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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Chapter 1: Got the News Today, Doctor Said I Had to Stay

Collaboration with the fabulous @corroded-hellfire

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: When you're stuck in the hospital after the Hawkins "earthquake," you're surprised to find comfort in your new roommate, Eddie Munson. But when you find out that your injuries may compromise your dreams, the cheery façade threatens to come crashing down.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, controlled use of pain medication

WC: 3.9k

A/N: There will be six chapters to this series, one for each Jonas Brothers album. Try to spot the Easter eggs we've planted throughout!

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“I said, get this murderer out of my room!” A shrill voice from across the hall startles you from your sleep. The digital clock on the bedside table reads 7:05, but you can’t be sure if it’s morning or evening. The bright lights of Hawkins General Hospital have your internal clock all jumbled, and the constant barrage of nurses checking on you certainly doesn’t help.

“He should be locked up in prison or rotting on death row, not using precious resources that could be used on law-abiding citizens!” the shrieking woman continues, and you grimace as your head throbs. It seems like the pain never ceases; it only travels around your body. You’ve been here for two days, and you have more questions than answers.

There’s quiet for a few moments before the door to your room swings open and a second bed is being wheeled in, more IV lines hooked up to the poor patient than you’ve got going on. A nurse pulls the curtain separating the two sides of the room before you can get a look at whoever is lying in the bed.

“Well, that was a record,” a male voice says from the other side of the curtain. “How long before that one freaked out? Six minutes?”

No one answers the man, but you can hear nurses and orderlies setting up any equipment the patient would need.

“Don’t blame them,” a woman eventually mumbles, moving a machine over. “Kid killed a cheerleader and then fled the scene. I wouldn’t wanna bunk with him, either.”

A new pair of footsteps joins the crowded room, but this time it’s just your nurse, Mandy, coming in to check on you. She’s a pretty blonde woman, and though she’s usually smiling, her lips are puckered into a pout.

“I know this is far from ideal,” she says softly, checking your vitals and marking notes on her chart, “but we’ll have people in here making sure nothing happens, okay?”

“I think she’s pretty harmless, just loud,” you lightly joke, assuming that Mandy’s referring to the banshee across the hall. “Worst thing she’ll do is trigger a migraine.”

She shakes her head. “No, hon. I’m talking about your, uh, new roommate. Edward Munson.”

Well, that explains the whole murderer outburst. Still, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Eddie? I went to school with him. Guy couldn’t even be bothered to turn in his part of a group project; I highly doubt he could pull off a murder.” You’d think he would have had something done, considering it was his second time taking O’Donnell’s senior English class, but he’d shown up empty-handed, leaving his poor partner scrambling at the last minute.

Mandy nods, looking a little relieved herself. Maybe the thought of her having to be his nurse had been eating at her.

“Is he awake?” you ask. You can only assume he’s not, because the Eddie Munson you remembered would never have been quiet for this long.

“Sleeping,” Mandy says. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Um.” You wrinkle up your nose as you think, a sharp pain taking that moment to shoot down your leg. “When can I get some more pain medication? And food?”

Going through the papers in your chart, Mandy’s eyes scan lines of writing until she comes to the answer she needs. “You’ve got about forty-five minutes until I can give you your next dose. Luckily, dinner should be here quicker than that.”

“Okay,” you say with a sigh, sinking back against your pillows.

After another round of pain meds, you’re able to drift off into a light sleep. You don’t have dreams on the medication; you’re simply floating in a haze of pinks and purples. Perhaps the dreamlessness is a good thing, considering the memories buried deep inside your unconscious mind. Your roommate is not so fortunate.

“No! Stop!” Eddie whimpers from the bed next to you, startling you from your sleep. You can see through the translucent curtain that he’s trying to thrash, but his injuries limit his movements. “Henderson, help me! Get me out of here!”

“Hey,” you whisper, but when he cries out again, you raise your voice slightly. “Eddie, wake up!”

“I won’t run away, didn’t run away, gotta save Chrissy,” he mumbles, still trapped in his nightmare. “Don’t let me die. Don’t wan’ die.” The urgency in his tone falters, and you realize that he’s crying.

“Eddie, you’re alive!” you call out to him, wishing you had the strength to walk to him and shake him awake. “You survived the earthquake, okay? But you gotta wake up!”

You watch as he jolts up involuntarily, groaning loudly as pain blooms throughout his torso. “Fuck,” he moans, clutching his ribs with one arm. “Wha—where am I? Oh, shit.” He lays back down as the realization sets in. He tries to choke back a sob, inadvertently sending himself into a coughing fit.

“Here,” you call out to him, grabbing the cup of water on your bedside table. “Can you open the curtain and reach?”

Eddie’s able to yank back the cloth fabric, but neither of you can move close enough for him to grasp onto the cup. The two of you are confined to hospital beds, arms outstretched pathetically just to pass a glass of water. The scene is so absurd that you have to laugh.

“You think—cough—this is—cough—funny?” Eddie asks, but his grin indicates that he also finds it amusing. “I survived the Up—earthquake, and—cough—now I’m gonna die from—cough—lack of water?”

“‘M sorry,” you manage between peals of laughter. “I’m just imagining how ridiculous we’d look to someone passing by.”

Eddie uses his last bit of strength to lunge, finally securing the cup and guzzling down the water. “Thanks, um…” He cranes his neck to see your name written on the whiteboard above your bed. “Oh, shit! Did we go to high school together?”

You nod. “We did. I graduated last year. We had Mrs. O’Donnell’s English class together.”

He wrinkles his nose at the mention of his least favorite teacher. “Ugh, yeah. I mean, not ugh that we had a class together; ugh at O’Donnell,” he blabbers. “And an extra ugh for me having to take that class again this year.”

“I thought a certain metalhead was missing from graduation,” you tease.

“Aw, you noticed?” Eddie’s smirk makes you laugh, the pain meds probably adding to your bubbly mood.

“Well, no one caused a commotion or flipped off old man Higgins, so yeah,” you say. “And there was a distinct lack of Black Sabbath blaring through the parking lot.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Gotta stay inspired, y’know? I don’t want to be one of those musicians who has someone write their shit for them. It makes it less real, or whatever.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You write all of Corroded Coffin’s music?” you ask incredulously.

Eddie nods. “Well, me and the rest of the guys—wait,” he pauses, eyes narrowing with suspicion, “you know the name of my band?”

“Mhm,” you pick at the itchy wool blanket draped over your legs. “You played at the middle school talent show. I was in seventh grade, so you must’ve been in eighth.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit; he just studies your face until a huge grin forms from cheek to cheek. “You’re the dancer!” he exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You did that routine with the, um, the fancy shoes…”

“Pointe shoes,” you giggle. “Yeah, people weren’t too impressed. Apparently a twelve-year-old flailing on stage to Swan Lake was not the hit I’d thought it’s be.”

“Flailing?” Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, you were amazing. Don’t tell my friends, but I, uh, secretly wanted you to win.”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you.” He matches your surprised tone, making you laugh again. “I thought it was totally badass, getting up there and doing ballet when all the other girls were jumping around to Blondie.”

“Don’t knock Debbie Harry,” you warn him teasingly, poking your forefinger in his direction. “She is an icon, and you will show her some respect.”

Eddie brings a hand to his heart. “My deepest apologies, to both you and Ms. Harry.” He flashes another sweet smile that could melt an iceberg. “But I really did want you to win. I’ve always rooted for the underdog.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” And you do. It’s nice to know that someone besides your parents believed in you.

“You, uh, you still dance?” Eddie asks abruptly.

“Yup,” you tell him, sitting up a bit straighter. “It’s actually what I go to school for.”

“Good,” Eddie muses, averting his gaze from your side of the room. “You were too talented to give that up.”

You’re about to respond when there’s a knock on the door and you see an orderly walk in with a food tray. You drop your head back on your pillow, humming your happiness. The orderly sets your table within your reach before placing your tray on it. Before the man can even step out the door to grab Eddie’s food, you’re inhaling the soup you’ve been given. You’re distantly aware as Eddie gets his food, but you’re busy trying to figure out what type of soup it is. Is that potato in it?

A groan from the other side of the curtain has you looking in Eddie’s direction as you swallow a mouthful of soup.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” Eddie says, clearly lying.

“If we’re going to be roommates, we’re going to have to learn to be honest with one another.”

He huffs a laugh as he clangs his silverware together. “S’just that it’s gonna sound ridiculously stupid after what everyone has been through.”

“Humor me,” you say before ladling another spoonful of soup in your mouth.

“Fine,” Eddie says with a sigh. “I got green Jell-O. I hate that shit.”

Your eyes lock on your own Jell-O, bright red where it sits next to your piece of bread and cup of water. “How do you feel about red?”

“Much better,” Eddie says, tearing off a piece of his own bread and shoving it into his mouth.

“Wanna trade?” you offer.

“Y’don’t have to do that,” he says through his full mouth.

“Nah, come on,” you say. “Besides, green’s my favorite color.”

Eddie looks over at you, a skeptical look on his face as he chews. But you pick up your sealed cup of Jell-O and toss it over to him. Smiling, he throws the green in return, which you manage to catch.

“Thanks,” he says. You hum in acknowledgment as you tear off the foil lid.

There’s a beat of silence as you both eat what Hawkins General considers dessert. “I don’t know how you like the green one,” Eddie pipes up.

You shrug. “Jell-O is Jell-O,” you say nonchalantly, taking a big spoonful to emphasize your point.

“Nuh uh,” Eddie shakes his head, wincing at the twinge of pain it causes. “Cherry is the superior flavor, and everyone knows it.” He slurps it obnoxiously, making you roll your eyes.

“Geez, how does Chrissy put up with you?” Your tone is light and joking, so you’re taken aback by the darkness that takes over his face. “What?”

“How do you know about Chrissy?” he asks, voice barely audible.

Your face heats up; you’d forgotten that he didn’t know you’d heard him talking in his sleep. “Um, you said something about saving her when you were having that nightmare,” you admit, softening when you realize how vulnerable he is. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No, she isn’t—wasn’t,” he amends. “She was the girl who died in my trailer. But I…I didn’t kill her, I swear.” Eddie looks over at you with misty eyes. “I can’t tell you what happened, but you have to believe me.”

You hold his gaze. “I believe you,” you murmur, quiet but assured.

The two of you go back to your food, plastic utensils scraping styrofoam bowls, until Eddie speaks up again. “You…you said I talked about Chrissy in my sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“What else did I say?” He looks ambivalent, like he’s unsure if he wants to know what his subconscious mind churned up.

You think back for a moment. “You asked someone for help, and then you said you didn’t want to, um…you didn’t want to die.” Your eyes flit over to his side of the room, but he’s practically boring a hole in his Jell-O cup with how intently he’s staring at it.

“Did you tell me to wake up? That I survived?” He finally allows himself to make eye contact with you, a trace of a smile dancing on his lips.

“Yeah—I can never remember if you’re supposed to let the nightmare end naturally, but you seemed really upset.” You gnaw on your lower lip anxiously.

Eddie rests his head on the pillow. “God, this is gonna sound corny as hell,” he starts, chuckling to himself, “but when you did that, it was like…I saw brightness, y’know? Not like, Eddie, come into the light,” he drops his voice an octave and wiggles his fingers, making you giggle, “but like the sun was coming out from behind the clouds. Does that make sense?”

You nod, watching him exhale in relief.

“Guess you’re my sunshine then, huh?” He gives you a shy smile that you easily return, trying to push down the spark of electricity that seems to flow between you.

“Hey, how about this?” Eddie asks as he lands on a channel. Your eyes feel like they’re going to roll back in your head when you see a NASCAR race on tiny television.

“Absolutely not,” you answer.

“Aw, come on,” Eddie says, shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s an American pastime.”

“It’s one big left turn, is what it is,” you shout. “Toss me the remote?” Eddie chuckles and goes to throw it your way before you wince and add, “Watch the leg!”

He’s careful to avoid the area as he sends it your way, but his eyes drift down the blanket at the mention of your limb. “Is that why you’re in here?”

“No, I’ve always wanted to vacation here,” you reply, maintaining a deadpan expression.

“I hear the eleventh floor is just wonderful this time of year,” Eddie throws back, feigning a posh British accent. Terribly, you might add. “How bad is it?” he presses, motioning towards your leg.

“Dunno yet,” you answer honestly. “They took some x-rays and did a bunch of scans; now I’m just waiting for the doctor. They’re probably just overwhelmed.”

Eddie nods. “Nothing like a good, old-fashioned earthquake to shake things up.” He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to react to his pun. Nothing. “Oh, c’mon! That was a good one!”

“You’re a comedic genius, Eddie Munson,” you joke, and he flips you off, nearly snagging the IV tube pinching his skin. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll probably be in a cast for six weeks, maybe have to do some physical therapy. This isn’t my first broken bone.”

“How do you do that?” Eddie muses.

“Do what?”

“Be so…positive,” he explains sheepishly. “I mean, you could be all bitter or anxious, but you’re calm, cool, and collected.” He fiddles with his fingers, frowning as though something is missing. “You really are a ray of sunshine, huh?”

“That’s me.” Truthfully, you’re worried that this could be more than just a run-of-the-mill break, but you don’t let that fear seep through. Instead, you aim the remote at the tiny TV in the corner of the room, settling on a soap opera rerun. It’s not what you’d usually watch, but you’re determined to get your revenge for his NASCAR escapades earlier.

To your chagrin, Eddie’s enthralled with the on-screen drama. “Oh, shit!” He rubs his hands together. “Is this the one where Shelby sleeps with Theo and his identical twin brother, Mark?” He chuckles at the bemused look on your face. “I got hooked on this show when I was home with the flu last year,” he confesses, though he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed.

“Eddie Munson, secret soap opera aficionado?” You waggle your eyebrows. “Scandalous. What will your fans think?”

“I am what I am, Sunshine.” He sits up a little straighter as a woman with big hair and even bigger breasts shoves ultrasound photos at an impossibly handsome man. “No fuckin’ way!” Eddie gasps. “She’s knocked up!”

“How did you not see that coming? It’s like the oldest trick in the book!” you ask incredulously. “Now she has to figure out which brother is the dad.”

Eddie’s beautiful brown eyes widen in shock. “But they’re identical! How’s she gonna do that?”

“Guess you’ll just have to watch and find out!” you chirp, giggling as he lets out an impatient sigh.

“Mr. Munson?” a nurse calls from the doorway, pushing an empty wheelchair. “We’re ready to run your tests. Just have to transfer you to the chair.” She pats the back of it, trying to keep some level of professionalism, but you can tell that she’s nervous being around an alleged murderer. She holds out her hand to help Eddie out of bed, and he shoots you a tight grin.

“I’m goin’ commando under here, Sunshine,” he warns you. “Look away. This show ain’t free.”

You cover your eyes dramatically as he plops into the chair, grunting and groaning the whole way down. “Is it safe?”

“You’re good,” Eddie reassures you as the nurse starts to wheel him out of the room. “Hey, let me know who the father is when I get back. My money’s on Theo.”

You narrow your eyes. “How much money?”

“Hmm,” Eddie taps his chin with his forefinger, pretending to be deep in thought. “It won’t be as much as usual, since I already bought a beach house and a Jaguar this year…$3,000 sound good?”

You give him a little salute, turning your attention back to the show. Settling in against the pillows, you get immersed in the show yourself, rooting for some characters, and wanting some to get stabbed in the backs like they deserve. Just as it comes back to Shelby’s storyline, your doctor walks in, a tight smile on his lips.

“What’s the news, Dr. Sanoj?”

“Well,” he says, looking down at the chart in his hands. “Like we suspected, it’s your femur. It was crushed pretty badly. It’s going to need a few pins in it, which will require some surgery.”

Letting a deep sigh fall from your lips, you nod your head. “Okay. Was kind of expecting that.”

“Now, we won’t know for sure until we get in there and take a look at things, but there’s a chance you’ll need a mobility aid to help you get around.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brows pinching in confusion. “Like crutches?”

“Crutches are one type of aid, yes. But they range in variety. It’s things like wheelchairs, walkers, canes. But this will be a better discussion for once we see how the surgery turns out,” Dr. Sanoj says.

“Would I need to use one forever?” The sympathetic look that softens your doctor’s face lets you know he heard the trepidation in your voice. “Will I be able to dance again?”

“Like I said,” Dr. Sanoj says, “this discussion is best for once the surgery is done.”

You nod your head, knowing you probably won’t be able to get any further information on the subject out of him. “When will I have the surgery?”

“Scheduling is going to work that out and they should let you know by the end of the day. You can expect to be here the days following the surgery, but you shouldn’t be cooped up in these hospital walls for too much longer. You’ll get there, you’ll see. One day at a time.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

A funk has taken over you once Dr. Sanoj leaves the room. A mobility aid? Could you dance with one of those? Surgery and recovery you planned on, but the goal was always to get you back in the dance studio, and needing a device to help you simply get around was not what you had been expecting.

