. And you would happily play bodyguard for Nestor’s heart.

He nodded and you watched as, finally, his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed. He pulled you tighter into his embrace and placed a kiss on the crown of your head. His arms and chest were strong around you and for the first time in hours, you knew that you were safe.

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

How will Caster Gil’s s/o cope with his bad sleeping habits?

Hello anon, thank you for the request. Actually, yeah. I wonder about that too. I did once read an incredible one about a similar topic of Caster Gilgamesh being overwhelmed, which is also a great read!

All right, I'll give it my best ;3

Also Caster Gilgamesh is such a mood to the culture of overwork tbh, it make me feel kinda sad.

S/O Dealing with Caster Gilgamesh's Bad Sleeping Habits

- It had been months, if not almost an entire year since Caster Gilgamesh had taken a proper night's rest.

- He was up long before the cockerel crowed at the crack of dawn, and would remain that way- for even longer than the most nocturnal of night owls.

- In other words, he was working himself to DEATH.

- Whenever you'd visit, to assuage his doubts and reassure him that it's fine if he takes a nap; Caster responds with a simple "I do not require your concern. It is my duty as a king to work peerlessly to ensure that the buffoons' operating within Chaldea do not scrimp upon their duties." Although his words are harsh, what he really means is that he doesn't want you to worry about him. Just having you visit is more than enough.

- However, for you- who has to witness Gilgamesh running himself ragged on a daily basis- such words do naught to appease the doubt gnawing within your chest.

- Often finding yourself in bed alone, your only signal as to Gilgamesh's presence would be when his entire body would flop onto the bed at only the ungodliest hours of night. Not even sparing the time to materialize into a set of pyjamas, he would instantly fall asleep; decked in his regular gear and all!!

- Worried for his health, you'd often help out by removing his shoes (yep he didn't even remove those!!) and sliding his body over so that he could sleep soundly under the bed covers (he didn't even bother to tuck himself in). Sometimes, you'd even have to apply plasters to wounds or even place hot flannels on his face to regulate his temperature. That's how bad he was at taking care of his health.

- You even went as far as to carefully place his stone tablets by the bedside table, due to his overwhelmingly bad habit of literally taking his work to bed with him.

- When Caster Gilgamesh regains enough energy to resume his regular toil for the day, he's secretly moved by how you put in the effort to tuck him in every night. Softly kissing the temple of your forehead, he whispers his gratitude in your ear- only then to sigh once he realizes that you purposely put his tablet in the wrong area gain. "Honestly, this mongrel..."

- The truth is, you're struggling. Not only is he as stubborn as an ox whenever you or others try to negotiate with him, but he won't let anybody help him either! And to top things off, you missed his company greatly. Strangely enough, the two of you did most of your bonding during missions and events (because during those times he'd either be on a rare vacation or assist you for his daily work instead); which meant that you had barely any room at all for couple time!!!

- Tomorrow was a Saturday, which meant that he would be off for the weekend. In other words, it was the perfect time to confront him-once and for all! Resolve steeled within your heart; you prepared yourself for an extremely long night.

- Caster Gilgamesh is GOBSMACKED once he returns to his room. Usually, you'd be fast asleep when he enters. But this time, you had prepared a massive surprise for him. Softly glowing candles were lined across the rooms, illuminating it within a serene light; as the healing scent of lavender embraced the room. In your hands, you had none other than a massager and relaxing ASMR binaural CD set (of whales swimming in the sea) to help Gilgamesh relax to.

- He won't say it aloud, but to come home to a feat like this means a great deal to him.

- Although he is weary, his red eyes flicker with a slight ebb of amusement; as he gathers enough energy to smile. "What possesses you to be roaming around at the witching hours of night, mongrel? Has being on your lonesome made you that eager to embrace your king?"

- Your deadpan reply of "FUCK YES." leaves him utterly startled, to the point where he has to hide an enormous blush- blossoming wildly around his ears. "But look, Gilgamesh. As you're probably on the verge of passing out right now, let me make this quick." As he shrugs off his mini jacket (?)-your hands softly massaging the tight muscles rippling through his back-you finally begin to speak.

- You explain to him that although you understand that he has to work, it would be nice if he could stop overworking; both for his sake and also so that you could spend some more time together as a couple as well. As he often spent the weekends between many groups of people, the two of you barely spent any time on your lonesome.

