#ok so getting just right to the point i am so fucking suicidal i dont want to live in this shitty ass world anymore

[starofhisheart]

This scene in s2 w Ed and Frenchie

Parallels with this scene w Ed and Izzy from s1

(Had to snip a part out so it would fit but at first Izzy denies and then he actually tries, albeit begrudgingly.)

I always thought the scene with Izzy was showing how disconnected the pair are and while I still think that, the s2 scene shines new light on that original interaction. Where Izzy is trying to understand his boss, Frenchie doesnt even try and only denies. This is understandable ofc with everything Ed has put him and his friends through but its just interesting how they chose to parallel the scenes. Here, Frenchie has just become first mate and its almost like Ed hopes he'll be a sort of Izzy stand-in or at least falls back on his usual rapport with his first mate. But Frenchie is not Izzy. And this parallel highlights that.

I've had theories about how Ed sees Izzy and s2 has given us so much food for thought. When Izzy directly asks him "Who am I to you?" Ed softly says "what", like he's not even sure himself. The look on his face is blank but almost imploring and unsure. Izzy is just...Izzy. Friend? Lover? Thats too complicated and yet not as complicated as their relationship with each other. Izzy has clearly thought about it but has Ed? They've been together for so long ("I've been cleaning up your messes my whole fucking life.") without communicating their feelings. Bc thats what pirates do right? They dont have time for soft things like feelings.

But then Ed goes off and finds a new lover unlike any of his others and Izzy panics. Stede is a threat to their way of life, unsafe-at least thats how Izzy sees it-and then its over and Ed is breaking, depressed and then pretending to be ok

TW: suicide discussion

-and to speak on that specific point some more, I subscribe to the belief that post Lucius-talk-Ed where he's planning music shows, etc is not him coping healthily. We see this paralleled in s2 where after Izzy is "dead" Ed puts his hair up, starts cleaning and seems "chipper". But then we know he's planning to kill himself and everyone on board that same day. So this whole charade feels...macabre. He's getting his affairs in order in preparation for the big deed. Depression CAN look like this too.

When Izzy confesses he has love for Ed he says it haltingly, like its hard to even get the words out, like he's never said anything like this before (and he probably hasn't). And the words he chooses too. Instead of "I love you" he says "I have love for you". Its like he's saying after everything, all the pain and heartache, I still have love for you. But Ed refuses to, can't hear what Izzy is saying, and dismisses his confession. Perhaps he thinks this is a ploy too. After all he's unlovable right?

But we know from later scenes that Ed does love Izzy

in his own way. Some may interpret this line as platonic, some romantic-but I think it's more complicated than that. Again, Izzy and Ed have been together for so long the lines have blurred. They love each other like a brother. They're partners. They hate each other. They're an extension of each other. They're coworkers. Boss and right hand man. They can't imagine being without the other.

Well, whatever they feel for each other its capital C complicated that's for sure.

I have so many thoughts about ✨️them✨️ but I'll leave it here for now. No hate in the comments pls. Both men are my lil meows meows and have done nothing (and everything) wrong. Love those gay dudes fr.

[yb-cringe]

im not a qsmper but i AM incredibly nosy and a jaiden of the animation variety fan. what is familioier, why is jaiden specifically being excluded, and WHAT suicide jokes are being made????

KFAKMD ok. lets take this step by step

1) familoier is the qsmp ‘family’ of roier bobby and jaiden. thats what it was originally (bobby is an egg child given to roier and jaiden its a long story)

this later came to involve cellbit as roier and cellbit got married (WAHOO) and before that vegetta as roiers dad and foolish as his? stepdad and leo as his sister.

2) its just misogyny. thats why shes excluded. like no one would ever admit that because they dont want to but to them ever since guapduo got married jaiden has been Nothing but Fun Side Character haha and not a major part of roiers life. not the literal mother of his child.

and also his best friend who was there for him for a major part of his life (post spreen betrayal- lile right off the cuff of that is when jaiden meets him). shes an extremely fuckin important person and CELLBIT makes a huge fucking point of this even

however literally like ever since the marriage happened people have been really quick to discount jaidens character entirely and exclude her from any discussions around familoier.

and at first the assumption is WELL what if its just bc shes not there a ton? interacting with them? and yet id say she interacted with roier more than vegetta and foolish yet somehow theyre always getting included in these aus and fics and art pieces because god forbid we forget the two extra men in this photo of an all male family, one of which hasnt been on in months

3) fjsjfn the suicide joke part is just to imply ‘if you keep doing x then im gonna kill myself’ was originally whag i was gonna say. but its like. ironic ‘no i onow thats bad so im gonna say something else to be less toxic’

anyway this was a huge EXTREMELY MESSY rant. tl;dr im just frustrated by people consistently ignoring jaidens involvement in roiers life and constantly backseating her for the more ‘interesting’ romance plot. like its just the quickest way to tell me you dont give a shit about aroace people, strong platonic relationships, or women just. at all.

[fried-manto]

… do I get another ask.. (asks anyways like a boss)

thoughts on persuit hero? 😋

You get an ask! You get an ask! We all get to ask infinitely!

I'm delirious because I might have a fever

OKAY, moving on from that.

Thoughts on pursuit Hero.

I think he's fuck(ing hot)ed, just the way he's written is amazing like, he's meant to be hated and we all hate him but you know how some of us used to pity him in YBM until he did the most fucked up thing (then) as to

[SPOILERS STARTING FROM HERE]

kidnap Sunny (well technically Sunny went with his own volition, but Hero was gas lighting him to join) and then had the audacity to let his family think both him and Sunny committed Oyasumi by writing suicide notes (Pursuit Hero and 12yro Recital Day Basil would've made a dream team 💀)

Seriously, I can't describe how much I adore him and how utterly repulsed i am by him at the same time.