Allowing yourself to stew in your own self pity for a few moments, you realize you’ve missed the big reveal on which brother is the father of Shelby’s baby. You’ll have to tell Eddie that. Explain the doctor came in and you were talking to him. But, you think to yourself, Eddie doesn’t need to know just what rough shape your leg is in. He calls you his sunshine, doesn’t he? That would just bring some gray clouds that he did not need in his life. He’s got a lot going on and is going to need to keep his spirits up. That’ll be easier for you to do if you pretend like everything is rainbows and lollipops.

The door opens and Eddie is wheeled back inside, groaning in pain as he holds a hand over his ribs.

“Right here with the pain medicine,” Nurse Mandy says, stepping in behind him.

“Oh, please be mine,” Eddie says, watching the bundle in Mandy’s hands like a hawk. “Sorry roomie, I think I need it more than you do right now.”

“S’all yours,” you tell him.

Mandy sets a bag of IV fluid up as the transporter helps Eddie get back in bed. His face is pale, and you’ve learned that comes when agonizing pain is ripping through you.

“Okay, Mr. Munson. Should start hitting you at any minute now,” Mandy says.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, letting his eyes drift closed. He stays that way after both the nurse and the transporter leave the room. You think he’s fallen asleep until he speaks again. “So, which brother was it?”

“Ah, sorry, Eddie,” you say. “Doc came in and I was talking with him, so I think I missed it.”

“Good news?” Eddie’s opened his eyes and turns his head to look at you, genuine concern written across his face.

For a moment, you contemplate spilling everything: the surgery, the mobility aid, the possibility of never dancing again. But you shove it deep down, determined to keep your cheery disposition that he so desperately needs. “Y-Yeah, everything’s looking ship-shape.” Ship-shape? You’re a terrible liar, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Thas’ good shit.” From the dreamy quality his voice is taking in, you can tell the pain meds are starting to take effect.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask.

“Sore as hell from how they had to maneuver me for x-rays. But I feel the medicine kicking in.” A smile comes to his face and you can tell the giddiness of the high is hitting him. “Time for me to fly.”

You giggle and turn your attention back to the television. A game show is on now, so you snuggle in to play along. The contestant is getting an obvious puzzle wrong and it makes you roll your eyes. You’re about to say something to Eddie about it, but then his soft snores reach your ears. Turning your head to look at him, you notice how peaceful he looks. All you can do is pray he stays that way and isn’t plagued by any other nightmares.

Sunshine, he calls you. It’s the nicest nickname you’ve ever been given. You’re hoping you can keep that bright and optimistic attitude up enough to help him out when the clouds come rolling in. It’s not a one-way street, though. Eddie is going to be your light, your breath of fresh air, your optimism. You just don’t know it yet.

#albl #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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moonbaby26 · 19 days

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Title: Two Conditions

(Chapter 8 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader (referenced), Smoker x Reader (referenced)

Chapter Warnings: language, controlling/possessive relationship, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex referenced (female receiving), Doffy considering baby trapping reader, Doffy referencing attraction to reader even when she was still a teen (nothing happened)

Chapter Synopsis: It’s now day two of your three day agreement to stay with Doflamingo. You’re still surviving, even enjoying it at times. But whether that is for better or worse remains to be seen as he’s keen on coercing your full commitment to him as soon as possible.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

——————————

It was clear that you were far more familiar with sharing a bed than Doflamingo was for as deeply as you now slept. Either this or you were just that exhausted from enduring him so many more times throughout the night.

Even his cock was finally feeling a bit sore from so much grinding, lube or not. But he never would have told you that, just watching you sleeping against him still in what was probably now two or three in the morning.

He’d only allowed you out of the bed long enough earlier to eat dinner with him as well as to use the attached master bath to clean up, and occasionally relieve your bladder from the beer you’d had in town and all the wine which came alone with him after.

Dinner had been a quick one out on the balcony, you and he both indulging in a mushroom risotto with scallops. More of that traditional Scyllian fare prepared from the kitchen and personal chefs below. Though those servants would have long gone home by now.

Even as expensive as this place had been to purchase, it was still far smaller than what he was used to. Which also meant that it stayed less crowded inside. Really, not much more than the two of you left except for some useless guards perhaps still patrolling this late at night.

But you had seemed to approve when first seeing the villa. Because of course, what difference did you know? The majority of your quiet hours were likely only had laying in a marine bunk not much bigger than a coffin, having to hear all your other crew moving and breathing around you in the ships you traveled on.

Like an ant in the dirt with all the others.

But he couldn’t stop watching you all the same, so vulnerable beside him. This fascination with you in particular only seeming to worsen exponentially each time that he had you alone.

And he already had thrown down the gauntlet with Tsuru, announcing his intentions to keep pursuing you despite her strong misgivings. So he’d have to be prepared for those consequences soon.

She had promised to air everything she knew about him in an attempt to drive you off. All in the name of protecting you of course. And goddamn that woman did know almost all of it. And even what she had no proof for, she likely still heavily suspected.

But him racing against that clock to capture you fully before she could sabotage him only made things that much more interesting really.

It was obvious that you and Tsuru had yet to connect again since she’d first found out. But the moment she was back on the scene, it’d be a full out battle of wills for your fate he was sure.

And this was the primary reason everything had to be rushed along.

Though, courting you at this speed did agree with his natural impatience too of course. He’d waited long enough to have these chances with you after all.

Whether you accepted it yet or not, he had wanted this from very first sight. And he absolutely would have fucked you senseless in the North Blue too if things had worked out better then. Teenage body or not for you at that time in your life.

Sometimes he still suspected that you and Tsuru had even added a few years onto your official marine record to make you legal for recruitment back then. She had said you’d been sixteen by the first time you were allowed to fight in the field. But she’d kept you hidden aboard her ship as a chore girl even before that he was sure.

Because she had learned the hard way not to leave the wrong child behind again hadn’t she?

Doflamingo smirked to himself at those old thoughts, just burying that scarred left side of his face back against you now.

He was going to have to tell you that part of his story eventually. Because she would if he didn’t. The one about the rage filled little boy whose eye and life your insufferable race had tried to steal as they rose up against him.

The bottomless violence of humankind only contrasted in the one older woman he’d met soon after that offered him a brief respite which nearly made him change it all.

He had begged Tsuru not to leave him there. That boy had cried out for a mother’s warmth one last time and been so fatefully denied.

Too young to recruit then she’d said, and with biological family still alive that she wouldn’t remove him from.

Oh how Doflamingo had wondered how many nights she had lain awake ruing that mistake ever since. Especially when her peer Sengoku had found an even younger Rosinante soon after and done for that traitor what she wouldn’t for him. Of course Doflamingo had never learned about Sengoku’s direct involvement until long after his brother’s death.

But now, so much like his bird namesake which sometimes hid their head beneath their wings as they slept, Doflamingo had long since made a habit of burying that blind side of his face and those mistakes of the past within the nearest comfort whenever available.

And tonight, instead of just another cold empty bed and overstuffed pillows alone, that actually meant the safety of the nape of your neck as he breathed in your scent and warmth.

Everything he did still had its own purpose though. Even as entirely uncomfortable as it’d been to let you see him laid bare this soon, he knew he was correct to have made this choice.

Because it was already so obvious in the way you’d touched his face and spoken to him so sincerely after…you were already forgetting how easily that switch within him could still flip.

If he used tenderness as a tool to get his way, it didn’t erase anything else that he was still so capable of. This beast would still bite you, even as an injured one now experiencing your rare kindness.

Especially an an injured one actually when faced with your weakness of affection.

Because no amount of kisses, soft touches, or pretty words could make his pain any less real. Or dampen his inner fear of ever experiencing that level of helplessness again that he had once been dealt from your kind.

If you did sleep beside him enough nights to find out, you’d discover him sweating and thrashing in his sleep eventually. Reliving the ropes cutting into his wrists, the fire at his feet, and the smoke in his lungs as he’d screamed at those vermin. Screamed and threatened to destroy everything and everyone even as their arrows finally hit their mark.

He’d made good on some of those promises too in recent years. But it would never be enough. That rage could never be fully quenched, his suffering from it never lessened.

That pain could only be paused perhaps, or briefly redirected. In the instances where he was receiving something that he also wanted so thoroughly.

He wanted to hold you. He wanted to fuck you. He wanted to fight you. And he wanted to keep you.

His mind had run endless with plans and strategies to do this very thing for so long now. But he absolutely had to seal the deal soon to make this permanent.

Because the only thing he was certain of when it came to these conflicting emotions was that no one else could be allowed to truly claim you again.

As his long body shifted once more, nestling even further against you at every meeting point that he could, his hand still tightened slightly on your lower abdomen.

That was one option he was still considering.

He hadn’t forgotten the crazy things you’d made him say in Sabaody. He’d been so angry with you that day. Likening you to nothing better than livestock for him to shame, abuse, and even impregnate however he’d see fit.

It was still very much a cheat too if he chose to use that. Because as highly as he regarded his own twisted, mother and son like relationship with Tsuru, it made him not see a chain in this world stronger than that between mothers and their spawn.

No matter what you said or eventually promised him now, he knew you may still try to fly away from him one day. But if there was a child…then no matter where or how far you may wish to run, you would always return right back to any nest he’d made for you. You would do so without hesitation if your chick was the one within his grasp instead. If it was crying out in fear for your protection.

And the immorality of such ideas was not even a concept worth considering. Because of course he could do whatever he wished with his own future blood, or with you, his own desired mate.

It was just the logistics of achieving such a thing.

When his servants had searched your bag earlier, he could have had them throw out those stupid birth control pills of yours then and there.

But you’d just get more as soon as you were back on any marine ship. He knew that. So the fight that would have been with you hadn’t been worth the annoyance to him right now.

Not for such a low chance of making a difference in just three days time anyway.

But he was definitely keeping an eye on that potential. If it really came down to it, he knew other chemicals existed. Things that nullified those pills which could easily be slipped into drinks for instance.

Caesar alone had a treasure trove of old Germa 66 data that’d been stolen. Forced fertility was hardly a complicated affair in all the greater horrors Vinsmoke Judge had committed to his own bloodline.

The reminder to Doflamingo that he had no blood family, outside of the more distant ones that he’d gladly kill if they ever set foot beyond their gilded gates in Mariejois, was a bittersweet one though.

If you really could give him that family back one day, he would absolutely use both you and that child to help with the void those last executions had still left him with. It would be something to finally have the Heart seat filled again too of course like he’d considered before. Doflamingo had lost his heart in more ways than one back then.

———————————

“Doffy.” You said quietly, just this surreal scene something your mind was still trying to accept as you felt his breath warm and soft against your neck in the new light of day.

Well, the dim light of day. The curtains were not pulled shut. But the sky was overcast, gloomy almost.

The perfect morning to never move at all really.

With a sleeping monster coiled all around you, like you were some shiny pebble he’d never let go of again.

But this pebble needed to pee.

Quite badly, with a smaller bladder than him, and all that wine still filtering into it. Something expensive and vintage you couldn’t even properly pronounce, but it’d been that or nothing as thirsty as you’d been last night. As sweaty as you’d been as you’d climbed that pirate as if you’d never see a man again.

Over and over, but somehow you’d still survived him.

If there had been blood again, it’d only been specks. Mostly under his fingernails or yours. And he’d liked it every time. Every claw mark, every bruise and bite. He’d wanted to give as much as receive.

But he was about to receive something worse if he didn’t release you soon.

“I need to pee.” You said a little more insistently. Trying to slide out from between his arms, and those even longer legs wrapped so tightly around you.

But you felt his face press into you even harder. Even that short blond hair now messy, mussed against your skin.

His calves slid against you, warm and tight as a new sound finally greeted your ear.

“….and if I say no?”

His voice was dark, but so thick with sleep still. There was a large hand running down your side again.

“Then I piss on your skinny bird legs.” You threatened.

He made an indistinguishable sound at that, but you felt his lips upturn against your spine.

“Filthy animal.” And now that same hand had moved to enclose on your wrist.

He’d been like this some last night too anytime you’d needed to leave the bed. But he’d been much easier to fight when worn down from all the fucking.

This was now a Doflamingo with a few hours of sleep back in him.

But you still didn’t have the time, deciding to take that challenge. Pulling up your legs so quickly that he couldn’t catch them with his own.

You put the soles of your feet against that hard abdomen of his next as you pushed for all you were worth. Only the strength of one of his hands now pitted against the force of both of your legs.

He cursed at the pain that made for him, and when he twisted his body, your foot nearly slipped down between his legs. Not intentionally on your part, but you and he both realized how close you’d come to annihilating him right in the balls this early in the morning.

He released you immediately too then. And you hadn’t been ready for that, crashing right off the bed with most of the blankets as you’d still been trying to pull away from him.

Yet you jumped right back up, though with the bedsheet cascading off of your hip as you thought he might be coming after you to continue the struggle.

But he was only staring at you. Still laying there on the bed where your fall had fully uncovered him. Like some kind of nude adonis in annoyed repose.

You straightened up at the sight, nude as well and trying not to feel that flush of heat within you all over again.

And he said nothing, but you felt his gaze on you all the way until you’d made it into the bathroom and closed the door for privacy.

But then that was actually worse. Again, just like the night before, not being able to see him meant he could be moving anywhere, doing anything. The same way that snakes and spiders didn’t bother you as long as you could see them. But it was an entirely different matter once they disappeared.

You were trying to listen for any footfalls even as you flushed the toilet and briefly washed your hands over the sink.

But there was nothing and you had opened the door again soon enough.

You saw he had indeed moved, but only to pull the blanket back off of the floor and onto his body. Only his shoulders and head were exposed now. He had the left side of his face buried against the mattress as well in the absence of you. His right eye still watching you, but through a half lidded gaze.

Still that tired then? Poor thing, you thought sardonically.

Yet this was also your chance to get something else done as you tried not to make a big show of grabbing one of the now empty wine glasses off of the dresser. The drinking had started on the balcony with dinner last night, and then moved back inside as he’d herded you into the bed and beneath him once more all those hours ago.

You were absolutely still sore too as you kneeled down by your duffel bag. You unzipped it quietly, just enough to slide your hand in and pop one of your birth control pills out of the foil packet buried within your clothes.

In one smooth movement, you’d slipped the pill into your mouth and stood again. Just walking back to the bathroom to fill the wine glass with enough water from the sink to wash the pill down as you’d swallowed.

“You really are a fucking animal.” His voice cut through rather loudly right as you’d tilted your head back.

You about spit the water out at the sudden gruff voice, glaring back at him through the open bathroom door for startling you.

But the pill did make it down your throat as you’d walked back out.

“What’s your problem? Go back to sleep, pirate!” You fussed, heart rate up now as that’d been so unexpected in the otherwise silence of the dimly lit room.

You left the wine glass back on the dresser as you approached the bed again however.

And that crimson red iris of his right eye was locked in on you, even as he opened the blanket and quickly pulled you back against him once you were close enough.

His grip was stronger than minutes before, painful this time as you felt his cock, already half hard again against your back.

But he didn’t use it right now, just growling a little in your ear. “The problem is that we don’t drink from bathroom sinks, you little savage. If you want water, you ring the help to bring you some. Ice water filtered into a pitcher, not bathroom water from the same room that we shit in…got it?”

And then he was forcing you to turn around again, to face him in the bed before he tightened the blanket back around you both.

Your eyebrows were lowered, knowing he was actually serious but not at all understanding why this was suddenly such a trigger. Why was he so goddamned weird? He’d literally licked his own cum off of your face last night. But drinking from the sink was taboo?

“Yes, Doffy.” You muttered anyway. Intuitive enough to realize that that was also what he wanted to hear.

But he huffed a little regardless. His eye still on yours as he answered. “Watch the bratty tone. I’ll housebreak you yet, little cur.”

And even with the dark clouds outside, enough sunlight was filtering in to start to lose your focus by watching his face again.

He really did have expressive eyes when they weren’t hidden.

So even as much of an asshole as he was already being to you just minutes after waking, you did find yourself touching his face again soon enough.

And him allowing it as well despite that previous condescending talk while he turned his head so that both his eyes could be seen now. His cheek was against your hand as he still watched you.

“What now, love?” He asked abruptly then.

Just like that his tone was different again with your touch. But it felt intentional too. You weren’t as naive as he may think.

Like it was still all a game somehow. From cold to warm, then sweet back to sour again, dangling the lure in front of you, then pulling it away again to try and make you drop your guard.

But he was willing to keep it going even if you weren’t falling for this constant switching back and forth fully yet.

“No, I can’t see out of my left eye if that’s what you’re pondering.” He actually offered without being asked though while you’d watched each other. “Nothing there but shadow and flares of light that bring on the worst migraines anyway. But that left eye was always sensitive to light. Even from birth.”

Well, then he was suited to being some kind of venomous creature living under a rock after all wasn’t he? But he was clearly trying for your sympathy again too.

And he did scowl a little then, that cloudy eye narrowing in tandem with the other. You still weren’t taking the bait to empathize with him as easily as last night he likely realized. Your hormones and desire for him more under control now….mostly.