- "I cannot adhere to such a request. What ails Chaldea ails me in turn, hence why I must continue to toil. Mongrel. I request that you do not press the matter any further. Nonetheless, I shall reward you greatly for the honor you have bestowed upon me tonight. I do adore the delightful little sounds those whales make." Caster Gilgamesh refuses to budge, his words bearing upon your heart like a heavy stone. As he sighs with bliss at your massage skills, you struggle to hold back the tears pricking your eyes.

- It is a long, and lonely night. Staring up at the ceiling as Gilgamesh snores softly by your side, you frown. Was this it, after all? Was this what could possibly break the two of you up?!! Such worries made it all but impossible to enjoy a good night's rest.

- The weekend passes as usual, with the two of you mainly hanging out with separate groups. The heavy weight drowning your heart- like a rock sinking beneath the tumultuous waves of the sea- only heightens in intensity.

- That is until Gilgamesh shocks you in return with a surprise of his own?!!!

- Seated atop your bed at a time as early as 10PM (omg), Caster Gilgamesh apprehends you with a brilliant grin. "Ah, so you have finally decided to bestow your presence before me. Sit." Patting the space beside him with an energy much unlike his usual worn-out countenance, you can't believe your eyes. "Why do you stare at me so? Didn't I tell you that yesterday's activities were much to my liking already?!" A compliment. Yet another rare miracle had occurred.

- As soon as you sit beside him, expression as surprised as pikachu's own; he sidles towards you, a devious grin plastered on his face, as he wraps both arms around you. "Mongrel." Cradling his face against the crook of your neck, his breath lightly fans your face. "Wherever you wish to go, I shall take you there. All you need to do is say the word."

- "?!!" His riddle confuses you to no end. When you ask him what the hell he means by that, he slaps a palm to his forehead in agony.

- "Fool, what do you not understand?! I am professing my desire to take a much-needed rest, just as you suggested!" A blush yet again seeps through his features, for the most unfathomable reason. "After managing to delegate certain responsibilities by placing them on the shoulders of some rather, well, unusually...proficient mongrels; I now have the week off. I shall also be able to return to my quarters at earlier intervals on the odd occasion." As he revealed his true intentions, actual mirth warmed his expression; as you stared back in awe.

- He had heard your advice, and was actually taking it to heart?! "B-but I thought you said...I swear you said..." Your mouth flaps, pure stupefaction taking over your features. You were certain that he wasn't up for negotiation, so what lead to such a change in heart?

- "It would be unbecoming of me not to pay attention to the mongrel yapping at my heels." In Gilgamesh language, this meant that he actually wanted to spend some time with you as well. "Do not be so presumptuous, I shan't cease all work. However, I can archive more time for more... mundane activities, I suppose. I am simply repaying yesterday's favor." How bashful a reply this was!!

- As you thanked him, eagerly talking about the places you wanted to visit by his side and the things you wanted to do for your first ever couple's holiday, one could daresay state that a rather warm feeling radiated within his chest no way would he admit to that.

- It's a good thing you spoke to him about it. This time, he'll try to fit in some more time for the sake of his own health and for you, as well. not like he'll admit that though

[awhitehead17]

100 ways to say I love you - TimKon edition:

Number 50: “I think you’re beautiful” 

Enjoy! :D

Tim runs a finger over his pale skin, feeling the ridges of his newly acquired scar. It’s on his right hip and stretches around towards his back and because of the angle of it Tim has to turn to the side in the mirror to see it properly. Where the wound once was is now a raised white line surrounded by flushed pink skin which Tim knows will fade with time.

He sighs and drops his hand. It’s just another scar added to the countless number already scattered over his body. He’s been in the vigilante game for a long time, it makes sense that he would be covered in scars and have a variety of imperfections because of all the wounds and trauma his body has endured over the years. That fact doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though.

Looking at his reflection in the full-length mirror he has in his bedroom, Tim’s eyes travel to different scars on his person. He eyes the ones on his chest, those on his shoulders, his arms, his abs and even the faint one on his neck.

A good ninety percent of them have been because of vigilantism, whether that’s because he’s been shot, stabbed, sliced, beaten, or even caught in an explosion. The other ten percent he could boil it down to everyday things. Scrapes on his elbows and knees from falling over as a child, the times when glass has broken in his hand, accidents with scissors or even grazes that never healed properly.

