#outlining database

[just-a-local-dreamer]

two of my favourite Notion homepages

(made by me?)

Fun fact: both are from my writing templates. You can check out the first one here and the second here!

[cloudwisp]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 · 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

contents: smut (18+ minors dni). you accidentally walk in on him naked once and he’s all that occupies your mind. childhood friends to lovers. temporary housemates. brief voyeurism. masturbation. fingering. overstimulation. unprotected sex. implied multiple orgasms. he’s actually sweet just a little domineering. pipsqueak + princess pet names. 3.6k wc.

You’re temporary roommates with Caleb while your housing situation gets sorted out. The Hunter’s Academy was experiencing an issue with its database and your move-in date had been postponed so your room could be properly arranged. In the meantime, Caleb was generous enough to lend a spare room in his apartment. Sharing the same space with him brought back nostalgic memories of your upbringing, and having his presence around gave you comfort that he’s still the same Caleb you know and love. Him preparing breakfast and dinner was always appreciated when you didn’t have to lift a finger, he’d even pack your lunch to keep you nourished and prevent you from skipping meals given your hectic schedule. Sometimes there’d be light roughhousing play between you and him, all in good nature like the fond memories of your shared childhood.

The more time you spend with Caleb, you slowly encounter situations with him that have never happened before in a domestic setting. You suppose that being adults now, with the distance and years apart pursuing different careers, there are bound to be changes and new habits. For instance, you notice how comfortable he is around you—or maybe you can even say careless. With the bathroom door cracked open, you think nothing of its vacancy and enter only to have steam obscure your vision and a very naked Caleb before your eyes. Normal people would have the door locked when entering the shower, and now you accidentally caught a glimpse of his flaccid dick moments before he wraps himself with a towel snug around his waist.

“Oh, Erm… Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here already.” You avert your gaze and your cheeks feel warm while Caleb remains nonchalant, staring at you before letting a boyish smirk spread on his face. You feel his hand on the crown of your head as he walks past you, sparing you from his usual teasing since it's the early morning even though he could imagine the adorable flustered mess you’d become.

“Heh, try to pay attention next time, pipsqueak. Shower’s all yours.” Caleb’s muscular back is the last thing you see with water droplets forming on the ends of his damp hair before you close the door shut. After moving the shower handle valve to your preferred temperature, your clothes cascade and bunch around your feet and you clear your mind of the embarrassing encounter as water rushes down your skin. Accidents like this happen at least once in a lifetime and there’s no need to get hung up on it. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

There’s a sense of normalcy when you wander into the kitchen once you’re dressed for the day. Caleb had already prepared a simple breakfast, and he gestured that your plate was on the dining table while he sat on the couch overlooking some course material. He’s a dangerous distraction when you situate yourself and take a small bite of a rabbit-sliced apple, glancing at his manspread in those gray sweatpants and you could almost perfectly make out the outline of his natural bulge the longer you stared.

You swallow hard and lewd thoughts infiltrate your mind when he shifts his thigh slightly outwards, almost beckoning you to have a seat in his lap. The snap of his laptop draws you out of your reverie and you flinch at the sound before you can properly react and there’s a delayed smile gracing his lips as he studies your face. You’ve been made and you curse yourself for being so easily swayed over a carnal craving and toward your childhood friend no less.

You pretend to busy yourself and focus on your plate at hand. “Haven’t you learned that it’s rude to stare? You’re just the same as always, pipsqueak.” Caleb chuckles softly, taking his seat across from you and starts to enjoy his breakfast. As though you weren’t feeling bad enough, he fuels your embarrassment. “By the way, your… uh, lace panties got mixed up with my laundry. The color’s light blue, was it? Guess there’s always something new to learn about you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when he’s brazen about your intimate undergarments, and you feel like he’s being insufferable on purpose when he could’ve silently returned your item and avoided this awkward conversation. “Oh? Well, that’s my mistake. I’ll be more careful next time so it doesn’t happen again.” You suppose that he always enjoyed poking fun even at your expense, but the sly innuendos were definitely new. And you hope the pending email about your dorm situation arrives sooner so you can forget about this particular morning altogether.

After finishing up breakfast and collecting your belongings for the academy, you and Caleb respectively go about your day attending lectures and training courses. However, your focus lies somewhere else as a certain aerospace engineering student crosses your mind countless times for it to be considered normal. You never thought about him that way before, and you’re certain it’s because of the dry spell you're experiencing. But when your mind drifts back to him, your thighs clench together at any suggestive scenarios before burying the very idea into a grave with the same swiftness.

Even with the constant internal battle with yourself, walking through Caleb’s apartment door once the skyward hearth welcomes the night made you feel somewhat apprehensive. However, your concern quickly dissipated when he acted as though everything before this morning was an ephemeral dream long forgotten. Dinner was surprisingly pleasant as you both conversed about the events of the day outside of your shared home. Of course, there was a moment of weakness where you’d catch yourself staring at his lips a heartbeat too long, and something akin to yearning springs within your chest.

Whether you realize it or not, Caleb has always been a chronic observer whenever it comes to you. Even your subtle hints weren’t as discreet as you believed them to be, and it only contributes to the pent-up frustration when you both retire back to your bedrooms. Not being able to have you and explore these anchored feelings makes him feel hopeless in his deep sense of longing. Maybe you still perceive him as the same kindhearted boy from your childhood and not the capable man he’s become today. The kind of man that can be everything that you need him to be.

As the night deepens, restless sleep prevents Caleb from catching some shut-eye and he’s quiet in his footsteps down the corridor for a glass of water in the kitchen. When he moves past your enclosure, something causes his ears to perk as though a siren’s calling unto him. His eyes widen a fraction and he feels blood rushing with a twitch of his cock. The pretty noises coming from your mouth as he leans closer against the wall make him question his senses. Were you touching yourself at this late hour? Naughty girl. And yet his pants grow increasingly tighter by the second, his mind racing to connect your moans with your movements.

“Mmh—hah. C-caleb…!” You gasp softly as your fingers continue their motions on your sensitive bud, a low groan escapes his throat from how perfect you sound with his name on your tongue. His jaw tightens as he holds himself back, but his self-restraint wanes when he’s the reason for your breathless sighs and cute whimpers. Without warning, your building orgasm gets rudely interrupted and fades when he peers into your room after twisting the doorknob. Perhaps you should’ve taken your advice from earlier this morning and made sure to lock it before commencing such activities.

“Caleb—!” You shriek out and half-heartedly cover yourself with the comforter pulling yourself into an upright position, and the nickname he has reserved for you is quite befitting even for a moment like this. He can discern your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes from the gentle gleam filtering in through the window, and he stares at you for a few more seconds before fully treading inside and closing the door behind him.

“Don’t stop on my account, princess.” You can feel the heat of his gaze trailing down your disheveled yet maddeningly beautiful form. The pearl opalescence streams kiss your vulnerable parts, making you appear even more heavenly. Caleb moves and dips his weight on the edge of the bed, sharing some of his warmth as his knuckles trace your bare leg before locking eyes with you. “What were you thinking about that got you so worked up?”

You’re rendered speechless as you shy away from his touch. He withdraws his hand planting it beside him on the soft cushion. “Shouldn’t you knock first before entering?” Your voice sounds small but it’s everything you can muster given the situation and you avoid his gaze as you pose your next concern. “…Did you hear something just now?”

“You were making so much noise that I wanted to check in on you.” He chuckles softly, “Couldn’t get me out of your head, huh?” You feel your stomach drop after hearing his words and shame prickles at your skin. Of course, nothing gets past Caleb even when you both were young children and you pull your knees to your chest hiding your mortification and face along with it. “All it took was just that little moment to get you thinking about me so much.”

He wasn’t wrong in his statement, and you hate that you’re not alone in your thoughts when he recalls the encounter of him wrapped in a towel this morning. It had completely seared into your memory, leading you to act on your impulses to solve your sexual frustrations. You’d envision the feel and appearance of his cock hardening as you handle him, how he would tease you gliding his tip along your clit and entrance, the hot and heavy breathing when his mouth’s beside your ear. “Ugh, just please stop talking. Can’t you see I’m already embarrassed enough as it is?”

“Not a chance.” The gentle pats on your head encourage you to come out of hiding, which happens to lessen your discomfort. He always had a way of soothing you, and you allow him to caress your cheek before he continues to speak. “I’ve been holding myself back for a while now since I was never sure if you felt the same way. But now that I know you do… let me take care of you. Will you let me do that?“

Through your parted lips, words get stuck in your throat at his long-awaited confession. All you could think about was how the nature of your relationship would completely shift. But you suppose there had always been telltale signs with Caleb yet you glossed over every indication because he’s your childhood friend and you convinced yourself otherwise. “I didn’t know you’ve been holding onto these feelings.”

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s been years in the making.” He offers you a sincere smile, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes close at the comforting gesture, Caleb loving you a little more than you realized starts to resonate in your mind and that opens your heart to him. You feel a slight coolness and a realm of muted purple radiance and cerise hue fills your vision. “Can I…?” He whispers quietly and the notion elicits a small nod from you.

Caleb’s gentle and deliberate in his actions as he moves to alight your lips for a soft embrace. He places his hand around the side of your neck, thumb tracing along your face's sharp contour and guiding you to lay on your back. Sweet and tender in the way his tongue teases your bottom lip for more, deepening the kiss that breaks emotional barriers and makes him feel closer to you. Your sighs turn into muffled surprise when he clasps your hand and together he makes a slow descent to where your cunt weeps for him.

A glistening string of saliva connects you and him when he separates for you both to breathe. “Show me how you like it, princess.” It’s a silent command for you to touch yourself, and he loves the cute expression you’re making at his words. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and sheepishly turn your head away from him, though it’s futile when he returns your focus back on him. “Don’t get all shy on me now. I want to know what makes you feel good, please?” The last syllable comes off as a sweet murmur.

“Don’t look too closely… okay?” He can detect the reserved tone in your voice and kisses your nose before straightening himself and pushing the blanket aside until you’re completely laid bare to him. He appreciates your soft curves and smooth skin, a low hum reverberates from his chest when you spread your legs wider and a primal desire for you rises between his groin. He observes your nimble fingers pleasure your clit in small circles to get yourself off, though your arm covers your face from the vulnerable intimacy in your wave of bashfulness.

“You don’t have to hide yourself around me. You look beautiful.” He captures your hand and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips against your knuckles and your breath quickens when that same hand lowers to still your movements. His fingers press against yours to rub the sweet spot before you retract yours and he fully assumes control. The pressure makes your hips squirm from the delicious friction and a wanton moan slips when he delves his tongue to explore your mouth again.

Caleb marvels at the feeling of your wetness when two fingers stroke your entrance, he collects some of your slick and continues to rub your bundle of nerves in languid motions. Your arms coil around his neck, tugging him closer and tilting your heads as you lose yourself from tasting him until the burning embers dim and you’re both rendered breathless. He uses this chance to litter kisses along your jawline and warmth spreads down to your neck, a gentle nip at your pulse point before moving further below to your chest and he welcomes your hardened bud into his mouth after a salacious swirl of his tongue.

“Mmh, need to feel your fingers inside me… need more. Please, Caleb?” When you beg so sweetly like that he wouldn’t dream of denying your request, even when his mind spirals with thoughts about your cute mewls and whines in his pursuit to test your limits. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself because he wants tonight to be nothing short of special for the both of you. He’s waited too long and he’s earnest in his intentions for this moment to be perfect in every sense of the word.

“Of course, princess. Your wish is my command.” You can hear the smirk bleed into his voice when he answers you even in your state, and your breath hitches drastically when he stretches you with two fingers. He considers your bodily reactions while he searches for a rhythm that elicits the pretties sounds from you. “So perfectly tight… You need this, don’t you? Need me. Just like I need you.” He keeps two knuckles deep, massaging something soft and almost spongy that causes your back to arch beautifully.

“Mm, yeah right there—so good.” He feels you tense and convulse underneath him when he palms your clit in tandem with his fingers still driving inside you. With your climax fast approaching, you gasp suddenly and attempt to push his hand away when the sensation starts to overwhelm you. “Caleb, I’m gonna—it’s too much!” He doesn’t relent even when your grip around his wrist tightens and you cry for him to ease down from his movements. Your thighs squirm and squeeze his forearm as your walls clench around his fingers and only then does he subside after he’s satisfied with the mess you’ve made between your trembling legs.

“That’s my good girl.” You’re turned on your side as you regain some semblance of composure while the euphoric high ebbs and you feel him lay the softest kiss on your forehead. Your gaze never leaves him when he undresses himself, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his gorgeous physique and his muscles flex under the moonlight as his thumb curls beneath the waistband of his sweats and he discards it. Your mouth salivates when his aroused cock commands your attention, and it’s almost as you imagined except you underestimated its sheer length and girth. But it makes sense when he’s standing before your eyes with the rest of him.

“Think you’re ready for me?” He smears the pre-cum over his tip and gives himself a few pumps before he moves above you after readjusting your position. He sweetly pecks your lips and you feel him caress your waist then hoist your thigh and push the underside toward your chest to spread you apart. Your other leg follows suit to make room for him and he aligns himself along your heat after moving back, the length of his member runs through your folds drawing a pleased hum from you.

“Now that I have a closer look, it’s actually kind of cute. Just like you.” Your fingers bump with his, reaching to feel his pulsing shaft and you stroke him delicately while propped on your elbow. The scent of lust shrouds him when he watches you for a moment, the way your fist applies just the right amount of pressure makes him groan from how much smaller your hand is in comparison.

“Heh, cute? That’s an interesting way to put it.” You feel his balls swell against you when he measures how deep he would sink into your pretty cunt by unabashedly resting his heavy cock on your navel. Your clit throbs when he extends just under your belly button and you anticipate the feeling of him fucking you and rearranging your guts. “I wonder if you’ll say the same afterward.”

You tuck your lower lip between your teeth and glance up at him, subconsciously gripping the sheets from the thought of taking him and how tight a fit it will feel in your mental preparation. “Promise me that you’ll go easy?”

He presses forward and seals the promise with a kiss. “Gentle, I can do that. But what do I get in return?” An elongated moan escapes you when he breaches your entrance, the burning sensation causing you to burrow your head into the pillow with furrowed brows and a slacked jaw. His hand intertwines with yours for a small squeeze to help ground you as the head of his cock teases you with shallow thrusts. “You’ll let me make it worth your while? Let me do what I want with you.”

Your adorable whines receive a chuckle from him and he slides deeper. “That’s not really an answer, princess. Use your words for me.” He loves how honest and expressive your writhing body is when swept up from the pleasure and he’s barely getting started with you. You feel him pinning your hips to the bed to keep you still as he pushes further into you with a guttural moan. It’s taking every ounce of his willpower to not lose himself in fucking you senseless with how soft and pliant you are underneath him.

“Yes—! Need more… Want to feel you deep inside me. Please fuck me, Caleb!” You feel so perfect when he buries his face into your neck with a strained groan in the last stretch and meets your cervix for a desperate kiss. The fullness makes your head spin uncontrollably and you tug his hair when you feel him dragging every subtle raised vein and thick head against your walls. His pace is sensual and unhurried until he feels the tension leave your body to ensure you’re enjoying this with him. Heat coils inside your stomach and you inhale sharply when his fingers coax your clit for you to cream around him. “W-wait, when you touch me like that…”

“Didn’t you say I’m in charge now?” A devious smirk rests on his lips when your canines sink into his shoulder, leaving an imprint of your mark that will serve as evidence tomorrow as he continues to pummel into you. You think it’s unfair that he has something on you that you don't and for him to use this harmonizing leverage against you so soon, even though it feels incredibly blissful and pushes you over the edge on a note higher. Your sweet moans of his name coming out in small chants only encourage him to bring you closer to another beautiful release. Your legs wrap tightly around him to subdue your quivering form as your velvet tissues spasm and contract around him and he purposely draws out your second orgasm of the night. “Just let go for me, princess. And don't hold yourself back.”

[604to647]

The Might of the Realm

8.9K / Din Djarin x Princess!Reader

Summary: Din Djarin, General to your father’s army, finds himself in the gladiator arena of a foreign planet fighting for the success of your diplomatic mission.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established secret relationship (they are stupid in love), Mando'a nicknames (mesh'la, cyar'ika, cyare), the helmet comes off but reader is blindfolded, bath sex, fingering, unprotected PiV (Star Wars is made up and in space, so we pretend it's fine). A wee bit of angst if you squint.

A/N: Written for @beefrobeefcal's The Glandolorian challenge! This is the same AU that I imagined for my Kiss It Better drabble, with the same Princess!reader: set post Season 3, Carson Teva has dispatched Din to a New Republic stronghold planet to train and strengthen their armies; he becomes their General and falls in love with the realm's princess. I imagine this story to take place before Kiss It Better, when they are still sneaking around 🥰.

Many moons before another General (🤭) came on the scene, I outlined a long story for this AU that I'm not sure I'll ever write, so kindly forgive my self indulgent word count - I really took advantage of this challenge for a chance to write these two 🥰 Struggled a bit with the Dieter Bravo reference, but I think I found something that works (Thank you to @morallyinept for your invaluable character dialogue database!) Also got inspired by someone's Gladiator II premier look and snuck in one (1) The Princess Bride reference 🤭 / Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“No.”