“But this is obviously a secret you’re now obligated to keep as well, love.” He warned instead. “Being a half blind warlord doesn’t pack quite as much of a threat now does it?”

“I’d bet it just makes you that much meaner actually.” You quipped in return.

His scowl upturned a bit there, a smirk beginning as he didn’t entirely disagree. “Sometimes.”

And really, you would have been fine to leave each other alone from there. An armistice to just lay in Doflamingo’s arms as a lazy morning like you hadn’t had from anyone in much too long.

With Kuzan the last time…and you supposed it really had to be the last time now, he’d been too drunk. Rolling away from you even hours before it was already time to be back up and in uniform.

And with Smoker, even before the breakup he’d been away from you for months. Your last physical time together, actually having been only a quickie in the bathroom of a damned bar. Just a port town both your ships had been in at the same time.

Hardly romantic as you’d been bitching at him not to get ashes in your hair as he’d hiked up your skirt from behind and still not put out those fucking cigars regardless. Thrusting into you just long enough for him to cum, and then he’d been done.

No talk of missing you. No lingering kiss or hold at all. Just a man who’d been alone on a boat for too long and needed something to put it in.

You really should have realized his waning interest in you sooner. You and Smoker hadn’t been much more than friends with benefits by the end, had you? And apparently even that had been too much for him to maintain.

It still pissed you off really. How quickly Smoker had just turned and cut you out when you’d thought it had been more than just sex.

“The fuck are you thinking about now?” Doflamingo interrupted as your eyes flitted back to him in surprise.

Had you been showing that past regret on your face? Hell.

And the pirate was indeed watching you with full judgement.

“It’s just been a while since I’ve gotten to stay with anyone. I don’t know.” You certainly tried to stay non specific there. You couldn’t think of any quicker way to violence than to confess to Donquixote Doflamingo of thinking of another man while in his bed beside him.

But thankfully, he didn’t press this time. Seemingly a bit more interested in the handful of your ass that he was then cupping.

“Well you didn’t slit my throat in my sleep. So I suppose I’ll let you stay again tonight…” He taunted a little, but still sounding somewhat lazy as you remained in his grip.

“Because I’m a sailor, not an assassin.” You replied though, a bit offended at that insinuation before you could even help it.

And he did grin again then. “Oh, I’m well aware. Tsuru’s little protege. You two and your pitiful ethics. But…that predictable nature of yours makes this rare privilege possible for you. You think I’d let a fellow pirate curl up to me like this?”

And there was a look in his eye then that absolutely said he was referring to someone specifically as his words kept on. “My peers may know how to fuck well enough, but we’d kill each other sooner than touch again after the copulating was done. Too much ego between us to make it even one night without murderous intent rearing up.”

“Hate fucking you mean?” You asked, and you didn’t know why you were encouraging him. He’d talk about these crazy things and you’d just start to answer sometimes.

“Exactly! All lust, no trust.” And he did seem amused, both at your response and his own little rhyme there.

“But tell me, marine.” And now those wandering fingers were roaming your inner thighs as his eye looked more curious. “What would you really call this instead? You and I?”

And your nervousness was back. His focus so fully on you then.

“I don’t know.” You said honestly.

“Let’s think about that then.” He said, and you were seeing more of his teeth. That smile that never resembled anything close to friendly.

“Did you like it when I walked you around in public yesterday?” He asked next. “…when I called you my woman in front of those scurrying mice at the store?”

And his voice was dropping too. His fingers gripping you harder in tandem.

“It made you wet didn’t it?” He breathed through that cruel smile. “Because you want so badly to belong to someone.”

Which, that tone only made you think that he must finally be awake enough to start feeling amorous all over again. But those devilish eyes were still thinking, considering deeper things once more.

“I liked the way it felt too.” He said abruptly. “I’ve been thinking of what it’d be like to have you to come back to each night…”

Your lips couldn’t help but part a little again at that when his thumb ran across them. Yet he kept talking, kept suggesting.

“You’re already a captain after all. I’ve no doubt that the rank of commodore will soon follow. And you’ll have your own ship and crew by then, won’t you darling?”

His face had moved in closer to you again then, lips ghosting along your jawline. Hungry little bites made along it, urging you to tilt your head back as he finished his thought. “You do realize that that ship will have to have Dressrosa as its home port, don’t you? I don’t think I’ll be able to accept anything less now…”

Of course you made a sound somewhere between disbelief and disagreement at those new words. But he didn’t care. His tongue was running wet across your pulse point before he bit down abruptly.

And the palm of your hand was against his cheek just as fast to push him off.

You felt his resulting laugh more than you heard it before he did pull back. Yet only enough for him to outright lick your still open palm.

Which earned another look of equal surprise and bewilderment from you as you tried to wipe that spit back away immediately onto the bedding.

“And how the hell would that work?” You did ask irritably though, still clearly flustered by his new ideas. “There’s no marine base in Dressrosa. A home port is where the crew members’ families live. Where we stay between assignments and resupply, and-”

“Yes, it’d be the perfect country for raising a family, wouldn’t it?” His voice was so smooth again at that, unnerving almost as it caught you a little further off guard.

He was stroking you idly again too, down your side and over your hip. “Your subordinates would be kissing your feet to get to live in the comparative paradise of Dressrosan casitas instead of those utilitarian marine barracks they’d find everywhere else.”

“It takes a lot of crew to fully man one of our ships.” You didn’t know why your body was trying to tense again at this subject. Or why you were trying to fight illogical emotions with logical words at all. “That’s not an amount of housing that can just pop up overnight.”

“I’m their fucking king…we’ll designate whatever space I say to. And it’d all be free obviously. Your miserly accountants at HQ could never say no to that.”

“Nothing is free.” You quickly replied.

And Doflamingo did smile again there. Like a magician conceding that his current audience was more cynical than most. You were still seeing some truth even behind the attractive show.

“Well…you’d be the real payment of course.” He murmured, beginning to look a bit more hungry again.

“Funny.” You tried to deflect.

“I’m serious.” He contended. And you could feel his hips shift, a rather hard something now poking against your stomach yet again.

“You actually want me to live in Dressrosa?” It felt like a last ditch effort to try snd show him how insane those words really could sound when strung together.

“Oh no, love. That alone wouldn’t be enough.” And he’d moved again so that long cock of his was now sliding back and forth against your abdomen.

And you looked at him in some confusion. All the while seeing that lust begin to bud all over again in his handsome face.

“Your crew would live in Dressrosa. But you would live in my palace. In my bed. Just like this.”

And he flung the blankets back with those words, before he’d rolled the two of you so that you were fully beneath him once more.

You could see how flushed with blood that throbbing cock already was then, an enlarged vein running beneath it as he’d pulled that lube bottle back into his hand via string.

“Every morning while your ship was in port, woman. This could be us.” He promised even as he was then stroking that lube back over his shaft and the broad head of it. “You could set sail and go ruin as many other pirates as you’d wish…crush my competitors. And then come home, back to me at the end of each voyage. Back to your king.”

You heard that resealed lube bottle clank against the nightstand as he hadn’t even had the patience to set it back down. Him just tossing it before he grabbed you behind the knees and spread your legs while lifting them up simultaneously.

Your ankles were in the air and then pressed against his chest before he shoved that wet cock back inside of you.

It was always painful. And always amazing too as you saw him smile down at your pitiful expression. Just a woman hopelessly conquered, aroused, and desperate all at once for this ruthless man.

You didn’t care about a future that had yet to be. Whatever schemes and plans he had for you…there was no point of being afraid of what wasn’t yet here.

This stretching and heat and need were what was real. Just blooming all over again and pushing everything else from your mind as you finally found the way to beg.

“Fuck me, Doffy….please.” You whined when he’d yet to begin thrusting at all after that first penetration.

He’d been too busy watching you writhe as you’d stretched for him once more.

And the growl that came from him in return to your plea was nothing short of hedonistic. “Of course. Of fucking course, love. Open up and take me…on two conditions.”

You tried to focus, but even as those damnable eyes of his bid you to heed him, his thumb was now pressing over your clit simultaneously. He rubbed it so perfectly as he tightened that metaphorical snare all at once.

Every prior word, every prior action…he’d been waiting for you to succumb like this.

“I’ll be yours, woman. I’ll even let you come and go from my country. Let you continue with that ‘ambitious justice’ that you’ve so claimed.” The sneer on his face at your particular notion of justice made clear how arbitrary and futile he found the term however.

He did begin to slowly thrust his cock in and out of you too then, dragging it almost to extend each and every tease to all those heated nerve endings inside. “But no one else may have your body this way…not without my full consent. No one.”

His finger was still massaging your clit incessantly with each new word, but not letting your own hips buck up into him as they so badly wanted to. He only pinned you even harder into the mattress, almost impatient for you to comply as he gave the final rule.

“And you will always return home to me.” There was no smile then. This was absolutely all or none. “Your only true home will be wherever I am.”

And for the very first time, you may have preferred the red glasses to have been back on his face to cover him. Because that look in his eyes was abruptly unforgiving. But…especially in the wounded left eye actually.

He’d admitted that eye had always been abnormal and sensitive from birth. Even from before whatever incident had later blinded it.

But only in the daylight, and only with it focused on you that dangerously could you now see the double iris that you’d mistaken as just a normal one appearing falsely enlarged by injury. It was actually a circle within a circle, its previous deep red hazed over to almost a pink beneath the white scar tissue.

And something inside that double iris was fully primal. You couldn’t look at it long without feeling those beginnings of fear.

“Doffy…” You tried to call him back to you. As if the look in that left eye alone was what was really controlling his sudden demands.

“Swear to me.” He hissed just as quickly though. That pressure from his hand on your clit becoming painful.

He was absolutely hurting you now. Your body caught under his weight as well as he stayed buried as deeply inside of you as he could go. The head of him was pressed hard against your cervix yet again.

You were cornered and you knew it. And even as frightening as that could suddenly be, it didn’t kill your desire for him.

He was absolutely a monster.

But he was still the only thing you kept thinking about. The only one you kept needing. You’d keep coming back to him anyway, as stupid as you were, wouldn’t you? Because everyone else kept throwing you away when you’d tried to do better.

You’d tried to fall in love with marines, and felt like a ship smashed against the rocks both times. Wouldn’t it be insane of you to just keep chasing that same honorable kind of man like Kuzan or Smoker, only to find that you weren’t an honorable enough woman for either of them to ever keep?

“Then what would I be to you?” You pleaded within the pain. Your clit stinging, your cervix aching. “Just your mistress? Your concubine?” Your eyes were starting to sting too. Were you no better than your own brothel working mother in the end? The most you’d ever have in lieu of actual love was just the sexual fixations of a dangerous man?

Yet he spoke these new words into existence and everything else went silent.

“You would be my wife.”

You weren’t breathing, the bed wasn’t creaking. Every muscle on you both was frozen. Just his unnatural eyes staring into yours.

“You can’t mean that.” Your brain felt utterly useless now. Any words just reflex, completely helpless and defeated really.

“Waiting any longer is only for the indecisive. Once I know what I want…why would I leave it for anyone else to take?” And the tone had changed yet again. His thumb was now moving only in gentle circles on your clit once more.

You spread your legs a little more in reflex. Your goddamned body so confused.

“Say yes.” He insisted still though, even as he started to pump his hips again.

All the pain in you was being covered up again by the pleasure he now allowed.

You had no choice. You knew you’d be absolutely mauled if you denied him now. Even with every haki trick you had, you may not even make it out alive from this room, as passionate as he clearly was on having your submission.

So you nodded, feeling like you’d just ceded a piece of your own soul to the being above you. “I accept.”

“No. Swear to me instead.” Those same words came again in immediate reply. But this time was different. There was that very faintest hint of anxiety in the Heavenly Demon’s voice. Like a fisherman seeing the catch of his life teetering on that edge of either fully entering or escaping the net.

“I swear, Doflamingo. I’ll have no one else, and I’ll return to you after every voyage. I’ll even be your wife if I can still remain a marine.”

And were you crazy for still trying to add your own stipulation at the end there?

Yes, of course you were. But you’d seen the way he was hanging on your every word then. Your heart had still had that touch of bravery left to rise at the final moment.

And it worked. You saw his smile instantly reform. But it seemed involuntary, disbelieving almost, and entirely nervous on his face. “You can still be both. I have pull higher than even Sengoku…they can’t terminate you. Can’t demote you. You can be the first royal of modern times still in active service…”

And he was starting to laugh too. He didn’t know what to do with himself as it really began to sink in.

“My queen…” he purred, his hips picking up the pace as the bed started creaking once more. “A warrior queen of the sea at that…fuck, it’s going to be so goddamned fun.”

And he was grinding your g-spot for all he was worth soon enough. Having you moaning for him as he reveled in this sudden and wholly unexpected victory.

You couldn’t think about it much more though. Not as your toes curled and your back arched beneath the now gleeful devil.

It was utterly insane. Him, you, all of it. There was just nothing else that could be done in this moment to save either of you.

———————————

The rest of the daylight hours had been a haze of more fucking, more alcohol, more just being together frankly. Lazing around that beautiful villa together with no one to disturb you. You’d never seen Doflamingo in such a good mood.

At some point you finally had gotten into the shower together though. Which had resulted in more games in the hot steam. You’d gotten pinned against that lovely tile mosaic in the bathroom as he’d actually gotten on his knees to eat you out. Like a starving man who’d never have or want anything else.

It was a hell of a day.

But by the time the sun had set again, you felt like he was missing the attention of everyone else too. He wanted to show you off and parade the both of you to the envy of the other elites.

He wanted to go to the carnival ball.

And what were you supposed to do but entertain him? He had been almost kind to you ever since your agreement this morning. You knew it couldn’t last. Something was bound to set him off again.

But until then, you could do your best to enjoy this rather affectionate warlord that he was currently being.

So you went with him. In the dress he chose for you, in the shoes he chose for you. Your arm around his as you’d gone back out onto the gaslit streets together.

The carnival masks were back on as well. His red one, and your black one. He was in a different suit tonight though. A red one with a black under vest and shirt.

It reminded you even more of the one he’d used to favor in the North Blue. But it was a bit more modern cut, a slightly different shade.

And still you caught yourself staring at him at times. The way he carried himself, the way he smirked at you as he always had to stay in some form of physical contact with you.

He was right in the way you loved the attention. But was he right to say that you did wish to belong to someone?

It looked like you were going to find out. Unless he got tired of you before he went through with this whole Dressrosa as your home port plan.

Gods, you still had no idea what to really think, or how any of it could even work. So you kept trying to live in the moment at least as you’d ended up in the biggest ballroom you’d ever seen.

Royalty and nobility were all around while musicians in tuxedos played more songs Doflamingo knew and you did not.

“Who taught you how to dance anyway?” You had finally asked him as he lead you in another slow spin. Him somehow keeping time to the music even better than all the other couples you were trying to imitate around you.

You weren’t as clumsy as you’d been in the street the day before at least. But it was still far from intuitive to you, though you were trying.

“My mother taught me.” He answered, no real hesitation either that time.

But the way his mouth was downturned slightly, you were quite certain that woman was also no longer alive. Though you supposed rarely would anyone with a loving family feel a need to set out on a life of crime anyway.

You certainly hadn’t had a real maternal figure until you’d met Tsuru. Your own mother had been far too young, and just trying to survive herself. There’d been no room for you really.

“She sounds interesting. Swan owner, dancer…” You dared to continue that topic though. Hoping maybe his good mood was still enough to allow you to pry into him a little more.

After all you’d promised him this morning, that seemed more than fair to know a bit more about the man you’d just tied yourself to.

But then again, this particular man was hardly known for his fairness.

Yet with your hand tightly in his as the violins continued, he did reply. With more than expected actually. “No. She wasn’t interesting at all really. Quiet. Submissive. Wholly fragile and quickly gone…” But the somber tone in his voice still belied more regret than just those plain words. “Like taking a rose from a greenhouse and expecting it to survive in the mud outside with the weeds. Of course she couldn’t do it. She passed away when I was eight.”

Saying sorry would be too pointless. You hated useless platitudes like that. So you wouldn’t do it yourself.

“Was that still in the North Blue then? Is that your home sea?” You asked carefully instead. It should have been a harmless, neutral question really.

But you saw Doflamingo’s chest move as he took in a larger breath.

“I know you’ll figure it out eventually…and yet, we’re having a nice night aren’t we? It’s been an excellent day actually. Is this really what you want to know right now, love?”

And of course you couldn’t understand the change from such a simple question as the red lenses in that carnival mask were then looking down from above you.

When the current song ended, he’d led you back away from the dance floor as well.

There were small circular tables all over with flowing table cloths. Wait staff moved effortlessly between them, taking food and drink orders from whoever may wave them down.

“Let’s get something to eat and perhaps we can talk a bit more.” He said as his hand moved against the small of your back, guiding you to a table of his choice.

He still wasn’t angry, just guarded.

But you’d already seen his real face now. And you knew what kind of cutthroat pirate he’d been and still was. What else of his past could be that important to him?