Each one has a story Tim muses to himself as he studies them. Good or bad, they’re all a result of something that he’s had to endure. Maybe that’s why Tim should be proud of them, he’s faced something that was meant to cause him harm and he came out the other side still fighting.

He’s not proud though, he hates his body.

Well hate may be a bit too strong of a word, perhaps dislikes is better suited. He dislikes his body. Tim works hard to keep his body in shape, he has to because of the job, so he has well defined muscles even though he’s on the leaner side of things, he has an incredible level of fitness, and his agility is above average. He just hates – dislikes – the look of it. The scars don’t sit well with him.

“Hey Tim-”

Tim startles at the sudden voice. Before he could think about it, he lunges towards his bed to grab the t-shirt he left on it and shoves it on. When he turns around Kon is standing in the doorway shooting him a questioning look.

Neither of them move or say anything for several moments. As he stares at Kon, Tim could feel his heart pounding inside his chest and the way his skin grows hotter, he can’t believe Kon just caught him staring at himself in the mirror for who knows how long.

Clearly seeing Tim’s embarrassment, a grin begins to stretch across his face as he makes his own conclusions to what he walked in on. Kon takes a step towards him, laughing. “Tim, dude, were you just checking yourself out?”

Tim doesn’t know what to do with himself, because yes he was checking himself out, however not for the reasons Kon was clearly thinking of.

Opposite him Kon continues to snicker. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about Tim! We all do it from time to time.”

“I wasn’t checking myself out Kon!” Tim pathetically lies. He bets his face is as red as a tomato by now.

Kon stops a foot away from him and raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Uh huh, then what were you doing? And by the way, your shirt’s on backwards.”

Tim’s eyes widen and he snaps his gaze down and to his horror his shirt is indeed on backwards. Tim curses and moves to correct it.

“Look it’s nothing, forget it.” Tim demands firmly avoiding eye contact. He wraps his arms around himself defensively.

Kon’s laughter finally dies down and he shakes his head. “Tim seriously-”

Tim cuts him off before he could finish that sentence. “Now what do you want Kon?” When the meta blinks at him Tim rolls his eyes feeling annoyed. “You obviously came here for something, now what is it?”

It takes Kon a moment to answer and Tim could tell that his boyfriend is now studying him, finally picking up on the cues that there’s more to the situation than what he originally assumed. “You were taking a while to get ready so I came to get you. Everyone’s waiting in the media room to start the movie.”

Tim sighs. Right he had forgotten about that, it’s movie night with the team. They had finished a mission earlier and each went to freshen up before migrating to the media room, Tim had gotten distracted after getting out the shower when he started to stare at his body.

Huffing, Tim starts making his way to the door. “Okay. Sorry for the hold up, let’s go.” He doesn’t make it to the door as Kon reaches out and grabs his wrist when he passes by him. Tim grits his teeth and tugs his wrist trying to get it out of the Kryptonian’s grasp. “Kon let go.”

“Tim what’s going on?” All playfulness has dropped from his voice leaving nothing but seriousness behind.

“You’re not letting me go. That’s what.” Tim snaps. When Kon’s grip doesn’t loosen Tim stops fighting, he sags in the hold and refuses to look at him. “Kon it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing Tim. You’re clearly worked up about something.”

While Tim doesn’t deny it, he still refuses to look at his boyfriend. Frustratingly Kon isn’t letting this go. He tugs Tim in close and wraps his arms around him in a firm hug. Taken by surprise by the sudden action, it takes Tim a few moments to respond. Loosely wrapping his arms around the meta’s waist Tim hugs him back and rests his head against Kon’s shoulder.

Eventually Kon pulls away, he reaches up and cups Tim’s cheeks with hands, his thumbs gently stroking the skin there. “Talk to me Tim.”

Tim closes his eyes and focuses on Kon’s touch. It’s so stupid. The whole reason why he’s worked up is stupid as Tim knows there’s no reason to be so wound up over the idea of scars on his body. Nevertheless he can’t help but feel insecure about them from time to time, especially compared to Kon who has absolutely flawless skin. His boyfriend doesn’t have on scar on him, no physical reminders of past traumas, just perfectly smooth sun kissed skin.