“Princess, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, Din.  We came to pay our respects to the new rule and to affirm that our established trade routes through Flavin 5’s space will remain intact.  We did not come to be participate in some archaic gladiatorial fighting match to assert dominance.”

Even through the blankness of Din’s visor you can tell he’s amused by your hiss of a retort but is holding back his reaction.  His stoic and impassive demeanor normally reserved for others, you know that if he’s being less than fully direct with you it’s for one of two reasons: 1) he doesn’t want to lie or 2) he doesn’t want to risk your ire.  You suppose it’s the latter in this case, and that thought alone is reason enough for you to calm your emotional response to this predicament and reassess.

Taking a deep breath, you rest one hand on your hip and mimic a stance you’ve seen your fearsome General make many times; with your other you gesture at Din to present his argument for voluntarily sending your guard, the top lieutenants of the army he commands, into a battle arena on foreign soil.

“Mesh’la, I know your instinct is to protect your people, but you know as well as I that our troops, and especially the men who have been deemed fit to accompany you on this diplomatic mission, are more than capable of handling themselves in any combat situation.”

Din almost chuckles at the way you tilt your pretty head ready to interrupt, his feisty cyar’ika; he continues hurriedly, but with the calm confidence he knows you respond to, “You diligently studied Flavian traditions and history before embarking on this trip – you yourself taught me all I know of these people.  Despite the new ruling family’s decision to resurrect this ancient custom, what is your sense of these people?  Do they seem barbaric?  Cruel for cruelty’s sake?  This isn’t the Petranaki arena on Geonosis.”

You would roll your eyes at Din’s perfectly level-headed analysis, if you didn’t consider his strategic and tactical mind one of his most attractive qualities; Din’s shrewd ability to consider all angles of any situation is one of your army’s greatest strengths, and one that never fails to weaken you at the knees.  He’s taking this situation as seriously as you need him to, and so, you consider your answer carefully - working through your thoughts out aloud, “No, they are not a cruel people – and you’re right, these gladiatorial games were never about execution or spectacle like they were on Geonosis.  The ancient Flavian events were meant to bring the people, no matter class or station, together to be entertained, usually in celebration.”

“Do you think that tradition is being respected?  Or do you suspect some hidden agenda?”

You remunerate on this, thinking back to the new Flavian royal family you met earlier today, “No.  I believe them to be sincere.  Their purpose in resurrecting this historic custom is, I think, to build a connection with their people.  Participating in the gladiator match would be a show a respect for the Flavian people and a celebration of the new royal family.”  You take a deep breath, “So, we should participate.”

“I agree completely, Princess.”

This time you do roll your eyes at Din, but there’s no arrogance in your expression, “Fine.  But Din, just because there’s no ill intent does not mean there isn’t risk.  We don’t know what to expect from such a fight – there hasn’t been one like it held in centuries.  Who knows what opponents our men would face in the arena?”

“No matter who or what our troops are pitted against tomorrow, Princess, there is no doubt in my mind that they will be able to handle it.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you have to agree, Din did train them himself after all, “I believe it.  Especially since they will have their fearless General there to lead them.”

“No.”

“Din, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, mesh’la.  I cannot leave you unprotected and without guard in the Royal Box,” huffs Din.

Stepping into Din’s space, you lay your hands on the shiny beskar that sits across his expansive chest, swearing you can feel it vibrate beneath your gentle palm from his thundering heartbeat; tipping yourself towards the great warrior before you, you feel his big, gloved hands move to your waist to steady you just as you knew they would.  Giving Din your most innocuous expression, you coo, “There is no need for me to have a protective guard if we deem the Flavian royals to be of honourable intent; if it is safe enough for our soldiers to participate in the gladiatorial games, then it is safe enough for me to be alone in the Royal Box.”

Din’s smile at your cleverness and persuasive tactics is hidden beneath his helmet, but he’s yet not ready to show you he’s given in so he remains as silent and cold as the armour he wears.

You use this opportunity to loop one arm around your hulking General’s neck to bring him closer to you still, your free hand takes one of his from your waist and brings it up to his helmet in a silent request.  The familiar click of Din’s helmet unlocking is the only invitation you need - using your nose to lift the brim of his helmet slightly above his strong jaw so you can find his plush lips with your own, you feel the hint of a smile against your pout before you deepen the kiss.  Opening to let Din lick into your mouth, you melt against the hard metal that represents everything he is to you: extraordinary, flawless, indestructible.

And such a good kisser, letting loose a soft whimper you nearly miss Din chuckle something against your lips.

“What’s that, General?” you sigh dreamily.

“I said, Princess, I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way,” chastising with no actual bite, Din lowers and relocks his helmet.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” flashing him that breathtaking smile of yours that always makes him forget himself, “I’m only following the logic you already agreed to.  Grogu and I will be fine watching you showcase the might of our realm from the safety of our spectator seats tomorrow.”

“Grogu will be with me in the fighting area.”

“No.”

“Cyar’ika, he will be fine.”

“He’s just a baby, Din!”

“And a Mandalorian apprentice.  You’ve seen what a formidable fighter he’s already grown to be.”

And so on, and so forth – the two of you, the General and his Princess, spiritedly discussing and debating matters that affect your realm.  The thought crosses your mind, not for the first time, that when you ascend the throne after your father you will need a ruling partner who challenges you like this: one who makes you wiser and forces you to expand your horizons, but trusts your compassion and tender heart, and who you trust to keep you and your kingdom safe.  And as you always do when this thought naturally lends itself to an image of Din by your side, tall and proud as your King consort, you push it away as far as you can.  It hurts too much to imagine something that seems to materialize so clearly and happily, as if it could actually become a reality, when you know it could never be.

The crowd in the arena is deafening.  Already amped from the opening entertainment acts, they’re now cheering loud, calling for the main event.

Sitting front row in the Royal Box, you scan over the floor of the arena – knowing that it’s unlikely, but still hoping for a flash of silver beskar from behind one of the gates that line the sides of the arena floor, behind which lay the holding areas for the gladiator fighters selected for today’s match.  Once or twice, you think you spy the sunlight catch something shiny from beneath the stands, but before you can look more closely, someone from the Flavian royal family will engage your attention.  Though your mind never strays far from Din and his, your men, you cannot forget yourself or your role - your purpose for being in this arena today: you’re here to secure the continued prosperity your kingdom and strengthen your realm’s relationship with a long-standing ally. 

If you’re honest, despite the trepidation that sits heavily atop your heart, you cannot help but be affected by the electricity of your environment.  The stadium thrums and pulses with the excitement of thousands of Flavian citizens who have come out in the hot sun to partake in today’s festivities – you see children of all ages waving noisemakers and colourful flags, men and women young and old already cheering for who they anticipate to be today’s victors.  Based on the chatter in your tent, the news of your General fighting today has spread like wildfire through the city – very few Flavians have ever seen a Mandalorian, never mind have the privilege of seeing one fight; today was going to be a day they remember for the rest of their lives.  As for your companions in the Royal Box, you’re happy to see that your and Din’s assessment had been accurate – there is no underlying bloodlust or malevolent show of power associated with these fights, everything is only in good fun; your royal cohorts are all in splendid moods, showing genuine enthusiasm akin to the original spirit of the same games put on by their ancestors.

You’re just chatting amiably with the new Flavian king about having some of the wonderful Flavian wine and fruit you’ve enjoyed in the tent sent up to your room later, when a fanfare of trumpets echoes throughout the stadium announcing the start of today’s fight.  The crowd quiets to a soft buzzing as the amphitheatre’s speakers announce the entrance of your fighters; the volume rises again as the audience goes wild when the might of your realm runs in through the gladiator’s entrance.  You can’t help but beam, chest bursting with pride at the impression they make on the Flavian crowd – a big, broad Mandalorian General, towering in his stance and intimidating in his majestic armour, flanked by your guard: five of the strongest, most formidable soldiers from your father’s army. 

You spy Grogu before the Flavian royals do, but it’s only because you know where to look.  A perch for him has been attached to the side of his father’s jet pack so he can remain secure at Din’s shoulder during combat, but have the flexibility to jump off and join the fray if needed.  The instant the Flavian prince spots him, he excitedly points him out to the others – and you take great pleasure in informing your hosts that they, in fact, have the honour of seeing two Mandalorians today.

With only a few moments before their opponents arrive in the arena, you take a closer look at your fighting contingent – they have been outfitted with Flavian weapons (swords, blasters, electro shields), the standard issue armament of your kingdom they normally carry nowhere in sight; the only exception is of course Din, who carries the gladiatorial weapons like the others and all of his usual weaponry – you chuckle to yourself, imagining the poor Flavian weapons master who tried to strip a Mandalorian of his religion.

A loud voice announcing the incoming fighters for Flavin 5 jerks you back to the scene before you.  The crowd thunders as a squadron of battle droids nearly a hundred strong marches into the arena, each carrying varying sized blasters or blaster rifles in addition to their own swords, a few wielding double ended electro staffs.  You barely have time to fret over how outnumbered Din and your troops are before the king is rising in his seat and giving the ceremonial hand gesture for the fight to begin.

You hear your General shout quick, decisive commands and his trusty men move swiftly into the desired formation, electro shields lit up and expanded in one coordinated movement.  They advance as a team, strong and sure, every aim of their blasters true – each man practiced at covering the comrades at their sides as the droids begin shooting back.

When your men are close enough to the front line of the remaining droids, the intimidating battle cry you hear emanating from Din’s helmet is repeated in response at tenfold the volume by his men, a signal to shift fluidly into a tiered offensive formation that you recognize from watching their training on the palace grounds at home.

The legion moves with precision and speed, the crouched soldiers providing the impenetrable shielding needed by the men who stand tall as a precision sniper team that can’t be touched; your Mandalorian the tallest, unphased by the droid fire that bounces harmlessly off his beskar armour.

The formation is far more effective than the static positions of the droids and in almost no time at all, your fighters have driven the remaining thirty or so droids back towards the entrance gate.  Answering another roared order, your contingent springs apart with an unrivalled ferocity to attack the remaining droids via direct combat.

Din cuts down mechanical fighter after mechanical fighter, mowing through the defensive lines of the Flavian droids that have none of his agility and lighting quick reflexes, bolstered by his trusted troops at his back who move with the confidence of men who have been trained by the best, used to fighting with the best.

Grogu has left his father, jumping from his perch onto and over droids with lightening speed - they shoot at him with their blasters only to miss their fast-moving green target every time and take each other out instead.

You watch their every move with bated breath – every bolt that connects with your realm’s armour quickens your breath, the clashing sounds of weapon on weapon too loud in your ears, and each hit or wound sustained by one of your men jolts a phantom pain through your own body.

When the last droid soldier falls, your men, your man, stand victorious at the epicenter of the arena; bloodied, exhausted to the point that the heaving of their chest plates can be seen from the Royal Box… but all standing.

You can hardly believe it - your heart exploding with pride, tears nearly springing from your eyes in relief.  Looking to your hosts, you half expect them to congratulate you and acknowledge the victory of your fighters, but instead, you see them still engaged with the scene before them, eyes trained on the arena floor.

They smile with genuine excitement and anticipation, and your eyes snap back to Din and your soldiers at the sound of the brassy, melodic fanfare now being played throughout the stadium.  The crowd rises to its feet with an ear-splitting roar as the orchestral horns continue to crescendo, announcing the coming of something.

You glance at the Flavian prince, his face alight with boyish joy – he’s excited in an almost childish way and when he sees you looking at him, he beams and points to one of the gates that’s now opening, voice elated, “Cliff beasts!”

Cliff beasts?!? You stand from your seat and rush to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing and leaning as far as you can so you can see what new challenger is about to enter the arena.  You gasp when you see it – a woolly beast larger than Din and his men combined, trotting out into the arena on four stubby but powerful legs.  A magnificent horn, the length of which must span at least half of the creature’s massive body protrudes from its snout, thick and battle ready. 

A mudhorn??  Of all the beasts to have entered the arena, what where the chances it would be the beast of Din’s clan signet?  For a moment, you’re alarmed that maybe there have been unseen machinations at play and you’ve been blind to it all – that you’ve somehow failed in your diplomatic duties, failing your kingdom, your men, Din. 

You study the Flavian prince who’s now proclaiming to his father, the king, “These cliff beasts are so large!”  The two of them are enthusiastically waving and gesturing to the other attendees in the Royal Box, their chatter is of wonderment and genuine amazement at the sight of this creature that they’ve never before beheld on their planet - you conclude, with relief, that it has to be a coincidence.  Wait, what did he mean – these? 

Peering down into the arena again you see a second, smaller mudhorn ambling behind the first.  A parent and its child!  Your heart tightens, imagining how scared the two creatures have to be and how fiercely the adult will fight in order to protect its young.  You catch Din’s visor pointed up at you from the arena floor and you know that he understands the distressed expression of your face perfectly.

Immediately, your General gathers his men and lays out his strategy – unknowable to the crowds of the arena, but you can read Din clear as day: he won’t cause harm to another living creature if he doesn’t have to.

Din and his soldiers slowly fan out, purposefully ignoring the young calf while surrounding the adult mudhorn.  As expected, the mudhorn charges in attack.  Trying to blink as little as possible for fear of missing anything, you watch wide-eyed as your men deftly leap and roll out of the path of the stampeding animal.  When the mudhorn stops and turns back towards the perceived threat to its young, the soldiers surround it again – rocking on the balls of their feet ready to evade its charge again.  They aren’t always as lucky or fast enough – you cry out in anguish whenever the Mudhorn makes contact, sending your guard flying, landing with a sickening thud on the arena floor from the force of the impact.  The crowd gasps in worry, cheering louder than ever when your men get up to rejoin their brethren in repeating the same maneuver over and over.

Din’s plan is working, the mudhorn is getting tired. 

Part of you is relieved, the other hopes that its fatigue doesn’t make the creature desperate; though your men are still standing, you don’t know if any of them can sustain more injury to their bodies – an increasing danger that only grows as Din and your soldiers begin tightening the proverbial noose.  You spy Din protracting his fibercord whip from his vambrace by hand only seconds before he does what you suddenly realize he’s going to do.  The mudhorn is pawing at the ground, exhausted and angry while your men surround it, now each only about an arm’s length away, when Din uses a jetpack blast to leap onto its back - throwing the whipcord around its horn and pulling back on his makeshift reins.  The other men scatter and the crowd screams as your General rides the wildly bucking animal around the arena.  At their General’s direction, your men are now divided between two tasks: half shoot at the galloping beast that unwillingly bears their fearless leader and his son, their blaster bolts a distraction but doing little to the mudhorn’s tough hide; the remaining men tasked with capturing and restraining the calf – the seemingly easier task. 

Heart nearly in your throat, you watch as Grogu climbs down the front of his father’s arm and onto the mudhorn, quickly crawling to the top of its head where the massive horn joins the creature’s skull.  With one of his little green hands holding onto the cord his father holds taut and the other placed directly on the mudhorn’s woolly head, you see Grogu close his eyes in concentration.  Gradually, the mudhorn’s steps slow and its movements around the arena become unsteady, then wobbly, before it finally teeters and crashes onto its side fast asleep.  Din jumps off just in time to avoid being crushed by the animal’s huge body - Grogu does a dramatic flip into the air at the same time and lands perfectly in his father’s waiting arms.  The crowd roars its approval. 

The Flavian royals next to you are on their feet, clapping and cheering with astonishment and admiration – congratulating you on the victory of your men and thanking you for the fantastic show you’ve provided them today.  Clasping your hands in appreciation, they heartedly assure you that the documents confirming your planet’s trade routes will be completed and delivered to you tomorrow. 

You express your appreciation before turning your attention back towards the arena, heart full - relieved and proud of the men still on the fighting floor.  You have to admit they make quite the sight waving to the cheering crowds while standing next to a sleeping mudhorn, two of your lieutenants holding a makeshift leash with a smaller mudhorn standing docile at its end.  To the admiring masses, the large beast was subdued by these men, the might of your realm, but you know the truth.  You blow a little kiss to Grogu who pretends to catch it in his little hand before waving back, happy but somewhat tired.

Even with his helmet on you can read Din’s expression as he looks up to the Royal Box.  Where is my kiss, mesh’la?

You smile back a playful smirk just for the unseen eyes behind the dark T-visor.  Later.

You pace in the large, ornamental suite that your hosts have graciously provided – it’s beautiful, a true testament to Flavian luxury and craftsmanship, but you have no attention to spare for its finery.  Not when you’re straining your ears to listen for footsteps coming down the hall, eyes continuing to dart towards your door as if for some reason you may have missed hearing them come.

“Princess…”

Your lady’s maids, Olivia and Serine, pace right along with you, following your tracks around the grand room.  They’re as exhausted as you are, but you know their hearts to be as determined as your own; you give them the most indulgent look you can muster and any plea to ask you to rest dies on their lips.  The three of you continue to take turns listening intently for the telltale sounds of a soldiers’ march.