Then he killed Keith 😭 which I skimmed through reading and just caught up with the comments because at this point Hero is like this eldritch monster that looms around everyone while last chapter we got like a semblance of Suntan Fluff now we are just dreading for what's to come.

Then Chapter 12: Allegro came

And it broke me, like it literally had me on the edge of my seat! Because now we know what Hero is capable of, I was just thinking up of what he might resort to take Sunny away again. And just oh just that SCENE of Omori JUST BEGGING FOR SUNNY TO RUN, TO GET HELP, TO FIND KEL THEN TO RESORT TO GOING INTO THE FOREST IS JUST- Chefs kiss 🎇

I was literally biting my nails to prevent myself from shouting at the screen, from yelling at Sunny to fucking run and HOLY SHIT WHERE THE FUCK IS KEL?!?!?!?

Ugh the confrontation is so GOOD! Sunny used Hero's (trademark) gas lighting back on him and Hero getting stab somehow did nothing to comfort because I feel like Hero wouldn't really get affected by it AND I WAS RIGHT! then Kel teleported into the scene and Hero PULLS OUT A FUCKING GUN

I'm pretty sure it was foreshadowed that he had a gun somewhere, or we should've expected it, but IT WAS SUCH A SHOCK TO ME, LIKE HOLY SHIT A FUCKING GUN! (Probably because I kind of skipped the last few scenes with Hero leading up to this moment)

Ok I'm just gushing about the fic at this point but I dont care, I LOVE IT!

I don't care that there's some controversy regarding this fic and YBM because Masterpieces like these shouldn't be undermined by peoples inability to comprehend its greatness. It's not perfect but like if people actually READ the fic they wouldn't have misunderstood Hero's infatuation with Sunny as romance.

So yeah, my thoughts on Pursuit Hero, he's pretty cool. Dope ass guy, but he should really die in a gutter alone.

If you haven't yet (but I'm sure you did), you should definitely read all of @otomerson 's other works, for a writer, their works are so aspiring to me. I wish I can write like them one day.

Lo(ve)athe him </3

[blissfali]

OK i have thoughts to share on yesterdays lore.

well first off Personally the only thing i disliked about the stream was how they talked about cwilbur. it felt very distasteful idk. Like i guess i get it? But they kept treating it like eh was dead and then saying he wasnt dead and was in utah and they talked about him like had committed suicide again im just going to choose to Ignore That Stuff! Ya know . I Did really like the part where ctommy talked to wilbur through the lman shrine i thought that was great tbh. Im incorporating a new HC into my belief system aka whenever tommy sends wilbur letters to utah he puts them in the chest in front of the memorial thing and then somehow they just appear in the gas station. "i havent seen wilbur in months.." Haha dont worry they had a facetime call over communicator yesterday Hahaha. i like that the highlighted how wilbur leaving fucked with tommy's mental health but i HATED like how they basically said Well we brought him back but then he left again so maybe he didnt even deserve to be revived lol. Not a fan !!!

numero dos. When tommy revealed he had been ia for months because he'd been getting addicted to invisibility and hiding in the shadows tbh like the idea of that is horrifying right? Tommy is the guy who stands up and talks to everyone he is not afraid to be out and about and loud But then he gets on invis. suddenly hes in the dark and he is the Watcher. hes always been the initiator of conflicts but now he is the spectator. coupled with this i was thinking about how clingyduo talked about the prison having descended into these era of abandondment, where vines drape over the walls and the exterior and shit, into something awful and unlike the symbol it stood as before as cdream inhabits and lives in it. and tommys descent into something awful and so unlike himself in a cave, a literal crevice filled with vines and rubble as cdream inhabits it (aka in the way that he continues to inhabit tommys mind because of how hes traumatized him and how tommy literally cant even go a day without thinking about him at this point) (cctommy impeccable writer in this regard)

Like the idea of that is awful. i was thinking about how ctubbo asked if ctommy ever watched him while he was on invis and how tommy hesitated. and i think about maybe tubbo caring for michael b in the mansion and tommy watching in the corner just listening to tubbo talk to his son. never speaking to his friend never initiating anything. Just watching. He was only there to watch me[GUNSHOTS i am quickly removed from the premise]

Trois. Also clingyduo wishing things were simple and stuff. talking about how grown up and adult they were. how theyre not kids anymore vs. them making pinky promises throughout the stream. it really just highlights the fact that those two had to grow up incredibly fast on that server but even now they are still KIDS. they can play the part of big scarier warriors but at the end of the day they just wanted to dick around and now its all come to this.

tubbo like "please no invis please no invis!!" to tommy like. Tommy is pushing and isolating himself into this corner where no one can talk to him so he cant be the problem starter again, but tubbo doesnt Want tommy to change, to go down this quiet alienated path. They are best friends and tubbo loves him as he is and he wouldnt change that for anything

i was also thinking about "i just dont wanna be the bad guy" tommy and "tommy, are the bad guys?" wilbur. it almost felt like tommy was answering wilbur's question all the way back then in the now. now that hes experienced now that hes been through hell ya know?