And you did let him do the ordering as soon as a waiter had indeed rushed up. Doflamingo was always going to take charge regardless you were finding. Picking your clothes, picking your food too…

You didn’t care right now, though you should have. It was just more control of course. Even as much as you’d already given him of yourself today.

But food was food in this moment. You’d barely eaten today with all the other in bed activities. So you just idly surveyed the room while the waiter explained the current entrees and the chef’s recommended wine pairings to your warlord date.

It was an old habit of yours maybe. Situational awareness and an idea of who was where, where the exits were, plus the general mood and threat level at any given time when working with a crowd.

Yet here was just a lot of fluff and self serving people putting on displays for one another really. You’d even clocked the father and sons you’d first escorted to this island. They hadn’t recognized you of course. How could they have when they’d never even looked you in the face when on Momonga’s ship? You hadn’t been worth it to them.

The youngest son had spilled wine on his date somehow. She was having a fit, and the father was stepping in with heaps of apologies. She must have been even richer than them then. The fact that there were hierarchies within hierarchies for these people just made it seem all the dumber.

Such a waste of energy. And you were about to give up watching any of them, bored in their manufactured drama and flamboyance before something else caught your attention.

A group of people were moving against the general grain of everyone else. Stiff and organized, something you recognized immediately as tactical. Two in front, two in back, and one on each side.

You stretched to see better, past the socialites and their petty conversations.

That group was moving someone in the center of their formation. A young girl actually, certainly no more than ten or so. Her blue ponytail was swishing side to side, even with her body so tense. Her shoulders were hunched defensively as she was being pushed forward with one of the men’s hands clamped down onto her shoulder from behind.

You could see the silent tears in wet streaks down that girl’s face. That terror in her eyes that you’d seen so many times before. You knew exactly the kind of thing that must be happening, even if no one else did as you immediately stood.

——————————

Doflamingo had just been committing to the fiorentina steak dish and a polenta entree as well for the two of you to sample together when he’d seen you stand.

Belatedly noticed because you’d been on his left. But that spoke of his already increasing trust in you really, letting you guard his blind side even subconsciously. How he’d often keep his officers to his left whenever seated.

Yet that didn’t mean he expected you to actually do anything from that position. He tried to grab your wrist as you’d moved forward. Seeing that tenseness in your body immediately and not understanding it a bit before you’d dodged his touch easily.

The waiter was just as confused and in the way really as Doflamingo stood fully as well. He moved his fingers, ready to stop you if he had to.

“Where the hell are you-“ He started to demand you to explain.

“No time. Stay. I’ll be back.” You said so quickly though. So different and commanding. Before one slightly softer note of, “I promise. I’ll be back.”

And you didn’t even look at him before you’d disappeared, almost in a run then into the crowd. Him left standing at the table, inexplicably hesitating.

You’d told him to do something and he’d actually listened.

He was as dumbfounded as the waiter who now excused themselves just to say they were going to put his order in.

But they didn’t get far.

No one did before the first gunshots rang out.

———————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

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8siangemini · 1 year

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Enemies on the Mask, Lovers Underneath

Summary: You and Miles are both dating as civilians but neither of you know that you both are spider-man/woman. Miles likes the idea of you two working together as a pair but you are stubborn and competitive and do not want to develop a friendship between you two incase something happens to him. So you both end up competing against each other, trying to one up the other to see who is the better Spider-Person.

Word Count: 1, 395

Author’s Note: I was thinking about making this a multi-part series so if anyone wants a part 2 comment down below <3

“I hate him, he’s so annoying, obnoxious.” You say to your roommate, Kat, as you sit on the top of your shared bunk bed while drawing yourself in your new suit. Bottom half being black and the rib up being purple with a black spider symbol across the chest and on the back. Dark blue stripes with white webbing pattern wrapped around your arms and lined the inside of your hood.

Kat chuckles at your complaining of your automatically proclaimed partner, Spider-Man. When you were a child you adored the old Spider-Man, the Peter Parker Spider-Man. You always dreamed about working or even being him. But now as a teenager and understanding how the world works you could not imagine working so closely to the new Spider-Man, not wanting to feel the same pain of if something were to happen to him like Peter Parker. But once you showed your disinterest in Spider-Man you two began getting more competitive, wanting to one up the other either by saving more people, saving something more important, or just saving something more…more.

“He’s so irresponsible and immature, I garuntee that he’s younger than me.” You complain more to Kat.

“You know you have a boyfriend that you could complain to rather than me about a guy, right?” Kat snarks back but you just throw one of your markers from your pencil pouch down at her and she laughs a little.

“I couldn’t tell Miles any of this, what if something were to happen to him because someone figured out my identity and then gets to him.” You begin pointing out all of the cons of tell Miles about your secret life. “Or what if he rats me out to the bad guys, even though he would never because I would beat his ass. And why would I tell him and not you? Don’t you love me rambling and telling you the insides on the life of Widow?”

You wanted to separate yourself and not be attached to Spider-Man because of the name. So once you made your debut you gave yourself the name of Widow.

“And oh how much I love it.” Kat confesses and we both start laughing until the police station that you two tuned in on through your guys’ radio started picking up something.

“Time to see your most favorite person in the world.” Kat says sarcastically as you quickly jump off of the bunk and started taking off your sweatpants and hoodie to reveal your new suit.

“Ha ha, gotta get there before he does.” You say as you quickly pull over your mask onto your face.

As you hop out of the window, making sure no one is around, you begin typing on your phone as you swing to your destination. You text Miles, saying that you will have to postpone your guys’ hangout session in your dorm room while Kat usally goes to the library or does one of her other extra circulars.

‘Kat wants me to help her on a gift she is planning to give to her boyfriend can we hangout tomorrow?’ You type and almost instantly he sends a text before you can send yours.

‘Can we hangout tomorrow? I have to study for my Spanish test tomorrow.’ Miles texted. You founded it somewhat suspicious that he postponed your hangout session at the same time you were going to text.

‘Sure.’ Was all you texted, still suspicious that he canceled plans once you left the dorms.

Just as you send the text you get to the crime scene, multiple cop cars surrounding a museum. You put in one of your AirPods into your ears underneath your mask and tune into the police station on your phone.

‘Careful, subject has about twenty hostages still inside. We got most out but those last twenty are in the same gallery as subject. Subject is potentially armed.’ The station informed.

“Perfect.” You say underneath your breath.

You swing onto the top of the building and luckily the hostages and subject was in the art gallery with the window ceiling. You loved this place because it was where you and Miles’ first date was. He planned the date which was sweet since he listened to you when you said you liked art, just not classical, overly-symbolic art that was too abstract. On the date you were relieved once he said he did not understand any of the art and you confessed the same thing too. Once you two left the museum you two found an empty alleyway and made a spray paint mural down the street.

‘Gotta make this fast before the police find me and before he gets here.’ You think to yourself. Just as you did you see a small swinging figure coming closer in the distance. “Shit.” You say to yourself.

You quickly jump up and shoot webs on each end of the glass roof and pull yourself through the glass, breaking yourself into the room. You shoot webs at the gun first and then yanked it out of the subject’s hands and chucked it across the room. You quickly began running around the subject while shooting a web around them, wrapping them up.

Once they were wrapped your hands started glowing purple with some wisps emitting from your palms. The webs around the subject started glowing a deep purple as you forcefully crunched your palms slowly, causing the subject to crouch down. You quickly turned to the twenty hostages and one by one you took them out of the building and dropped them off in front of the police cars. You stand in front of Officer Morales, Miles’ dad, slightly panting and out of breath.

“Officer the subject is inside and secure, so whenever you wanna take him you can.” You inform Mr. Morales in a deeper voice.

Suddenly Spider-Man lands next to you, completely out of breath and crouching down to catch his breath after trying to get to the scene faster than he wish he had. You placed your hands on your hips and looked down at him as his hands were on his knees. Underneath the mask you had a smug smirk, proud that you saved this whole scene without him. He stared back up you, too tired to say anything. You quickly looked back at Mr. Morales.

“And I did it all on my own, he didn’t do shit.” You claimed as you pointed your thumb at him.

“Fucking bitch.” Spider-Man says underneath his breath, hoping that you did not hear. But you did and you quickly looked down at him with wide eyes.

“Wait so you two don’t work together?” Mr. Morales asks and you and Spider-Man look up at him with a pissed off expression.

“No!” You yelled simultaneously and Mr. Morales puts up his hands in defense and begins walking away from the two of you. You guys go back to glaring at each other.

“Well you were too slow to get here.” You say as you turn towards him with my arms crossed. He finally catches his breath and stands up to face you, him being slightly taller than you, he may have been lean but he had some built to him.

“If we could have actually work together then I think we would be a good team.” Spider-Man explains but you roll my eyes. “I mean we are so alike I think it would be good for us.” His voice starts to sound a little familiar, a little too familiar. But besides the point you knew why you two did not work together in the first place.

“This,” You say as you point from me to him. “Isn’t something special. You and I aren’t gonna form some sort of friendship.” You stated.

“And why not?” He asks in a firmer tone. Your memory goes back to what happened to the original Spider-Man a year ago but you shake it off.

“I already got enough people to worry about because of this lifestyle now.” You say bitterly as you step a little closer to the boy and press your index finger to his firm chest. “And I don’t need a little boy to get in the way from me saving this city.”

Before he could object you quickly shot your webs at the closest building and swung away from the angered boy.

#spider man #miles morales #spider man across the spider verse #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #enemies to lovers #into the spider verse

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ghostherlig · 7 months

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railao (?) drabble

i have no idea what their ship tag is, but i'll update this if i figure it out- anyway, please enjoy <3

Kung Lao startled at the feeling of Raiden's hand on his shin, the calmer man gasping as he watched what was happening on screen.

Raiden had dragged him into his room, the two having been catching up on one of the shows they had been watching together. It had been a rougher few weeks, and this was what they normally did in their down time.

Though, Raiden was currently a lot more invested than Kung Lao.

"By the gods, he betrayed her!" Raiden whispered, completely enraptured by what was happening on screen.

Lao was closer to passing out than he would care to admit, the comfortable position he was laying in certainly wasn't helping, and neither was Raiden's unreasonably calming presence.

"Ooh, did you see that, Lao? That looked like it hurt..." Raiden commented, shaking his leg a little with his words.

Lao peeked an eye open to watch was happening on screen, a woman and her ex-lover apparently fighting on screen. It was a choreographed scuffle, and Lao chuckled at the obviously pulled punches.

"I bet it did." Lao answered, voice low with exhaustion.

He had worked hard, and since this was supposed to be his down time he wasn't feeling too guilty about using it to rest.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" Raiden teased, laughter in his tone as he paused their show.

"No, no," Lao answered, waving his hand over at Raiden despite the fact that his head was turned down, his regular straw hat covering his eyes, "You can keep watching, 挚友."

"I can clearly see you falling asleep, Lao, and you only call me 挚友 when you're too exhausted to hold your tongue," Raiden pointed, Kung Lao chuckling and leaning his head back, his closed eyes exposed to the man sitting next to him on the bed.

"You got me there," He smiled, peeking an eye open to see Raiden staring back at him, sitting cross legged next to his waist, his hand still on Lao's shin.

They were comfortable like that. The two of them normally shared space and touches casually, it came with growing up together as they had. And with bunking together as they had and do at Wu Shi.

"You should've told me, I would've stopped watching at the end of the last episode," Raiden scolded, backing out of the episode they were currently watching.

"No, you should finish it. It was nearly over," Lao yawned, and Raiden rolled his eyes at him.

"We were less than half way through, Lao." He deadpanned, getting a shrug in return.

"They aren't that long,"

"They're each an hour! You must be closer to falling asleep than I thought," Raiden teased, getting a scoff from Lao.

"I'm not, just finish your episode! I'm sure it'll be a good one. I can rest after that, Raiden, we get to sleep in tomorrow, remember?" Kung Lao reminded, and Raiden pouted.

"Are you sure? I know as soon as I put it back on and stop talking you're going to pass out." Raiden answered, and Lao sighed.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now put it back on, 挚友." Lao teased, Raiden huffing a laugh and putting the episode back on, Kung Lao listening as it went on.

Apparently, the main lead had been betrayed by her lover, and they were fighting it out. That was, until the ex-lover's mistress came into the scene, helping fight off the first girl.

It was a convoluted mess, but Raiden was always so interested in these shows. Lao remembers the first series Raiden watched. Madam Bo had lent him the tapes, and despite their age they held up pretty well.

"C'mon, get her!" Raiden whispered, cheering on the lead as she fought off the other two.

Lao smiled to himself.

He never really loved these shows like Raiden did, but time spent with Raiden was time well spent. He would spend the rest of his days just like this if it meant he could spent them all with Raiden.

With his 挚友.

His 宝宝.

He could feel the leaden weight of the promise ring in his pocket, knew he would need to show to his 宝宝 soon enough.

And he would. In due time.

But right now, laid out comfortably on Raiden's full sized cot, the sounds of the TV and Raiden's engaged whispers in his ears, and the warmth of a cozy summer's night, Kung Lao was more than happy to wait.

end notes!! chinese translations: 宝宝 is Bǎo bǎo which means 'baby', and 挚友 is 'dearest friend' or 'best friend'. fair warning i do not speak chinese and these may be incorrect!!

#railao #raiden x kung lao #mk1 #mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #drabbles by greg #i love them your honor

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not-wholly-unheroic · 3 months

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A Comparative Analysis of Hook's Ship and Cabin in Popular Media Portrayals

They say a man's home is his castle, and that is perhaps more true for Captain James Hook than most. Amid all the wildness and chaos of Neverland, the ship (and particularly the captain's cabin) is the one space where Hook exerts any real control over his environment, and upon close inspection, it reveals a great deal about who he is, what motivates him, his time period, and perhaps even whether or not any given "Hook" is intended to be "real" or a figure of the children's imagination. In this series of posts, I will be examining the Jolly Roger in five of the most well-known adaptations of Peter Pan: Disney's 1953 animated classic, Fox's Peter Pan & the Pirates (1990), Spielberg's Hook (1991), P.J. Hogan's Peter Pan (2003), and Disney's recent live-action remake, Peter Pan & Wendy (2023).

Part 1: Disney’s 1953 Animated Film

The Jolly Roger herself in the ‘53 film appears to be a Spanish galleon. This type of ship, though perhaps the “stereotypical” pirate ship that immediately comes to mind when we think of pirates in film, would have been highly impractical for any actual pirate. A good pirate ship needed to be sleek and fast, whereas galleons were great for carrying a lot of goods but unfortunately also very slow…and a large target for an enemy attack. Still, Hook has a tendency to prefer aesthetic beauty over function, so perhaps we can merely chalk this part up to the captain’s personal tastes.

On the other hand, Disney Hook has a ship that pretty blatantly screams “pirate” to anyone who might see it coming between the skull and crossbones you can see carved into the woodwork and the skull figurehead…which is definitely something that would seem more at home in a child’s imagined version of a pirate ship than any actual vessel.

For all the fancy, over-the-top outward style of the Jolly Roger in the ‘53 film, Hook’s cabin is surprisingly modest. His bed, which can be seen in the background during the “sick scene” post-Skull Rock, is the standard sort you might expect on a ship—a small bunk built into the side of the ship for practical reasons. There are, of course, chests of treasure (less practical/realistic) too, but aside from that, the cabin space seems nice but not excessive. We can see a sword lying against one of the treasure chests as well as a gun rack near the door over what looks like a large globe. (We see a closer, brighter version of this gun rack a few scenes later as the captain is switching out his usual hook for a golden one.)

There appear to be some nice silver plates in the background of the image with Smee, and there are a few other frivolities that Hook allows himself, such as the piano, a small table with fruit and wine set out, and several nice rugs on the cabin floor. But his desk appears to be rather small and simple, cluttered only with maps of Neverland, pens and an inkwell, some useful measuring tools, a few books, and what would appear to be a jeweled set of binoculars.

Overall, Disney’s Hook does a nice job of balancing the luxurious and fanciful with the more practical and mundane in his personal space. It might be a stretch to imagine this Jolly Roger in the real-life Golden Age of Piracy, but it’s not totally out of place. Thus, Disney’s Hook straddles that line between reality and fiction that leaves us wondering—as Wendy and her parents do at the end of the film as they watch a cloud formation that looks remarkably like a ship pass in front of the moon—whether it was all a dream or perhaps there is more to it.

#captain hook #captain hook disney #disney peter pan #disney #disney villains #peter pan #james hook #captain james hook #the jolly roger

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vidavalor · 16 days

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Hey Vida, I have some milk chocolate sea salt caramels to share. *Passes the canister*

Have you written about this moment yet? I'm guessing it has come up but I can't recall specifics.

The time loop hypothesis that includes the idea that Crowley figures out what is happening and starts actively trying to influence things helps me understand why Crowley would say this - that he would despair after having been unsuccessful in every attempt he'd made to change the final outcome, to save Aziraphale's life. I know Crowley has some timey-wimey stuff going on generally, like his knowing the future and making all sorts of references to things that don't exist yet... I am very curious to know what you think Crowley's deal is and what is happening for him here.