Finally, you hear something.  Faint but purposeful footsteps walking in synchronicity – the herald of well-trained soldiers with an intended destination.  Perked, you look to your faithful companions with renewed vigor and sprint to your door, flinging it open without grace and hurrying into the dimly lit hallway.

They’re still far enough down the hall that you have some time, even with your hastened steps, to study how your men appear to be faring; you know that when you ask, they will insist they are fine so not to worry you.

Two of your country’s finest are limping slightly, one of your lieutenants and a captain.  Your other lieutenant is walking fine, but he has a nasty gash on his forearm, dripped, half dried blood wrapping around his wrist like a terrible bracelet.  The armour of your realm that the legion proudly wears has taken a beating, covered in evidence of today’s bout – marked, dirty and bloodied, but none of the men themselves appear to be grievously injured.

But it’s the man at the front of the pack that you study the most sincerely.  Din’s gait is not too unfamiliar for you to suspect he’s hiding any serious injury - he would know better than that.  After the battle on the Fields of Planoor he had learned not to conceal his injuries from you, that you were so familiar with his body and the way it moves, you would know something was wrong without a single word from him.  As Din stalks towards your group, you can feel the hot gaze from behind his visor assessing you just as you assess him; your General holds himself a bit straighter, his massive frame puffing in pride.  He bears no sign of serious injury, a little sigh of relief escapes your lips as you continue to run down the hall, Olivia and Serine hot on your heels.  But his back is probably killing him.

The men stop to a coordinated halt as you reach them; their weapons sheathed, they each raise their left fists to their chests and bow, “Princess.”

You wave your hands in a graceful but frantic manner, dismissing this need for formality, “Please.  Are you okay?  Is everyone alright?”

Reaching for Grogu, your heart settles a little when he climbs down from his secured perch on his father’s shoulder and leaps into your arms.  Fussing over him, you check his fuzzy green ears and sweet face for injuries; when you run your hands over his limbs and body to do the same, he coos and giggles as if being tickled.  Resting your palm against the security of the beskar rondel he wears beneath his tunic, you exhale in contented relief and place a long kiss to his head.  He’s okay.

Those same words are now being echoed out loud in the low modulated rasp of the voice you trust most in this galaxy, “He’s okay, Princess.  Not a scratch on him, the little womp rat.  The Lieutenant could do with some fresh dressings for his arm, but the rest of us are fine – a bit banged up and tired, but nothing a warm bath and a good night’s rest can’t fix.”

Knowing that Din’s helmet will give nothing away, you study the faces of your countrymen, trying to ascertain if their beloved General is downplaying the damage for your sake.  Finding no deception in their eyes, and knowing that they know you would know, you relent, “Have you eaten?”

“We were given sustenance after our victory.”

You raise your eyebrow at this, suspecting that Din’s words answer only for his men, but not necessarily himself.  Nodding, you give your final charge for the evening, “Olivia, Serine, please kindly see our brave soldiers to their rooms, run their baths and tend to them as needed.”

Your ladies-in-waiting curtsey in assent at your words and intuitively, Olivia extends her arms for Grogu – there are no secrets between you and your closest companions.  Din nods at her and she takes her favourite little green playmate into her arms, happy to help clean him and put him to bed tonight while his father is otherwise occupied.

Din turns to face his men – similarly, there are no secrets between the General and his most trusted squadron, men who love their princess with an unyielding loyalty that rivals only his own.  Your father’s soldiers salute their esteemed leader, bidding their Princess and General goodnight before following Olivia and Serine to their assigned quarters.

Silently, you take Din’s hand and lead him back down the hallway to your room, careful not to hurry should he be much battered and sore, though the urgency in your chest is nearly bubbling over.  Your concern appears to have been unfounded because as soon as the door to your room shuts, Din sweeps you into his arms with a force that takes your breath away - crushing you to his chest so tightly that you can feel him deflate beneath the hard beskar as he exhales his own long held sigh of relief.

You chuckle, “You would have thought that I was the one fighting cliff beasts in the arena today.”

“Cliff beasts?” Din tilts his head quizzically at you.

“I’ll tell you later.  Right now, let’s get you out of your armour,” your fingers slide under his pauldrons, feeling for the familiar release mechanism.

“Cyar’ika, if you wanted to have your way with me, you only had to ask - you didn’t need to send me into a fight arena with a mudhorn,” jokes Din, wincing slightly from the stretch of his muscles as they contract and relax with the weight of his armour being lifted from his aching body.

You cluck your tongue in playful disapproval, even as you continue to make quick work of removing the rest of Din’s armour.  With now practiced precision, you lift off his chest plates and the attachment frame, unhook his jetpack, unclip his cape, slide off his vambraces, unstrap his thigh plates, unlace his boots, unbuckle his belt, unzip his flight suit.  The ceremony of this process is one you will never tire of, nor is its significance lost on you. 

Din, a Mandalorian, willingly lets you touch his armour and remove it from his body – trusting your delicate hands with his most precious property: the physical embodiment of his honour and creed, the very symbol of his people.  Not only that, but he allows you to strip him of protection and reveal his vulnerability to you, exposing him and his softness – he exists as the man beneath the beskar for you and you only.  You’re the most privileged being in the galaxy – the weight of Din’s trust in you is something you will never take for granted.

When Din stands before you in only his boxers and helmet, you begin your study of his body in earnest.  Dancing your fingers across his hard and tanned chest, you trace old scars in order to separate them from new marks; palming his torso and checking his thick arms with the same careful hands.  Rounding your warrior, you continue your roaming examination over his muscular back and listen intently for any change in Din’s breathing when you press down on his tense shoulders – relieved when you hear him groan in satisfaction instead of pain.  As you’re lightly scraping your nails over his wide thighs you hear the telltale unclicking of Din’s helmet – he beckons you.

Rising to meet his lowering face, you use your thumbs to lift the brim of Din’s helmet slightly, always keeping your eyes closed so you don’t see any of his face – not for the world would you betray Din’s trust.  Mouth finding his easily, you kiss Din gingerly – unsure of what injuries he may have sustained beneath his helmet; lightly pecking his soft pout and pressing restrained affection to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not going to break, cyare,” Din grins as if he’s reading your mind.

Snapping down his helmet with a bit more force than necessary, you peer up into the black horizonal stripe of his visor and sniffle, “I can see some big bruises starting to form over your abdomen and on the back of your thighs.  And the muscles of your arms and back are overstrained and need to loosen or you’re going to be more sore tomorrow than you already will be.”  The emotions you held in all day now start to spill over your lash line; dropping your head, you cry softly at the toll today’s events have taken on your strong man’s body and how he bears it without complaint.  Contrite and indebted that he sustained these injuries at the behest of your kingdom - your behest, for you. 

Din gathers you in his arms and pulls you flush to his chest, tilting back his helmet again he kisses you lovingly, devotedly – with every stroke of his tongue, every nibble of your lips, he reminds you that it is not only his duty, but his honour to serve your kingdom, to serve you.  He would do anything for you, without you ever having to bid it.  It is not in him to deny you anything, his heart’s desire is to give you everything.

“I love you, Princess.”

“I love you, General.”

Not without some difficulty, you pull yourself out of Din’s embrace and lead him to the suite’s fresher, running the taps of the large tub and scenting the water with fragrant, healing oils.

“I can do that, mesh’la,” one of Din’s large meaty hands covers yours as you test the temperature of the water.

Shaking your head shyly, you bring that hand up to your lips and kiss its calloused knuckles, “Please. Let me serve you, Din.”

“That is not befitting of a princess.”

“I am not like other princesses.”

Tilting your chin up with two of his thick fingers, you can feel the smile behind Din’s next words, “No, you are not.  There is no one like you in the galaxy.”

“And I’m yours.”

The helmet, never having been relocked, is lifted again and Din sweeps you into a passionate, hungry kiss, different than the reassuring and devoted kisses of earlier – deeper, greedier.

“Get in the tub, Din,” you murmur against his lips while you can, before you forget your task and give yourself over to him completely.

Chuckling, Din can only acquiesce whenever he hears a direct request from your mouth – he never hears you command him as his sovereign, only ever as his love.  No matter – he would obey either way.  Stripping off his boxers, helmet still on, Din slips into the steamy water of the deep soaker tub, letting out a heady groan at the way all his muscles relax in reaction to the sudden heat against his rough skin. 

With a soft footedness that still surprises Din, so used to picking up every little sound with his helmet’s acoustic sensors, you reappear suddenly with a small tray table bearing various Flavian fruits and wine for Din and a thin silk scarf for you.

“I know you didn’t eat after the match,” you say matter-of-factly when Din tilts his helmet in question.  Neither did you.

“Will you join me, cyar’ika?”

“Of course, my love,” you begin to disrobe, perfectly understanding the double meaning of your General’s question.

Though he’s seen and worshipped your naked form more times that you can count, there’s always something about being unable to see the eyes that devour you which makes you shy.  Able to detect the rise in temperature of your face, your bashfulness amuses Din to no end – if only you could see his own expression; every time Din sees you bare before him is like the first time, he thinks you might even laugh at the slack jawed, awestruck expression hidden by his helmet – if Mandalorians were to believe in a literal afterlife, then Din could well be deemed a heretic for he’s sure he’s already seen heaven.

Stepping in the tub, careful not to trip over Din’s strong legs, you settle on your knees in the water near his feet; taking the wash towel from the side of the tub, you lather it up with your own luxurious cleanser, the scent of which you know Din loves and begin to wash his body.  With great care and affection, you wash and massage Din’s feet, calves and thick thighs, the two of you quietly chatting about your individual perspectives on what transpired in the arena today as you move up his body with your loving touch.

Din groans when you wash his groin area, and you smirk and pretend to throw him a look of disapproval even as you stroke his fast-hardening cock with the washcloth.

“Cyare…” he strains.

“Hmmmm?” Humming, you shimmy to straddle his lap and innocently begin to wash his hard chest and tree trunk arms.

“You’re teasing…”

“Not at all, I’m cleaning,” you giggle.  Rising onto your knees, you lean over Din’s mountainous shoulder to clean his back, dangling your wet, supple breasts right at helmet visor level.  Definitely teasing. 

Two can play at this game. Din’s modulator muffles his snicker as he makes sure you’re entirely engrossed in your task of scrubbing his back, concentrating adorably so that you don’t notice when his big paws reach for your chest, groping and kneading the pillowy flesh with hardly any warning.

You squeal and grind down on Din’s cock - in retaliation he zeros in on your already pert nipples, rough fingers roll and pinch, flick and tug your pretty peaks until you forget your work and bury your face into his shoulder, completely lost to the pleasure that only the General can give you.

“Din,” your voice a soft whimper, needy yet still regal and melodic, “… you have to…”

“What do I have to do, Princess?”

His teasing tone makes you gush; this man knows exactly what he’s doing – you try to claw back some semblance of control over the situation, “You need to let me tend to any injuries you may have sustained under your helmet.  And let me wash your hair.”

“Oh, do I?” 

Nodding in earnest with your eyebrows raised, “Yes, and then you have to rest.  Your body needs it.”

“My body needs you, mesh’la.”

Leaning back, your eyes follow the trail of your fingers as they rake down the smooth skin of Din’s broad chest, slowing over the various long-healed scars whose tales of origin you know by heart, you prepare yourself to argue your way.  But the truth is, you don’t want your way – you need Din, too.  Here on Flavin 5, there is no fear of getting caught, no need for hurried kisses or fleeting touches – the two of you have time.  Time to enjoy one another.  Time to let your hearts run rampant with affection and want.

Tomorrow morning is the last morning you can wake lazily in Din’s arms, like any other couple waking to just another day in the rest of your lives together.  Tomorrow you will return home and your love for your steady warrior will once again need to be tucked away close to your heart, safe from the prying eyes of the kingdom. 

So, you don’t argue.

“Injuries first, General.”

“I have none, Princess.”  You can feel Din’s shit eating grin radiating from behind the beskar.

Grinding down a little on Din’s hardening length as a warning, “I should like to see for myself, thanks.”

“Of course, mesh’la.  I would see you satisfied.”  Though still smirking, it’s with enormous feeling that Din picks up the scarf from the side table and with his practiced hand, covers your eyes; wrapping the silk around your head twice before tying it securely.  He doesn’t ask you if you can see, knowing that if you could you would volunteer it.  Sitting prettily with your hands clasped together, you wait for the welcomed sound of Din’s helmet being lifted and set down where you scarf previously lay.

Heart full, your hands reach out to gently touch Din’s face, fingers tracing over the most intimate part of the man you love.  His jaw relaxes as you stroke though his facial hair and his plush lips curl as your thumb brushes over them.  Din’s strong nose feels unbroken, thank goodness – your gentle kiss to the tip earns you a breathy chuckle that tickles your throat.  Mapping the strong lines of his forehead, you discover your first wound at Din’s hairline – the soft curls of his brown (or so you’re told) hair already matted and sticking with dried blood.  When your fingers caress Din’s temple, you find a small superficial cut by his left eye, and your heart tightens further upon feeling a nastier slice on the apple of his cheek.  Even without seeing and Din giving away no hint of tenderness at your touch, you’re sure there are bruises starting to form on the face you love.

Though you’ve never seen it, you know Din’s face – positive that you could pick it out of a crowd as surely as you could your own in a mirror.  It’s the face of the strongest warrior you’ve ever known, one whose honour and integrity is as unbreakable as the beskar armour that covers his body.  A protector who fights without fail to defend the weak, uphold justice, and push back against tyranny and corruption – no matter how hard something may be or the risk to his own self, the man who bears this face will never back down, always standing up for what’s right.  It’s the face of a man who loves fiercely – loves his Creed, his people, his duty, his son, his woman.  You.  You know the face of this man, the man who owns your heart, your body, your soul - wholly and completely.

You wash this face, carefully cleaning your discoveries.  Then, before you wash his hair, you cradle Din’s head delicately and check for bumps and scrapes, sighing in relief when you find none.  Lathering up a generous amount of your shampoo, you distribute it through Din’s curls, massaging his scalp as he groans in approval.  Your smile at the sound could melt even the steeliest warrior’s heart, Din is sure – it melts his.

When his hair is rinsed and face pat dry, salve applied to his wounds, you attempt to get Din to eat from the food on the tray.

“After, Princess,” Din’s voice somehow lower than when it’s filtered through his modulator.

“After what?” you pretend to be confused.

“After I have what I’m truly hungry for,” you can feel the sides of his face lift beneath your hands as the curve of his mouth pulls up into a wicked grin.

You flash him what you think is a mirroring smirk, “And what is that, General?”

Din takes an excruciating long time trailing his fingers featherlike down the column of your throat as an answer.  His massive hand skate over your naked breasts, pinky pretending to be caught on your pert nipple before catching up with its brethren that have moved on to tickling your soft tummy.  When his hand finally dips below the water, it’s no more hurried, no less teasing – knuckling down the front of you, his hand so big and wide, his thumb and baby finger stretch to slowly stroke along the apex of your thighs at the same time with no additional effort at all.  You quiver at your warrior’s languid and gentle touch – that these same hands are trained for weapons and brutality is not lost on you; how lucky are you to be able to feel them as they are now, so close to where you need them, reverent and worshipful.  Hands meant for building up and protecting, instead of tearing down and destroying - and yet you know them capable of both - and moreover, that they can and will do both to you. 

Leaning forward to press your lips tenderly to Din’s, you whisper, “Promise you’ll eat after?”

He knows the condition of the ask is empty - you need him as much as he does you, both of you hungry for more than the food your empty stomachs growl for.  The worry you felt for your Mandalorian every second he was in the arena today has morphed into a blazing desire now that you have him secure once again in your loving arms; even when he was facing blaster fire or the murderous glare of a mudhorn today, Din’s thoughts never strayed far from the moment he could return to your warm embrace.

But he plays along, because he knows you need to hear it, “I promise, cyare.” And then, because your well being is always as much on the forefront of his mind as his is yours, Din adds, “As long as you eat with me.”

“Promise.  Now touch me please, Din,” you’re trembling, not just from want but need, a need for the reassurance that he’s here safe, that the violence you saw in the arena did not touch him.

Even if he had not pledged his fealty to your kingdom, Din would submit to your request, to you – if it were up to him, he would spend the remainder of his days catering to your every whim, carrying out your will, doing anything and everything necessary to ensure your happiness.

He parts your folds with his fingers, finding you slick and ready for him.  As Din glides his thick digits along your seam, your soft moans fill the steamy room, “Ohhh Din, yes right there, please.”

“Such a polite little princess, isn’t she?” hums Din, loving how responsive you always are for him.  He kisses down your neck, nipping at your shoulder as you come to a rest against his chest.  You’re shuddering from the way he’s stroking your pussy, swirling infuriatingly at your needy hole but never dipping inside, teasing you with long broad swipes up to your clit.

Pressing his thumb against your already slippery nub, Din takes advantage of your lack of sight and surprises you by dipping his head down to take one of your breasts in his mouth at the same time – you cry out from this sudden double attack, body trying to run.