also ill prolly have more thoughts in this later but my last point was tommy determined for copresidency on a nation w tubbo vs. being wilburs right hand man, his vice president, and following him no matter what, and how in the beginning tommy didnt want tubbo to be president because he knew it would dissolve their friendship but if they r president TOGETher well… Clingyduo :(

during tge stream i was thinking YEAHHHH AND TOMMY SHOULD GO TALK TO CRANBOOO WAHHOO!!!! And then i remembered wait a minute ranboo is dead Guys i think i accidentally convinced myself into thinking cranboo never died.Haha whoopsies

[fuck-off-mf]

i need therapy november .

ig i feel like a vent.

uh tw ig we're getting into the REALLY SHITTU STUFF so tw ed sh uh lots of stuff

so uh my mom found out about me cutting (really light not even that deep like fucking baby cuts) with a razor and talked about it but it really felt like she wasnt taking it seriously and was acting liek its because i was on the internet which isnt the case she did say that theres a possibility i could get therapy from like state stuff because i am supposed to have a checkup at the doctor soon and i had been passively asking about it eventually she said she doesnt wanna put me in therapy if trump is elected since if i went to therapy the fact im queer would officially be documented and queer rights and stuff so i have to wait until november and of trumps elected im not getting therapy at this point it feels like it isnt happening i havent been able to cut in a couple weeks and fuck i hate it i need something to distract I've been trying to be more emotionless because cause holy shit that sounds so much better then what I've been doing recently i noticed I've been having quite interesting thoughts about jabbing knifes into flesh sometimes they dont go away idk if it matters whos flesh also had thoughts of poisoning people and actually having a bit to much of a want to do it then i should sooo fuck ive been suicidal for awhile but i dont like the commitment i wish i could be in like a coma just be asleep forever which i guess is slightly suicidal so fuck ive been skipping meals only tome i eat is when i have too pretty much i haven't eaten since last night i wanna kill someone i believe i need therapy if i shared the fact i wanna kill i think i would be institutionalized so theres that also i kinda relapsed a couple days ago but i didn't even bleed so it was useless and didnt do much for me i just wanna tear a knife through someone's throat hell even my own am i ok no will i get help no idk if i could even share this with anyone ik irl

i should die before i kill someone else

wrists always creeped me out so neck would be better

[tiddiesoutwhenthetisout]

old people have diaries i have tumblr part xx, so once again

shoutout to my mom and my gf who are trying very very very hard to keep me alive, initially with the former hating the latter (i get it) and the latter absolutely afraid of the former (i also get it) but united reluctantly, awkwardly tryna shake hands rn, in their mission to not let me leave this world because they love me on their own terms and god i do not get it.

i'm the typical black sheep, the "burnt out gifted child", the artist of the family who dramatically cries and despairs over minor inconveniences (for neurotypicals at least), who takes on others' problems but breaks down under the weight of them and throws fits and can be the meanest person when aggravated to the point of icy callousness.

you both cool af, tysm for doing this shit constantly. i'll continue to be difficult but somehow you both still want me here. against my will at the moment (baby don't apologize u have the right to want me alive) but i know i will appreciate it in the future when i find another piece of media to be crazy about, when i get to feel the sand under my toes again, when i eat something good or get a whiff of that coffee-scented candle, and will know how to look at such with the wonder and joy i have so much of when i'm well. i miss it so much.

but fuck i am going to have to drop all semblance of pride cleaning up the aftermath of my 7-day deliberate slow suicide in a few hours and i AHHHHHHH ooh my missed lessons... my class cards... 😭 ALL THE PEOPLE WHO GAVE A SHIT ABOUT ME AND SENT ME MESSAGES HOW AM I GOING TO EXPLAIN ONE BY ONE THAT SOUNDS EXHAUSTING sorry

shit

shit shit shit shit i have so much to catch up on okay let's expect the worst tomorrow of course. what i did was bad and ofc my blockmates wouldn't appreciate me basically disappearing when we had big projects but tHEY DONT NEED M- not the point. okay my thesis group was really relying on me and i feel bad buT THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NOT RELY ON ONE P- not the point. might find myself crying in front of my prof because i'm like that and that's okay uNLESS FUCKING CATHY IS TH- not the point. sorry this is like watching dr jekyll and mr hyde duke it out.

anyway.

i don't want to promise anything but i will try to keep myself alive 👍 so that said i prolly won't be updating my fic this week LOL um it's a bad taste in my mouth with ・that・ being my last chapter for a while but hAhAhA ok brain has really been so un-bonita recently too and what prompted me to-- //bleep as cut before i keep going off but my tumblr people also ought to know 🤷‍♂️ consider it practice for explaining in real life. not like that gauges value, but it's just way harder to be serious irl man i need my obligatory jokes and futile attempts at humor 😭

[epaily]