...

Also, do you think Aziraphale knows from the beginning of S2 that he has fallen? I mean, the other angels refer to Aziraphale as a former angel and principality right to his face, don't they? I remember wondering about this the first time I watched the second series. I kept waiting for the show to clarify just what exactly Aziraphale's status was...

Well, this is a more oddly worded question than I remembered. One cannot simply be "a bit of" a fallen angel wtf game are you guys (gn) playing at? Leave that perfectly frosted cinnamon roll alone!

...

Also, I am still full of so much anticipation wondering what I asked you last time! I am positive it had to do with innuendo lol

Hello to you, my fave @iammyownproblematicfave! 💕I am SO sorry about the other Ask-- I determined you asked about the innuendo in the "very nice" scene & I'm going to whip you up a batch of etymology around the insanely complicated history of the word "nice." It got lost in my Drafts folder for a little while there and I overlooked it-- will remedy that shortly! Here's thoughts on these questions and thanks for asking.

On Crowley, time & "too late" and Aziraphale, fallen angels & heavenly rank under the cut.

First, time loop idea and Crowley's "too late" comments... So, anything is possible, right? That said, I don't think it's a time loop because I think there are scenes that explain why Crowley says "too late" at the end of that episode. I wrote about how it ties to unicorns & Wee Morag a bit in another post and I'll link it at the bottom of this one.

Basically, Crowley's anxious in that scene where he threatens Gabriel and then says that "it's always too late." Crowley's memory is iffy-- he admits as much to Gabriel later in S2-- and even if he was lying to Saraqael and/or Furfur about not remembering them, we know he struggles to recall all of his memories from when he was an angel. One memory that he felt confident about was the one he told Beez earlier in the season-- that The Book of Life is bunk that he and Beez made up to tease some of the more innocent angels. It is likely that this memory of Crowley's is correct. I say that because Beez seemed to think it possible when they heard it-- but then Beez felt like a fool at the thought that they'd been threatened by Heaven with something that didn't exist and that they themselves and Crowley made up. They doubled-down and insisted to Crowley that The Book of Life was real.

Crowley suddenly thought that Beez might be right because, hey, they'd run Hell for so long, they'd know more than he would, right? He starts to doubt his own recollection and he rushes back to the bookshop to help protect Gabriel as a way of protecting Aziraphale because he now is terrified that Aziraphale could be erased from existence if he is caught helping Gabriel. He doesn't want to tell Aziraphale that Beez reached out to him because he knows Aziraphale is sensitive about the fact that none of the angels have talked to Aziraphale in years and that their only source of intel is a demon with a thing for Crowley (Shax) so Crowley doesn't ever tell Aziraphale how scared he is about The Book of Life. Meanwhile, even though Gabriel is basically on their side now, Crowley can't exactly ask him if it's real or not because dude only knows Buddy Holly songs for basically the whole season lol.

So, in addition to worrying that Aziraphale is spiraling (because he is) and that helping Gabriel could mean that Aziraphale is risking his mental health and a fall, Crowley is also now terrified that Aziraphale could be made to have never existed. It's on his mind so much that he growls at Gabriel in that episode-ending scene that Aziraphale could be "risking his existence" for Gabriel and then muses about how it might be "too late-- it's always too late..." I don't think this is a time loop indication. I think it's a reference to other times Crowley has said "too late" in the past, like the unicorns and when Wee Morag died. It's about how it might be too late for him and Aziraphale and they might be running out of time and be on a collision course with death while not knowing it-- like how Elspeth never saw the fact that it was her last night with Wee Morag coming. It's Crowley's anxiety talking. Crowley thinks it's too late to turn back now because they're already helping Gabriel and Shax is sniffing around and they might be nearly out of time.

Crowley does have some time-related stuff happening in his story and the ability to control it but it seems to me more likely that Crowley's ability to remember that he has control of it has been taken from him in the present in S2 than it is that he's in a time loop. In the disaster kiss scene with Aziraphale, Aziraphale is really obviously signaling to Crowley a request that he freeze time. (It's obvious to us, I mean-- Aziraphale hid it from The Metatron by curving his hand.) He was trying to get Crowley to do what he did on the tarmac in S1 when he stopped everything and took them and Adam to a little time out cloud to help Adam figure out how to deal with Satan.

Crowley, though, just kind of stares at Aziraphale, even though this is literally one of the most recognizable hand signals on the planet. He also didn't just do it himself at the start of the conversation. If I were the villains, I'd be damn sure that Crowley didn't remember that he could freeze time after S1 and Crowley was gone all night before this scene (which he also doesn't seem to totally realize, no matter how many people around him keep commenting on how it's now morning.) The story, to me, seems to be suggesting that the Crowley & time stuff in S2 is that he doesn't recall that he can control it.

re: Aziraphale and what his angelic status/rank is in S1-- the cherub/principality/"you've been a bit of a fallen angel" bit...

When Michael and the other angels corner Aziraphale in S1 and Michael says that they've been learning some "disturbing things" about Aziraphale and that he's "been a bit of a fallen angel", the disturbing things are, imo, the photos of Aziraphale and Crowley that Michael has dug up. (Hypocritical much on Michael's part? Their phone chats with Ligur? That Gabriel knows about and lets them get away with but Michael wants to go after Aziraphale for having a relationship with Crowley? Yeah. Gross.) Michael and Uriel are threatening Aziraphale with a fall in the scene when they corner him. Uriel says "and don't think your boyfriend in the dark sunglasses will get you special treatment in Hell." They're using their power to threaten to cast him out as a way of trying to intimidate Aziraphale, which is another way of showing how political falling is and how it's all kind of b.s..

A demon is a fallen angel, by definition. That's the definition of a demon. Heaven has socialized angels to believe that the demons are all evil-- that they're devout followers of Satan and horrible people and to associate with them is to sully yourself with their satanicness and all that lol. In reality, there are some evil demons-- Satan is evil, Ligur was pretty bad-- but there are also some evil as fuck angels... The Metatron at the top of that list. In reality, the demons are the angels who put notes in the metaphorical suggestion box. They stood up and spoke out and questioned things. They're the curious, free-thinking "troublemakers" whose questioning of authority threatened to crumble The Metatron's power so he reacted by ostracizing them. He made a sense of the demons being "other" and evil. He invented Hell and banished them all to it-- lumping curious rebels like Crowley in with evil like Lucifer/Satan and using them as examples of what happens to those who dare to question. There really is no such thing as "a demon"-- there are just angels who have been told they're no good and that they've been cast out and are part of the collective owned by and working for Satan.

In S2, we get another bit of info about a fall when Gabriel falls. The Metatron can't send Gabriel to Hell like he would other angels because he did that once with Lucifer/Satan-- the last one to have Gabriel's job before Gabriel-- and once is "a good story" (meaning, once is a cautionary tale that keeps angels in line) but twice would suggest "an institutional problem"... twice would cause a rebellion. Twice would show that the problem is really Heaven. But, The Metatron has to do something with Gabriel, so he's going to erase Gabriel's memories (he tries to before Gabriel enacts Operation Fly and saves his memories thanks to Beez) and cast him down to a new rank of angel that they've just added to the bottom of the pile-- just for Gabriel lol. It's all political, which is how Crowley and Beez fell back in the day as well. They were caught up with Lucifer and held up as examples of evil when it seems that they really were just looking for others who were questioning things, too.

Does Aziraphale realize he's falling in S2? I think there's some language in the kiss disaster scene that indicates he suspects he might be and that he doesn't fully trust in what The Metatron is offering him-- or that that's really The Metatron. I don't think he realized he was falling until that point. It's a question, though, of what a fall really is. There are many ways to fall. You can literally fall from a great height. You can fall in rank. Both of these things happen during a fall from Heaven, in Good Omens, from what we've been told, but there are other types of fall. You can also fall in love. You can fall into despair. These ones? Aziraphale knew about. He fell in love with Crowley a long time ago and despair is always something he's working at keeping at bay, sometimes more successfully than others. In the end, his fall from Heaven is tied to both of those other kinds of falls.

But is Aziraphale already something of a fallen angel, like you asked? What of the fact that he was a cherub at one point and is a principality? Which is higher rank? We are told in the book that people "make jokes" about the fact that Aziraphale has both of those ranks. The word 'joke' comes from the Latin jocus, which literally means 'wordplay' and I think maybe looking at the different kinds of rank in Heaven through that angle might be worth a look. (Me? Taking a wordplay angle? Who would've ever thought? lol)

Who outranks who can be shown to us by how the characters behave in the scenes but the ranks of angels are more about what the words mean than about exactly which level that rank is, I think. For instance, there is some evidence that a throne and a dominion are the same level of rank-- that an angel can be both at once... which makes more sense when you consider the power aspects of those words and that here's our throne/dominion leaving his chair to dominate his plants in S1:

People are complex and need more words than one title might allow.

Aziraphale can be a cherub and a principality because once you start to get into the meanings of all of these words, you can see that which ones are given to Crowley and Aziraphale are done because of how they support who the characters are-- and how they overlap. I have a meta that I've been playing with from time to time about the different meanings of principality/dominion/throne and how Crowley and Aziraphale are both really all of them. I'll try to finish that one up soon. If you look at wordplay around the word "rank" itself, though...

...a rank is a placement or a position in military order, yeah, but it's also a bad smell. Something that is rank is something that is foul and offensive. One of the themes of the show to me seems to be that, whether you're an angel or a demon or a human, you possess your own power and no one can take that away from you unless you let them. Empowerment and freedom is the realization of that. We're all equal beings. The characters who are the least interested with power systems-- the ones who have freed themselves from concern about it and live as independently as they are able-- are the ones who view others as autonomous beings and do not support oppression of others. They are the least rank because they are dismissive of the idea of rank itself.

So, while we're having fun with words here... those who are the least rank are also probably not rank in the scent sense of the word, too lol. This would be why we have a multiple scenes devoted to how everyone is in a faint over how great Crowley smells. He's the least rank of them all-- in every way possible. 😉

The other "too late"-related meta:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #aziracrow #good omens meta

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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter six

well it’s love, make it hurt series

six: sometimes it just feels better to give in

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You have cabin fever and a rough morning. The Mandalorian finds a way to cheer you up and pass the time while you travel across the galaxy.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s relationship, established relationship, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom!Din Djarin, kind of intense scene, domestic nonsense, hand feeding, spanking, one (1) pussy slap, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), 69, rope bondage, sex pollen (intentional, Din only), Din Djarin removes the helmet but doesn't reveal his face, subspace, aftercare, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 8: Sex Pollen/Sexual Competition, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on a03

3 ABY - Winter

It's day five of near-constant travel across the galaxy. You had worked on the way out, filling the carbonite, and now had nothing to do but return.

Yesterday, you had stopped for fuel and food. Taking the long range of bounties would pay off in the end; you had run the numbers, but for now, it meant things were a little tight. Mando never really lingered at the ports, but you hadn’t bothered to enjoy the market or the rusty crimson mountain range. The faster you got back, the faster you got paid.

It wasn’t as if you would starve. There were reserves; you both knew that. After it became clear neither of you were particularly interested in ending your arrangement, you shifted the way the profits were split in favor of a more communal fund for ship repairs, rations, and medicine. That budget was running low. But both Mando and you had your own caches of credits, earmarked for other purposes.

You regret the quick departure now. You wake up stiff and grouchy, like your body knew it missed out on a leisurely hike full of beautiful sights. After you drag yourself out of bed to stretch, you try to recover the day.

What for, though? There's nothing to do. You're over looking at the stars or the gray walls of the Crest. The datapad only held your attention for a minute or so before the tension in your chest built back up, and you tossed it to the side.

Getting out of bed proves to be another mistake. You burn your caf. When you try to dump it out, you spill a bunch on the floor and have to clean the whole galley to get the smell out. And when you go to rid yourself of the caustic odor and sticky residue, the fresher is exclusively sputtering cold water.

Fuck it.

You dry off and go back to the bunk, not bothering with clothes lest you rip your favorite shirt or trip and fall while putting on trousers. Seemed like the kind of thing that might happen.

You bury yourself in the covers and turn off the light, determined to sleep for the entire day and hope tomorrow was better.

Mando was elbow-deep in the wiring for most of the morning. A long trip was a good chance to update some of the non-critical systems. He was vaguely aware that you were up and puttering around the ship, and as much as he wanted to take a break and greet you, he knew he’d never be able to finish the job.

By the time he finishes and cleans up, securing the panel back to the wall, a couple hours have passed. But you aren’t in the hull eating lunch or fixing your jammed pistol. You aren’t curled up in your chair with a book. Even the refresher is empty (to his slight disappointment. He would have enjoyed the show).

It was unlike you to go back to bed. A deep frown settles as he makes his way to the bunk, and there you are, curled up on your side against the wall. He runs a bare hand up and down your leg, and you stir a little.

“Cyare, you okay?” he says.

“Uh-huh.” It was more of a groan than anything else.

“Are you sick?” His hand tightens a little on your calf, brow furrowing as he reaches up to feel your forehead.

You bat him away (or, at least, he thinks that's what you attempted to do. It was more of a weak flop of your hand before it fell back on the bed). “Nuh-uh. Sleepy. Bad morning.”

He settles on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can do for you, cyar’ika?”

“Nuh-uh. Lemme sleep.”

“Okay.” He sighs and slips back out of the bunk, but leaves the door open. The idea of closing you in there made something grind in his sternum.

He lets you sleep for another hour while he takes a quick rinse in the fresher before preparing a bit of lunch—or, technically, breakfast. Neither of you have eaten yet. At the market yesterday, while you were meticulously restocking and haggling with shopkeepers (he could practically see the credit-per-meal calculations crunching in your head), he had slipped a wrap of boiled tipyip, a crusty loaf of bread, fresh tubers, and a few fruits into the bag. With his own coin, of course, and insisted on carrying the bag.

The idea of you stressing over whether or not you’d have enough food made him physically ill. He trusted you to buy enough rations, but it was unusual for you not to buy at least a few fresh items. You were going to be on the ship for another four days.

Before working together, you had both lived that way. Bounty to bounty, ration to ration. But half the point of taking a partner was to have a better life. And while most of his credits went to making sure his people all had better lives, it hadn’t taken long to soften up with you around. He wanted to be soft with you around, or you’d spend every moment flinching away from the thorns you’d made your nest from.

Osik, he’d done the same thing, but he had the armor. The armor he’d been wearing a lot less lately. The past month or so, he found himself shedding everything but the helmet while you traveled. Never on land or at port, but hurdling through the frigid vastness, he preferred to feel your warmth.

Mando eats while he makes your plate and then, slipping his helmet back into place, climbs into the bed. He settles behind you and wakes you.

“S’it morning?” you mumble.

“No, but it’s time to get up.”

“No,” you whine and cover your head with the blanket.

He shakes his head, grinning beneath the mask. “I’m not asking, cyar’ika.”

You pull the blanket down to your nose and look up at him with big, sad eyes.

“Stop that,” he tugs at the blanket, “or are you trying to be a brat?”

You shake your head.

“C’mere,” he says, patting his lap. You scoot up so your back is against his chest.

“Open,” he says.

You obey immediately, but furrow your brows and strain your head back a little to see what he's up to, given that you are very much not in range of his cock.

He presses a berry into your mouth, which doesn’t seem to clear anything up for you, as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Eat, cyar’ika,” he says, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You close your eyes for a moment as the juicy berry bursts on your tongue, and then you sit up and whip around to look at him. “Hey—” you started to scold.

“It didn’t come out of the budget,” he says, pulling you back down by the shoulder. A wave of affection spreads as you let him rearrange your body, despite your irritation.

You open your mouth to argue, but he fills it with a slice of longfruit before you can make a sound. You bite down on it like you wished it was his flesh, narrowing your eyes in challenge.

“I’m allowed to spend my credits however I’d like,” he reminds you, pressing a piece of stew-soaked bread to your lips just in case you got any ideas about speaking again. “If I want to spoil you, I can spoil you.”

You cross your arms across your chest but open your mouth willingly for the next bite. He brings his idle arm around yours, basking in the way you loosen a little, forehead smoothing over and exhaling softly.

“That’s it, cyar’ika, just let me take care of you.”

Once you had eaten a decent helping of everything, he brings his other arm around you and closes his eyes, resting his helmet in the crook of your neck.

“Are you still hungry?” he murmurs after a few moments of peace.

You shake your head. You're pleasantly full, warmed by the stew, and feeling lighter from the fresh meal. “Did you eat?”

He nods against your shoulder, wiggling you a little so you're nestled between his long legs, and sighs softly. You take the cue to close your eyes and lean your head against his chest, content to go back to sleep.

You should have known he had other plans when his hands started wandering, but to be fair, it was rare that you lay together without him idly fonding you. It didn’t always lead to anything; he just liked to keep you in a near-constant state of arousal through teasing.

“That way,” Mando had purred in your ear once when you whined, “you’re always wet and ready for me, cyar’ika. That way, I can just… bend you over and slide right in.”