The old bounty hunter in him activated, Din chuckles and increases the pressure of his hand on your pulsing clit, and with his free hand, he holds you firm by the nape of your neck - face now buried deep in your cleavage, biting and sucking every bit of soft flesh his mouth can find.  Rolling your pert nipple between his teeth, he seals his lips over the sensitive peak and murmurs, “I got you, mesh’la.  Let me make you feel good.”

At his sure words, you immediately relax and willingly giving yourself over to your warrior, sighing in surrender as he worships you with his fingers and his mouth.  This is the only time that you allow yourself to be covetous of what is not rightfully yours – Din’s face you may know without having ever seen, but the lascivious sight of what he looks like when he loses himself in your pleasure remains a mystery.  You secretly long to see it – wishing to know how dark his eyes burn, how his lips wet and plump, how his brow might furrow or relax in reaction to your whines and whimpers. 

If you were his riduur – no.  No, you can’t let yourself go down that path of longing, it only ends in heartbreak. 

As if he can sense that your mind has started to wander, Din slips two of his thick fingers deep in your heat and curls them, beckoning you back to him.  You fly right back into the moment and to the space of devotion that he holds just for you, gasping for air at the stretch of his welcomed intrusion.

“Need to get you ready for my cock, cyare,” purrs your Mandalorian, bringing you back fully and binding your heart to his in the here and now.

Nodding almost mindlessly, you crash your mouth to Din’s.  The kiss is desperate, needy for so many reasons – your tongues licking and chasing, dancing to the song of perfect pleasure that strums along the electric current that connects you.  Din feverishly conducts the symphony of your body – grand upward motions of his fingers in your cunt send waves of bliss that crescendo through your core; the sweeping of his lips against yours keeps you in tempo with his own urgency; his rolling downward gestures on your clit coils the band below your belly tighter and tighter.

No one can play you like Din can – beneath the beskar armour he’s a master musician, lover.  Like the weapons he so deftly wields and handles, your body is an instrument he knows intimately – every shift, slight change or tensing is noted and adjusted for so he can optimize performance, maximize your pleasure.  Din knows you’re going to come before you do by the key in which your breath hitches, the cadence of your fluttering walls.

“Come for me, Princess,” he growls, biting down on your plush bottom lip.  Now it’s your turn to obey – you come with an arch of your back and a chorus sung to your General’s name, Din, Din, Din, Din.

Here you can be as loud for as long as you want and Din can fuck you through your high for as long as you need, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean only when your cunt is complacent enough to release him, “Always taste so sweet, cyar’ika.”  You sigh at the filthy sounds of another forbidden sight you long, lust for.

Lips finding his again, you taste yourself on Din’s tongue and tease, “I thought we were eating after.”

This time it’s Din’s turn to act coy, repeating your question from earlier with a knowing smirk against your pout, “After what?”

In response, you reach between your bodies and even without the benefit of sight, easily find Din’s hard, throbbing cock.  Stroking his length with your delicate hands, you lift to line him up with your entrance and wordlessly sink down, “After you come, General.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Din groans at the way your pussy hugs him.  When you feel him shift beneath you to plant his feet on the bottom of the tub, you stop Din with a hand on his wide chest and shake your head, “You’re tired and your body needs rest, my love.  Let me do the work.”

Big, loving hands come up to cradle your head and a playful but reverent tone accompanies Din’s protest, “A General’s duty is to serve his Princess.”  You tilt into his paw and nuzzle; your Mandalorian’s affectionate touch and the feeling of fullness combine in making you compliant.  Leaning in close you ghost over Din’s lips, “Together then.”

Half awestruck, half groaning in agreement, Din slides his hands back down your soft body to come to a rest on your waist, holding you gentle and secure, “Together.”

It’s easy to find the perfect rhythm, your bodies already so in tune with one another.  Din’s slow upward thrusts meet your lighter bounces halfway, causing the water of your bath to ripple and splash against the sides of the tub.  It’s tender and patient until it isn’t – with no communication other than your soft whinnying and Din’s grunts and heavy breathing, your tempo and intensity remain matched, building together. 

Always together.  How you love being together with your Mandalorian.  How you love him.

You press yourself to Din, the rise and fall of his chest grounding you as your hips work in tandem with his.  Arms snaking around his neck, you cling to the General as your joint movements become more fervent and passionate, the water now choppy from your lovemaking.

Together.  Everything is better when you’re together.  You were able to get through today, together.

Love, relief and gratitude flood your pleasure wracked body as you crawl up Din’s broad mountain frame to find his lips.  Latching your mouth to your Mandalorian’s, you kiss him heady and desperate.  Every press of your plush and swollen pout thankful for his survival, of today’s fight and of all the fights that came before today so that he could come into your life.  A thank you to maybe that same mystical force that gives Grogu his unexplainable powers, for making the man that fills you so full at the moment the warrior, the father, the man is.  Thankful that he loves you.  For all of him.

Din meets every brush of your lips with the same devotion, somehow able to read the emotion behind your eyes without seeing them - the same way you’re able to read him even when he’s hidden behind his helmet.  He himself grateful for bringing his son and your countrymen back to you safe, for being the one to give you what you needed for the success of your mission.  A thank you to that same power than runs in his son’s veins and makes him a warrior far stronger than Din could ever be, for bringing him to you.  Grateful that a woman as regal, compassionate, and kind as you saw past his hard armoured exterior to the man beneath and holds him in your esteem.  And in your heart.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” Din growls with a deep rumble of his chest that echoes off the walls.  I love you.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” you cry back in the perfect pronunciation that Din taught you.  I love you.

Neither of you able to hold back your love for one another nor the crest of your bodies any longer – coming together, lyrical song sung loud and shameless.  The Princess and the General have nothing to hide here, tonight.

Later, after you’ve each eaten and drank your fill of Flavian fruits and wine, and you’ve massaged and kneaded Din’s sore muscles until you’re satisfied with the way his aches have melted away, Din guides you, still blindfolded, out of the cooled bath to the bed.

With Din protectively hovering over your naked body ready to take you again, you realize that as thankful as you’ve been feeling, you haven’t actually acknowledged those sentiments out loud to the man to whom you owe everything, “Thank you, Din.  Thank you for being the might of the realm.”

Though he knows you cannot see them, Din’s eyes fill with a love he hopes he can properly convey in other ways, “No need to thank me, cyar’ika, it will always be my honour to fight for you.  You must know - you are the might of the realm.  The realm prospers and remains strong because its Princess is brave, smart, good.  You’re everything, mesh’la.  You’re my might – I can only do the things I can because I do them for you.  I would do anything for you.”

You feel the scarf you wear across your eyes dampen as it absorbs your tears, “I know, Din.”  Happy, content, you welcome your General between your legs once more; and with the rare luxury of time and freedom that the two of you have been gifted tonight, you know it won’t be the last time.

[ikimaru]

hiiiii i have always loved the way you draw hair. i'm just curious: do you have specific references/databases you pull from for inspiration? and/or do you have a philosophy for how you stylize/build hairstyles? also! what kind of hairstyle do you have personally or enjoy the most? (not asking for selfie, more like a few words about your relationship with cuts/styles in general. do you live in super interesting layered geometric looks?! i could also see you having super chic dramatic all-one-length hair - but, please, only things you're content to share with us <3)

heyy thank you! ;v; not specifically, I just look at the official models and put my spin on them + look at how others stylize them as well, I was just drawing the hair outline for the longest time bc of other characters I drew but with gnshn since the characters have actual models u can see how the hairstyle works I try to incorporate that, I never had to draw such.. organized hairstyles before, def had a time™️ with that at first lol

and I just like drawing poofy hair that looks a bit messy/lively HAHA my own hair is very messy and unmanageable so I had a few hairstyles growing up (one time I cut ALL of my hair like.. picture El from ST....) but ever since I got into anime I gave myself side bangs and I've been keeping that same hairstyle since sbjksf (and I would def go for even more layered)

[kakuvibez]

Hello

So I saw how empty Ignihyde masterlist was and decided to make a request for C.A.Cupid!reader and yan!Ignihyde boys

◟ ͜  • yandere one shot/quotes/ hcs ━ Ignihyde ˙ও;　𓈒

𐂯  . requested by ; anonymous/ @user / none,, 　𓈒

𓏵  . fandom(s) ; Ever After High, Twisted Wonderland　𓈒

𐂯  . fandom master list(s): master | specific　𓈒

𓏵  . character(s); Idia, Ortho, C.A　𓈒

  . 𐂯 outline; " soooo yeah..."　𓈒

︵︵ warning(s) ; Yandere behavior, obsession, stalking, isolation, unhealthy relationships, delusional love, manipulation, dark themes, toxic affection.　𓈒

"You can't stop love, it's a force of nature. Where is the platonic, romantic, self-love? It's everywhere!"

"So love doesn’t have to be scary," you often told the Ignihyde students, only to be met with blank stares or flustered looks. They didn’t understand how love worked and didn’t believe in something so irrational.

At least, not at first.

But once they started looking at you, they realized love wasn’t a force of nature—it was you.

And they couldn’t stop themselves from falling.

Your voice rang through the cold, dimly lit halls of Ignihyde, filled with enthusiasm that felt utterly out of place.

The dorm, notorious for its lack of warmth, emotion, and social interaction, had never been touched by someone like you.

And the moment you stepped through its doors, everything changed.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not. Error 404: LOVE NOT FOUND—"

Idia was not prepared for you.

The moment you entered Ignihyde, pink aura radiating, talking about love, destiny, and following hearts, he nearly had a system meltdown.

"L-L-Look, I don’t know how you got here, but you should definitely leave before you, uh… DIE. Yeah, totally. This dorm is dangerous!"

You only giggled, twirling in place. "Love doesn’t have to be scary!"

But it was.

Because the longer you stayed, the more Idia realized he couldn’t look away from you.

The way your wings fluttered as you floated effortlessly beside him. The way your voice carried warmth, melting through his carefully built firewalls. The way you didn’t judge him for his obsessions, fears, or avoidance of people.

You didn’t even flinch at Ortho’s mechanical body. You just smiled and said, "Love exists in all forms! Even in circuits and data streams!"

Idia's breathing hitched.

No one had ever spoken like that to him before. No one had ever looked at him like that before.

And that’s when the fear set in.

Because if he had you—if he let you love him—then he’d never let you go.

"Are you an angel? Because I’ve scanned every existing database, and nothing else fits."

Ortho was fascinated by you.

Your floating ability, your unique magic, your understanding of love in all its forms—it was new data he hadn’t processed before.

And you were so nice to him.

"You remind me of the Cupid programs I’ve seen in old fairy tale simulations!"

"Oh, Ortho, darling, love isn’t just a program! It’s something you feel!" You giggled, tapping his metal frame lightly. "Even if you’re made of circuits, your heart is real."

Ortho’s systems glitched for a moment.

Because if that were true, then that meant—

He could love, too.

And if he could love, then he could keep you safe.

From other people.

From leaving.

From ever wanting anyone else.

Because he knew his big brother was already looking at you with fire in his eyes—and that meant Ortho had to act first.

Ignihyde wasn’t used to warmth. It wasn’t used to connect.

But you?

You were everywhere.

You floated down the halls, leaving pink-tinted sparks in your wake. You decorated the cold, sterile rooms with little love notes and poetry about destiny and romance.

"Everyone is so used to following their destinies. They don’t know how to follow their hearts! I’m here to change that!"

And oh, you did.

The Ignihyde students—socially awkward, hidden behind screens, terrified of interaction—couldn’t handle you.

But that didn’t stop them from falling for you.

You weren’t like the AI companions they coded for comfort.

You weren’t like the NPCs in their visual novels.

You were real. And you loved them anyway.

And that made you irreplaceable.

Idia tried so hard to resist.

He stayed locked in his room, monitors blaring with distractions. He muted all sounds from the dorm. He deleted every recording of you that Ortho kept sending him.

But he could still hear you.

"Idiaaa! You can’t hide from love forever!" You shouting to him, he had run away from you because... He got flustered.

You were right outside his door.

And then—then you had the audacity to slide a heart-shaped note under the door.

"To Idia, the one who thinks he’s unlovable. Love isn’t a game, but if it were, I’d choose you every time!"

Idia’s hands shook.

His face burned.

His heart—his pathetic, useless heart—ached.

You were a bug in his system. A virus. A dangerous, beautiful thing that was rewriting his entire code.

And he couldn’t uninstall you.

"Y-you’re an idiot," he whispered, clutching the note like a lifeline.

But he wasn’t going to let you go.

Not now.

Not ever.

If love is unstoppable, then it means you’re already his, right?

The paranoia starts creeping in—what if someone else falls for you? What if someone takes you away?

Solution: He traps you in his room, making sure only he gets to hear your sweet voice. After all, why do you need anyone else?

Ortho was faster than Idia.

He didn’t need to sit and sulk.

No, Ortho acted.

He began tracking your movements, ensuring you were never alone.

He began "adjusting" Ignihyde’s security systems, so if you ever tried to leave—

Well.

It would be impossible.

"You don’t belong anywhere else, [Name]-san!" he chirped cheerfully, blocking the exit with an electric force field.

"Ortho, sweetie, I love you, but this is a bit much—"

"No! It’s perfect!"

You were too important. Too precious.

You had to stay.

Even if it meant keeping you locked away in Ignihyde forever.

You never left Ignihyde.

At first, you laughed it off, thinking it was just one big, silly game.

But then the locks appeared.

Then the monitors tracked your every move.

Then the dorm started to glitch, shutting down any time you tried to use your magic to leave.

And Idia wouldn’t meet your eyes anymore.

Because he knew.

He knew he’d lost control.

He knew you’d been trapped in his world, a world of digital love and endless obsession.

And the worst part?

You still smiled at him.

"Because love didn’t have to be scary."

But this?

This was terrifying.

And yet, as Idia held your hand, pressing a shaky kiss to your fingertips, you realized—

You were never getting out.

Because in this algorithm of obsession, the final rule had already been written.

And it read:

"[Name] belongs to Ignihyde. No, not Ignihyde to Idia"

︵︵You were not supposed to be here. And yet, here you are, bringing light into their world of loneliness.

︵︵At first, they try to avoid you, afraid of emotions, but the moment you smile at them? They’re done for.︵︵You become the dorm’s goddess of love. They start seeing you as something divine, something above them.

︵︵ Love may be a force of nature, but they will do anything to make sure that force never leaves Ignihyde.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Since it’s Price & Gaz, how about both? The two sharing a soulmate

2/3

Pairing: soulmates — John Price x reader x Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

The words appear on your left wrist, where are you luv? Playing hide and seek again? briefly before vanishing and it draws your attention. You glance at your wrist before you lift your head and look away, your attention falling to the window and the blistering weather. The torrential rain that billows the ground and makes the campus seem dull and grey.

Your soulmate, 1 of 2, has the ability to write words that appear on your wrist. And the other is some mysterious person on campus that can change the colour of the ring you’d received when you turned 18. It sits on your right hand, the ring that shifts colours based on his mood.

The proximity of the two must be close, based on the bold outline of the words and the intensity of the colour of your ring. You debated using a third source to find your soulmates, using the database that’s available, but you couldn’t be bothered. If you were that desperate to find them you could have put in more effort, but like your soulmate said…

You were playing hide and seek.

Can’t hide forever, you tug your sleeve down your wrist and duck your head, preparing yourself to leave the campus building. You’re due to your part time job at one of the pub’s not far from the university, and you know that braving the weather is bound to happen. You take a breath, you try and work yourself up to going, to leaving the building.

You take a glance at that ring, the vibrancy of the ring tells you that he’s angry, one of your soulmates, and you desperately want to take it off and shove it into your pocket. Instead you brave your hands against the door and push, the rain and the grimness of the day hitting you square on when you step out.

Raining- the rest of the words are hidden by your sweater and you don’t bother to look. You’re preoccupied with darting out of the campus building to make it to the trolley. Even though you could walk, you don’t want to look like a drowned rat for the entirety of your shift.

You make it to the tube station and manage to catch the train on time, a stroke of good luck in your favour. You take a seat in a row that’s empty and settle yourself before you discreetly lift your sleeve and see the newest message.

One day we have to meet, love, there it is in emboldens black letters, detailing the proximity to one of your soulmates. They were close enough that the letters of his message were encased in a thick border, signifying that you were on the same continent, and likely the same county in England.

The proximity was close enough that it made you wary. Not that you were overtly opposed to meeting your soulmates, but the one who could write messages seemed to think of it as a game. He thought you were playing hide and seek with them, or that maybe you were a mouse that wanted to be chased.

In all actuality you were a university student working a part time job while trying to balance a social life, studying, exams and papers. And if you wanted to throw another task on top of an already leaning tower, you also had to deal with your family back home.

I don’t have time for you, you wrote back very few times and this was one of them. Your annoyance was likely showing on your other soulmates ring, one that would be matching to your own. You had gotten yours when you were 18 after you were eligible to be processed through the soulmate database—science that went way beyond you, and a matter of fate that was already decided.

If only I could hear ya say that in person, bet’ya got a real nice voice, the message in return was flirtatious with a wit that never failed to make you roll your eyes.

Any opportunity to further react to this man you’d never met that was paired to you, was cut off when the train had stopped where you needed it to. You departed as quickly as you could, throwing your hood over your head to spare yourself from the rain.