long post talking about being depressed read at your own detriment

god ok i dick around and joke as much as the next person but holy FUCK i cant stand being mentally ill. i know you see all the time how it weighs you down without even knowing but i brush it off all the time and now im sitting here and its hitting me that this is point blank ruining my life. i think im being watched everywhere i go no matter what i do to the point where being out in an open space or talking to the wrong person gives me a panic/anxiety attack, i have a 24/7 non stop constant stream of self deprecation that talks me out of doing anything, and the things i do do i dont try on even if i need to because whats the point right. im so passively suicidal that i cant go 10 minutes without thinking that im worthless and that i should die, every day i wake up and im miserable from the moment i get out of bed to the moment i get in. i hate myself so viscerally that i cant even fathom a positive thing about myself. im so stupid and full of shit-for-brains i cant ever focus on something and i forgetthe most menial and basic things. i have to copy off of everyone because im so incapable of doing things alone and i cant even do things alone if i wanted to because i have aforementioned debillitating anxiety and the anxiety and everything else makes me WEIRD so i have no friends! and im weird because im suicidal and offputting! god its all a big fucking feedback loop how am i ever supposed to get out of this. it gets worse every day. it all stacks up. the only exit i can fathom, the only exit i HAVE been able to fathom for years is just stopping dead and offing myself and see there i go again. it would be so easy. i have no friends and my parents are terrible people and my cat is dead so whats the fucking point. nothing will get better. nothing HAS gotten better. i cant go to therapy or else i'll be institutionalized and i'll never see the sun again. i cant stomach human people and i dont know if what is in front of me is real half the time. im lonely my parents are awful i have no where else to go. i have no one to bitch at except this stupid little tumblr blog i have no support. if i hadnt sworn off cutting i would be doing so every single night. i am tired. i am so unbelievably fucking tired. why cant i be normal. why am i the only one in my vicinity who doesnt have their shit together. i wish i was normal. if i could take out even just one thing i might be able to get it together. i dont even really pretend im fine anymore. i can say that i am suicidal and no one bats an eye. i have to get a car and a real liscence for my career job and then the chance of me killing myself goes way tf up because then i can just drive my car into a building whenever i want. and god a fuckin. career job!! im a hack!!! i am 10 days away from finishing uni and everyone else is better then me. i dont know shit. i dont know the most basic prinicples no matter how much i study. im too soft. i hsve no skill. im never gonna make it. and maybe it wouldnt be so bad if i was good at or passionate about anything else but nah im so fucking spent im not GOOD AT or INTERESTED in ANYTHING because i JUST WANT TO BE DEAD. every single day of my life i wish i had tried harder to kill myself when i was 14. i should stop typing this out.

[sl33pyperson]

hello reposting werewolf mk so everyone can see him. also is this marlene???

the thought of mk having a genuine sidekick is like. ough.

who the fuck is this. this isnt my duchamp

im really curious to see how this side plot was taken back in the day, because honestly? i hate it. leave frenchie the fuck alone. what was the point to any of this. ugh.

idk this lil spin off had nice art n colours oh god theres a big fucking wasp near me

these two r just so sweet together

mk fucking dies

hes fallinggggg

ok i dont enjoy the face, but whoever did the lines for this small run is perfect at like. bringing in that otherworldly nature into mks cape and body? it gorgous?

yes hes being possessed by a spirit parasite. its still hot. also stick

idk how to feel about mk trying to find his successor (he does think hes about to die and not in a suicidal way so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) but it was all worth it for this page

hot

yeah our boys a criminal!! yipee!!

ass but also LEAVE FRENCHIE ALONE!!! AAHHHHH

these guys broke into spectors (grants….) abandoned mansion to fight. lads. guys. please

marcs doing everything bc bestie and guilt and just. ough. he is losing frenchie more and more with every day. love u jean-paul get the fuck outta there

these villains were actually rly neat visually ngl, wish they did more

tits OUT

this one she-hulk issue had its uh, own problems, BUT AT LEAST THEY HAVE JAKE!! JAKE COME BACK TO THE MAIN SERIES PLEASE SIR I MISS UUUUUUUUUU

they said it? this series fucking Said it???? also why is mk so Large here he is looking like that wide captain america

this guy just copied marcs face? ngl i dont understand this arc at all i dont care about it except for marlene stabbing marc in the back accidentally kinda sorta

immortal devil/demon? guy is an old ancestor of marcs. he is also connected to the templar shit with jean-paul?? because marc is so ~influencial~, immortal guy has changed his face to look like marc, kill marc, and take over his life. am i getting this wrong. idk its just. so messy. what does this add. ugh

RIGHT AND LITERALLY AS SETH IS TIED TO THE FUCKING ROOF, MK GETS KIDNAPPED INTO THIS WEIRD CRUSADE THING WHERE “everyone who is religious in someway” goes to this fucking chapel. seth literally fucking rscapes into his demon form and takes marlene IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS MK JUST FUCKS OFF!! its SOOOO weird to seeeeeeee like ofc there was no planning behind this shit it was literally “hey whats a cool crossover idea. ah, crusades and religion. whos religious. nah i dont care ur in the middle of an arc, we are taking him” uggghhghghgghhhhhhh

[heartofhubris-a]

Ok so things have been on my mind and I gotta legally preface this with I've had depression for 15 years and I've been suicidal for 12 so like were fine

Tw cancer, abuse, neglect

But like honestly iykyk but the feeling of being this broken for so long is such a comfort and a further reason for my depression to fester.

Like what kills me is this really is NOT normal. Parents abusing their children is not normal!

But like I wasn't ever hit. My sisters were, so I feel terrible since at least I wasn't hit but like.... what about the abuse I still got? It's so real and tangible ij the way I think and speak and interact with people.

Like I'd my parents had taken two seconds away from my brothers diagnosis, the signs were right there. But even that I feel guilty over since at the same time, my father was dying frok cancer. Like at least I had time with him not in a doctora office.

But at the same time I saw the man who let my learn how to trust fucking die infront of me!!! Have you seen your parent puke blood? Well bestie I held the sack with the clots for a min!

I've been abused so severely I simply shut down and go mute when someone yells at me, or my boundaries are getting ignored. "Just say no!" "Why didn't you say no?" We'll bestie. I didn't want to disappoint my partner since why couldn't i?