You had nearly cum at the thought alone, and so, he continued to be an absolute menace.

Now, he helps himself to handfuls of your breasts and lazily rolls each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. You concentrate on your breathing, having learned well enough that if you let yourself get worked up too soon, he was more likely to laugh and walk away, to let you marinate in it until you were begging for him.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, pitched low and dangerous in a way that never fails to make you feel like prey. Uh-oh.

“Yes, sir?”

He grins at the tell-tale waver in your voice. “I’d like to try something.”

“Oh no,” you breathe, shuddering.

“Oh no?” he says. “You don’t want to try something? Is that why your poor, empty cunt is dripping all over the bed?”

You whimper and bury your face in your hands. He pries them away immediately, holding both wrists in one hand.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, sir,” you say, knowing how he hated it when you hid from him. You're squirming, now, and can feel his hard cock against your lower back.

“What do you say, cyar’ika? Can I use you? I think you’ll like it.”

You nod without hesitation, despite the way your heart rabbits against your ribcage. You had enjoyed everything he's done so far, but every time he starts with “I’d like to try something,” it usually involves something very intense.

“Let me help you forget all about your bad day.” His hand slides down to your cunt, and your hips buck involuntarily, trying to reach him. He snatches his hand away and laughs. “Be patient,” he warns, before cracking his hand down against your pussy.

You yelp and whine, a pout turning your lips down.

“None of that, sweetheart, or do we need to start with a spanking?” He's teasing, but you hesitate. “We can, if that’ll help.”

You nod, your hands twisting at the sheets to keep them from obscuring his view as you flush from your ears to your chest.

“Such a good girl, telling me what you need. Lay across my lap,” he scoots so his back is flush with the wall. He’s so proud he doesn’t even make you beg for it.

As you settle, he strokes the soft skin of your back, one broad hand splayed across your shoulder blades. “Count for me, baby,” he says before bringing his hand down across your ass.

The strikes are firm but not sharp. Your count comes out in soft moans. He watches as your skin reddens a little, the way your plump flesh bounces. His cock is straining against its linen prison. It was going to have to wait a while, too. He had too much self-control, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to you if he got to take the edge off before starting his little game.

Not that it was going to be fair to begin with.

You’re sprawled now, limbs askew, head hanging off his lap with your arms dangling.

He pauses. “Are you seriously falling asleep?”

“No,” you lie. “It’s just so nice.”

Ooh, mistake, he thinks, and brings his hand down hard for the last hit. It has the desired effect as you yelp and startle from his lap, betrayal across your face.

“Out,” he said, gesturing to the door and pulling his legs from under you so you have to scramble to make room.

You eye him suspiciously when you land on your old bedroll.

“Something you want to say?” he says, digging around in a cabinet with his back to you.

“No, sir.” You bite your tongue and try to see what he’s doing.

“Sit down, impatient girl,” he scolds.

You sit, legs crossed. You thought about kneeling, but with no indication how long you’d be there, you decided to get comfy instead. It’s then that you notice the ropes on either side of the bedroll, neatly coiled. Waiting.

“Don’t touch,” he says as you reach to feel.

“How do you do that?” you say, flinching back and folding your hands in your lap.

He chuckles. “I know you, cyar’ika. Turn around and face the fresher for a minute.” When you’re settled, he sits down behind you and takes one of the ropes. “Can I tie you up, baby?”

“Please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you mean, but your every muscle aches to find out what it feels like.

“You just sit there and relax.” He pauses. “No sleeping.”

You snort and shake your head. There was no need to worry about that. You’re too wound up now.

He begins to wind the cords around you, softly explaining what he’s doing. You would have been fine just letting him work, but to your surprise, it’s nice to know what’s happening. It helps that his voice is so, so pretty. And soft.

As he ties the diamond harness around your chest, he brushes his hands against your breasts, and you can’t help but squirm. He lets you. You won’t be able to, soon, anyway. He ties it off and shakes some of the ropes, running his finger under them to make sure they aren’t too tight.

“Oh,” you whisper, reaching up to feel the knot against your sternum, cupping your cradled breasts, and following the rope up to where he’s woven it over and under your collar.

He lets you explore for a moment. “How’s everything feel? Any pinching or tingling?”

“No, sir.” Your voice is so quiet he can barely hear it over the hum of the mechanics.

“Hands together behind your head.”

You lift them up, fingers knit, and he adjusts them so your neck is cradled in your palms. “Is that comfortable? Think you’ll be alright with them there for a while?”

You hum.

“Cyar’ika. Need you to stay with me right now and use your words.”

You shake your head a little bit, trying to clear away the haze even though all you want to do is sink into it. “Yes, sir. And yes, I’m comfortable.”

“Good girl. Hold still.” He starts first with your arms, threading the rope around to secure your forearm to your bicep. He winds a cuff around each wrist and gathers your hair into one fist.

You moan, less in pleasure than in contentment, so he takes an extra moment to run his fingers through your hair, pulling it neatly back. He slides a loop around it and braids the excess through, tying the end and securing it to your wrists.

Your breathing is ragged. Every brush of his fingers is sparking straight to your cunt, your thighs damp.

“Relax, baby. I’m only halfway done,” he says. He helps you turn around and gently lowers you until you’re lying flat, face up.

He looks you up and down and scraps some of his plan. He had something more elaborate in mind, but he doesn’t want you to slip into subspace yet, and it doesn’t seem like you can fight it for long.

Instead, he takes one leg and bends it to your chest before tying it there. With the other, he bends it over a low rung of the ladder, and secures it so you’re spread and vulnerable. Finally, he takes the loose ends sprawling from under the bedroll and weaves them across your torso, crisscrossing until he’s satisfied.

He checks each tie meticulously, having you affirm your comfort, before he sits back on his haunches. “Move.”

“What?”

“Wiggle, baby. Squirm around.”

You try. When you find that you can only wiggle in place, but can’t actually get any distance, you moan.

“You like this, cyar’ika?” He doesn’t need to ask. Your cunt, spread wide for him, is soaked. But he likes to make you say it anyway.

“Yes, sir.” You’re flushed, but you couldn’t hide from him if you tried.

“Good girl. You ready to try my idea?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “This isn’t it?”

“It’s part of it, baby. It’s preparation. But last night at the market, I found something very interesting.” He holds up a small canister. “There’s a plant that grows on the mountainsides there with a peculiar side effect, if inhaled. If I take this, I’ll be insatiable for hours.”

Your breathing is shallow, eyes wide as you stare at the little tin.

“Remember, cyar’ika. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t be upset with you if we don’t use it.”

“What’ll happen if we do?” You’re curious. “You’re already insatiable.”

“No, pretty girl. It’ll leave me hard. I’ll be able to cum over and over. Y’know, like you get to?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

He laughs. “I was thinking we could play a little game. You like a little competition, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, feeling a little suspicious again. You enjoy when he makes you suffer for his (and your) pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you from getting nervous.

“I want to see which one of us can make the other one cum more.”

“Oh,” that sounds fun, actually, so what’s the catch? “Wait. Hey, hang on. You tied me down.”

He laughs. When he’s like this, it’s just on the side of condescending that makes your clit throb. “You’ll have your mouth. And I’ll have everything else.”

“That’s cheating!”

He runs his hands over your breasts, pinching and squeezing. “That’s the point. Don’t worry, cyar’ika,” he strokes your cheek. “You kind of win either way, don’t you?”

He stands up. “It’s up to you. You say the word, and I’ll put this away. Plenty of other ways I can use you like this.”

You look up at him, a look in your eye he can’t quite place. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you. And I want to make you cum. A lot.”

He grins. “Greedy thing. I’ll be right back, then.” He doesn’t want to open the container in the same room, doesn’t want to risk dosing you somehow. One of you has to be of sound mind for this, and he knows in his bones that if you use your safeword, he’ll stop. But he’s not sure you’d use it if you needed to, were you to ingest it.

It takes a few minutes, but by the time he returns to you, he feels warm all over. He had been half-hard already from groping you while you were tied up so prettily. But now, he aches.

“Can I blindfold you, cyare?” He’s breathing heavily.

“Please, sir,” you beg immediately, fairly certain of what that will mean. And you’re right.

As soon as the cloth is secure, you hear the soft hiss as he removes the helmet. He doesn’t make you wait, mercifully, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You moan and try to lean up for more, but your tether doesn’t let you.

He smiles, you can feel it against your lips, and you think you might lose your mind. You need him. Now. But he backs away.

He shushes you when you whine at the loss of his warmth, and settles himself over you.

“Oh, stars,” you groan as you realize what’s happening. He lowers his hips, letting the tip of his cock brush over your lips as he bows his head and parts you with his fingers. He dips his cock into your waiting mouth just as he licks the first stripe from your clit to your cunt.

It kicks off a chain reaction. You moan around his cock, and the vibrations pull a moan from him, as well. When you try to take him deeper, you realize you’ve been thoroughly tricked. You’re completely at his mercy, can only have as much of him as he lets you. Meanwhile, he’s teasing a finger at your entrance and sucking softly on your clit.

Suddenly, he pulls away, but slides his cock deeper in your throat. “Oh, and you can cum whenever you want. You don’t need to ask right now.”

Fuck.

It doesn’t take him long to draw the first one out of you. He lets you have his cock the whole time, softly thrusting as you suck and work your tongue. When he finally slides a thick finger in you, all the way to the knuckle, you cum. He moans into your cunt, pushing his cock down deep into your throat. He knows you like to choke on it when you cum, which—you realize later—was actually evil. Because it knocks a second orgasm out of you as you gag and struggle.

He pulls almost completely out, moaning as you suck hard to try to keep the head in your mouth. “That’s two,” he says, but it breaks into another moan as you flick your tongue over the slit. “That’s it, pretty girl, I’m almost there.”

He resumes fucking you with his finger, sliding another one in for good measure. He isn’t going to fight his orgasm. It’s not like he needs to try to hold out, and you deserve to get what you worked so hard for. So he thrusts roughly into you and spills down your throat.

He expects you to count or tease.

But you don’t. You gasp out, “Thank you, sir,” before opening your mouth again to wait for him.

“Dank farrik, cyar’ika,” he groans. “You’re going to kill me.” He slides his still-hard cock back into your mouth, and the way you take him is rapturous.

He resumes licking and nipping at you, kissing and sucking bruises into your thighs. You don’t notice the particulars of what he’s doing. Everything is soft and blissful. You’re only vaguely aware when you cum again, a gentle, rolling thing that makes you shake all over.

The world around you has narrowed. You might be floating, but thankfully, Mando has tied you nice and tight, so you don’t have to worry about it. You always love his cock, but right now, you think you might die if he stopped fucking your face.

The exquisite pleasure is just on the right side of painful. There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like a waterfall. You lose count of how many times he rewards you with his cum, how many times you cum just from feeling him twitch and spurt down your throat. Your jaw aches, and you feel raw all over. It’s bliss.

By the time the drugs wear off, Mando thinks maybe, maybe he’s too old for this. His back aches, and his knees lock up. And he’s so, so tired. But he’s still warm all over, and you’re so soft and beautiful.

You whine when he pulls away, but it’s a weak, soft thing. You’re too far gone, too worn out for more. He gives you another kiss before sliding the helmet back on.

“Cyar’ika, I’m going to take the blindfold off now.” He’s turned out the lights in the hull, but the adjustment might be too much still.

“Mm.” Everything is too heavy to move.

He slips the cloth off your head and warns you to hold still.

As if you would move if you could. That would be so, so much work.

You barely notice as he slides the knife, cutting the rope away from your body. You’re both absolutely filthy, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even think about getting cleaned up. Instead, he lifts you up and somehow manages to ease you both into the bunk. He brings the canteen to your lips and makes sure you take slow, easy sips.

Running his hands gently over you, he both checks to make sure skin didn’t break and admires the ridges of the rope where they’ve been tattooed into you. You’re limp, curled toward him, and he thinks you’re already asleep.

But then you nestle closer, pressing soft kisses to his bare chest, and he’s overcome again by gratitude, by awe at what he gets to have with you.

“Hey,” you whisper, later into the night. He stirs a little, too groggy to open his eyes. “Who won?” you ask.

“No idea,” he murmurs, and pulls you back into his chest to sleep.

*title from "My Blue Heaven" by Taking Back Sunday.

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #kinktober 2023 #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #these two have me in a choke hold I'm sorry #these are so long because I go to write pwp and all the sudden there's feelings and budgets and ship maintenance #corazondebeskar-reads and writes #coming in just under the wire it's still the 8th here #make it hurt verse

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renthefox · 9 months

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What makes Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi canon even though there's no vocal confirmation or a kiss on the mouth?

{BECAUSE I NEED MY SANITY AFTER FOLLOWING S2}

First of all, for whoever doesn't know, it's illegal to show gay "sexual practices" in China. As a result, the creators, even if they wanted, they are restrained by laws. It has to be expressed as strong subtext.

First of all, we have the name of the series itself, where "shiguang" means time and is created by taking our boys' names and compounding them into one: Cheng XiaoSHI + Lu GUANG. It's obviously also related to their front shop cover business as photographers, but this is what one would also call this pairing ship.

Secondly, as I've noted in previous post, the posters show them with yin & yang colours. But even the clothes used in the doghua imply their relationship is something more; CXS's bomber jacket combines both yellow/orange (his signature colours from the promos) and blue (LG's signature colour). Doesn't it have the same vibes like a girlfriend wearing her boyfriend's shirt?

Thirdly, in the chibi show, LG is a cat and CXS is a dog. I'm not Chinese, so I'm not 100% sure on this one, but many cultures will associate cats with femme fatales or with female characteristics, while dogs with masculinity as guards. In Japan, that's an actual gay lingo, with neko being the "bottom" partner, not to mention similar manga depictions in BL manga and doujinshi.

Fourthly, we are granted a short where our two protagonists are entangled in red string, while playing string ladder. Red string is a very prominent symbol for fated lovers in East Asia.

Last but not least, can we all acknowledge the "irony" of them being roommates? This has become such a meme, especially withing historical context, that I doubt it's not intended. As for the bunk beds, they're a matter of lack ofspace and money, not to mention the concept of "saving face".

Anything else comes directly from the dialogue or parallel scenes and the characters' interactions. See below.

In ep2, s1, the scene is most likely a reference to Lady and the Trump, where the couple shares a plate of pasta and somehow end up being connected by a single noodle. We don't really see the boys eating, but the arrangement is the same, and CXS even names the dish the "male dormitory's bowl" much like the women had named theirs the "female dormitory's bowl". And the ladies, not married until their early 40s, starting a business together, using ingredients of emotional significance to each other... they are definitely together as an item.

I think this one is pretty straightforward. They almost had a fur baby together.

In another chibi episode, LG and CXS are meant to fight one another as training, and both are unwilling to badmouth each other as a fight starter. Even the immature CXS, who one would guess could be the guy to make a laundry list of complaints, uses his own flaws and secrets to provoke LG. And by the way, two things are revealed: a) CXS basically confessed through a fake account, and b) LG protected CXS, putting the blame for breaking the cups on himself.

I don't know about you, but this sounds so very gay flirting to me.

The personal space these two share is very tight many times, beyond just friends who care for each other or shy people who feel embarrassed by admitting what they like in their "friend".

I don't know that many male friends who would rub against each other in an effort to charm the other into persuassion...

#link click #shiguang daili ren #boys love #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi

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telomeke-bbs · 1 year

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The Our Skyy 2 Bad Buddy trailer has premiered, and quite honestly they're not giving us much to go on (so don't set too much store by it). What I gather:

Archi and Engine rivalry is very much a thing still – both faculties have to put on a play, but the auditorium is only available for one. So Ajahn Pichai makes them compete to see who gets it ("The faculty that's more prepared gets the auditorium."). Sweeping the exterior grounds with large brooms and construction drawings with truss frames are somehow involved.

Pat and Pran seem to be aware of each other's feelings but their relationship is beset by rivalry, so it looks like the episodes are set as predicted during the timeskip after the Beachside Bet of BBS Ep.6 [4/4] and their sophomore year of BBS Ep.7, in the early part of their "rivalry as courtship" era. But you never know! 🤷‍♂️

A lot of backstage shenanigans between Pat and Pran, and the red backdrop is everywhere.

Their friend groups don't seem aware that the two have embarked on something romantic (i.e., they seem to be seeing only rivalry and competition), which fits placing this in the timeskip.

Wai seems much less like a troublemaker here though.

Pat's hair looks even more hideous than in the earlier Our Skyy 2 trailer. Not easy to make Ohm look bad, but they're managing somehow.

Ohm lost weight after Bad Buddy and looked much leaner in the series he did post-BBS. Strangely he looks bigger in this trailer, almost Pat-sized again (maybe it's the hair and faculty jacket). Nanon looks much the same.

They've changed the filming location for their university, so the ambience is different.

Ink and Pa are in it! And Ink is feeding Pa with shrimp (again). It looks like another hotpot in someone's dorm.

But Pat calls himself "Nong Pat" and asks to be fed shrimp by Pran in front of Ink and Pa. What gives?