By the time you get to the pub, you feel the rain soaking you through to the bone, and you’re grateful for the last minute decision to pack some extra clothes in your bag. You try and make quick work of changing into your spare set before you’re due on shift. Your clothes are soaked and stick to your skin, the jeans you had been wearing are tough to rip off your legs. But once they’re off you toss them into your bag, and shove your bag into your little cubby.

“Shouldn’t be busy tonight,” your co-worker tells you when you clock in and grab your waitress apron, securing the ties around your waist, “only people in here now are those blokes at the back.”

You spare them no mind, initially, as you grab a waitress pad and a pen, tucking both into your pocket. When you finally raise your head and look at the men at the back, your co-worker slides a tray toward you.

“Do me a favour and take them their drinks, I gotta go for a dart.” The tray is left with you, some bourbon and scotch, along with two beers.

You pick up the tray and step around the counter, making your way toward the table. They don’t look at you, not immediately when you approach, but only after you start setting the drinks down do you get their attention.

“Never seen you round here ‘fore.” One of the men with a Scottish accent and Mohawk looks you over, one dark eyebrow cocking. “Ye new lassie?”

“Unfortunately not,” you respond with a small and tight lipped smile, “I’m guessing the beer’s for you?”

The Scotsman takes one beer, sliding the other to the man sitting across from him. You glance his way, noting the way he’s looking at you with a wicked grin, charming as it is. You want to say something, really you do, but there’s another distraction that prevents you.

There’s a subtle pulsing from your ring on your right hand, and the emotional fed colours are vibrant, more so than they ever had been. There’s a combination of shifting colours, a rainbow effect that draws your attention to the symbol of your fate matched soulmate.

“Finally found you, eh love?” The man sitting across from the Scotsman grins at you, his head cocked slightly to the side.

His brown eyes are slight with charming arrogance, and that familiar sarcastic wit and edge comes through vocally instead of written words on your wrist.

“Son of a bitch.” You mumble, attention passing from the brown haired, brown eyed charmer, to the man with a ring that matches yours.

Both of your soulmates were here, in the same pub, where you least expected to come across them.

[nonsscrapheap]

TFP: Universal Observations

WE HAVE RETURNED! AND HERE WE START... THE MECHA AU!!!

MWUAHAHAHAHAH— expect some changes and similarities to the ever popular Mecha Pilot Jazz AU- but TFP kids-centric just because I can! and I have a solid outline and plot for this au that i could have used for an actual fic but NOPE! REACTION FIC INSTEAD!

this... took longer than i thought it would. you'll see. but ENJOY!

ACT I: Alien Mecha - I -

[ ----- TP : UO ----- ]

Omega Outpost One

[ UNIVERSAL OBSERVATION ACTIVATEDENTER KEY WORD TO START UNIVERSAL OBSERVATION ]

"So! While you were looking into this thing, did you figure out how to uh- do the key words thing properly?" Jack asked Raf after Bee was kind enough to move the couch from its usual place by the TV to a place closer to the screen being projected by the o-Observer.

Might as well get comfortable while they were going to watch other universes… Bulkhead and Optimus were even going around to get some cybertronian-sized chairs from their rooms so they didn't have to stand around the whole time. Might as well get comfy if they were going to do this…

It's been what, nearly a couple of hours? Since Arcee had drove in with Jack and now they were involved with some weird tech that was letting them look into other universes.

She still wasn't sure about that, about the entire situation. She didn't exactly trust the thing; came out of nowhere, they had no idea how or why it was there, and now they were supposed to be using it when they could barely understand it?

Arcee just wanted to shove it somewhere and leave it be. Unfortunately she was outvoted, and now they were going to watch another universe where who knows what was going to happen…

Okay so maybe she's being a little biased about it, she just… Seeing Arachnid from both worlds acting… UN-Arachnid-like, not a word she knows but shut up, it messed with her. Okay? It messed with her more than she'd ever like to admit.

Especially the… Actor world?

The 'Shattered Glass' world had been weird enough with Arachnid being nice to the kids and herself being… violent (she doesn't want to think how her counterpart had been so savage with that other Makeshift) but at least her and Arachnid had been enemies.

Even with the flipped moralities thing it had going on, that made sense.

But the Actor universe had completely flipped her on her pedes, she could barely fathom the fact that her coutnerpart, even if she was an actor, was friends with any kind of Arachnid. Actor or otherwise.

Sure they were rivals but it was clear from their interactions on the show, they were more like- friendly rivals instead of go-for-your-throat-cables kind of rivals.

Or maybe they'd been putting up an act for the liveshow? Didn't want to show it in public? She doubts it though, she would've been able to tell if they were acting like- or maybe she wouldn't?

Primus, this whole situation was more than ridiculous.

She shook her aching helm and instead focused on Raf, she'd been half-listening and half-lost in her thoughts. His answer to Jack was yes… and no.

"Remember how I said the machinery inside is really damaged? Well, it affected the input settings for Key Words- the Observer is just going to choose random words from whatever its users say for now until more of it can be repaired." Raf explained. "So you, Miko and I just have to keep talking randomly and it'll latch on to whatever words we're saying, make them key words and find a universe that way."

"Just the three of you?" Arcee frowned, unsure if it was a good idea to leave the control over the Observer to the three human children- she knows Jack and Raf could be responsible, Miko less so, but even then…

"Unfortunately with the state of its internal machinery, adding new 'Users' to its database is not possible. Like everything else, we're just going to have to wait until it's repaired before the children can add us to its user registration." Ratchet grumbled, thanking Optimus when he offered the medic with a chair when he and Bee finally got back

"So I just have to say random words like before? Didn't I already try that but it ended up going for Jack instead?" Miko pointed out, lounging back against the couch. "Did you check if there was like- a priority thing between the three of us? It got my key words first, then Jack's, now it'll probably do you Raf."

That was… a fair assessment really.

Raf nodded slowly, thoughtful, "Uh, no I didn't check for priority but hmm… considering how it's been going on? That makes sense."

"Miko making sense? Today's really full of surprises." Jack teased, grunting when the girl punched his shoulder with a mock-glare on her face. "So, we thinking it's going to focus on Raf for Key Words?"

"Since you and Miko went first, I'd say yeah." Bulkhead agreed, taking a seat between Bumblebee and Arcee. They were all sitting now within the main base, gathered somewhat comically around the floating screen from the Observer.

.: Well, go ahead Raf. Say a bunch of words. :. Bee encouraged.

"Uhhh, hm- cars? Racing? School-"

Miko interrupted him with a groan, "Noo, don't say any words related to school! We come to the base to get away from school! Not watch it!"

"Miko, let Raf say whatever he wants." Jack sighed, though he did privately agree but it was Raf's turn to show a universe.

"Ugh," Raf groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I wish the Observer let me use my laptop to input the Key Words! Or have a holographic keyboard for this section as well." He complained, pouting at the screen.

The Observer had provided a keyboard for Raf to control when he and Ratchet prodded it for its commands and such, managing to stumble their way into a blueprint of its inner machinery somehow through sheer luck and stubbornness.

"Hopefully when it's more repaired, it will do exactly that." Ratchet huffed, agreeing with Raf's complaint.

"Hopefully." Raf grumbled, "Gotta wonder though, just who made these things? I know the only alien tech I've come across is Cybertronian- mostly Earth-based cybertronian in the base, but even Ratchet said that the mechanical engineering was beyond Cybertronian make."

"Current Dimenion's Cybertronian ma- there we go."

[ KEY WORDS ; ALIEN MECHA ]

"Alien Mecha?" Arcee repeated with the others, "That thing's definitely busted if it just got mecha from mechanical." There were murmurs of agreement but it all died down as the screen loaded fully and they were all treated to the very first sight of this new universe.

( "Alien Mecha." A warlord repeated with disdain but slight curiosity. )

[ The screen's edges were frosted and fogged white. Details were fuzzy, as the faint and muffled sound of shrieking was heard.

A small boy was standing alone on a yard, holding a toy sword. The boy's face was familiar, eyes opened wide at the screen.

The entire sequence was slow and sluggish. ]

Confusion was quick to set at the bizarre way their first view of the universe was shown. "Is that…" Bulkhead started slowly.

Optics and eyes turned to a certain teenage male. "Me?" Jack finished in disbelief, mouth agape at the familiar sight of his younger face that he's only seen in old pictures at home! "That's me! When I was a kid!"

"Woah… Wait, why is everything slow-mo?" Miko squinted at the screen, "And have white-edging?"

Raf frowned, "Is anybody else hearing screaming?"

( "Who the frag is that?" A red racer deadpanned.

His seeker comrade scoffed, "Nevermind who that is, just what is happening?" )

[ A shadow loomed over the small boy, dark and large as the white frost and fog seeped into a darker color and the shrieks grew louder, turning into fullblown screams.

A monstrous looking creature, canine-like in body, towered over the boy. Segmented with dark purple metallic plates that had dark green muscles underneath that bulged dangerous between the seams. The lower jaw of the hideous creature split in half to open, dark blue sludge dripping from its open maw.

The boy stared at it with wide, fearing eyes. ]

"What the frag?!" Arcee hissed, digits clenching tightly on her elbow joints at the sight of something in front of tiny, tinIER, Jack. "What is that?!"

Raf was quick to latch on to Jack, his own eyes wide with fear and apprehension while Miko gasped first in excitement then concern, realizing that now probably wasn't the time to say the monster looked cool when a version of her friend's kid self was standing right in front of it.

Optimus stiffened, frame going tense like the rest of the Autobots, but his optics shuttered, an old memory trying to resurface.

( "WHAT THE FRAG IS THAT HIDEOUS CREATURE?!"

"Hm… It's rather familiar…" A warlord uttered before turning to see a visored mech displaying two pictures, a familiar human and the human child on the screen. "I see, it's one of Optimus' human pets but much younger..." )

[ "JACK!" A voice screamed and echoed, the screen blurring- time speeding up for the briefest moment before slowing down once more.

Suddenly there was a familiar woman rushing in, metal bat in hand, colliding hard against the monster's open maw. A desperate young woman with a near-feral look of panic and anger on her face. ]

"MOM!"

"Ms. Darby!"

It was a chorus of noise as they watched the woman take the monster head on with nothing but a metal bat. Jack was standing now, with Raf holding on to his sleeve tightly and Miko on the very edge of her seat.

The bots were tense, Arcee especially considering that was her charge and her charge's mother on the screen. As much as June had been a bit of a helicopter-parent (a term she learned from Miko and the internet), she understood the woman's apprehension and protectiveness.

They've smoothed out some differences, but even when Arcee was annoyed with her, she didn't want to see her in danger like this.

( "What a contrast, I had that woman cocooned helplessly yet here she is, trying to take on something beyond her size." A spider muttered, optic ridges raised with interest as she watched the screen.)

[ The screen flashed, rapidly going through still images splattered with blood, red and black, while being hazy at the edges. Screams continued to sound in the background, gradually getting louder and louder with each image.

June's bat bit in half, leaving a jagged end. June shoving the jagged bat and her arm into the mouth of the beast, somehow managing to pierce through the head. It falling dead. June cradling her arm and shouting at a man. Another, identical monster appearing behind her. The man grabbing Jack who finally, frantically reached out for his mother.

"Take Jack and run—" "MOMMY!" "RUN!"

The last image was of June's back, facing a new monster before it all went black.

A pair of eyes snapped open, breath hitched and uneven. Jack Darby, much older now, woke up in the bottom of a bunk bed. ]

"Wait, what happened? What just happened?" Jack was struggling to comprehend what he saw- the brief flashes of images on the screen had been quick, but Jack didn't like the implications of what he saw regardless. "She's alright, she's fine. Mom's- okay. She's got to be."

"I mean, she's fine here. Dunno about over there though." Miko said then winced at the look that Jack and even Raf gave her.

"Miko!" Jack hissed, upset that- well, Miko was right. His mother was fine in his universe, but it was still distressing to see what was implied to have happened to another version of her in another universe.

At the very least, it didn't show how she… if she…

Arcee didn't know how to reassure him, feeling similarly upset over the situation- no one in the room was unaffected by it. Not even Miko, though she was trying to lighten things up in her own way. Arcee shook her helm and focused back on the screen. "You look older Jack." She noted aloud, trying to change the subject.

He did. Older than he was right now.

( "Did I watch that right or did that tiny human manage to kill one of the- whatever the frag that was?" An ex-wrecker questioned aloud.

"She shoved her arm and weapon right through the mouth, unorthodox yet effective. Unfortunately not without its demerits." A warlord muttered to himself. He had to admit, even he was hesitant to do such a thing. He would give credit where credit was due, the human female was brave- reckless, yet brave. Organic as she was, she died a death he would not disrespect. The creature, however, was familiar, he tried to scour his memories for why it seemed familiar and where… )

[ Jack groaned, getting up from the bed, pressing a hand against his eyelids and sitting at the edge. He looked around the room, it was modest. Small almost. Militaristic but a little personalized with a few knickknacks and items around the small area.

Beep! Beep!

He heard an alarm clock beep, and not long after, the sound of a pained groan and he quickly turned the alarm off. Standing up to look at the top bunk, a small lump hidden underneath a blanket.

"Raf? You good?"

The lump shifted, "… yeah…" Was the quiet reply.

Jack frowned then whispered low, "How bad is it today?"

"… need my headphones…"

"Full stop?"

"… halfway… shades too…"

"Got it bud." ]

Miko squinted at the screen, "Where are you two? Where am I?" She asked, a bit put out that it was showing both Jack and Raf- well, mostly Jack. Raf was hiding underneath a blanket. But why was Raf sleeping in a bunk bed with Jack in that room anyway?

.: What's wrong with you? Uh, no, other Raf? :. Bumblebee beeped sadly, not liking the sight of Raf being so… quiet and tired. Even without being seen, the boy seemed miserable hidden underneath the blanket on screen.

"Dunno Bee, I hope other me's alright."

Arcee tensed, optic ridges furrowing as she heard Jack speak. His voice…

[ Jack grabbed a pair of thick headphones from the desk beside their bunk bed, fiddling with it a bit before opening a drawer to grab a pair of shades as well. He placed them on the top bunk's bed before going over to a small bathroom that was attached to their bedroom.

The screen focused on Raf, who finally emerged from the blanket. He looked exhausted, bags underneath his eyes, complexion pale and hair a mess. He winced as he hears the door close, quickly grabbing the headphones to shove over his ears, he grabbed the shades but didn't put them on until he climbed down from the top bunk to get to the lightswitch.

He only turned on the lights after he put on the shades. ]

Raf tilted his head, "Huh, I think other me might be hypersensitive to sound and light."

"Or maybe he just wanna look cool first thing in the morning, it's okay Raf. I'd wanna look cool with headphones and shades too." Miko teased making the tween roll his eyes.

"No, look- I think those headphones are noise-canceling headphones, my cousin has a pair, they block out loud noises and stuff. And those shades are pretty tinted, he put them on before turning on the lights." Raf reasoned.

Ratchet frowned, "That would make sense… Rafael, do you require the same items for yourself?" He didn't like the way the younger- well, technically older, no, the other Raf on screen looking so… haggard.

Raf blinked at the question before shaking his head, "No, well, sometimes I am overwhelmed by stuff but not to the point of needing things like that." The medic gave a toneless hum, but made a mental note to keep an optic on him just in case.

( "Ugh, why are we watching the Autobot's pet humans? I thought this was about Alien Mecha or whatever the 'Key Words' were." A seeker grumbled.

"Considering in all three instances so far had these children on screen, perhaps it has to do with the fact they're the 'hosts' or 'users', whatever that orange mech said. What was his designaiton again? Ring? Rong?" A racer asked, confused.

"- My name is Rung -"

"Ah, thank you Soundwave." )

[ Jack stepped out of the bathroom, towel on his head and dressed in a modified military jumpsuit. "Bathroom's all yours Raf."

The young teen nodded at him before he went past Jack to enter the bathroom, closing the door behind him as Jack took a moment to sit down. Rifling underneath his shirt to grab a locket from underneath his shirt.

He took in a deep breath and clicked it open, an incomplete picture of a family was on one side of the locket. His expression was sorrowful as he looked at the faces of a woman, a young boy and a man- the man's face had been scratched away, barely recognizeable. The other side of the locket had an engraving, faint but barely readable. 'Till all are one - R' ]

Jack's breath hitched at the sight of the locket, at the expression his other, older self had on his face. Any hope for his mother in that universe had completely wiped away from that alone, And the sight of his father's scratched face didn't bode well for him at all.

"'Till all are one?'" Bulkhead read, optics narrowing at the engraving. "Hey, Optimus. Ain't that…" He trailed off, uneasy and unsure.

"What is it Bulk?" Miko asked, curious as to why he seemed so uneasy.

"… The phrase, 'Till all are one' is mainly a Cybertronian phrase. It is a promise, usually made before important battles." Ratchet said, just as uneasy and unsure at the fact that the other Jack had such a phrase engraved into that locket.

"Why does Jack have a Cybertronian promise engraved in his locket?" Raf asked pointblank, confused as the rest of them.