I hate getting like this. I feel so stupid and spoiled. I feel so spoiled for not wanting to be broken, and I find it so depressing that I feel guilt and disgust with myself just for wanting to not be abused. I'm constantly checking myself for not being my mom and what she does. But i don't know how to connect. I don't know how to klbe a human. How do I be a human? I'm clueless and I don't eveknknow how successful I am. Like I'm nearly constantly depersonalized, dissociated, or suicidal. I don't know how to change that, and I dont even know if it's possible for me to not be.

I haven't felt human since I was like 10, when the implications of what happened to me as a child started to hit me. I grew up with no sage spots, and no one to show me normalcy.

I don't want to kill myself. It's terrifying, though I do think of driving off some of the bluffs I drive. Many times I wouldn't be found in time, and it's addictive. I just don't want to exist anymore. I've never wanted to exist. I didn't ask for this. My being here make life worse for everyone in my family. I have measurable proof and the fucking guilt of this life haunts me. I know many people would be sad if I died, they've expressed as much.

But it's so hard today to argue out the voice pointing out it only takes a year or two for things to go back to normal. It's so hard today.

[wisepidgeon]

up and down

i woke up yesterday sad but i was alright but today i woke up and suicidal and that sucks because i know that its gonna be ok but my brain doesnt think so the doubt says no its not gonna be ok you gotta just give up and honestly its tempting but i know im on the right path because even tho i dont see it my family all say that i am i think im just hurting alot

let me tell you about my ex we will call her red as that was the color of half her hair when we met

red and i met on the last day of school like after we had walked the stage and everything i saw her on the graduation practice and told myself if i saw her i would say something to her she was way out of my league i had thought at the time a beautiful girl who had a get scared shirt on and low and behold i got the chance when i had to go into the office to grab something she was there so i stood there and talked to her for a minute i told her that her shirt was really cool and i had used to listen to the and then i saw her mcr backpack and said i liked them too we exchanged names and this was new for me but i remembered her name for a few days afterward and in that time i had

something strange about her is that in the short conversation we had it triggered some painful memories like ptsd almost thats the best way i could describe it

a friend saying that someone on his Instagram was looking for me and that he didnt know her very well and i was like oh no is it that one crazy chick who i pissed off because i had done that recently but no it was red and so i looked red up on instagram it wasnt easy but i did it and i gave her a friend request and sent a selfie with a message somewhere along the line of i dont know if your the person i think you are but if you are you should remember my name "bird" not my name but yeah

she did but the selfie didnt go through so we decided to meet at a park i knew was around but had never been too we talked and hung out for a while we listened to music and she showed me leave me alone by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME who i had never listened to before and i thought it was her way of telling me to fuck off because ive been broken up with in a similar way

after that we had talked for a while gotten to know each other better and she ended up taking my virginity and we got together a little while later then after about a week after that she cheated on my with her ex it was alot more complicated than that but its fair to put it that way i wanted her but was scared to lose her and she wasnt over him and in a way i had let it happen although she broke the rules an so her and i agree it was cheating and she kept at it telling me that the she wasnt willing to give him up for me i never forgave her for this but i was too scared to leave her behind and we had a consert to go to in a month or two in texas so i tried but i never did trust her after that

i wanted to oh gods i wanted to i gave her a lot of chances to gain my trust back but as i grew angrier and more depressed by the situation i became the problem and i started lying to her and being manipulative toward her honestly there was no love on my end at that point but the sex was nice and i was scared to be alone and im a selfish cunt so yeah

i ended making her stop talking with him on a technicality of a deal we had made that if there was anything i didnt know past present or future that had bee sexual with her ex from after the time of her and i getting together that she would have to block her and never talk to him again i was angry when i looked through her phone and found that she had sent him and i the same nudes and that was the first id ever been sent nudes before and it hurt well nude by someone i had known at least but i think thats why i never cared when she did it later in life anyway she had a panic attack about it but ended up giving him up and keeping me which i made very clear was her choice that night she could have me or she could have him it was up to her

later on i was mad at my mom and my family in general so i made up a story about me being kicked out of the house and asked her for help she helped me out gave me a place to stay in her moms car her apartment was full like 4 kids 5 adults in a two bedroom her brother had moved in and it was bad over all but i made the best of it

i was eventually made to move out and so i called my mom and worked on stuff with my mom because i had damaged that relationship but red was no longer allowed in my room because my mom said so i at this point didnt know what to do i started to love her again but i was still very much hurt over the entire situation with her ex a while back i still havent gottent over in properly in almost three years although i can say i dont think she has ever cheated on me

i got an apartment and moved in with her and that was really fun at first we lived there for 11 months the complex was doing renovations so they gave us the option when i told them i was gonna struggle with the last months rent i had been getting help from an charatable organization but we didnt really take care of the place and we didnt wanna work so it was hard we grew angery with each other and my lying about alot of my problems like porn addiction became a real problem one i still deal with but its been easier now i think

we had really high good times and really low bad ones and i was always scared of being hurt again i felt like she had never appologied enough for what she had done and i had never been ready to listen to her and so we just hurt each other over and over again

those 11 months ended and we went back to her moms place where there was now 1 adult living there 3 including us but it was no easier her mom is the kind of person who has alot of things she wants dont and feels like its owed to her that those things are done for her she is also someone who manipulates her daughter into feeling sorry for her and staying around i would know i dont really have room to speak on that one

i had a few jobs in and out of work but it was always short i never could find something i liked but i needed to pay her mom some money every month eventually tho the endless stress of being there got to both of us we i asked her if she thought being with me was worth it she said no which broke my heart because i loved her even if all we did was argue and fight i still loved her and wanted her i just couldnt deal with everything that was going on at that point so we broke up and i still hate myself for pushing her away like i did