Pat and Pran bunk over in that same dorm room (it's not Tinidee), with a tent and Christmas lights – it looks like a planned romantic getaway, but one they're forced to hold indoors away from public view maybe. Their energy there is tender, softer and more vulnerable. And mutual.

They're also seen in a lift for the company Hightem Construction, not LogTech, but they're wearing "Visitor" tags all the same.

Pran wears The Watch, and his PP hobo bag puts in an appearance too.

There are cheek kisses but nothing on the scale of The Rooftop Kiss.

Pat and Pran do some sort of deal behind the scenes, in front of their laptops, sealed with a fistbump.

As noted before by @miscellar and @dribs-and-drabbles (see these links here and here 😍) you CAN'T trust a trailer by Director Aof, so we have six days to find out how much of the above holds true and how much of it turns out to be wool pulled over our eyes. 😂

Waiting on tenterhooks all the same! 😍 And counting down to 31 May 2023... 💖

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#bad buddy #our skyy 2 #our skyy 2 x bad buddy #patpran #trailer

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mygwenchan · 4 months

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Just some random Playboyy thoughts after rewatching ep8:

The folder in which Nuth saved Nant's casting and suicide clip was named "Research". Judging by other folders and stuff on his desktop, it's all related to the movie Nuth is planning to film. In the first clip, Nant also recited parts of the script. Maybe both Nant clips are part of the movie? I'd love to get my hands on that script tbh... And also on the diary entry Nuth wrote on the twins bday. I bet there is a lot of useful information to be found!

They said Nant filmed the suicide video in a hotel room, but it's literally the same building in which Soong used to live... I think it's a production error, but it still bothers me a little.

So we were all wondering why the baddy bunch's kitchen looks different right? Well... Since First decided to live with his friends and Teena pretty much moved in with Zouey, meaning First couldn't bunk with his bestie anymore, they needed a new house with more rooms! I think that rooftop party was basically their housewarming party. They simply forgot to mention any of this in the series lol

That dog mask... I think Nuth must've asked Keen to hide it for him. But I also think Nuth himself is hiding it for someone else... It's pretty obvious that Nuth and the doggo guy aren't the same person and I still think our culprit is Prom. Which somewhat leads me to the suspicion that Prom is also our drug provider! Maybe that's his actual job and being the Playboyy manager is just a side gig? Or maybe Prom is dealing drugs behind Jason Lee's back. I mean, Prom already stole a large amount of money from his "daddy" (probably stole it from the club's cash register and the Playboyys). It wouldn't surprise me if he's also stealing drugs or doing other shady business.

If the post credit scene of ep8 isn't just a dream, then Nant is very much dead 😥 Thing is though, if that is happening in present times and not in the past, Nant has died only very recently. His eyes have turned white, but his skin isn't pale and patchy. There are also no signs of insects and other stuff... So unless they got the makeup wrong, Nant hasn't been dead for more than 2 hours. Plus, I didn't see any severe strangulation signs and Nant is wearing only his undies. The clothes he wore in the suicide clip are gone. And well, someone obviously placed him in the middle of the woods. But who? That is the question!

If Nant has indeed died recently, after Nont already came pretty close to finding the dog mask and the doggo guy... someone must've gotten cold feet! I don't think it's anyone from the baddie bunch. Nont had a whole breakdown in front of them and very convincingly told them he'd give up his search for Nant. Which pretty much only leaves Nuth, Phop (yes, also my cutie Phop!) and Prom... I went back to the convo Nuth had with Phop and it does sound kind of open for interpretation:

Nuth: Aren't you mad at me about Nant? Phop: You already told me about it. Why would I be mad?. I just want you to tell me everything. Then I'll be fine."

Now Phop is the very same person who stayed strangely calm while being held at gunpoint. Same when Nuth held a knife against his throat. So either my boy is dense as fuck, or he's got nerves of steel. Add some questionable morals and a pinch of insanity to the mix and you've got the perfect psycho boyfriend who'd be more than willing to commit crimes with you! On the other hand there is Prom, who tried to find out where Nont is planning to search for Nant, but instead was told that Nont would search for the doggo guy and not his twin brother. Now if Prom is Mr doggo, he might want to get rid of all the evidence... Might as well discard of the boring twin while he's at it, since he's got a new one now?

#playboyy #playboyy the series #playboyy ep8 #gwen's watchlist

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martianbugsbunny · 7 months

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Rainbow Mists In Which He Stands (A Kalluzeb Fic)

Had to do something short and sweet for these guys, I'm being consumed by them. I haven't decided yet if I might expand this into a three-part series, with this one, a Kanera one, and a Sabezra one (which, fair warning, would probably be platonic bc I have complicated feelings about them being a couple). The point is, this is a delightful little break for Kalluzeb and they're having a nice time together. IN case you were wondering, the title is another Wayne Visser reference; that part of the poem kinda melted and gooified together in my brain like crayons left in the sun with that art @kappamelone did of trans kallus a little while ago to create my favorite scene in here (which will be terribly obvious when you see it). Read on and enjoy!

The crew of the Ghost had been offered (ordered) shore leave for a few days after a stunning misadventure involving Chopper, a bag of explosives, and a remarkable inability to count. Kanan said it was because their nerves were all stripped after that; Hera muttered about being put in time-out and kicked a couple of crates.

Zeb, like Ezra and Sabine, didn’t really care why they had been sent away to a remote moon for a bit of quiet time. He joined them in making excited plans about how to make the most of it, especially after learning that Kallus had been commanded to go with them.

“They want me to keep an eye on you,” he said, then a little more irately, “I’m pretty sure Rebel Command is as sick of me as they are of you.” Having been recruited into the Rebellion by the Specters, he had picked up their annoying habits of rarely listening to orders in the way in which they were intended.

But once again, Zeb didn’t care why Kallus had been packed up and shipped off with the Ghost’s crew, and he convinced Kallus to stop caring at least until they got back from leave. Then he could be annoyed about it all he liked.

The minute they landed, Ezra and Sabine raced out of the Ghost, shoving each other to the side, to take in the view. The planet was warm, covered in tall trees with vines hanging from the branches and brightly colored spiky flowers. Zeb had never seen another planet quite like it; the kids probably hadn’t, either.

Kanan and Zeb sat down together on the ramp, while Hera went through her post-flight checks and powered down the ship. “I used to go camping with the other Honor Guards,” Zeb said. He was still a little bit surprised, himself, every time he mentioned his life on Lasan. It seemed to happen more frequently these days; he wondered if maybe letting go of his pain enough to make room in his life for Kallus had helped him be more at peace with it in general. “I could show the kids how to set up tents.”

Kanan smiled, his head tilted towards where Sabine was gushing over how good the spiky flowers would be as pigments for her paints. “They’d get a real kick out of that,” he said. “You’ll probably have to drag Hera off the Ghost by her ankles, though.”

“What about my ankles?” Hera sat down between them, leaning against Kanan’s arm. “I guess—to spare you boys the effort—I could be convinced to spend the night outside. Sleeping among the stars is one thing, but there’s something special about sleeping under them, too.”

Kanan’s grin grew wider, and he kissed the side of Hera’s head. “You old romantic,” he teased.

Zeb rolled his eyes, standing up to stretch. “I’ll get the tents,” he said. Let those two have their moment. He went back into the Ghost and hefted the top off of a storage crate that he’d stuffed a couple of tents into before leaving the base. He’d only been able to find three; he expected Sabine and Hera would probably share a tent and leave Ezra and Kanan to commune with the new planet’s nature in that Jedi way of theirs—and of course he and Kallus would bunk together.

Speaking of Kallus, where had he gotten off to? He was prone to sort of drifting off while everyone else was busy, and half the time he neglected to even mention to Zeb where he was going. It was hard for him, Zeb thought, when he was with the Spectres; they had been a family unit when he met them, and he hadn’t figured out how to integrate into it just yet.

Zeb stopped to set down the tents outside before following the path that Kallus’s boots had left in the soft grass. Ezra and Sabine had stopped their frenzied exploration to lay back on the ground for a minute, and he gently nudged Sabine’s shoulder with his foot as he passed. It was good for them to enjoy themselves. They didn’t get to be kids often enough.

He didn’t mind getting the time to relax himself. He didn’t really care how long it would take him to catch up to Kallus, with fresh, greenery-scented air to breathe and nothing to distract him from appreciating the scenery. There were certain bright orange flowers that reminded him of ones that grew on Lasan, and soft white ones that looked like the drifts of snow on Bahryn.

Zeb finally stopped when he saw the waterfall up ahead. It was one of the most stunning views he’d ever seen.

Standing at the very edge of the fall, feet submerged in the pool it created, was Kallus, shirt, jacket, and boots discarded on a nearby rock, his head tilted back ever-so-slightly and his damp hair clinging to his face and neck. Where the water spilled across his freckled shoulders, it shifted and shimmered in the light, the mist forming a rainbow in the air like a cape.

There was that feeling Zeb was still trying to get used to: looking at Kallus and being sure that his heart was going to beat against his lungs so hard he would pass out, like there wasn’t enough room for love and oxygen in him at the same time and his body would rather go without the oxygen. It was easy to say he had never been in love with anyone the way he had fallen for Kallus. He wondered sometimes at the designs of the Ashla, but he was certain it had guided them towards each other, softening each of them in turn to make what they had now possible.

Zeb released a sigh and walked across the clearing to stand at the edge of the pool. “Enjoying nature all by yourself, handsome?” he teased. Kallus’s face instantly broke into a wide, unguarded smile, such that Zeb only ever saw when they were alone together, his amber eyes lighting like sparks from a flint. There weren’t many lines by those eyes yet; like Zeb, Kallus had spent more of his life frowning or scowling than he had smiling, but he was making some progress. A few of the worry lines, at least, seemed to have become less pronounced, now that Kallus was a little bit less tense than he had been as an Imperial agent.

“I don’t have to be,” Kallus said. Zeb stepped into the shallow water and waded over to Kallus, ripples fanning out around his legs as he walked.

Zeb cupped his hands around Kallus’s upper ribcage, thumbs covering the beautiful twin scars beneath his pectorals. The lines were thick and pale, mostly even; only jagged at the edges. “Have I ever told you how much I like these?” he asked, leaning his forehead against Kallus’s.

“Every time you see me with my shirt off,” Kallus answered, resting his hands on Zeb’s forearms.

“Which isn’t often enough for my taste,” Zeb said. Kallus laughed (Ashla, did Zeb love that deep, hoarse laugh), fingers playing across a set of dark purple stripes that were a little bit darker still than the others on Zeb’s body.

“How long do you think we have before they miss us?” Kallus asked. His face was flushed from sun—it made the freckles on his face seem just a little bit more vivid by contrast.

“A half hour before the kids hunt me down to set up the tents.”

Kallus smiled at him, more softly than before, but with just as much earnestness. “Ever the family man, aren’t you, Garazeb.”

Then he put his arms around Zeb’s neck and kissed him, and there was nothing on the planet except the two of them and the stones beneath their feet and the mists spilling across their shoulders, and for just a moment nothing could ever be wrong again.

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sofasoap · 1 year

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Sweet

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!reader

Summary: Short drabble of life pre-relationship. The clan of three travelling around the galaxy, still in search of Jedi for Grogu. Part of the Heartbreak series.

Warning: Remember to brush your teeth afterwards.

A/N: Happy Birthday to my mutual @josephquinnswhore who is just as crazy as me in loving the Space husband, Din Djarin / Pedro Pascal. I hope this fluff warms your heart :) MASTERLIST for the previous stories to the Heartbreak series.

Faint smell of sweet pastry slowly seeping into Din’s tiny bunk space. Sounds of crate being moved around against the grates of the floor, soft giggling of the green baby and whisper of your soothing voice.

Flipping around onto his stomach, Din buried his head into the soft pillow which you insisted on buying for him at the market from the last planet, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep.

“For your neck’s sake.” you shovelled the purchase into his arm, and continued walking around the market, warning him with your side eye, signalling no room for arguments. He never admits to you, but it actually improves his persistent shoulder problem he’s been having for cycles. You always know how to take care of him, and the baby. And the ship. He doesn’t voice his problem or concern out half of the time, but somehow, you always know, and silently offers him remedy and solutions to the problem, at the right time.

Sound of metal against metal woke him up before he was ready to doze off again. He sighed, might as well get up. Now he hears the whistling sound of caf distiller and the smell of caf mixed with that sweet pastry from before. Grabbing his helmet from the tiny shelf above his head, making sure it's latched on properly before he lifts the curtain separating the bunk space to the cargo hold. The scene in front of him brings him back memories. Childhood memories from Aq Ventina.

There you are, sitting on the crate, with the little green pea in your lap, holding his hand while teaching him how to mix some sort of batter inside the small metal bowl. This is all so domestic. The feel of home. The three of you. Little clan of three. He remembers his mother, cooking breakfast, while him pouring some blue milk into glasses, and his father, yawning away and giving his mother a kiss on the cheek before proceeding ruffling his hair. “Morning Mando.” Your greeting pulls him back from his reverie, shaking his head, he sees you turning your head towards him, offering him a soft smile. Giving the baby a quick kiss on his head, standing up, and gently putting both of him and the bowl down onto the crate.

“ You woke up just in time. The bread is just coming out from the oven.” you turned around, opening the nanowave cooker to take out some delicious smelling bread. “ I tried to make some five blossom bread, but I don’t have the right ingredients.. So… I am sorry if this is not quite authentic.’ Apologise as you divide the bread onto a plate,along with some dried cheese and meat jerky, before passing a flask of caf to Din, so he can break his fast in the cockpit.

Nodding his head, thanking you, he turns and climbs up to the cockpit. Instead of sealing the cockpit door, he left it open for once. He wants to enjoy this feeling of home, even though it’s just through the sound.

Assuming you are back to mixing the batter through the clanking sound starting again, the child cooing and babbling away, you answer him as if you understand what he is trying to express, instructing him the secret art of making a good cookie.

He can’t deny the underlying feeling he has for you. You are too good to the baby. Too good to him. Too good FOR him . He doesn’t deserve you.

Thinking back to the spare vitroblade he had in his weapon cabinet. He was given a pair of it when he swore the creed.

“ One for you to keep. One for your future riduur.” The Armorer had said to him. Maybe next time when they go past the planet again, he will ask the Armorer to engrave the mudhorn signet onto the blade, before giving it to you. If he is brave enough. If you can accept him.

But for the moment. He is content with listening to your angelic voice, softly singing a Naboo folk song, with baby cooing in the background. Content with the soft smile you give him. Content with the attention you are given him. If this will last forever.

Just imagine Din walking around the market with a pillow in his arm. and years later down the track, you confessed to him, the day you make the bread was actually your life day.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #grogu

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antianakin · 1 year

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I find it so interesting to look at Anakin's "apology" to Obi-Wan in Revenge of the Sith right before Obi-Wan goes to Utapau and compare it with the scene he has after Obi-Wan defeats him in the Obi-Wan Kenobi series. The ways Anakin sort-of skirts around actually apologizing for ANYTHING he's actually done wrong, the way he uses that apology to continue to argue that he thinks he's right about everything, seem to kind-of lead to the way he tries to emotionally manipulate Obi-Wan in the show 10 years later.

In Revenge of the Sith, Anakin comes to Obi-Wan and says that he hasn't been grateful to Obi-Wan for his training, sure, but he also then says that he's "just so frustrated with the Council." At best, this apology amounts to "I'm sorry for snapping at you PERSONALLY, but I still think I should be on the Council, I still think I should be made a Master, I see nothing wrong with accepting Palpatine's nepotistic offer to put me on the Council, I don't see Palpatine's actions as asking me to spy on the Council, I don't believe the Council has any reason to suspect Palpatine of wrongdoing, and I still don't think anyone should be asking me to spy on Palpatine." He's apologizing I guess, but for the SMALLEST infraction of them all. And he's apologizing to Obi-Wan his friend, not Obi-Wan the Council Member. Even though Obi-Wan specifically makes it clear in that last conversation they had about this that he was speaking to Anakin AS A COUNCIL MEMBER.

It's a mostly meaningless apology, because it really apologizes for none of the things he's actually truly done wrong. Snapping at Obi-Wan isn't really that big of a deal in comparison to accepting Palpatine's offer to put him on the Council, his temper tantrum about not being made a Master, and his near refusal to look into Palpatine's actions for the Council in return.

Anakin's apology shows no recognition of why the Council might be upset with him, no real development or growth in terms of respecting the Council itself as a ruling body or development in his relationship to Palpatine. There's no acknowledgment that he recognizes even if he likes Palpatine that his political actions may be suspect and so using his relationship to Palpatine to help the Jedi investigate that is necessary. Nothing. Literally nothing.