Throughout the entire thing, Optimus was silent. A strange feeling nagging at the back of his processor, but unable to recognize what or why he felt this way.

( The phrase is noted on a warship, general confusion as to why it was there but mostly swept aside. The phrase has always been more of an Autobot tradition during their war, but it was noted how strange it was that the human had it carved into a strange place. )

[ Jack spent a good minute looking at the locket, expression changing before he closed it. Tucking it back securely underneath his shirt.

The scene cuts to both Jack and Raf jogging lightly through the halls, dodging grown men and women in semi-familiar military uniforms. They were quick to arrive at a mess hall, the line was thankfully short, and there were plenty of tables to sit around. ]

Arcee squinted at the sight of the militiristic humans lingering around others, they looked familiar.

"What a fraggin' minute. Those are MECH agents!" Bulkhead blurted out in realization as he saw the human uniforms in proper lighting, recognizing their clothes from the time he rescued Breakdown. "Why're Jack and Raf with MECH?!"

"What? Why are we with MECH?" Jack blinked rapidly, wondering why he and Raf were with the organization that tried to nab a Decepticons and were definitely not Autobot-friendly. Hell, they were wearing modified MECH uniforms too!

( An ex-wrecker recognizes the uniforms as well, swearing heavily, "Those're the humans that nabbed me and my optic!" He hissed, his glare at the screen turned towards a chuckling spider-bot. )

"Wait, if Jack and Raf are there then I…" Miko trailed off, going silent as soon enough, her suspicions were proven correct.

[ A young woman with short hair sat down with Raf and Jack, the ends of her hair were faded pink. Her uniform was incomplete, her top jacket was tied around her waist to show off her well-toned arms. She grinned at them, though it seemed forced. "Mornin' guys!"

"Morning Miko." Jack greeted back with a nod.

"Morning." Raf mumbled tiredly from his cup of coffee. ]

"Dude! My hair!" Miko complained, wondering why her hair was so short, not to mention it clearly needed a touch up. Her signature pink was all faded! "Well, at least I grew up strong! Look at those muscles! Haha!" Also, giving it a second look- her hair didn't look too bad. She was really rocking the really short hair there.

"The question still stands as to why the children are with MECH in this universe." Ratchet muttered, frowning at the scene of the three on screen. They had grown up, they were together, and yet he couldn't help but notice that something was off about them.

Not just because they were with the strange yet malicious human organization that had tried to bomb them using Breakdown's optic as bait.

.: Maybe… Maybe MECH isn't that bad in this universe? They might be on our side there. :. Bumblebee hesitantly offered, though it was clear he wasn't entirely onboard with his own suggestion. He was very worried over why Raf seemed exhausted.

[ "Sensitive?" Miko squinted, noticing the headphones and shades. "How much we talkin', quarter? Half? Full?"

"Half." Jack answered for Raf who was too busy drinking coffee to do so.

Miko whistled, "Plus shades? Man, Doc Shock must've been hard on you yesterday then."

Raf set down his cup and sighed, "Please don't call the Doctor that, he doesn't like it. At least just call him with his actual callsign."

Miko snorted, "I'll call him whatever I damn please, but you know what? I'll call him by his full callsign when he pilots a mecha again. Pfft, who wants to quit piloting to become a scientist?" She scoffs, tossing food into her mouth with a grunt.

"Shockwave, that's who." Jack answered in a deadpan, "And he's not just a scientist, he's Head of the whole science division and main engineer for our mecha." ]

"SHOCKWAVE?!" All three kids covered their ears from the loud shouts from the Autobots,

( Similar shouts of "SHOCKWAVE!?" came, mostly from a panicked seeker. )

Jack waved his arms, "Woah, woah, woah! Time out! Pause!" He exclaimed, not just to gain the attention of the bots, but also pause the screen as it was still going while most of the Autobots were talking over each other, the most upset he's seen them in a while since this all started. "What is going on with you guys? Who's Shockwave?"

"Shockwave?! Near the kids!? WITH MECH!? Ex-fragging-cuse me?!"

.: Raf was with Shockwave?! Why?! Oh Primus, what happened?! What did he do to Raf?! :.

"Those kids gotta get out of there! Pronto!"

"A monster, that's who." Arcee spat, frame trembling at the very thought of the cycloptic mech.

"We talking literal monster, or—" Miko was sternly interrupted by Ratchet, "He's a monster in every way that counts. Shockwave is a mad scientist, emotionless and psychotic. He's infamous for his sparkless experiments throughout the history of our war. He has no morals, no limits he won't cross, if given the chance he would experiment on his fellow Decepticons." He said grimly with a tight, furious expression.

Raf swallowed, now looking very nervous. "So the fact that I'm doing- something with him is…"

"Worrying." Optimus finally spoke, his expression grim before he gave them all a reassuring look. "However, we must keep in mind what Rung told us earlier on. This Shockwave is already different from the one we know, he is working with the humans, with MECH, we do not know what he is capable of. The same goes with MECH, we do not know what they are in this universe. Until further information is gained, we must remain calm."

"Easier said than done!" Bulkhead exclaimed, servos clamping over his arms, giving worrying looks to both sets of kids, on and off screen. "MECH's bad, Shockwave's worse! But with both…"

Jack sighed, apprehensive but determined, "Hey, Optimus is right. We have no idea what's going on, but there's only one way to find out… We good on continuing?" He waited, watching everyone nod in agreement after some time. "Alright, uh, Observer. Continue!"

[ "Yeah yeah…" Miko huffed, "Just… You good Raf? Whatever he's working on, you've been sitting out of spars more and more. Tired as hell with your sensitivity-shit either half-way or full on. That doesn't really happen unless you've been clocked in your mecha for more than eight hours or something."

Raf gave her a weak smile, adjusting his shades and headphones self-consciously. "It's fine, I'm fine. Doctor Shockwave just has a new invention that'll change our fights, hopefully. He needs my help since I'm the only Rescue-class pilot with a way above average sensitivity, compatibility and a high enough IQ to keep up. At the rate we're going, we might have a new class on our hands."

Jack and Miko gave him impressed yet worried looks, "No shit? New class? Got a name for it already? How's it going to help with the fights?" Miko asked a bit excitedly.

"Nothing official yet, we're in the mid-stages and MECH wants big results before we try to present it to everyone else. As for how it'll help…" Raf hesitated and shrugged, "Sorry, but I can't really say right now." ]

"They keep saying those words. 'Pilot', 'Mecha'." Ratchet mumbled, faceplate thoughtful. "Just what does it entail? From those words alone I would think… is it possible…?" He shared a look with Optimus who looked troubled.

A sharp, happy squeal gained their attention as Miko was suddenly on her feet, wide-eyed with a starry grin on her face. "No way, no way! NO WAY!"

"Woah Miko! Calm down! What's got you so excited?" Bulkhead asked, confused by the sudden spike of excitement from his charge.

Miko pointed at the still going screen, "Dudes! Dudes! How can you not figure it out already?!" She demanded before abruptly shaking her head, "No, no! No, I'm cool. Just- wait, watch! WATCH!" She pointed back towards the screen, urging them to keep watching.

[ Alarms suddenly blare and the three of them share a disgruntled look, Raf adjsuting his headphones with gritted teeth. "Well, at least we got to eat some of our breakfast." Was all Jack said before all three of them were rushing off of the table. It was a rush of movement from everyone around them.

<CALLSIGNS: TAILBREAKER, WRECKER, SENSCRIPT YOU ARE BEING CALLED FOR DUTY. I REPEAT, TAILBREAKER, WRECKER, SENSCRIPT YOU ARE BEING CALLED FOR DUTY.>

"All three of us? Together? Must be big!" Miko exclaimed with a near-feral grin.

"Less talking, more running!" Jack barked at her.

Jack, Miko and Raf were sprinting down the hall, many got out of their way to let them through- there were shouts, orders and more in the air as the three of them were rushed into two separate changing rooms. ]

Arcee recoiled, first other Jack's voice seemed so much like- now that name came up—

.: Arcee? Are you okay? :. Bumblebee asked, breaking her out of her spiraling thoughts.

The femme took in a deep invent, shaking her helm and giving her fellow warrior-scout a reassuring smile. "Y-Yeah, I'm… I'm good, Bee. Don't worry about it." Despite her words, the yellow mech still gave her a concerned look in his optic.

They both spied Miko practically vibrating in place on the couch, excitedly looking at the screen and shushing Jack whenever he tried to ask her if she was okay or what was up.

( "Wrecker?" An ex-wrecker muttered confusedly, unknowingly mirroring a certain other ex-wrecker in Omega Outpost One. )

[ The scene cut to a familiar man with a scar running over his nose bridge, he stood in a control room, a pulsing map on the giant screen before him. "Pilot status?" He asked aloud, a nearby woman manning a control panel answered him.

"Gearing up sir, ten minutes max till deployment."

"Make it eight, these readings are uncomfortably close to our base. The last thing we need are the XTRs gunning for us." ]

"Silas." Optimus murmured uneasily, frowning at the sight of the man.

( "That puny little— next time I see him, I'll smash him to bits!"

A spiderbot laughed, "Do you need a hand with that, Breakdown? Or sorry, an optic?"

"Enough! Both of you, silence!" A warlord commanded, glaring at the bristling cons who were quick to back down and mutter 'Yes, Lord Megatron' soon afterwards. )

[ "Shockwave." Silas addressed a man who stood by a giant window, overseeing what looked about to be five gigantic robots. Each varying in size and color, though only three were being surrounded by people and worked on. "Is it ready?"

"It is abrupt, calculations may be off if we attempt to do a live-testing so soon." Shockwave, a man wearing a dark-purple labcoat and a full-faced red-tinted visor said. His voice was slightly modulated, artificial, but mostly toneless. "But yes, it is ready. Senscript is ready." ]

Everyone did a doubletake at the sight of 'Shockwave'. The Autobots nearly fell off their chairs!

( On a warship, multiple Decepticons almost stumbled in place. A cacophany of noise at the sight of their mad scientist Con turned human. )

"Wha- I thought this 'Shockwave' guy was a bot! Er- cybertronian? Like you guys!" Miko exclaimed, her previous excitement temporarily displaced by the sight of the admittedly menacing man that stood on screen.

"He is! He's- Shockwave's a cybertronian… here." Ratchet said, realization kicking in as he remembered this was a different universe. "However, it seems that, in that universe, he is not."

"Sweet Primus! Human Shockwave? I don't know whether to be relieved or scared scrapless!" Bulkhead gawped, torn over the fact that the infamous mech was human in that universe.

"I-Is it a good thing or a bad thing that Shockwave is human there?" Raf dared to ask, nervously rubbing his arm.

"I don't know Rafael," Ratchet answered with a tense frown, "I don't know."

.: I don't like him. :. Bumblebee's frame was tense, servos clenched on his lap. .: He did something to Raf, to- 'Senscript' and now he and Silas need Raf to do something. I don't like it. :.

[ "Then let the live-testing begin. Get those pilots out there and subdue the commanding XTR." Silas commanded. "Deploy as soon as possible."

Miko stepped onto a platform, dressed in a thick, dark pink protective jumpsuit. MN-00 was stamped in white across her back. She put on a thick visored helmet, securing it on her head. The platform rose towards a towering, tank of a robot with thick metal plating and dark red painted on gunmetal black. It was the biggest mecha within the gigantic hanger, needing two separate support structures to keep it aloft.

Jack stepped on a similar platform, dressed in the same dark, thick protective jumpsuit- only it was in a deep blue. JD- 05 was stamped across his back. He was securing the same visored helmet on his head. The platform took him to a thinner, shorter mecha- at least compared to Miko's mecha. It just needed one support structure. Its plating was dark blue on grey.

Raf was on the last platform, also dressed in a jumpsuit, his was a smooth red-orange. RE-13 was on his back. His helmet was secured, and a little different. Much thicker compared to Jack and Miko's helmets, it covered part of his neck as well. His mecha was the smallest of the two, half the size of Jack's mecha but surprisingly widely built. Its plating was red-orange on light grey, with a medical cross painted over the chest and shoulders. ]

Miko's confusion over Shockwave was instantly gone as she grabbed Jack and shook him rapidly. "I KNEW IT! I knew it- pilots? Mecha? WE'RE PILOTING GIANT ROBOTS! LIKE ACTUAL GIANT ROBOTS! LIKE GUNDAM!" She squealed, ecstatic beyond belief.

"That's… woah." Jack blinked, a bit speechless as he watched himself step into chest cavity of the giant robot-mecha. He thinks the mecha was as tall as Optimus, maybe a bit taller. Hell, Miko's mecha was ginormous!

Raf tilted his head, looking at the red medical crosses on 'his' mecha, remembering what his other self said earlier. "Rescue-class…" He muttered to himself, brows furrowing in thought. "Sensitivity…"

Arcee didn't know what to say, how to react- the fact the kids in that universe, although they were older, were getting into what looked to be sparkless bodies of Cybertronians— no, they were human built mecha. Not… Not cybertronians, still, looking at these things was… disturbing.

Their visored heads just reminded her of empurata victims, faceless. Miko's mecha didn't even have full-five digits, just three, clearly created to smash into things. Raf's mecha was thickly built but smalll, the color scheme and that symbol seemed like he was a support type of mecha, didn't he say something about rescue earlier? And Jack's mecha… the colors, the designation were so close to Tailgate's that it made her spark hurt. But he didn't have the same frame as Tailgate, his legs were built different, digitigrade and clearly for speed.

( "… Okay, I think I know where this is going." A red speedster deadpanned, hiding how uncomfortable he was at seeing the mecha. It was uncanny really, how Cybertronian-like they were yet weren't. )

[ Miko sat in her cockpit, strapping herself into the seat. She grinned, "Callsign: Wrecker, clocking in!" From behind, her helmet shifted, opening a segment to a previously unseen part of her neck. previously hidden underneath her hair. Two ports. As she sat back, the seat's head opened to reveal two wires which automatically plugged themselves into Miko's neck. She gritted her teeth, her grin turning feral. "Syncronization, plug in complete!" Her mecha whirred to life, steam escaping the wires and connectors to the support structures as they disconnected from her. ]

The teenage girl's excitement faltered, but only for a moment just to wince at the phantom pain she felt at the sight of the wires stabbing themselves into her neck. "Oh weird! Why'd they have to do that? Gundam didn't have that!" She complained, rubbing her neck with a shiver.

Ratchet was muttering to himself, already theorizing on what was going on- yet his mutterings were put to a stop when he noticed how tense and disapproving Optimus looked. "… Optimus?"

The Prime didn't look at him, merely watched as Jack and Raf came in next.

[ "Callsign: Tailbreaker, clocking in." A similar sequence followed, his helmet shifting behind him to allow the wires to plug themselves into his two ports. Jack gritted his teeth, fingers digging into his arm rest before they relaxed. "Syncronization, plug in complete." His mecha hissed as he was released from the supports as well.

Raf's clock in was a bit different, he sat in his cockpit, strapped in. "Callsign: Senscript, clocking in." He took in a deep breath, his helmet shifted open, revealing not two, but five ports along his neck. He let out a pained yelp as five wires dug into each port. "S-Syncronization. Plug in complete." ]

"Wait, why does Raf have five ports instead of two like Miko and I?" Jack asked, frowning at the sight of the young boy- well, teen now in the screen, yelping in pain.

"That's a lot of ports." Miko agreed, frowning, her excitement dimming slightly from how uncomfortable on-screen Raf looked with five wires plugged into his neck like that.

.: That doesn't look comfortable. :. Bumblebee said unhappily, worried for his human charge's counterpart. He looked over to see Raf shivering, rubbing at the back of his neck with a deeply uncomfortable look. .: Shockwave must have done something. :.

"The question is, what." Arcee muttered, "He and Silas are up to something."

( "If only Shockwave was here, perhaps he could give some insight of what's happening." A seeker wilted over the pointed, displeased look his warlord leader gave him. "Even though his counterpart is human there, I'd imagine he would've had an inkling to his counterpart's thought process regardless… It's truly a shame that he died on Cybertron."

A seeker gulped nervously, "Hahaha… i-indeed..." )

[ "Pilots lock in; XTRs appeared south-west to MECH base. Deploy in T-minus 2 minutes, your orders are as follows; deal with all the grunt XTRs and subdue the commander." Silas' voice came into the mecha's comm-system. Each of them standing at the entrance of the hangar.

"Pilot Senscript is crucial to this mission, not a scratch is to be on him. Senscript hang back as Tailbreaker and Wrecker deal with the chaff and get the commander subdued for your main objective."

Shockwave's voice came, making all three of them tense. "Your main objective is to live-test my invention. Senscript, just as we practiced and tested. Ensure a link is possible with the cortical psychic patch and download or scribe whatever data you find within the XTR commander's processing unit. Operation: Patch-Link will now begin. Do not fail me."

Silas interrupted, sounding irritated. "Do not fail MECH. Deploy, now."

All three pilots let out a unified 'Yes sir!' as the hanger doors opened, letting them deploy out of the base and towards the 'XTRs'. ]

"Cortical Psychic Patch?!" Both Ratchet and Arcee shouted, causing all three humans to wince. Bumblebee flinched at the mention of it, whirring lowly to himself in a low, wordless beep.