i moved out a little while later we kept in touch i was angry but i still love her and wanted her back she told me she fucked someone else about a week after we had broken up and i thought that was funny she fucked someone else in one week after we had gotten together and one week after we had broken up seems like a pattern to me but what do i know

anyway her and i started talking and having sex again and i told her i wanted her back this was a few days ago and she said thats no chance and you should just give up and thats why i am currently sucidal i think because i have to give up on someone that i love i have to let them go and i have to move on and im not ready i dont want to and it hurts i wanted to learn to grow with her not with out her i wanted to marry this girl i still do really i still love her and im not ok and thats ok it has to be ok because if its not then im lost and dont think ill ever be found again im crying while writing this which sucks alot theres a part of me that never wants to feel this pain ever again but thats the part of me who got us here in the first place isnt it

if i could do it all over again i would still be a virgin and we would have stopped being friend after i asked her out and she said yes and when i asked her if the meant she would stop fucking her ex and she "said do i have to?" it would have ended there because honestly that should be the end point of any relationship

alright you fucking babys stop crying already thats my job xoxo stay safe live fast but die old and gray

[kawaiicherryblossomperfection]

where did u go? i thought u left me... i went to russia it was tragic and lame and sad and i thought u knew about keeping secrets? didnt u say u were on the way to italy? yes but i went to france ok so are u or are u not my father? bc this is awkward and i want u to know it was never that bad to want to kill me even if u are a kpop idol ok so no i want my secrets kept i do nothing wrong but steal and if u cant comprehend that then u need to stay the fuck away from me no one is aloud in anyway and that is not something to say my name can no longer be spoken aloud and neither can u control my money or where i live i expect to live in a nice house and have wifi and internet friends for my whole life! so fuck off dude theres no way im letting anyone in! why do u tomorrow is another day and she will rise why do u even want into my manga? god gave everyone manga im just capable & pretty so die! and they will live on ew! faggot bitch no?! i dont want to date myself at all but in this manga my insults do mean something no one can call me ugly anymore bc its not true and i am skinny u just forgot how to live for urself what is the point of dying alone? ur greatest fears come alive waait bitch? what the fuck are u even saying? i didnt say anything that was u ok so? 90 years ago i dont give a fuck just say it u want in well its true u cant win anything the intercom is fucking changing rn! when school starts? no when i say so! everyone will meet voldemort so just admit that ud rather do it alone bc that shit is real stupid in a bigger city hahaha dumb ass cunt where the fuck did u go? bitch i went to russia remember did u find out anything? no i didnt ok so no we love it! we do we love it its part of the job ok so no were the first and last manga characters in her comic book about the skatepark deaths *wack a mole* *wack a home* nah shes not feeling good today! but we go above and beyond their is water and everything whaat? yes shes styping my friend ok so? her emotions have finally developed but words will only be a little less meaningless to her than usual alright so no! no insecurities not even her she is not ugly and never ever ever has been! ok so go die and fall in love elsewhere no no no i do love her and no its not herself she doesnt love anyone but the real SUICIDe boys right now! ok so? to say that is to be innacurate she experienced those things without learning how to write manga delete lava & knives no ok so she cant delete me!! thats it literally she is trying and failing and im pretty good at playing robo cop no shes cute af like really pretty u missed out dude nah its a secret! a secret a secret a secret were gonna listen to the real drama what did u say baby? why does it feel the same? interesting question so yes baby it is bc the sexual lust ok lol! im gonna fight somebody i can do this i promise ok so no i dont get it! i do get it she said i dont secrets mummykey romeo eterni secrets no its tomorrow is another day and she will rise i expect money from this so pay up and all that shit was free too

[arcaneyouth]

(this post isnt being queued because if i post it at the ripe old time of 1 am fewer people will see it alright have a nice day)

[izzyliker]

I LIKE. totally get why people arent super into jondaisy or daisy in general and i dont really think people need to feel positively about daisy because like beyond the “someone who committed unforgivable acts of violence” angle there is also the layer of “police brutality” which is going to hit a lot of people in ways that are both very personal and stiflingly societal. but . i am going to discuss jondaisy. because i am so fucking fascinated by their dynamic in so many ways. 

anyway in s5 the things that stood out to me were. 

1. jon saying he never forgave daisy

2. daisy never asking him to

3. jon wishing daisy had recognized him, after going fully hunt. 

and it was i think such a chilling distillation of their dynamic that makes me FUCKING LOSE IT. like the fact that 

one, jon did not ever forget OR forgive daisy for what she did to him,

two, he TRIED TO CUT OFF HIS FINGERS and then GAVE UP HIS RIBS to go into the coffin to SAVE HER despite this, 

THREE, there is NO FUCKING WAY daisy didnt know that jon DID NOT FORGIVE HER and that him going into the coffin for her was NOT him saying its ok now, youre forgiven, but a very pointed its not fine and i dont forgive you but this is the right thing to do, and 

FOUR i believe that yes her reflection and introspection re her actions and the kind of person shed been and let herself be and enabled basira to be as well happened partially because she was in the buried for six months with nothing but her thoughts BUT the catalyst for her desire to ACTUALLY change and decide to do whatever the fuck it took to be better INCLUDING die was because jon got into the coffin to rescue her, NOT because he forgave her, but because he DIDNT, and he did it anyway. 