When Tim doesn’t speak, Kon sighs sadly and moves his hands down Tim’s body. He strokes Tim’s arms down from the shoulders to his hands before moving to his torso, he brushes down his sides to his waist, however before he could reach Tim’s new scar Tim has his hand captured in his own to stop any further exploration.

“Tim?” Kon questions wearily.

Tim grits his teeth knowing he’s just given himself away. Not saying anything, Kon gently pries his hand out of Tim’s grasp and moves his hand to Tim’s side. This time Tim doesn’t stop him, though he certainly tenses up as Kon slides his hand underneath his t-shirt and brushes the skin there. Tim shivers as Kon’s fingers ghost over his sensitive skin where the new scar is.

“It’s just that it’s another one, y’know.” Tim admits quietly. “I hate them all and every time I get a new one it’s another reminder of how imperfect I am or how I screwed up.”

Kon continues to not say anything and his silence is starting to put Tim on edge. What is his boyfriend thinking? Usually Kon isn’t one to hold back his opinion so him being quiet is rather unsettling, particularly when Tim is so worked up about it.

“Kon say something.”

Instead of speaking Kon uses actions. He undresses Tim from his shirt, forcing it up and over his head before he could even comprehend what’s going on, and turns him around so he’s facing the mirror. Kon then presses in close behind him and wraps his arms around him to lock him into place.

Tim huffs at the manhandling and glares at Kon through the mirror. He’s not pleased to be seeing himself half dressed once again when he’s in a negative head space and especially with Kon standing right behind him. As he tries to look away an invisible force holds his head still, making sure he can’t look anywhere else but at their reflection. Damn Kon and his TTK.

Kon rests his chin on Tim’s shoulder once he knows Tim isn’t going to run away. “I know you hate your scars. You see them as imperfections, as ways that your body is flawed and ugly. They’re physical and permanent reminders of traumas you endured in the past.”

Tim grits his teeth and without meaning too his eyes drift over his body to each scar he had been staring at earlier, his gaze lingers on the newest one to the collection.

“Would you like to know what I think about your body and scars?”

At Kon’s rhetorical question, Tim’s gaze meets Kon’s through the mirror. Kon seemed to be staring back at him with an expression mixed of determination and adoration.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

There’s a pause in time as Tim registers his words. It’s like that sentence has caused his brain to malfunction. Out of everything Tim had been expecting Kon to say, those words were not even close to what he had in mind.

He doesn’t know how to take it, he’s half tempted to laugh at the cheesiness of them however on the other hand they make his insides go all warm and fuzzy and he has to fight off a blush from happening.

“What?” Comes out of his mouth in the end. Kon must have been expecting this because he doesn’t even seem mildly surprised by Tim’s lack of response. His lips curve up into a smile and he presses a light kiss to his bare shoulder.

“You heard me. Everything about you is beautiful. The good and the bad, your strengths and your weaknesses, your mind and your body.”

Letting out a long breath, Tim leans back into Kon. “They’re ugly though.”

Kon shrugs and gives Tim a squeeze. “I don’t think they are. Your scars are a part of you and that makes them special even if you don’t see it yourself. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

They stand together in front of the mirror for a little while longer, both lost in their thoughts and in the moment. It takes a shout from down the corridor to burst their bubble and remind them of where they are and what they were originally doing. Kon snorts and presses one last kiss to Tim’s temple before moving away while Tim shakes his head in both amusement and embarrassment as he grabs his t-shirt to put it back on.

The two of them join hands as they leave Tim’s room. While Tim doesn’t feel much better about his body, and he knows it’s going to take time to accept it and a lot of work but he hopes he’ll get there some day, at least he feels reassured that Kon isn’t disgusted by the sight of it.

As if he’s reading Tim’s mind, Kon leans in close and whispers into his ear, “After movie night, I’m going to show you just how much I like your body. By the time I’m done there won’t be a single negative thought about it in your mind…”

Tim draws back scandalized. He slaps his boyfriend’s arm feeling himself flush at the implications of his words. “Conner!”

Kon only laughs and enters the media room with a flushed Tim trailing behind him. Even though they hadn’t done anything, Tim’s face seems to suggest otherwise and everyone waiting certainly has something to say about it, nonetheless Tim doesn’t correct them and accepts their good-natured teasing for the night.