But he says a lot of pretty things to Obi-Wan PERSONALLY, about how he believes Obi-Wan was a good Master, how he should be more grateful for Obi-Wan's training, etc etc. And it fucking works. Obi-Wan tells him that he was a wise and strong Jedi, better than Obi-Wan himself. Even though Anakin's apology was complete bunk, he manipulates Obi-Wan's feelings of uncertainty about having trained Anakin and whether he was truly good enough to be Anakin's Master to net himself the reaction he wants from Obi-Wan. Anakin does the SMALLEST amount of work possible in this apology and then dresses it up to make it seem like he's doing a lot more. And Obi-Wan falls for it because he loves Anakin, because he wants to believe that this teeny tiny itsy bitsy apology could be the beginning of Anakin recognizing the wrong he's done in the rest of his behavior towards the Council itself, towards Anakin being better as a person and a Jedi. Obi-Wan hears what he wants to hear because Anakin knows exactly how to manipulate Obi-Wan into doing so.

I don't know that Anakin was necessarily manipulating Obi-Wan super consciously, but I do think he was doing so at least subconsciously in order to get Obi-Wan to react a certain way. He understands Obi-Wan well enough to know how to present himself and speak to make Obi-Wan happy with him and clearly does so, even as he does really very little actual emotional labor. He wants Obi-Wan to not be upset with him, he wants Obi-Wan to not be disappointed in him and agree with him about his own frustrations, so he says and does what he feels like he has to in order to get it. And he does.

Fast forward 10 years later, and that manipulation is quite a bit more blatant and works way less well on an Obi-Wan who can now see Anakin more clearly.

I've seen people calling this Anakin "absolving" Obi-Wan of any responsibility for Anakin's fall. While you could argue that this is kind-of the end result of what Anakin says, I don't personally think it's that in character for it to be an intentional effect on Anakin's part. Obi-Wan chooses to absolve HIMSELF because of what Anakin says, but Anakin's intended goal, as stated by Anakin himself in the show, is to BREAK Obi-Wan. And Anakin believes he knows Obi-Wan pretty well, better than Obi-Wan even knows himself perhaps, and thinks he can just use his words to manipulate Obi-Wan's emotions the way he wants. Last time, he was trying to ensure Obi-Wan's approval. This time, he's trying to ensure Obi-Wan's ultimate devastation.

Unfortunately for Anakin, Obi-Wan isn't precisely who he used to be anymore, and he's a lot more aware of Anakin's true darkness. This makes him a lot more aware of when Anakin is manipulating him and capable of fighting back against it.

Anakin's words in the show seem pretty enough, he says that he is not Obi-Wan's failure and that HE killed "Anakin Skywalker" but this is not an apology. There is no acknowledgment of anything he's truly done wrong, and he's honestly absolving HIMSELF of any true crime because if he killed Anakin Skywalker, then Anakin Skywalker presumably did nothing wrong. Anakin Skywalker was just a victim in the whole thing, not the perpetrator of a double genocide and the betrayer of everyone he once loved. This allows Anakin to tell himself that he was still a real hero, a good person who was simply "killed" by Darth Vader, "killed" by the Dark Side.

But while his words are sweet, aimed right at the exact same fears and insecurities of Obi-Wan's that were being manipulated in Revenge of the Sith, they're also intended to remove any kernel of hope that might still exist in Obi-Wan. They're intended to pull him into despair along WITH Anakin. He's trying to hit at Obi-Wan's weak spot, himself and his insecurities as to his responsibility in what's happened to Anakin.

There's no acknowledgment of the actual harm he's done, the actual crimes committed against Obi-Wan, or the Jedi, or the Republic, or the clones, or even Padme. The only victim mentioned here, is Anakin himself, and it's a flat out lie because Anakin's quite obviously not dead and wasn't a victim of his own choices but the intended benefactor. He's choosing not to take the blame or responsibility for his own actions, but to take CREDIT for his victory. He flaunts that victory in Obi-Wan's face by seemingly "absolving" Obi-Wan of Anakin's own "death."

This is not an apology. It's not even anywhere in the VICINITY of an apology. At least the one in Revenge of the Sith has a half-assed attempt at apologizing for snapping at Obi-Wan, even as it refuses to actually acknowledge the most harmful and offensive things he's done to everyone else. At least that one is halfway genuine because in the moment he does want Obi-Wan's approval.

Anakin in the Obi-Wan Kenobi show no longer wants Obi-Wan's approval because he's too caught up and embroiled in hating Obi-Wan and blaming Obi-Wan for everything that's happened to him that all he wants is to make Obi-Wan as miserable as possible, to have victory OVER Obi-Wan by breaking him. So there's not even the attempt at an apology, just the manipulation.

But Obi-Wan sees Anakin for who and what he is now. The manipulation doesn't work. Instead of breaking Obi-Wan, all Anakin's words do is allow Obi-Wan to move on and let go, to fully grieve for what he's lost and begin to heal. The recognition of this manipulation, the SAME manipulation he used 10 years ago successfully, is the last thing Obi-Wan needs.

Anakin hasn't grown or developed at all, he's using the exact same tactics and manipulations on Obi-Wan as he always has. But Obi-Wan HAS grown, he's learned how to see beyond his own faith in Anakin, and it allows him to resist Anakin's manipulations of his insecurities. It really goes to show just how close to darkness Anakin already was, how consumed by it he already was even before he chose to become a Sith, because even his nicer moments are tainted and mired in selfishness and cruelty.

#obi-wan kenobi show #star wars #owk #obi-wan kenobi series #obi-wan kenobi #owk series #owk show #anakin skywalker #anakin critical #anakin skywalker critical

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noisynaia · 2 years

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Distant Suns - Chapter 2

Among the Stars: Distant Suns

Chapter title: The Market

summary: You have lived on Tatooine your entire life, never even been off-planet. Your path crosses a mysterious Mandalorian and his even more mysterious child. You end up having to leave your home after getting caught up with the mysterious duo by mistake.

word count: 2.7k

rating: E

pairing: Din Djarin x afab!reader

note: This has not been beta read. No use of (y/n). The reader goes by she/her pronouns. This is a slow burn y'all, but it will eventually become smutty™️. Hope you enjoy :)

crossposted on my ao3

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The suns have fully set by the time the child had finished the breakfast the sweet Nautolan had served, including a very generous portion of bantha milk pudding for dessert. Din had had to feed it to the little one to make sure he wouldn’t eat it so fast that he would make himself sick.

It had made Din think back to the night before when the kid and you had dinner together and how he had been surprised with warm soup outside his door.

You had tried to get away fast, but not fast enough for a Mandalorian bounty hunter to not get a glimpse of you when you went down the stairs. You had cooked a warm meal for him. You had been very upset when you had learned about his eating habits during dinner with the kid, but the thought of you spending time cooking him a meal, him a complete stranger, made him feel something in his chest he couldn’t quite identify. He had not even asked for your name, he would have done so and thanked you for the soup when he got the chance, but it had been the Nautolan that had greeted him from behind the counter this morning.

Din had just had his usual nutrition pack, same as always, but he can’t remember the last time he had slept so well. His bunk in the crest is fine . Din has never been picky when it comes to stuff like that, he has slept sitting straight up for many a night through his years, but his back has been starting to act up more and more with age.

The child sticks his little fussy head up from his canvas bag, Din had decided to let the kid's pod stay back at the inn. He usually doesn’t leave things behind, a bounty hunter is always ready to flee a scene, not smart to have all one's belongings laying back somewhere. The kid had seemed to prefer the bag today and Din had, for some reason, just let the kid make the decision.

Din had gone to Peli’s hangar as the first thing. She had told him that she had gotten a lot done on the ship yesterday, so the crest might already be flight-ready this evening. She had, of course, also continued, in the typical mechanic way, to point out other stuff that was wrong with the ship, talking about how he should get the left turbine replaced, even though that hadn’t been impacted by any asteroids. He should maybe just let her, he could stay on the planet for another night, letting Peli do her thing and hopefully not having to need a mechanic for a long time.

Din is unsure of what to do now, he is on Tatooine, so he should probably continue to look for something that could lead to a clue about this Skywalker . But yesterday wasn’t successful and nothing suggests that he can find any new leads on the planet about the Jedi.

Din makes a decision and heads to the market instead, a ration run is long overdue. The kid is calm, the big meal had made him drowsy, lying quietly in the bag clutching his beloved metal ball.

Din has almost found all of the things he needs. The kid is still lying still in the bag, always tired after big meals, but it can’t take long before his nap is over. He is sending a mental thank you to the sweet innkeeper for sending the little one into a food coma, making the trip to the market easier for Din. It is also making him feel less worried when the kid is asleep like this, making it less likely that someone who shouldn’t notice the kid would do so. A Mandalorian in full beskar is usually enough of a head-turner.

Din is currently getting soap at a booth. He had found out that the normal sandalwood one he uses is too harsh on the kid's delicate skin. What type of soap he bought was not something Din had ever thought much about before, but the child had changed a lot about Din. It is while he is paying for the soaps that he sees you. A little further down, the crowded market. You’re filling a basket with fruits, happily chattering with the owner of the booth. He noticed how the sunshine reflects on your hair. It's pretty.

A small patu escapes from the bag, the kid must have woken up. Din pays for the soaps and packs them away. The kid sticks his little head out just enough to see out on the crowd.

His big dark eyes land on you, and since you had been the one serving him dinner last night and currently are the proprietor of a big basket full of fruit he is reaching his little hands out from the bag and towards you.

Din sighs, it would probably create less attention to approach you than having the kid throw a tantrum. It was clear to Din that the kid had been very interested in you as you ate with him last night, food was usually an easy way to win the kid over, but there was something more to it. Din couldn’t deny that something about you is captivated, almost alluring .

It looks like you are getting ready to leave the fruit both, you pay for your groceries and turn around, directly towards Din and the child. Your face lights up with recognition as your eyes land on the helmet of his beskar.

“Hi!” Your voice is so sweet, Din is not used to people being sweet to him, maybe besides the child. People can be friendly, but sweet is different.

“Hi.” Din replies with a slight nod of his helmet.

“I hope you slept well.” Your eyes are on his visor as you continue in your warm tone.

Din just nods, suddenly feeling very exposed in the middle of the crowded market, a short silence follows. You’re still smiling, but less brightly, your eyes flicker away from the T of his helmet, maybe from the lack of a verbal answer. Din opens his mouth to say something, what, he doesn't know, but before he can say something stupid the kid comes to his rescue. The little green head pops out of the bag quietly babbling as he holds his little arms out towards you. The warm smile is back on your face and even stronger than before.

“Hello, kiddo.” You coo at him, putting your basket down before kneeling down to be at eye level with the youngling.

“You know what, I have on good authority that Groob is gonna make deep-fried gorg for dinner with pika cake for dessert.” You whisper the last part conspiratorial to the kid as you clap the basket full of fruit. “I think I might have gotten a little overboard thought, you wouldn’t help me out on that would you?” You ask the child before looking up at Din for permission. Din nods again, wanting to say something , but he still doesn’t know what .

You grab one of the blue fruit and begin to remove the peel, the child looks captivated as the

ripe fruit pulp appears. You hand him small pieces at a time until he has eaten the whole fruit. You laugh at the little kid as blue fruit juice is dripping from his mouth. Din can’t help but smile under his helmet, he really likes the sound of your laughter, he distracts himself by gripping the corner of his cloak to wipe the child’s face with.

“Oh, you’re a spoiled one, huh?” You laugh out.

Din collects his bravado. “He is easier to deal with when he is happy, so he usually gets what he wants.” Din sighs dramatically but caresses the child's ear soft and lovingly at the same time, contradicting that he actually has anything against spoiling him.

And your eyes are back on Din again. “Well, I don’t blame you, I don’t think I could deny him a thing.” Something weird sturs inside Din’s chest by the sight. You crouched in front of the kid, already peeling a new fruit for him, with your pretty eyes looking right up at Din, a soft smile on your lip.

“Yeah, he is a cute one.” Din agrees.

You smile a little brighter at him again before putting your focus back on the child who is happily munching on the fruit you are offering him. He finishes the second fruit and Din gets ready to wipe the juice from his face again, but before he can get to it the kid has disappeared down the bag. It only takes a second for the little one to appear again, he proudly holds out a small shiny steel nut, in his right hand, which he must have lured from Peli when they were at her place this morning. In the other hand, he holds the small silver orb, his most prized possession, close to his body as if to make sure you don’t mistake it for the gift in his other hand as he holds the nut out towards you, tilting his little green head.

“ For me? ” You whisper.

He makes one of his little babbling noises. You hold out your hand for him so that the child can decide for himself whether he wants to part with the small piece of metal or not. He lets it fall into your palm and makes another small sound, first looking up at Din with his big gentle eyes and then back at you.

“ Thank you .” Your voice is so soft and gentle, Din thinks that he can hear the smile that is on your lips as you speak to the child. Something about the way you talk to the kid is so congenial to Din’s ears, he tries not to dwell on it, not letting the feeling linger. You are a random bypasser in his life, one who will be gone by morning as he takes off in his ship. It doesn’t matter how kindly you speak to the child, or how pretty your smile is when your eyes meet the black visor of his helmet like you know exactly where his eyes are hiding.

Both you and Din are silent for a moment, both of you surprised by the kid's gift.

The child is clearly the one less affected by his own action, he is back to focusing on his metal ball, quietly babbling to it as if he is telling an unintelligible fairytale and the ball can understand him.

You stand up slowly, the basket handle secure in the crook of your elbow, your hand tight around the metal nut.

Din decides to break the silence. “Thank you for the soup last night, it was very kind of you.”

You just shake your head, smiling sweetly, like it was nothing.

“I never got your name.” The modulator of his helmet conceals the nerves in his voice. Din is a Mandalorian, a worrier and he is confident in many things, thanking a pretty woman for cooking him a warm meal is not one of them and asking the same woman for her name isn’t either.

You tell him, your voice sounding a little different, still sweet and warm but a hint of something else as well… Shyness?

He wants to tell you that it is a pretty name because it is very pretty and it suits you very well he thinks. He doesn't tell you, instead, he tries the name out, repeating it for you.

“Well, it was very nice of you, I really appreciated it.” Another stretch of silence. Din decides to free you from the interaction. He opens his mouth to bid you farewell, but instead.

“Maybe, you’ll have dinner with the kid again tonight?”

Why did he say that?! He had honestly thought you would decline when he had asked you last night, but the interest you had shown for the kid had made him hope that you might want to eat with his foundling. He is no expert on kids, but children need socialising, right? Din can’t help but feel bad sometimes, the child usually seems pretty content, but he can’t help but worry that he does things wrong . He cares for the child and he wants him the best, but Din doesn’t always know what the bes t is. Maybe that’s why he asked you, but a feeling deep inside of him tells him that it is not just for the kid he is asking, he would be there as well even though he can’t eat anything.

You give him that bright smile of yours. “I would love to, he is great company.” You giggle and, dank farrik , it is the loveliest sound he has heard in a long time, besides the sounds the child makes when he is happy. Din can not dwell on that, he would leave the planet in the morning.

“See you tonight then.” He breaths out, turning around for a quick exit, but you stop him with a hand on his beskar-clad arm

“Wait.” You murmur, again sounding almost shy?

You pull out a clean, neatly folded, handkerchief from one of the pockets of your tunic, it has your name embroidered in the corner, Din finds that detail very endearing. You grab a couple of fruits from your basket. Packing the fruits in the linen, tying a little knot resembling a bow, presenting the delicate bundle to Din, holding it out for him to take.

“For you, for later.” You explain.

Din wants to decline, already feeling bad that you had spared two of the fruits on the kid, but for some reason, he can’t make himself do so. Din reaches out for your gift instead, feeling warm as your fingers briefly brush over his gloved ones as he accepts the little package.

“ Thank you .” Is all he can think of saying.

You just shake your head like it is nothing. “See you tonight Mando, and you too, kiddo.” You smile down at the bag where the child's left ear is sticking out.

“ Yeah, see you.” Mando replies and with a little wave of your hand and another sweet smile you turn around and disappear into the crowd.

___

You are on your way home, it is later than you had anticipated, you had finished your last errand over an hour ago, but you had met one of Yina’s old friends and had fallen into a long conversation. You had unconsciously been caressing the little metal nut you had been gifted from the cute little kid through the entire tête-à-tête.

You couldn’t help but smile when you thought about the sweet expression on his little button face when he had given it to you.

You are very intrigued by the little kid and his stoic Mandalorian, they are an odd pair, yet they feel so right together. Both clearly care a lot about the other, they remind you of yourself and Yina in that way. A Mandalorian warrior and his foundling, it is like something out of the stories Yina would tell you when you were a child. You smile at the thought, that was many moons ago.

Mando had not been especially chatty last night, but the conversation you got out of him was pleasant, but you had not learned a whole lot about him.

You are lost deep in these thoughts when you suddenly are grabbed from behind by a strong pair of arms and dragged down a dark alley. You drop your basket, fruits and other products rolling at your feet. A gloved hand is covering your mouth, you try to scream but the sound is muffled against the leather of the glove. Your mouth is covered but your nose is free making you able to breathe freely. You feel cool metal being pressed against your back

“I’m sorry. I am not gonna hurt you, but I need you to be quiet.”

The voice is nothing but a whisper, but you recognise it immediately, the low, modulated sound, it’s Mando.

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