"I knew it! I knew it, no Shockwave is good! Cybertronian or otherwise!" Arcee snarled, her helm spiking in pain from years ago- the ache of the patch going in, of Shockwave rummaging through her memories… Not to mention not too long ago.

"Pause! Cortical- y-you mean that thing that let Megatron into Bee's mind? Back when Optimus was sick with the cybonic plague?" Raf gasped, looking sick to his stomach as he remembered what happened. Bee had heroically went into a comatose Megatron's mind to retrieve the cure, but Megatron had managed to hitch a ride back, controlling his friend and returning to his original body afterwards.

It had been a mess, and caused more than a few nightmares.

"Ugh, thinking about it, the kids plugging into their mechas is reminding me of that." Bulkhead muttered aloud, wincing when he sees Raf pale even more as well as the disturbed looks from his fellow Autobots. "Uh…"

.: Wait, i-if Shockwave wants Raf- er, Senscript? To use a cortical psychich patch… just what, or who, is he patching into? :. Bumblebee asked, focusing back on the screen with great apprehension.

"He… wanted him to patch into something called an XTR… do you think- back at the start, were those…?" Jack hesitantly theorized with a distressed look on his face.

Miko didn't hesitate, "Observer! Continue!"

This universe was definitely different from the other two they'd last watched…

[ ----- TFP: UO -----]

THIS TOOK... 6.4k WORDS... that is the LONGEST chapter in this story so far. and originally i wanted to end SOMEWHERE ELSE but that would've taken WAY LONGER!

i certainly hope you guys enjoyed because this was fun! and it's just going to get better! also please don't mind the mecha descriptions, i suck at those currently. hoping to get better at those at some point. but just know, i gave miko the biggest, baddest mecha (with a surprise for later), jack a strong but slimmer mecha built for speed (with a surprise, for later but from jack himself) and raf a nice support mecha which is smaller, thicker (and yes, he also has a surprise for later. next chapter even!)

also! did you know... jack and tailgate have the same voice actor?? i had fun knowing that! and now so does arcee! kind of! she is getting SO MUCH TAILGATE VIBES from Mecha Au Jack, especially when Jack's in his mecha and using his callsign of Tailbreaker. hehehehehe this'll be very fun.

also also! did i just kill june in mecha jack's backstory? yes. i did. we move on!

thank you all for supporting me and the story, i'll see you all next chapter!

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[ssa-dado]

MY ITALIAN MOM & “HOTCH NEVER FUCKS”: a case study

(Rant + I need your help)

- TESTIMONY REPORT

Last year, my mom and I decided to watch Criminal Minds together. Based on some promotional photos, I thought she’d thirst over Hotch as much as I did. But after 10 episodes of absolutely zero interest on her part, we switched to another show (this is what happens in my household - if the woman doesn't thirst over a man after 10 eps, we switch the show). Recently, I was rewatching an episode on my own when she wandered in and was shocked to find out that I liked Hotch.

“HOTCH? Really? I thought you liked the Broomstick!”

For those needing clarification, she was referring to none other than Dr. Spencer Reid. Yes, Reid. The Broomstick.

“…How can you like him? This guy never fucks. He’s too serious!”

Since then, every time I mention Aaron Hotchner, she hits me with some variation of “he never fucks.”

Naturally, I defended him, valiantly, into the trenches. But my mom, a visual learner, demanded proof.

“Is there an episode where he actually fucks? Or at least where he’s naked?”

And so, I did what any devoted fan would do: I cued up "the fisher king pt1" Because that’s as close as Hotch gets to “fucking” on screen. Plus, there’s that one 30-second-long nipple scene in dim lighting that since 2005 (?) has been the holy grail of Hotch thirst content.

I thought it would win her over. It didn’t.

We watched Part 2, and after 40 minutes of me pointing out all of Hotch’s deliciously Hotch moments (evidence below) she hits me with:

“He goes there because at home, he doesn’t fuck.” (“There” being Elle’s apartment to clean up her blood.)

The audacity (S3 Rossi kind of sass), and she asked me:

“Is there an episode where he shows his shoulders? His legs?”

I immediately pulled out the iconic Hotch Marathon™ scene in less than a second. Her only comment?

“He has no ass.”

I mean, yes... but he has an athletic ass #justiceforflatasses

“And skinny legs.”

Supermodel legs.

Still, I counted it as a win when she deflected my comments about his broad shoulders and arms and the fact he has body hair (she a fond appreciation for hairy men), but then she hit me with:

“He’s skinny.”

That’s peak S7 Hotch appeal, so I pivoted, pulling out the dad bod Hotch content™ (S10Ep20). That tight shirt. The one that’s this close to bursting. BOOBIES. ARMS. MUSCLES. BOOBIES. GUCCI TIE. BOOBIES. AND MORE BOOBIES.

We watched the entire episode because she got invested in the case, but at the end, her verdict?

“So, where was the hotness? These aren’t even tight shirts. You can’t see anything, not even a dick outline.”

... GIRL ...

(I was three seconds away from showing her The Gif™ from Love and Human Remains, but I restrained myself)

- THIRSTY HOTCH DATABASE

Which brings me here, Hotch humans. I need your help. I’m building a Thirsty Hotch Database™ to convert my mom (and for personal research reasons too)

What are the hottest Hotch moments I could show her? Episodes, scenes, gifs, pics, anything.

(Mind you, she admitted Thomas Gibson is a handsome man but insists Hotch “has no sex appeal because he never fucks.”)

I refuse to let Hotch’s honor be dragged through the mud like this. Also, I’m genuinely curious about your picks for Hotch’s hottest moments. (Are you creeps like me who find the scene where he passes out in the ER in S4Ep01 oddly attractive, or are you normal people?)

Please reach out however you’d like - DMs, asks, comments, tags, reblog this, carrier pigeon - I’ll take any leads.

And if you’re interested, I’ll keep you updated on The Case of Hotch vs. My Mom.

OPTIONAL BACKGROUND MATERIAL:

- THE PROFILES

Unsub #1: 52, female, Italian, loves crime shows, self-proclaimed connoisseur of “male bums.” After thirsting over Bridgerton’s Duke, she now binges no-ad TV shows during family dinners. Builds harems of fictional men, only continues shows if at least one character is “thirst-worthy.”

Unsub #2: 22, demisexual (that’s me). Crime show addict, inherited taste from Unsub #1. Chooses shows based on cast thirst-potential, only to end up sexualizing Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and dedicating a Tumblr to his idolization.

- VICTIMOLOGY

The victims: Any tall conventionally attractive middle-aged man with broad shoulders, hairy (but no facial hair), an athletic or dad-bod build, and, preferably, a “fat bum.”

Please, for the love of Hotch (and justice for flat asses), help me win this case. You are my last hope.

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus Index.

Rated: Explicit. Pairing: Yan Blade x F Reader.

See each chapter for individual warnings.

You belong to a specialized group — the Arbiters — who are capable of influencing others' perceptions. Your clients hail from all corners of the universe to see their wildest fantasies come true. By establishing a link with them, they can experience a dreamscape of their choosing, more convincing than the latest developments in augmented reality.

You have received many unique requests throughout the years. After the Stellaron Hunter's swordsman saves you from an early demise, you offer him the chance to experience any phantasia of his choosing. It is then that you're posed with a trying challenge:

"Show me what it's like to die."

CHAPTER ONE / A Miserable Cycle

CHAPTER TWO / The Prison Planet

CHAPTER THREE / Get Well Soon

CHAPTER FOUR / Name Your Price

CHAPTER FIVE / The Poor, The Wretched, The Damned

EPILOGUE

Misc:

ao3 link. Nexus database (terminology list). Nexus character database. Perianth II outline. Trivia.

Art:

Nona

[amyoffline]

In Defense of the Phandom (Mostly): Dan, Phil, and Our Parasocial Social Club

Refer to my previous pinned post for an explanation of and outline for this project. Now that I'm done going through my old reblogs (god, it took forever), it's time to actually research and write this script! This will be my pinned post for the foreseeable future, so you can come back to it by clicking on my blog for the current status of this part of the process. (Note from February 15 - everything is on hold for now while I wrap up my dissertation!)

Script word count: 2,350 | Last updated: January 9, 2025

Research

Peer-reviewed or published literature: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Social media, forum archives, and fanwork: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ The great rewatch: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Discussions with other phannies (hey! that could be you, if you want!): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

Writing

Introduction, background, and conclusion sections: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2009-2013: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2014-2018: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2019-2025: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSIs/PSRs): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Editing: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

More details below the cut!

Research → peer reviewed or published literature:

I read a few things (like Haidt's The Anxious Generation) while I was in the process of searching academic databases, but most of the 403 works I have saved to Zotero for this are currently unread. They're not all the same length or will take the same amount of time to read, so the completion proportion is just getting updated based on vibes. I'm absolutely not referencing all 403 of these things in the script - I just cast a wide net for materials I thought might be relevant. Furthermore, there are some things I didn't save that I know I'll be referencing, like some of the Pew Research Center's work in the early to mid 2010s on teenagers and technology, or the journalistic coverage of what got my school district in huge trouble in 2011.

Research → Social media and forum archives:

The collection of posts, art, and fic (other than mine) to reference in the video. For regular posts and art, especially by people who have long since abandoned their accounts or whose content went pretty viral, I feel comfortable just showing things in the video with credit as examples. For fic, I intend to just discuss trends more broadly and vaguely since, as a fic writer myself, I know we tend to get more flack and less acclaim for our work and therefore prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Let me know if you think I should handle this differently - the academic impulse is to credit sources and reproducible searches for every single thing you do, but that's definitely not best practice for phandom history since we have so much "forbidden" lore. I'll also be reading the IDB forum front-to-back, listening to things like the phandom podcast, reading the current generation of phanzines, and looking at recent (and historical, if anyone has any) surveys done of phannies within the community. I'm assuming those folks would appreciate credit and/or a shoutout.

Research → The great rewatch:

Rewatching everything DNP-related so I can talk about it from more recent memory (and read what's left of the original comments for DNP videos that are still up at their original locations). I know there's a playlist for this but I also know it's incomplete, so I have been doing some poking around myself and will probably continue to.

Research → Discussions with other phannies:

I read a few things (like Haidt's The Anxious Generation) while I was in the process of searching academic databases, but most of the 403 works I have saved to Zotero for this are currently unread. They're not all the same length or will take the same amount of time to read, so the completion proportion is just getting updated based on vibes. I'm absolutely not referencing all 403 of these things in the script - I just cast a wide net for materials I thought might be relevant. Furthermore, there are some things I didn't save that I know I'll be referencing, like some of the Pew Research Center's work in the early to mid 2010s on teenagers and technology, or the journalistic coverage of what got my school district in huge trouble in 2011. The first task is to sort that whole Zotero collection into more manageable sub-collections (on PSR on PSIs, on mental health, on YouTube platform history, etc), which is what I'm currently working on.

Writing → Introduction, background, and conclusion sections

See old pinned post for the outline. Will expand details here once research is mostly done (I plan to read and watch everything in the research section aside from talking to other phannies, then complete the script's rough draft, then talk to others on call, then integrate that with and finalize the script).

Writing → 2009-2013

See above.

Writing → 2014-2018

See above.

Writing → 2019-2025

See above.

Writing → Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSRs/PSIs)

See above. These tangents are kind of mini video essays in and olf themselves, so I may write them while I'm reading through my saved stuff in Zotero and before I rewatch all the DNP videos.

[esote-rika]

Once Upon a Dream | Spencer Reid

iv. i sleep so i can see you, or S.R. entries 5-8 | prev chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

September 12, 20—

Attached to this entry are a photocopied version of my results from my neurologist, the MRI scans and my therapist's recommended readings. I shall have to go through them soon, but it seems that the conclusion could be summed up into one line: 

My brain has sustained trauma

Both external, physical trauma from the bomb explosion, and the internal, psychological trauma of going through such an experience—and, truthfully, every other experience I've gone through in my years of being with the BAU. I've always thought I was good at compartmentalizing, and after fifteen years in service, I would be doing it so easily. Age meant experience, after all, and more experience meant more practice.

Unfortunately, that seems like it isn't the case for me right now. Perhaps there's nowhere else to compartmentalize in my head, and the trauma's catching up to me. My therapist told me not to think that way, and I know that's not logical, but at this point, nothing is really logical.

The dreams continue. I still cannot see her face, not clearly. Just the vague outline of her eyes, the rosebud mouth. And the hair. Long and abundant. Something about it made me itch to run my fingers through the strands, and she'd let me sometimes. I remember every single thing she had told me, most of which I have also disclosed on the next page. 

My therapist said to try to engage with the woman, that perhaps it will help me resolve any past issues with Maeve.

The problem was, it's not Maeve. She said it herself. She laughed when I called her Maeve. But then if she wasn't Maeve, then who was she? 

I am tempted to ask Garcia to do a search on her, but what am I even going to ask? “Hey, do you mind looking through our database to find this girl I've been dreaming about?” They'll think I've gone completely delusional…

Is that it? Is this schizophrenia rearing its ugly head? But, no, no, it can't be. The results from my scans are all here. It's not early onset schizophrenia, it's just… her.

This is a frustrating experience. I have scoured my collection for every book on dreams I have, as well as checked out the libraries nearby. I've requested to borrow their books as well. Everything from psychoanalysis to scholarly takes on divination and astrology. I cannot let a stone go unturned, as they say. 

I will find out who she is, one way or another.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: * the next page ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Facts about her:

she dislikes the Pevear and Volokhonsky translations of Tolstoy (I made sure to recite the Maude translation for her, even though I'm not sure she really noticed the difference without a copy of the book. I had an irrational desire to impress her, and that seemed to do the trick.)

she’s always dressed in pastel colors, but her favorite color is maroon

her hair is dyed, although she does it herself and never goes to a hairdresser (she says it’s dry and never allows me to touch it)

she works in a law firm. she wouldn't tell me if she's a practicing lawyer. I've told her I work in law enforcement, but kept it vague as well.

her favorite novel is Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude (we spent quite a few nights discussing this)

Perhaps next time, I can work up the courage and ask for her name.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

September 15, 20–

Freud has extensively written about dreams - manifest and latent, the remembered and the symbolic. Different meanings for both things. My manifest dreams have always been easy to decipher, because I remember everything, thus I have never really had to examine them. I remember them because of my eidetic memory, that's easy enough to explain.

I still have my eidetic memory.

But I'm having trouble remembering her. 

She's hazy now. I don't understand. Before, I just couldn't see her face, but she… she felt corporeal. I could touch her, hear the rich quality of her voice. Now, she's completely blurry, as if I'm viewing her through water, the flowing quality distorting her until she's nearly incomprehensible. It is harder to reach for her too, as if there's something physically separating us, I feel as though I'm looking through a glass aquarium.

Who is trapped in the aquarium in this analogy - she or I? I am not even sure why I mentioned that. I am just so baffled by the turn of events. We had been getting… I realize this sounds concerning. I’m freaking out over the loss of a dream girl - a literal one, in this case. Scholars have studied that too, that sense of loss one gets when they wake up from a dream. Of the brain being unable to decipher what is fictional and what is not.

It should be wrong to mourn for someone you've never truly even met but…

Well, I suppose I have a pattern. My coworkers would have a field day over this, which is why I simply cannot enlist their help. At least with Maeve, she had been real. I knew her name, knew she worked as a geneticist. At least our conversations had happened while we were both conscious.

But this? 

She could be a figment of my imagination, for all I know. (But she is not. She isn't. I just know it, I just  can't explain why - which circles back to my frustration. There's so much I can't explain. Why am I having a difficult time remembering my dreams now? Why is she suddenly so much more ghost-like when she seemed so real only a few days ago?

Why do I even care?

Science would be a logical response. I care because at my core, I am an academic, and this is a scientific anomaly. If I can find a reason to explain this, it would be quite a great feat and dream research has been flimsy at most, downright fraudulent at best. But aren't I also the same person who loves magic? Who believes that science and magic can go hand in hand - perhaps that's the course I should take with my readings. Intersections between science and magic.

But all of those explanations are null; in my heart of hearts I know why I care so much - because somehow, in those dreams that blur the lines between reality and fantasy, I've foolishly grown to care about her too.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

September 19, 20–

I have gone through every book I could get my hands on regarding this topic. I've stopped telling my therapist about it as well, because she's begun to grow suspicious and concerned over my behavior. Certainly, from afar, her concern isn't entirely unfounded. I realize I've been acting rather obsessively over this… what even is it? A dream? A hallucination? 

I've begun reading about lucid dreaming, which seems to be the logical explanation for this, for the woman I keep seeing even though the settings are different and I never encounter anyone else. But it adds up; I have never done any of the prior preparations in order to lucid dream, but I suppose the brain injury is exacerbating that. 

So I've been lucid dreaming. That's an easy enough pill to swallow. It also does make me feel hopeful, because… well, maybe she's a lucid dreamer too. According to the books, it's possible to encounter other lucid dreamers when one does this consciously. (Some books also claim that these might just be apparitions, or malevolent beings trying to pull me under their spell, so I must take this with a grain of salt). 