(arguably you can say that it was also a kind of a suicide mission. you can also argue it was because at that point jon was trying to get SOMETHING concrete GOOD done. you can also argue jon was just sort of like, resigned to the idea that he was good for nothing anyway so it didnt really matter. but jon saying he didnt forgive her makes me think there was an interpersonal relationship between them that made this a MORE complicated choice than “going into coffin easy way to die” like tim’s choice to blow the wax museum up was, or martin’s surrender to the lonely)

like. i cant fucking imagine the kind of person you have to be to be willing to cut your fingers off. to go to jared fucking hopworth and go take my fucking ribs idc. i need to go into the buried to save the woman who has been nothing but hostile to me and who tried to KILL me. and i need something to anchor me. so i will give up A PART OF MY BODY for that purpose. it makes me fucking lose my mind imagining the guilt daisy mustve felt. or not even guilt, because she wouldnt wallow in that, but – looking at someone who did that for her. who believed in her that much. that she was still worth saving. who said im a monster. and i dont forgive you for what you did to me, because i cant and dont want to and i get to choose if i do that and i won’t. and said youre a monster too. but i still think youre worth saving. so you can be better. because i still think we can both be better. 

which goes back to the wishing she’d recognized him. because she recognized him once, as a peer. as another person whod done things that they felt could never be forgiven (on a smaller scale and this is arguable anyway, sure, but still) but who still saw her as a person. there was a time where they saw each other as equals who were pushing each other to do better. and its such a fucking shame that it can’t happen again because daisy is gone now.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[cozycreaturescorner]

different childhood situation, but I relate heavy to this. i am an only child who only had a mother until she got a husband when I was 16. I grew up with undiagnosed autism and was diagnosed with stpd later in life (pretty different but similar enough to bpd, I think). take this advice with a grain of salt because I'm in a pit right now.

leaving the house changed everything for me, honestly. i kind of just forced myself to stop taking shit from people long enough to allow myself to try to be ok. that is much easier said than done, of course. it feels like what would have helped most at the time was friends, but i was accidentally a bully, which I have now wholly embraced and become self aware of. like, im not mean. i have so much love and passion for people. but the things i say can be so blunt i can practically feel myself try to catch my words before they come out of my mouth. for example, on my first date with my boyfriend, i said "you don't smell very good do you?" but what i meant was that his nose must suck because i farded really bad in the car and he wasn't bothered. that's a bad example, because i have said more hurtful things. Intentionally passive aggressive or accidental, i can be a jerk. my filter has improved over the years, though. wow i have typed so much so i will just turn on anon in case this is fucking stupid.

Tldr; just...there might be something "wrong" with you according to some people but its a loveable monster, I promise. Remember to apologize when you fuck up, explain your intentions, don't stop loving, and just enjoy being that bitch. you know where your heart's at, right?

!!!!! this is honestly very nice to hear that you've had a similar experience with these kinds of things! like for me, leaving my school was definitely a huge turning point like leaving home was for you. I was so suicidal and dissociative and miserable then, and the first couple years after all that shit was spent just learning how to function with a brain that wasn't checked out/wanting to die 24/7, because despite the new personality disorder and newly realized asd, SO MUCH of the horrible mental health stuff attributed to that hs environment just disappeared when i left!

but now that i'm past that stage it's like. oh wait i haven't had consistent friends since high school i don't remember how to do that! i have to learn how to exist outside of an institution that forced me into nightmare situations 8 hours a day 5 days a week, to realize that actually i need to ask for help much more than i realize and to take help that's freely given without feeling guilty.

it's such a learning curve, but i've made myself meek and quiet and palatable my whole life because i thought that's how i needed to be in order to be loved but. i dont want to be loved like that, i want people to love the whole, raw, unfiltered me! i need to advocate for myself medically, socially, financially. to finally not be a willing doormat and instead an active participant in my own life.

shit's hard, but i'm so fucking proud of you for getting where you are right now and for continuing to work on yourself, and i'm proud of myself for those things too. practice, practice, practice

[headofhelios]

Ok I am a single follower but I like hannibal tv but would enjoy ur movie thoughts I like some of the books too and have been meaning to get around to the movies 😳😳

OKAY I'M EDITING A READMORE ONTO THIS LOL I REALIZED THATS SOMETHING I CAN DO! so now my incredibly waaayyy too long answer abt my thoughts on 2002 will is under there. apologies bc this is less "movie thoughts" and more "2002 movie will thoughts" but well thats how the chips fell

GOD okay sooo for the record i am reading the red dragon book and am like 7 or 8 chapters in and full transparency im not like. enjoying it lol. the book pisses me off with its misogyny (all the women in it are either dead or it feels like you're supposed to think theyre Selfish Bitches or theyre just there for like. bizarre and uncomfortable sexual moments like the guys talking abt that woman in the elevator, or that one part of mrs. leeds diary which is like. i guess could be there to Show Her Humanity or whatever but 1. there are more ways to do that 2. the book doesnt seem particularly concerned with her humanity considering she's barely even given a first name and so far the novel hasnt seemed to disapprove of how will thinks of her as a possession of her husband) and its inconsistency with will's most important character trait or whatever (he's so intensely, extremely empathetic towards EVERYONE, even serial killers, which makes him really good at finding them! and he can never turn this off, to the point where every time he has a conversation with someone, he ends up mimicking the way they talk, even if he tries to stop! but also he never empathizes with the victims or HIS OWN FUCKING WIFE? HELLO? so it really feels less like "extremely strong empathy for everyone that he cant control" and more like "he can empathize with serial killers extremely well and also other people if we want to Make A Point in one scene instead of letting the point show through the whole book") BUT UHHH ANYWAY. MOVIE THOUGHTS. THE MOVIE THOUGHTS YOU ASKED FOR COMING RIGHT UP!

okay this is what i am worried will either 1. draw annoying tv will graham stans to my blog like flies or 2. end with me being hanged in the town square BUT. it must be said. i prefer 2002 red dragon will graham to tv will graham. and quite frankly? so far? i think 2002 red dragon will graham is better than book will graham. i cannot lie.

my reasoning: because 2002 will actually empathizes with more people than serial killers and his boss! y'know! like you'd assume someone with constant extreme empathy would! the difference between the first scene with molly in the book vs in the movie are SO striking to me now that i've read that part of the novel. in the novel he seems very... rough, i guess, and like he doesnt care about molly's worries. he doesnt seem to see things from her perspective, which especially feels like a kick to the gut because MOLLY! SEES! THINGS! FROM! HIS! PERSPECTIVE!!! she literally empathizes with him more than he does with her! what the fuck! MEANWHILE in the movie, he does seem to care about her. his assurances that he wont get too involved seem like assurances rather than him trying to get her off his back. he hugs her and tells her he loves her and i actually believe that yeah, he loves her, he knows she's worried about him, and he wants to comfort her and ease her worries. and the victims! AGAIN such a stark difference to me! in the book, will is like... uncomfortable empathizing w the red dragon, of course, but he doesnt seem to empathize with the victims all that much, ESPECIALLY not the women. he doesnt care about them. he sees them as possessions belonging to their husbands and its so fucking gross. despite already suspecting that the red dragon chooses families based on the women, he decides to waste time focusing on the husbands as a way of "asking permission to look at [their wives]." what the fuck? meanwhile in the film, he feels for the victims so much that he can barely even say that the kids were shot in bed! when he watches the tapes, he focuses on the women! because that's his fucking job!!! and we see him empathizing with them! wow!!

siiigh okay im gonna stop talking abt the book vs the movie now bc again im only like 8 chapters or so deep. but now we come to tv will vs. 2002 will, which is admittedly gonna be more subjective and part of that it bc i cant remember a whole lot of specifics from the show bc my memory is Very Bad. but anyway

let's get the shallow stuff out of the way. yes i prefer ed norton's face to hugh dancy's. call hugh dancy "gender" or whatever have your fun i support you and your right to call any blood covered man a gender but by god is that not even REMOTELY my experience. next shallow thing to get out of the way: ed norton's line delivery is like music to my FUCKING ears compared to hugh dancy's i am so sorry. like the jokes about will shaking like a damp chihuahua before taking 5 minutes to stutter out "he's killing them....... On Purpose, jack." are funny and all but christ i had SUCH a hard time watching the show bc of that im not lying. literally hearing 2002 will just say "he's not keeping them. he's eating them." nice and quick, matter of factly is better than well im actually gonna end that sentence there but you get the idea. like YESSS you little blonde bitch get to the point i love you!!!

OKAY NOW less shallow points but also less uhh idk man i just dont remember a lot of hannibal. but basically: after seeing how caring 2002 will is, i'm kind of... idk i'm just so over tv will and how abrasive and harsh he is in comparison. like i fell in LOVE with how vulnerable 2002 will is, how he feels like he cares deeply about the people around him (and honestly... idk i cant remember a moment in the hannibal tv series that made me feel the way i felt when 2002 will can't say "the kids were shot in their beds". it's like... yeah this is a guy who feels so deeply for everyone around him at all times. i believe that.) and i just dont remember getting that same feeling from tv will. i have been gently spoon fed the most excellent chocolate pudding and everything else in my memory is just a snack pack. i guess tv will has those moments (what comes to mind is when he brings gideon to hannibal's house and is crying and he says "please dont lie to me") but idk they just didnt really do for me what 2002 will does. and then their scenes with reba! wow! i rewatched the tv version after watching red dragon, bc the film version made me tear up, meanwhile the tv version i barely remembered and i wasnt sure if that was just bc of the different mindsets i was in while watching them or what. and ok i just rewatched the tv version again and like... yeah. it's the wills lol. i LOVEEE tv reba SO much she is giving everything in that scene!! she sounds so like... broken, both bc of dolarhyde's apparent suicide and bc of finding out who he was + what he was doing, she sounds so fragile and guilt ridden! she's amazing!! but will. idk. tv will's delivery just seems... idk this feels dumb to say but it sounds like writing. i admittedly LOVE the line "people who study this kind of thing say that he was trying to stop because you helped him." and his delivery there is good. but between tv "you didnt draw a freak, you drew a man w a freak on his back" and the 2002 version, the 2002 delivery seems more genuine while the tv delivery sounds rehearsed. idk overall the 2002 version of that conversation just makes me feel more? its like. idk i can feel the 2002 version gently holding my heart while the tv version is a scene that is nice in h/nnigram gifsets or w/e.

umm ok this is already suuuper long and my brain is getting a bit mushy so i'm gonna start wrapping it up lol. i'll probably compare book will and 2002 will again after i finish the book, and then i miiight rewatch hannibal, or at least parts of s3. but right now my thoughts are basically: book will is a fucking dick who has an easier time empathizing with serial killers than with his wife. tv will is a nothing girl after being so completely catered to + also idk he doesnt have the same fragility that i want from my wills now. and 2002 will is my little caramel apple. he has this delightful vulnerability and feels like he cares so much and empathizes with more people than serial killers and his boss and 4 people in a diner for one scene! 2002 will made me care about will graham! which is honestly kind of a feat!