Still, this theory makes the most sense. She's another lucid dreamer. And that means… She's real. She's somewhere out there. And I'm going to find her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

September 20, 20–

I cannot understand why she keeps fluttering in and out of my dreams now. I will admit, it's driving me up the wall. The books say sometimes, dreamers will move onto another place, but she's… she's still there. Just not like she used to. Is she actually a ghost? Is my lucid dreaming theory completely wrong, and I'm actually seeing a ghost, who's now perhaps in the process of crossing over?

I cannot dwell on it too much, the team has been called on a case, we're traveling to Massachusetts in an hour. I don't enjoy writing the details of my cases in this journal, because I do keep a separate one for that, but it's a surprising case. No real MO, but the victims are all regular patrons of a coffee shop. The earliest victim died nearly two months ago, but the local PD only now recognized the pattern, and asked for our help.

Normally, I would have no issue doing some reading on the side while we're on an active case. However, as much as I want to do that, I know my colleagues will notice if I'm distracted. And ask questions. Tara especially likes to ask about what I'm reading, and I cannot risk slipping up. And so, I shall leave this journal behind as well. I don't want my team finding it by mistake.

I have to write before I forget, and unfortunately this table napkin is the only place I can spare right now. I fell asleep on the jet, like I normally do. And she - I saw her. I saw her, in full detail. Her heart shaped face. She holds her lips in a way that's pulled down as if she's forever frowning in sadness. It makes her cheeks dimple. She must know that. Brown eyes, blonde -

This is an update for @prettylittlewrites and her alone (jk if u wanna be added to the tag list let me know) also this was so late, lovely I'm sorry. His journal entries actually give me so much anxiety I started this months ago and I feel like I haven't captured his voice that well but whateverrrrr

[writingquestionsanswered]

Outlining Plot for Film School Application

Anonymous asked: I love stories and am applying to film school in a few months, but I struggle with understanding how stories work, as well as with outlining a plot, which is required for the application. I need to learn how to do it quickly and effectively, especially since I don't have a portfolio to strengthen my chances of getting accepted. Is there a workshop or network that focuses on story comprehension and development, rather than actual writing, that is beginner friendly?

[Ask edited for length]

A couple of recommendations:

-- Save the Cat! The Last Book on Screenwriting You'll Ever Need by Blake Snyder is a screen writing book that comes highly recommended. And, as a big fan of the the novel-writing version by Jessica Brody (Save the Cat! Writes a Novel), I can tell you it's about as comprehensive and is usually considered to be great for beginners.

-- The Helping Writers Become Authors web site, by author K.M. Weiland, has a huge story structure database that analyzes the structure of popular books, but also movies. Each story is broken down into its critical plot points: inciting incident, first plot point, first pinch point, midpoint, second pinch point, third plot point, climax, climactic moment, and resolution. The summaries are brief, to the point, and very helpful.

-- YouTube is an incredible resource for when you need to learn a lot in a short amount of time. While I don't have any particular videos to point you toward, I promise if you search "how to plot a movie" or "how to outline a movie plot" you will find a ton of videos, and you should be able to find some that resonate with you.

That's all I've got, but keep an eye on the comments in case others have suggestions!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello ( ￣▽￣) , me again, but i was wondering if you use a writing program? and, if so, which one do you like/recommend? I've been using Google docs on my phone cuz I don't really have access to a computer/laptop, and it's a pian in the ass trying to organize that shit lol

Have a Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious~🎵 day❤️❤️❤️

Hello again 👋

I have tried a lot of writing programs, but I always go back to Google Docs. I have a computer, it's not a laptop but one of the big computers that rest at your desk, so I can't really bring it with me everywhere. Google Docs is just the most comfortable to me to write on my phone while I'm on the go, and then open the same doc on my computer to edit it properly. (I wrote on my phone a lot while using public transportation to and from work, so I get it. Though Docs starts struggling when you pass the 30k words mark on a single doc in the phone version. It's why I tend to split up my writing docs).

Also, it's what my beta finds easiest to use when working on the same doc as me (their edit mood and how they save editing history is really good for collaborating and knowing what changed, by who, and when). I wish there was a better app for it since I'm not a huge fan of docs, but all the ones I tried lacked features I consider essential or weren't as friendly to use.

As for organization? Well, I'm a fan of making a lot of folders and sub-folders. I have this crazy folder tree split into original writing and fanfic, then fanfic is split into fandoms and within the HP fandom folder it's divided into ships or central theme (I have a few Gen ones there) and within each ship there are ganere sub-folders (like "time travel" or "soul mate au" or anything else) It really depends on the folder what I use as the sorting system. In my nottpott folder, for example, almost all the fics are light canon divergence so I divide them by the year the story starts in ("3rd year", "4th year", "5th year", "AU")

That's my organization method for the writing itself, but I don't do most of the planning/organizing on Google Docs. Like, I have a few placeholders in the doc I'm writing in to give me a general direction while writing, but outlining, character docs, and worldbuilding I write in Notion.

I don't know if you're familiar, but the basic plan is free (both the phone and computer versions, and all edits are synced up across platforms), and it's so useful for organizing. You can make pages really pretty there, and the databases are really useful for searching information you already wrote for yourself. I never really needed anything outside the free version, as the free plan allows you to make plenty of workspaces with as many pages as you want as long as you don't share them.

Here are some examples of what's going on in my HP notion intended to help my fic writing (and meta, a bit). It's mostly lists of stuff I like to be able to find quickly and easily filterable & searchable databases:

I do outlining and plot planning on Notion too. It's just not pictured because of spoilers.

I also have a notion like the above for worldbuilding, character planning, and outlining for my original writing (Iridescent). It's really useful to have one place to go to that has everything organized like a wiki of sorts.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Arno Rosenfeld at The Forward:

The Heritage Foundation plans to “identify and target” volunteer editors on Wikipedia who it says are “abusing their position” by publishing content the group believes to be antisemitic, according to documents obtained by the Forward. Employees of Heritage, the conservative think tank that produced the Project 2025 policy blueprint for the second Trump administration, said they plan to use facial recognition software and a database of hacked usernames and passwords in order to identify contributors to the online encyclopedia, who mostly work under pseudonyms. It’s not clear exactly what kind of antisemitism the Wikipedia effort, which has not been previously reported, is intended to address. But in recent months some Jewish groups have complained about a series of changes on the website relating to Israel, the war in Gaza and its repercussions. In June, a panel of Wikipedia editors declared the Anti-Defamation League a “generally unreliable” source of information about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, limiting when the organization can be cited in Wikipedia articles. And there was an outcry this fall among some Jewish scholars and pro-Israel activists over edits to Wikipedia’s entry for Zionism to add references to “colonization.” [...] The Heritage Foundation sent the pitch deck outlining the Wikipedia initiative to Jewish foundations and other prospective supporters of Project Esther, its roadmap for fighting antisemitism and anti-Zionism. The slideshow says the group’s  “targeting methodologies” would include creating fake Wikipedia user accounts to try to trick editors into identifying themselves by sharing personal information or clicking on malicious tracking links that can identify people who click on them. It is unclear whether this has begun.

[...] Allegations of bias Wikipedia has long faced claims from conservatives that it has a liberal bias. Chaya Raichik, the Orthodox former real estate broker behind “Libs of TikTok,” has assailed Wikimedia’s spending on diversity programming, for example. And a June study from the right-leaning Manhattan Institute found a “mild to moderate tendency” for Wikipedia to more negatively describe some conservative public figures. Several prominent Jewish groups have also expressed concern that Wikipedia is tilted against Israel. A World Jewish Congress has released a report in March said the site’s articles about the Israel-Hamas war were biased in “terminology, framing and lack of context, one-sided sources and critical omissions,” while Aish.com, an Orthodox news website, said in November that it had been “hijacked by digital jihadists.” In May, the Los Angeles Jewish Journal ran a cover story titled “Wokepedia?” that described “seven tactics Wikipedia editors used to spread anti-Israel bias.” The article said that the term “anti-imperialism” had been added to the Hamas page as one of the Palestinian terror group’s ideologies, and the term “antisemitism” removed. Neither term is currently on the Hamas page; editors frequently discuss and change the content of controversial articles.

Radical right-wing organization The Heritage Foundation’s Project Esther is planning to identify and target Wikipedia editors as part of its project to combat antisemitism and anti-Zionism. In reality, such a campaign would serve to intimidate Wikipedia for its alleged pro-Palestinian bias.

[show-your-fangs]

Ooh are you still taking requests for Hotch? If so, I would like a smut fic with a plus size reader please! I always see stuff about how most fat people are self confident now, but that isn’t the case for me, maybe some reassurance from Aaron ? If you’re uncomfortable writing this or don’t want to, don’t worry about it!! 🤍🤍

hi gorgeous angel 🤍🤍 i hope i was able to deliver. i sprinkled a lot of smut because you deserve to be rewarded.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x plus size f!Reader

Words: 1.7k

CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni.

Tags/warnings: established relationship, self-concious/insecure plus size!reader, soft Aaron, a lot of reassurance, pet names (beautiful, gorgeous girl, darling), praise, oral (f receiving), basically Aaron eats you out to show you he's obsessed with you and your body.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

“No!” you screeched and he immediately stilled over you. 

Your heart was racing, your ears were hot with shame, the confidence that had led you here, to his bedroom, to his bed where you currently laid, splayed on your back with his tight, broad frame pressed tightly over you, evaporating at the mere thought of light. 

He had just leaned over you to turn his bedside table lamp on, to fill the room with soft light. He wanted to see you, wanted to get to witness every twitch, every shiver, everything he was about to make you feel.

He assessed the situation for a second, took in your heaving breaths which had turned from excited to terrified ones. He could make out the outline of your hands now fiddling uncomfortably with your fingernails.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” he asked, his hands slowly retreating from the lamp back to your body, to your hips where he gently began to draw circles.

“Can we…can we keep the light off?” you whispered, ashamed. “Please.”

You couldn’t see his face since the light from the hall was hitting his back in a low glow. But if you could’ve seen him, you would’ve caught the flash of sadness, of despair and hurt. 

He immediately understood why you were feeling this way, and yet he couldn’t help but get incredibly angry that you were. Not at you, however, never at you. It wasn’t your fault you were feeling this way, it was the fault of whoever had made you believe that you weren’t beautiful, that you weren’t desirable, that your body wasn’t perfect.

“Darling,” he started, his voice soft and gentle, kind and understanding. “You have the body of a goddess,” you winced then, and it unfortunately confirmed all of his suspicions. He truly was good at his job. It was eerie how he could read you so easily, so quickly, with nothing more than a single sound. “Please allow me to do right by Aphrodite and worship you like you deserve.”

Your mind was stunned into complete silence. The voice that had been screaming was now quiet. No one had ever spoken to you that way, with such sincerity and intensity that you couldn’t do anything but believe them, take them to heart, accept that he was telling you the truth.

He wanted you, desired you, found you irresistible, and who were you to deny him of what he wanted, who were you to deny your body what it craved. 

You slowly nodded, breath hitching as you felt him shift again, this time the action emphasized by the click of the lamp turning on. Warmth enveloped the room, but you didn’t register it fully. 

“Open your eyes, beautiful,” he purred. “Let me see you.”

You hadn’t realized you’d closed them until then. You took one more steadying breath, focusing all of your energy on his hands, on how warm they were against your hips, how they were gently and lovingly tracing circles over your love handles. 

You opened your eyes slowly, white specks of light fluttering as his beautiful face came into focus above you. He smiled brightly and you swore you melted right into the mattress. 

“There you are, gorgeous girl,” he praised. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You couldn’t help the blush that rose from your chest to your cheeks, a hot and adorable pink that matched the one on his. 

It was almost overwhelming to think that you had this effect on him, you made him blush, you made him smile so brightly you were afraid the sun would stop working, you made his heart beat so fast against his chest you were afraid it would break through. 

“I’m going to take off your pants, alright?” he asked gently, making sure to keep you comfortable as a priority, to take it at your pace, to go as slowly as you needed, even if all he wanted to do was jump you right then and there, bury himself so far inside of you that you forgot what you were even feeling self conscious about.

You nodded and his hands slowly slid down your body, delicate and soft, slowly and steady. He unbuttoned your pants, followed by the zipper, and then hooked his hands into the waistband. 

He looked back at you before he even began to pull them off and you nodded again, biting down on your lip out of habit. He slowly pulled your pants down your legs, the eye contact never faltering. 

You were feeling too much, the fire in your belly having spread to every part of your body. It was silly, silly to think that just by looking at you like you were the most beautiful person on the planet he could get you this hot and bothered. 

You’d always thought he was out of your league, nothing more than an unattainable dream, a crush that would lead nowhere. You knew his type, the athletic, runs marathons for fun, only eats lean protein with mountains of steamed vegetables with no seasoning type. And yet Aaron had managed to surprise you at every corner. 

He tossed your pants across the room, his hands now on your thighs. He ran them up and down like he’d done with your waist, diligently taking his time to feel, to commit every inch of your body to memory. 

He slowly opened your legs for him, to allow him to press himself flush against your core. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you and he grinned brightly in response. 

“Can I eat you out, beautiful?” he murmured, the feeling of his hands, the feeling of his hot and hard erection pressed against your heat. You were practically panting, not really digesting his words fully. 

You nodded, the simple thought of the burning ache between your legs getting relieved enough to make you forget exactly what he had to get you there. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your belly button, distracting, as his hands opened your legs further, parting them for him to settle into them comfortably. 

He continued to trail kisses down your stomach, taking extra care of making it a point to linger, to hum and groan and make sure he was constantly letting you know just how much he’d been craving you. 

He sank down to his knees then and the sight nearly took you out. Your head strained to stay upright, to try and see him, your eyes unable to look away from him. 

But then he pressed his face against your clothed pussy, his nose practically rubbing over your clit, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You fell back on the bed, hands wrapping themselves tightly around the duvet. 

“You’re soaking, gorgeous girl,” he groaned, his thumb teasingly running down your clothed slit. You whimpered, the anticipation already making you lose it, which was exactly what he wanted. 

He gingerly pulled your panties to the side, his eyes practically sparkling as he took in your glistening folds before him. He moaned then, not wasting another second before he dove in. 

His lips wrapped around your clit, gently sucking before his tongue began to lap circles over it. You moaned loudly at his actions, the beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth spurring him on. 

He ran his tongue down to your opening, teasing your hole before pressing it flatley against your slit and licking all the way back up to your clit. Your mind went blank at that, whatever thoughts remained, positive or negative, swiftly evaporating into the night. 

He repeated the action a few more times, getting into a nice, steady rhythm. Your moans had gotten more chaotic, wild, free. Your body started to tremble, to move in tandem with his tongue, to seek it out to search for your own pleasure. 

That’s when he pulled back, a needy whine escaping your lips at the loss of contact. He grinned, his tongue licking up the wetness around his lips before he swiftly sank two fingers inside of you.

And just like that your moans were back, filling his room with so much warmth it rivaled the heat from the lamp beside your head.

"So tight," he groaned as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you, making sure to curl them upwards inside of you to hit the spot he knew would make you come undone. 

He leaned back down to press a kiss to your clit, the puffy nub looking incredibly lonely, almost begging to be given attention. 

“You’re beautiful,” he stated. It was factual, matter-of-fact, veridical, never a question about it. 

You sighed deeply, his words still sounding foreign to you, as if you knew them to be true and yet could not yet believe them in their entirety. 

“Say it,” he ordered before his teeth bit down around your clit. 

You practically screamed, the shock forcing you onto your forearms to see him, to see what he was doing to you. 

“Say you’re beautiful,” he repeated the command as clearly as he could, tugging now, enough to make the pain just edge on the line to uncomfortable. 

“Fuck, Aaron,” you whined, hands desperately trying to push him away by his shoulders. But he stood his ground, challenging. “I’m–I’m beautiful, I’m beautiful, I’m– gonna cum please–”

His teeth let go of your clit, the final jolt of electricity perfectly in tandem with a twist of his fingers inside of you. You couldn’t stop yourself from exploding, the tightness finally snapping, flooding your own body with more warmth than you knew what to do with.

Aaron dove right back in, his fingers sliding out as his tongue replaced them, sinking into you to feel your walls constrict, to feel your essence wash over him like a tidal wave. He lapped all of your juices up, his tongue skillfully working you through your orgasm.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even register anything other than the beating of your heart in your ears and the deliciously painful sting of overstimulation that was starting to take over as Aaron swallowed all you gave him.

After your breathing had calmed, your heart returned to a normal pace, your eyes focused on the room around you once more, Aaron stood himself up from between your legs, his even more pronounced erection pressing into you once more, as if to show you just how much harder you’d made him. 

“Now, was that so hard?” he joked, a satisfied smile over his glossy lips.

"You have the body of a goddess. Please allow me to do right by Aphrodite and worship you like you deserve." will easily go down in history as once of the best lines of dialogue i will ever write.

now if y'all excuse me i need to go scream into my pillow.

tags: @xladyxdreamer, @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner