#there are plenty that are not visible because others are stacked on them

[literaticat]

 If your book earns out (eventually)that's good for the author and publisher, right? Why is there a big stress on preorders, first week sales and what a book does right out of the gate? Shouldn't publishers wait a year before they make a final determination to a books success? Especially with things like TikTok that can help bolster sales out of nowhere. It seems like there's so much pressure on authors for success straight away. Do publishers just want their investment back ASAP?

I don't know how you got your question to be in bold? ANYway, since there are like 30 questions in here I'm just going to take them bird by bird.

If your book earns out (eventually) that's good for the author and publisher, right? Yes, of course.

Why is there a big stress on preorders, first week sales and what a book does right out of the gate? Well, for several reasons:

-- A book with a ton of pre-orders feels "exciting" -- if you owned a bookstore, and you had ordered two copies of GREATBOOK initially to come in -- but then 30 people pre-ordered it from you -- you'd probably strongly consider ordering EXTRA copies, right? That seems like an indication that people really are interested in this book, you should have a pile of them, not just two! You should put it on display!

-- A book with a ton of pre-orders and first-week sales has a much better chance to hit a bestseller list (specifically, the NYT bestseller list). Why? Let's say your author started asking people to pre-order six months ago and those orders have been stacking up in dribs and drabs. But that book doesn't go on sale until January 15th. ALL SIX MONTHS of pre-orders are going to get rung up on release day. The NYT is based on books sold during one week's time compared to all other books sold during that one week. Obviously, a book with a ton of pre-orders will get a big boost that week!

-- Books that hit the list get more visibility, they get people hooting about them on social media, they get to be called "NYT Bestselling" which seems fancy, ALL of that can very much help sales going forward. Is it the be-all-end-all? No, of course not. But there's no doubt that it's NICE!

-- The majority of publisher-led publicity and marketing efforts are focused on before or soon after release date -- getting gatekeepers like booksellers, librarians, etc whatever interested in ordering the book into their stores and libraries, getting reviews, pitching the book to media outlets, etc -- so IF those efforts are going to help a book, you're more likely to get that boost when the book is new. After several months have gone by, a thousand newer books have come out, focus has shifted to those books.

Shouldn't publishers wait a year before they make a final determination to a books success?

I mean - I think they do? These things are not mutually exclusive. Of course they'd like to have a lot of success right out of the gate. Obviously, they'd be delighted to have a lot of success later, as well. Plenty of books grow in sales as time goes on, etc -- I don't think anyone is deeming a book a failure if the book doesn't hit it out of the park immediately. I can't speak for adult books, but on the kid's side, we don't really know what kind of longevity a book might have for probably at least a year, because there needs to be time for books to make their way onto state lists, into curriculum, and stuff like that -- for teachers to read it to classrooms, for kids to get hooked and tell friends, etc etc. Once a book is out in paperback and really getting imbedded into schools, we might see BONKERS sales that could never have been predicted from a sluggish start in bookstores a year or two earlier. Publishers are well aware of this -- books are not going out of print in the first year after release.

Especially with things like TikTok that can help bolster sales out of nowhere. It seems like there's so much pressure on authors for success straight away.

Yep, there are plenty of examples of books that have surprising late-in-life success bc of TikTok (or whatever) -- HOWEVER, the difference is, the publisher and author have little to no control over a book suddenly going viral "outta nowhere"! IT'S AMAZING AND GREAT when that happens, we can all wish for it and hope for it -- but it feels kind of out of our hands -- whereas things like pre-orders, getting blurbs, yadda yadda, are at least things that the publisher and author have a MODICUM of control over. They can't MAKE people pre-order, but they can TRY at least!

Do publishers just want their investment back ASAP?

That would be great, sure. But profit margins are slim, and many books never earn out. Publishers know that they are probably going to just break even on a lot of books, and lose money on some, and have big hits with a few. I don't think anyone is expecting every book to have massive pre-orders or huge initial sales or whatever else.

Further: Most of this "pressure" is coming from the authors themselves. Like, the call is coming from inside the house. I've NEVER heard a publisher insist that an author do some enormous pre-order campaign or hit social media relentlessly for months -- actually it's more likely that a publisher in the year of our lord 2024 will say that they don't really think a massive pre-order campaign is worth the effort. I've NEVER heard a publisher say that anything in particular rides on first week sales, or insist that a book must hit a bestseller list. Of course they are hoping for it, it would be great! But it would be foolish for them to say that it WILL or MUST happen, and if it doesn't, it doesn't diminish the author or their efforts in any way. Obviously when award-time comes, publishers AND authors are likely crossing their fingers that a book will get a big shiny medal, and they might be a little disappointed if their book doesn't get one (especially if armchair experts online were predicting that it might) -- but I've NEVER heard a publisher put pressure on an author about that kind of thing, either, if anything, the opposite.

Publishers are, in fact, much more likely to be trying to temper outsize author expectations, rather than stoking them. There might be a few outliers -- huge-name authors where everyone really does expect instant NYT success and glory, so if it doesn't happen for some reason, there's some disappointment all around - but truly? That level of expectation is quite rare, and if you happen to be in that echelon, you probably aren't asking questions like this on Tumblr, you're busy swanning around the Isle of Capri or something. And actually you probably don't feel PRESSURE to hit the list in that case anyway -- you just expect you will as that is normal for you. Bless.

Regular authors? Which is 99% of the authors reading this post? You can go ahead and calm down. We love you regardless of your pre-orders or initial sales. If you feel "enormous pressure" for "instant success" -- really take a look at where that pressure is coming from. Because it's probably not from agents or publishers, who know from long experience that almost no success is "instant" by any stretch of the imagination.

[jjkamochoso]

...i have come again! With more noritoshi stuff,,,maybe noritoshi is really scary of what his family will think about reader, and they get in a fight about it but they make up in the end! (i need my nori angst) thank you! :3

MMMMMM I LOVE ANGST AND I LOVE NORITOSHI SO THIS IS RIGHT UP MY ALLEY thank you for being patient as I worked on this!! Thank you for the prompt and I really hope you enjoy this story!! You're always helping feed my Noritoshi obsession and I am SO appreciative of that lmao

Family Feud

Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Noritoshi Kamo x gn!reader

Warnings: cussing; this is slightly fem coded because reader receives flowers but imo flowers are gender neutral😌

You were currently sitting on your boyfriend Noritoshi's bed, scrolling through your phone while he pored over yet another stack of papers with important information regarding the Kamo clan. As he was next in line to be the clan head, he was always studying traditional texts, making sure he knew everything there was to know about his family and their history, along with staying updated on the other clans' behaviors and keeping tabs on them. It was a loaded job for a boy of his age, having felt the pressure to be perfect ever since his mom was forced out of the clan all those years ago. His family was a complete enigma to you since you still hadn't met them. Every time you brought up the idea of visiting his estate to say hello to them, he shut you down immediately. You loved Noritoshi, and you were sure he loved you too, but you could't help but get the feeling he wanted to keep you hidden from them for some reason. Little did you know, that topic was about to be brought up again and lead to a messy outcome.

Noritoshi's phone dinged but he paid it no mind as he continued with his task at hand. After the second chime, you picked up his phone and brought it to him.

"Thank you," he mumbled absentmindedly, setting the phone down without a second glance.

"Aren't you going to read it?" you prompted, curious to know what the text was about. You saw the preview of the message on his screen as you brought it to him and it piqued your interest since it was from his father. To be honest, he didn't sound like the type of man to even know cell phones existed so to say you were eager to hear what he had to tell Noritoshi through that medium was an understatement.

"In a second," he replied, his nose buried in the papers in front of him.

"It's from your dad."

"HUH?"

You'd never seen Noritoshi whip his head around as fast as he unlocked his phone with lightning speed, a slightly concerned look on his face as his eyes scanned over the digital words in front of him.

"He wants me to call him. If you'll excuse me, I'm going in the other room so I don't bother you."

"You'd never bother me, my love," you told him, sending a soft smile his way. For the first time that day, Noritoshi visibly relaxed, releasing a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding for hours. You were the only thing in his life that never caused him undue amounts of stress. You were the person who helped ground him in moments like these where everything felt impossible. Just seeing a glimpse of the back of your head was enough to keep Noritoshi happy for hours, but being lucky enough to be treated by the appearance of a smile on your face was plenty motivation for him to work even harder to be the best member of the Kamo clan, the most acclaimed heir, and give you the most luxurious life you deserved.

A luxurious life, preferably miles and miles away from his dreadful family.

He tried to love them, he did, but they were, quite frankly, insufferable. Nothing he ever did was good enough and all of his actions were continuously scrutinized. It was exhausting being around them during meetings and some days he wanted to bash his head against the table as they droned on and on about the most inconsequential topics, paying no mind to issues that actually matter. The clan had no respect for his mother, the only family member he truly cared for, and so, he had no respect for them. They would never know that, of course, because he needed to be on his best behavior lest his position as clan head get passed on to someone else and all his hard work would be for nought. He was also extremely aware of the prejudice his family had against anyone who wasn't from an esteemed sorcerer family, meaning you would barely place the tip of your shoe on his family's estate and they would have you escorted from the premises immediately. He loved you too much for you to be a victim of their cruel words and harsh behavior so he avoided bringing you around to meet them, for your sake and his own.

"I'll only be a minute," he said earnestly, stepping out of his bedroom and into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He mentally prepared himself for whatever venomous words he was about to be subjected to as the phone line rang in his ear.

"Hello, father. What may I do for you?"

You didn't want to be rude and eavesdrop, but you desperately wanted to know how the conversation was going between Noritoshi and his dad. You knew the head Kamo could be abrasive so you hoped your boyfriend would leave the phone call halfway unscathed. Even without putting your ear to the door, you heard Noritoshi's gentle voice become firmer.

"Yes, father... No, father... Alright. I'll see you then. Goodbye."

Noritoshi came back in, a frustrated sigh leaving him as his hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head.

"I hate to do this to you, y/n, but I have to reschedule our date tonight. My father said everyone is needed at the estate for a family conference and dinner. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, it's not your fault," you said, putting your phone down. "If everyone is gonna be there, wouldn't it be the best time for me to go and finally meet your family?"

"That's really not a good idea," he said, sitting in his desk chair again. "I don't think now's the right time. There'll be too much going on and I don't want you to get overwhelmed."

"But it's never the right time according to you," you said, exasperated from him continually stringing you along. "I'm starting to feel like you don't want me to meet them at all."

He gulped. That was very true, but not for the reason you probably thought. It wasn't you who shouldn't meet them, it was them who didn't deserve to meet you.

"That's not... totally true," he told you, his focus going back to the papers in front of him as an excuse to end this conversation before it went south. "I have to finish studying this before I go. You're welcome to stay here in the meantime but I'm not sure if I'll be back tonight."

"Hold on. I'm not dropping this so easily."

"I really wish you would."

Your eyes narrowed. "Can you just tell me why I can't meet them? You've never given me one real reason. Just one, and I'll be quiet about it."

"They're just busy, that's all."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

He still wouldn't meet your eyes, pretending to be engrossed in his work, which was really starting to piss you off.

"What, now I'm too boring to even pay attention to?"

That got him to finally look up.

"Listen, y/n, you know my family is... complicated. I would like to keep you away from that mess for as long as possible."

"I'm quite old enough to hold my own against a "complicated" family," you seethed, trying to keep your cool, but almost failing. "I don't need you to protect me like I'm a child or something! Do they even know I exist?"

It was much too quiet for much too long.

"Damn it, Noritoshi, answer me! Do they know you're dating someone?"

"I... they know you exist. I talk about you all the time, I do," he said, his heart beating quickly in his chest, "but... no. I haven't told them we're dating."

At that moment, you felt your heart snap in two. Noritoshi was so ashamed at his admission that he refused to see your face, afraid to witness how bad he just hurt you.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you breathed out, voice cracking. "I've shared everything with you all this time and you do this to me? My family knows everything about you and can't wait to meet you but your family doesn't even know we're together? You told me you loved me but you can't tell your family anything because they're, what, too dysfunctional? I can't believe this is happening right now. I really can't."

You stood from the bed, snatching your phone and grabbing your jacket that was strewn next to you. Shoving your feet in your shoes, you gave Noritoshi a tearful glance.

"I hope you're happy with the way this turned out. Don't you dare try to talk to me after this."

"Y/n, wait!" he yelled out, but you had already slammed the door behind you. He was at a total loss of what to do. He knew he made an extremely grave error, but the whole time he convinced himself it was the best decision for both of you. Very obviously, that couldn't be further from the truth, and he was scared that he had just lost the love of his life due to his stupidity and cowardice. He so desperately wanted to run after you and explain the whole situation, come clean about his intentions, but if he wanted to make it to the Kamo estate on time, he had to leave in a few minutes. Making his choice, he exited his room.

When you got to your room, tears were falling freely down your cheeks. You were truly at a loss with Noritoshi. How could he hide you from his family like that? To think you loved each other, yet he kept you a secret? Was he ashamed of you? Were you too poor? Too unattractive? What was it about you that he felt the need to disguise the fact that you two were dating? You went to unlock your phone, but seeing your lock screen with his face smiling at you, so carefree, made you want to sob even harder. You threw the phone away from you, the piece of technology landing on your comforter with a soft thud. You laid crying on your bed for who knows how long, feeling exhausted as the tears finally subsided. You needed to occupy your mind with something else so you grabbed the remote to turn on your tv. Before you could find an interesting show, there was a knock at your door. You checked the time on your phone: 5:30 pm. It couldn't possibly be Noritoshi, he was at his family's place right now. Confused, you got up and peeked through the window next to the door to make sure it was someone you knew.

What the hell was Noritoshi doing here?

"Go away, Kamo," you yelled through the door.

"I really need to talk to you, y/n. I messed up and I want to explain myself."

You rolled your eyes. "You should've thought of that before you ripped out my heart and stomped on it."

"I know. Please, just give me one minute to talk and if you're still upset, I promise I'll leave you alone."

You wanted to ignore him and send him home, but you could tell by the look on his face that he was just as torn up about the fight as you were. It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out—you could easily slam the door in his face again if need be. You opened the door tentatively to find yourself on the receiving end of a beautiful bouquet of flowers but you tried to act unimpressed so he didn’t think that was enough for forgiveness.

"Flowers? How emotionally unavailable do you have to be to think that showing up at my door with plants is an acceptable apology?"

Noritoshi tried his best to not look deflated at your annoyed tone. “That’s not the whole apology, just a tiny portion, I promise.”

“You promised a lot to me while we were dating,” you scoffed.

“I was wrong to not tell my family about you—about us.”

“I know.”

He continued. “I made a huge mistake not telling you the truth from the start.”

“I know.”

“I was a huge asshole, y/n.”

“Please, tell me something I don’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to meet my family because I was afraid they would scare you off and I would lose you for good.”

Oh? That was something you didn’t know. He took your lack of response as an indication to keep talking.

"As you're aware, my clan is one of the major sorcerer families in jujutsu society and because of that, they're very judgmental and total elitists. Since you're not from an influential family, I didn't know how they would react to me dating you. It's not right but I figured they wouldn't accept us being together. I didn't want you swept up in clan politics and become subjected to insults if I brought you to meet them."

As you thought about what he told you, the pieces all fell into place. There were signs here and there that Noritoshi didn't agree with his family's ideas most of the time, but had to hold his tongue as not to upset them and potentially lose out on being the next in charge.

"That... actually makes a lot of sense," you eventually replied, "but why didn't you just tell me that in the first place? I would've been much more understanding had I known how you were feeling."

"Because I was a coward and thought running from my fears would be easier than facing the fact that my family is so messed up," he confessed. "I hope you know that my intentions were good. I wanted to protect you so badly but I was the one that ended up hurting you. I am truly very sorry I lied to you and made you feel like you were the problem when it was my fault the whole time."

You leaned against your door, letting his words sink in. You had to admit, he did seem truly remorseful. He wouldn't have shown up on your doorstep, flowers and all, to tell you the truth if he didn't want to, especially since he was skipping a very important clan meeting to do so!

"I still would prefer if you didn't meet my family since they can be overcritical and cruel, and you deserve much more than that," he said, "but if you want to, I'd be honored to take you to dinner tonight and present to them my kind hearted, strong willed partner... if you'll still have me as a partner, that is."

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. "So you had a change of heart, then?"

"No change of heart, just change of mind."

You tried to contain your smile at his cheesy line but failed. "Fine. If you're sure, I'd love to come to dinner with you tonight. As your partner, of course. I never want to live in a world where I'm not by your side."

Noritoshi let out a huge sigh of relief, letting a smile fall easily on his lips as well. "You'll accept these flowers, then?"

"Of course I will." You took the flowers into your possession, smelling their sweet fragrance. "I love them, Noritoshi, and I love you."

"I love you too, y/n, that's why I'm here fighting for you instead of fighting boredom at the meeting."

You smirked. "I take it you don't like attending those?"

"I hate them. I really, really, hate them. But at least I know the dinner will be much more tolerable with you next to me."

You leaned over and brought Noritoshi into a kiss, savoring the feeling of his lips on yours. You weren't sure what you were going to be walking into later that evening, but you knew you could conquer anything with Noritoshi.

[barn-anon]

Gabriel knows that technically, he shouldn't be sharing his living quarters with anyone. Yet an exception was made for him when the nature of this unusual bond was discovered. Of course he had to arrange for human sized furniture to be brought in. He knows he's lucky that his Chapter is so accepting, some other Chapters wouldn't have catered to or even cared about a bonded human.

Watching his human fold and sort the human sized clothes that were given to her, his heart hurts. Knowing full well that despite it all, she will not get the same rather safe and worry-free lifestyle she had known and enjoyed ever since her birth. He had admitted to his brothers how he felt he was at fault. That it was because of her bond to him that she's now in this horrible horrible world.

He knows it's not really his fault. He hadn't forced the bond on her, hadn't even known what bonds were until the Blood Angels in her world had explained it to him. But he's supposed to be her protector isn't he? He wonders that does the future hold for them, if she would grow bitter and jaded like some humans do, as she is forced to live in his harsh and unforgiving world. Would he even be able to stay at her side to the end? Sure to a normal human he's akin to some sort of both a savior and a harbinger of doom. In reality he knows that there's still plenty of ways for him to die.

Though isn't there more reason to cherish this time together? Gabriel's attention darts back to his human when she starts refolding some of his clothes too. He makes a note to request permission to bring her whenever the Chapter stops by a more peaceful and habitable planet. If he could, he would bring her to the various paradise worlds in the galaxy. He'll have to make do with what he has though.

He chirps sweetly to his human as she places the stack of her clothes into the closet he had cleared just for her. She visibly cheers up with his attention. So cute.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

[weyrleaders]

im having so much fun with these @vapolis thank you for my life

also orla couldnt be in this one because if she was things would have gone very differently and i wouldnt have been able to do what i set out to do

gets a bit violent lol but no more than this game gets i dont think

There’s a saying about best-laid plans.

Jax whips back behind cover, slamming against the doorframe, narrowly dodging another round of gunfire. When it stops, he reaches around the doorframe and takes a few shots of his own. There’s a shout. Jax hopes he hit something important.

Orla was meeting with the head of the Vipers to settle a territory deal. It was supposed to be quick and simple, and the Vipers were supposed to have top-notch security. Apparently their people weren’t as good as they thought, because the meeting was attacked halfway through by a group Jax has yet to identify.

Aster had been closer to Orla than Jax, and had just picked her up and took off. Not that Jax blames him. Especially since Orla isn’t going to appreciate being treated like a damsel in distress no matter how fueled by blind panic Aster was at the time.

Still, someone had to cover Orla’s escape. The idiots must be content with taking out one of Orla’s people if they can’t have her, because as soon as they realized she was gone and Jax wasn’t they were quick to switch targets.

That, or they just don’t know who they’re supposed to be after. 

He hears something roll in the hallway, but isn’t stupid enough to risk peeking.

There’s an explosion and plenty of smoke down the hall, though, and he jerks his head up in time to see Aster sprinting toward him out of the smoke while their attackers are busy coughing their lungs out. He slides his mask down around his neck and tosses another smoke bomb for good measure before they both take off.

They aren’t running for long before Jax hears another few wild shots. Aster growls and answers with a few of his own.

After a few turns, Aster slows unexpectedly, and Jax nearly outpaces him. He stops short and turns to see Aster leaning against the wall, panting and pressing his hand against his shoulder. Blood wells between his fingers, barely visible against the black of his vest.

“Orla sent you back for me?” Jax asks.

“Probably,” Aster grits out.

“Probably?”

“I was already making for the door when she opened her mouth,” replies Aster as he pushes away from the wall.

He takes the lead as they round the next several turns, heading deeper into the complex. Jax had been leading the uninvited guests away from the direction Aster had taken Orla, so it wasn’t as if Aster could just lead them back out the way he came in. There’s no other halls connected to this one, just doors scattered throughout. There has to be an exit soon. Unless the complex’s architect refused to follow fire code. Jax knows they must be underground since he went down a flight of stairs early on, but apart from that he’s lost.

Aster is slowing down, though, breathing going ragged. Jax looks over his shoulder to check on him.

He’s ghostly pale, face drawn and teeth bared. He wipes sweat from his face, leaving behind a red smudge. Jax bravely resists picking on him for it.

They find a staircase. Jax glances at Aster, then eyes the stairs.

“I can make it,” mutters Aster, brushing past Jax. “Let’s go.”

And he does, even if he collapses against the wall at the top and slides down to the floor while Jax closes the door behind them.

Jax feels along the wall for a switch. There’s no point in trying to hide. Their pursuers know exactly where they are.

Jax flips the first switch he finds, and maybe half of the lights come on.

They’re in the auditorium of a church, of all places, judging by the Jesus posters. It doesn’t look like it’s been used in a good while, though the basketball floor looks well-maintained. There’s a huge stack of dusty folding chairs off in the corner and some flimsy tables, but nothing substantial enough that it could block the door they just came through. Jax can spot a bin of sports equipment across the room, but even if there’s something he could use to tie the door shut he doubts he could get there, find it, and get back before they’re caught.

There’s a side door off in the far end of the room, mostly hidden in a darkened corner. Jax would’ve missed it if not for the glowing exit sign.

“Come on,” he orders, hauling Aster to his feet by his uninjured arm.

It still hurts regardless, if Aster’s sharp inhale is any indication, but he doesn’t make any other noise. And he still follows Jax, surprisingly stable considering how much blood he’s lost. Continues to lose, blood dripping slowly from his fingers.

The door behind them bursts open when they’re still a few yards away. Jax grabs Aster and picks up speed, all but dragging him along.

Jax hears gunfire, but doesn’t bother turning to look. Bullets zip past them, narrowly missing.

The exit door suddenly swings open, crashing into the outside wall. Someone darts past them and into the building.

There’s a scream, then a wet crunch, followed by more gunfire.

Jax practically throws Aster outside and whips around.

There’s one man on the ground not that from the door, weakly dragging himself forward with one hand and clutching at the knife buried in his neck with the other. There’s a woman against the wall, blood staining the front of her shirt as she cradles a terribly-broken jaw. Her pistol is several feet away, entirely forgotten. Jax can see bare bone gleaming between her fingers.

He follows the trail of destruction until he reaches Ray, currently straddling someone’s chest as he slams his fists into their face. No, not his fists. Jax isn’t sure when Ray managed to get those spiked knuckles back from the last time he tried to sneak them into the club, but Jax knows how particular Ray is about his weapons. He wouldn’t just go buy a new set.

(Which means it’s time to move the stash again, notes Jax.)

Jax closes the door. He gets one last glimpse through the window of Ray rolling away from his current victim to escape a round of bullets before he turns to make sure Aster is on his feet.

“How did he get here so fast?” Jax wonders aloud, leading Aster across the parking lot. There’s a dumpster he can hide behind while Jax goes back to help Ray finish cleaning up.

“He was probably outside the whole time,” says Aster faintly.

“Orla didn’t ask him to be here.”

Aster rolls his eyes.

“That’s sixteen,” he replies.

There’s a box full of newspapers behind the dumpster, and Aster drops onto it without prompting.

“This is the sixteenth time I’ve tried to tell you and Orla this,” continues Aster. “and neither of you ever believes me.”

“About what?” Jax asks. “Ray?”

“Yes.”

Jax takes a moment to reload. He slips the old magazine into his coat. There’s still three bullets left, by his count, but he’d prefer to go in with a fresh one.

“He doesn’t like these missions. He thinks they’re boring, if he’s standing around inside,” Aster explains. “So he pretends he’s too mouthy for Orla to trust him with them.”

Jax peers around the dumpster. No one has followed them out.

“But he doesn’t like to be left out, so he sets up across the street and watches.”

“I think you’re giving him too much credit,” Jax mutters.

“I think you’re not giving him enough,” retorts Aster.

Jax ducks down and makes a run for it back toward the church. He’s nearly there when the door opens again, much less dramatically this time.

Ray steps out.

His face is flushed, chest still heaving from the fight. His hair is matted against his forehead with blood, left eye already purpling spectacularly. He could probably save the leather jacket, if he’s fast. Red drips from his spiked knuckles, and Jax notices a small tuft of hair, skin still attached, stuck to one deadly point.

Ray’s mouth is stained red, as is the front of his formerly-white crop top. Jax can just barely make out the “don’t forget to smile” decal through the mess. Kind of a shame. Jax knows it’s one of Ray’s favorites.

(Not that he probably won’t keep it anyway.)

He smiles, and his teeth are bloody. There’s a wild look in his eyes, and Jax has the inexplicable urge to kiss his busted lip. What took you so long and your place or mine and thank you dance on the tip of his tongue.

“Did you fucking bite someone?” Jax asks instead.

Ray laughs.

“Woof, woof.”

[limestoner]

What my gender is. I guess I always knew I wasn’t one or the other because I remember being a kid and seeing a bunch of gift bags at some event and they had blue and pink and I was always like:

“You know, I don’t really want either of those.”

I wanted an orange gift bag full of creepy Halloween stuff and orange candy. Any time throughout my life there are male options and female options and I’m just like (shrugs) and choose the one that has something I can use.

I thought everyone was just being complacent and choosing the one that they’re expected to “go with,” and that’s just what you’re supposed to do. But why then do I sometimes want the other gift bag or one that’s completely different. We just take what we don’t want because we’re supposed to?

Well, I have spent my life trying to be normal. It’s not that I actively “knew I was different”; I couldn’t even comprehend why I wasn’t doing the things like other people. So I kept trying to imitate what they do all the way to some semblance of adulthood. [Another good band name. I need to make a list of thos.]

BecUse I am visibly AFAB, I am always read as “female”. I’m stuck with it so to have the optimal reaction from people I try to lean into it because it’s what people are expecting. If someone is unsure of someone’s gender, people seem to view the person as more attractive if the person is confirmed male rather than female.

“I’ve got girl bits. So I’m just an ugly girl.”

Sure, I didn’t like the implication that I was ugly, but it didn’t even feel applicable to me. Like I’m being called ugly but that’s not the point. Like dustbins. Does anyone get worked up about dustbins being grotesquely hideous? No. They are usually appearance neutral and only noticeable for the height function.

So I found it advantageous to try the girl thing and it’s fine. Not torturously horrible but still an effort to fit within expected behaviors. But I don’t do a lot of the boy things either. Not into sports or cars. But I sure like early biplanes and triplanes. And insects, especially praying mantis. I didn’t go to movies because I generally didn’t like movies.

I am proudly disclosing that too. But everyone likes movies! There are plenty of movies I like, mostly animated ones. But it’s rare that I’ll sit and watch a movie with a story. I like a background music movie, but following a story is hard work, and I’m also admitting that I’m quite lazy. I can’t tell the characters apart, what are they talking about, I can’t hear them having an important conversation because I turned up the volume to hear the last important conversation and then a sudden explosion blew out my speakers. And my eardrums.

But now I know that I am non-binary.

When I think of my gender, those are the colors I think of.

My friend who is childfree told me (also childfree) that she hates that she gets bombarded with baby commercials online. I’m not sure what algorithm causes that but I never have that problem. I always get dommercisn about food, video games, retirement plans, travel, just whatevs. And that’s how I like it best.

I like clothes to be lightweight and stretchy, so lady clothes work well. And men shampoo and deodorant. I like having groovy long hair. I think about how much I like sometbint first and whatever it is adds to my gender. My gender is all

I was never part of the binary. I’m out there floating in space where I belong. Not literally of course. The first time I heard the term “non-binary,” I thought of binary stars. I am not a binary star. I am a nebula. What is it? Yes. Nebula is very star.

I am the orange bag filled with pop rocks and flamin skull head/snake/rose combo tattoos. Or those glow in the dark dracula teeth that never fit me. Because it belongs in someone else’s green or orange or purple or multi bag.

I have to be careful when I walk. My legs feel like a tall stack of discs wobbling and threatening to topple over. I think that’s how I hurt my back. My muscles are so relaxed that they’ll do things that aren’t a good idea.

And then later they hurt.

I keep forgetting what day it is. And what time. Good thing I don’t need to be anywhere doe a while.

But I still don’t talk about it much. Who cares about it, bhr also I don’t want to seem like I’m doing it on purpose. Like, “Why are you so special you need different pronouns and words.” Because words are labels and I’m labeling what is.

I accept any pronouns actually. Other kids called me “it/its” when I was a kid because they did not like me and wanted to other me. I’ll accept anything that sees even part of my humanity, even if that part is only the part that society sees as female. I don’t even like writing that word in pink very much because I don’t feel right with the word female and I really don’t feel right being associated with pink. And I don’t think I would have felt much more right when pink was the color for boys. And it’s not just because I don’t like pink. Some shades of pink are awesome.

It’s just such a genderly loaded color.

I’m a gender nebula.

[palaceoffatties]

time to rank muse sizes!

Bow (aka blob) weighs in tonnage instead of pounds , swimming in fat the walls to his room are gone as his sea of gluttony has soread to the teo rooms adjacent to him

Kikimora , lighter than bow by a decent margin but she’s short af that weight S P R E A D S to the point where just like blob she spills into other rooms but doesn’t fill them like bow

Double trouble at full size when they’re blobbed out they weigh more than kiki by a small margins and are able to fill a room now!

Zeena another case of shortstack width , she’s been bound to her room for ages , only member of the palace to have an onlyfans just to boost her ego

Cala maria , sure she takes up a fuckload of space but if she was shrunk to normal size she’d be one of the smaller blobs

Odalia blight another full embrace of the feedee lifestyle , she demands to be hand fed and as such actually has robot attendants made by entrapta , odalia is a major roomfiller with heavy tits and those pixar mom hips actually begining to crack the walls of her room .

Tracer , her ass alone counts as a bed her pear shape is one of the most visible in the whole palace given her torso does give the impression she’d be pretty thin . Only cartoonishly pear shaped girl in the palace

Grusha , after he got stuck in doors he just submitted to blobdom , he’s bed breaking but still fits in his room properly

Cosma , she can grow and shrink at will , which is sorta cheating but she can be a micro blob so it’s a win .

Lord domminator the last of the roomfullers , she’s fully given into this blob lifestyle , it’s impossible to tell where the gut ends and the ass begins with a yoga ball sized rack and chuns a plenty to use as pillows

Android 17 another mega pear , his gut and ass take up 50% of his bedroom and provide quite the view when he flies or is by a window he’s one of three muses still mobile as blobs

Polly! Technically weightless but her tits alone are about the size of android 17 she’s only this low because she’s technically weightless

Looma , still restrained in her room with chains that she’s totally into , her heft is suspended two feet in the air yet her gut still touches the ground , pancake stacks of folds covering her arms and rocking the quadboob look looma if allowed to fully spread on the floor would cover about a quarter of the room .

Scorpia still mobile but leaning into heavy blob , her thickened hips destroy normal couches snd make the reinforced ones creak , her musclegut has no rival , the only strongfat left in brightmoon

Shadow weaver , bedbound and spoiled rotten she’s fully embraced blobdom and it shows with her slobby tendancies and bed filling gut

Sombra , her spying mission quickly got screwed by entrapta , she’s been bedbound for a while now but is one of the smallest overall

Kiriko , orginally tracer’s feeder who quickly got addicted to snacks , she’s become blobby and horny as hell about it , very gut heavy with chins to match , her chest is still mostly flat .

Coral @bigfatglimmer the queen is one of the smallest blobs but with her weight changing on a whim from magic anons or her own spells she can fit near the too of the list if she desires .

Angella , her royal titty queen is borderline blob still mobile and still very active her bust covers counters entirely but the rest of her heft while impressive is nowhere near that size .

Entrapta , the only non blob remaining she’s still as thin as she was in canon!

[dollsonmain]

Suffer my moment to breathe and think.

So the Wegman's cheese department bull pit was really great. It was a little crowded when we had 5 or 6 people at the same time during busy seasons but there was enough room for everyone to work without bumping butts with people working behind them.

So. The grey things were cold cases, and the black were mostly steel workstations with shelving underneath. The two green sticks represent a couple of wood cabinets with doors. Everything else was open.

The two rectangles in the middle were also steel workstations with shelving. We'd generally cut cheese or make cheese spreads or specialty things for the big feature case (on the bottom) on the center tables, and then we'd have to take it to the red scale to price and label. There was enough room on those tables for 4 cheese cutters and counter space to wrap and stack the cheese that was cut.

That was the only thing we had to take turns on. There was also a cart that was used for pricing and labeling, so whomever was pricing and labeling had the cart until they were done and then they'd hand it off to whomever needed it.

The purple are the BIG double sink, and the only place we couldn't easily see out onto the floor around us was right behind the sink because a splash guard was put there to make sure we didn't splash water on the food in the cold case on the other side. That splash guard was also used as a sign board and was where we'd post promotions and seasonal specials, etc. It was opaque black.

While washing dishes was the only time we weren't expected to also interact with customers. We were to wash dishes until the dishes were done, but the sink was right there with everything else and if a customer really needed someone who was washing dishes, we were available.

There were two small, open cold cases on either side of the big glass case, and on the other side of every work station was a half-wall and then another open cold case. The whole work area was surrounded by cheese that was easily available to customers and we were equally visible while we were working.

The only area that was different was the blue rectangle which was on a separate, smaller steel table because it needed to be lower down to be easy to use. That was the electric cheese grater we used to grind up Parmesan. Capital P, the real shit.

Exit 1 led to the olive bar, and exit 2 led to tea and the big cheese cooler.

We did have a large cooler and a large work room that we shared with the deli, though deli used the work room and we didn't because we didn't need to. That's where the ovens were.

We also had a smaller segment of another department's cooler elsewhere which is where olives were kept. For the most part, the cheese was put out immediately after it arrived which worked because the cold cases are plentiful (there were more along the wall that I didn't put in the picture) and if it wasn't put out it went into the cooler.

The whole section was very efficient. We were never bumping into each other or having to wait for one or another to get through a single entry. Clean up was VERY easy and if you asked nicely, whomever was washing dishes would wash yours if they didn't feel like dealing with customers at the moment.

It was a pleasant place to work even when it was busy.

The gas station bull put is stressful and inefficient.

One entry.

We are constantly in each other's way and if a vendor or customer follows us in there, we're trapped. If I'm on the opposite side of the store I have to book it all the way around and to the front to deal with a customer so you'll hear CLOMPCLOMPCLOMPCLOMP while I walk as fast as my disable old lady ass can manage.

Three registers though only two are for customers (the other is for the lottery).

Poorly built and designed glass cases in the front with glass tops so we can't put anything heavy on top (the registers are on chunks of plywood and cut up cabinet parts so they don't sit directly on the glass) and we can't see through the tops at all, so they might as well be wood.

The counters are completely covered in small displays and appliances so it's difficult to see out. They just replaced one small counter top display (lime green) with a taller one. I can see less out that side, now.

Blue things are fridges/cold cases the one in the back being where I have to make sandwiches (it's a narrow strip on top, not the whole top), orange is the little hot case that I'm not allowed to fill.

Purple are extra cigarette displays/storage and the chewing tobacco and tobacco-free pouches etc. plus an extra storage for that, too. One of those was also just replaced with a taller one. I used to be able to peek between there toward the darker green rectangle which is where customers wait, but I can't see through anymore.

I may have been a little too generous with the space available to walk around the purple displays.

Overhead at the customer place is the drop down cigarette holders.

The customer place is also the only place I can see out of relatively easily, though my view is cut off at the top by the cigarette drop-down.

There's a small marble-top table (brown) with a small shelf underneath that's supposed to be for working on sandwiches but there's always weird stuff on there, like there's been a filthy drawer slider on there since I started working there and a pen holder and papers.

Little grey thing is a tiny hand wash sink with no counter space around it. Can't wash dishes, there. Under the sink is a cabinet that is A. DISASTER. That's where cleaning stuff is kept.

The sink cabinet and the cabinet on the other side of the little table are missing a side, so stuff falls out around and under the table all of the time.

Under every surface that isn't blue is a cabinet with one shelf. They're full of random stuff. Not efficient nor effective storage. Nothing is labelled.

Every cabinet is painted chip board. The paint is sticky and wearing off.

It all butts up on a wall, and behind that wall is the tiny bit of storage I'd mentioned a while back and the big sink.

But like... I'd have to think long and hard about how to make that space more efficient because everything that's in there has to be. There's nowhere else for any of it.

[chrysaliseuro2024]

Day 1 Tunisia Tour - Around Tunis

We met our guide Anis at 9.00 am and headed for our tour which was only the two of us and driver Ardel.

Anis very pleasant and welcoming and first stop was the ruins of ancient Carthage. Rome’s sworn enemy and they eventually conquered the Carthaginians. The ruins were pretty much exactly that. Interesting though to see the massive size of the original city and also the usual well structured Roman aspects such as baths, amphitheatre etc. Also later a circular port which is still used and enabled ships to shelter from the elements and from attack no doubt. We wondered around and watched the fishermen tending their nets and bargaining with some locals who wanted fish as well as feeding the local cats with scraps of fish. We were to discover that the Tunisians love cats. They are everywhere. Well fed mostly though not huge beasts and seem to be reproducing at staggering numbers (every second female is pregnant).

We also visited St Louis cathedral. Built in the 19th century but no longer used as a church rather hosting events but beautifully minimalist. Great stained glass windows and roof and very bright and open in a sort of mosque style rather than like a more traditional cathedral.

Post that we stopped at a Roman Villa with some excellent mosaics and in the surrounds other mosaics in slabs just stacked up presumably awaiting full restoration. We came to realise that there are so many Roman and other artefacts mostly open to the elements that with exceptions it’s OK to touch them. Adds to the connection somehow with the past.

On to the village of Sidi Bou Said close to Carthage. Very picturesque. A bit of a tourist town but with bleached buildings and stone streets and quite atmospheric. Also fabulous views over the water. Plenty of vendors but the one we particularly liked was the one selling sugar doughnuts. Big round things with a hole in the middle served warm and very tasty. Anis treated us and then we went for a walk through town on our own.

A small highlight for us (but possibly not for the little bloke involved) was the two year old boy dressed up the nines in traditional gear with dad also turned out spiffingly who was “celebrating” his impending circumcision. The family of local origin lived in Germany and they were all there for the big event. Heaven knows what the little fella knew about unfolding events but he seemed happy enough and certainly looked fantastic in his outfit.

Lunchtime and some excellent sea bream(dorada) probably our favourite fish when in Europe. A barbecued whole fish each which was delicious.

Post lunch onto the Bardo museum. Famous for its collection of mosaics and other artefacts from across Tunisia’s various ancient sites. Superb museum with the restored mosaics, in particular, stunning. Very well worth a visit.

Unfortunately also this was the site of terrorist attack in 2015 which killed 21 tourists and a policeman. Security was high with all vehicles stopped on entry and details of occupants taken, specifically those of the driver and guide with us classified as tourists, though the guard did ask from which country. Our guide was quick to point out that apart from one other attack in 2015 near the beach that there had been no other ones in recent times.

Still the day had not finished. At around 4.30 we arrived at the Medina (old town) for a wander. Unfortunately it was Sunday and getting late in the day so the Medina was very quiet with probably 10% of stalls open with nothing too flash on offer.

We bade goodbye to Anis and Ardel and headed back to the hotel which was about 40 metres from the Medina exit at 5.00. Dinner that night was at a restaurant near a very nice theatre in town. Very casual. No alcohol served there which was a bit annoying as I’d been contemplating a beer for a couple of hours. You can buy alcohol In Tunisia but clearly not everywhere. Possibly because we were sitting beside the street so visible to passers by who might be offended of perhaps it was an owner preference. We will have to choose more carefully next time!

Quick wander around town post dinner. Cafe after cafe on the busy main drag near the hotel. Most of them filled with men of all ages but a bias towards the 25-35 range. Sitting with one small cup of coffee or a bottle of water and talking animatedly or simply watching the passers by in an inscrutable way. Glad to be of fascination! Bed after a long day.

[chubbology]

Overindulged

prompt: feeder boyfriend quits his job and balloons as fat as his feedee/feeder girlfriend

He drove his sleek BMW up his driveway and into the middle garage just as dusk settled into night. He’d stayed overtime at work again, and to make it up to his girlfriend, three dozen fresh assorted donuts sat in the passenger seat.

Sure enough, immediately upon opening the back door with his stack of boxes, he heard her voice: “Late.”

“It’s the end of the month,” he said. “What do you expect? Brought you something though, so don’t be mad. Come in here.”

He set the boxes down on the granite island, then waited, sucking in a breath. His pupils dilated as his favorite person in the world waddled through the wide archway leading into the kitchen. After giving him a pout, she pulled the boxes toward her with arms that hung, at their heaviest, over half a foot with fat.

She was a beautiful, enormous woman. He had met her on a plane three years ago on a business trip to Paris. She’d pulled him into conversation like a warm whirlpool, and he’d listened in awe to her life story: miserable wife of a banker to a happily divorced entrepreneur, flying first class on her own dime.

With a smug, knowing smile, she talked about how she used to be skinny for her ex’s sake and now was free. He couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over her blatantly overweight body. Thighs pressing firm on either armrest of the wide seat, bust prominent and heavy, belly button deep and visible through her dress.

Bad news is, she’d concluded, I just settled a messy lawsuit that lost me my career and nearly bankrupted me. But she shrugged, as if such was life. I’m taking my last-hurrah vacation until I have no choice but to eat tiny, unsatisfying meals again.

He decided that couldn’t come to pass, so he spent as much time with her outside his business obligations as he could, taking her to meal after meal, falling in love as she ate to her heart’s content and shamelessly talked about how she’d rather fallen in love with gaining weight. It titillated and empowered her. By the end of their two week stay in Paris, she was twelve pounds bigger and he had invited her to live with him for a while as she looked for a new career path. She accepted.

Three years later, she’d found her calling without having to leave his luxurious, spacious home. Doing what she loved.

She was almost four hundred and fifty pounds now, last he was updated. She always wore leggings that clung to every lump and bulge of cellulite, and she liked to tease him by wearing crop tops, letting her massive belly and side rolls hang out and wobble as they pleased.

He watched with soft eyes as she stuffed herself with four jelly-filled doughnuts. Between bites she said, “These long hours at your soulless job are no good. My fans want to see more of you.” More eating. “The last time you fed me on camera was weeks ago!”

She gave him an imploring look as she ate a fifth doughnut. Boston creme. Her face, once conventionally pretty, now had a sexy overindulged look. She’d lost her jawline to additional chins and neck fat, and her round, fatty cheeks quivered as she chewed. Even before she finished the fifth doughnut, she picked up a sixth. “And don’t think they haven’t noticed that little tummy you have now.”

“What?” He looked down at himself, blushing at how his tie sat out a bit on slightly stretched white buttons.

Before he could say anything, she pushed a chocolate doughnut in his hand. “I know people willing to pay a pretty petty to see you chunk out.” She smirked. “Pop a couple of those buttons.”

He laughed dismissively, but as he ate the doughnut, he contemplated the press of his new chub against his shirt. His pants felt a little tight in the ass, too, now that he thought about it. What if? he thought.

Suddenly, he found himself admitting: “I’ve been thinking of quitting.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“I want to spend more time with you,” he explained. He hadn’t meant to talk about it now, but here he was. Out of nervousness, he pulled one of the boxes toward himself and picked another doughnut, this one caving in under its sprinkles. He took a heavenly bite. “I have plenty of money saved and invested to take care of both of us for a long time. I just don’t see why I…”

She waddled over to his side of the island and took his free hand. “You know I’d support you.” Then she pulled him closer, into a smiling kiss. “I’ll support you real good.”

*

Before his two week notice even ended, he was eight pounds heavier, and he relished how his coworkers’ eyes lingered on his burgeoning waistline. Soon, his tummy was pushing over his pants. His chest felt thicker. He felt his ass spread wider when he sat down. He ate desserts all the time, and his girlfriend lavished him with attention (food) at every opportunity when he was home, encouraging him to eat in amounts he’d never let himself eat before. She started filming - with his consent, as always - the development of his chubbing up. Her fans loved him even more than they already did, compliments coming in faster than he could read them.

One month into being an unemployed man, she stuffed him on camera until one of his shirt buttons popped off. The experience was more of a revelation for him than even becoming officially overweight; that night, after she went to sleep, he got out of bed, squeezed into an old pair of slacks that barely fit him, then gorged himself in the kitchen until he gasped at the relief of his ass seam tearing open, unable to accommodate his butt, which everyone online said was growing gorgeously fat. His heart fluttered just thinking about it, and he hoped his ass kept growing.

It did.

“I admit, I never thought you’d be this much of a pear,” his girlfriend told him, six months into his steady ballooning. They were admiring his progress in the large bathroom mirror. He may have looked small relative to his partner’s morbid obesity, but somehow, they were both more fascinated with his growth at the moment. She outlined his bottom heavy figure with her hands. Fat had indeed stored most eagerly in his ass, thighs, and hips. His belly drooped soft and wide.

“I love it,” she said. “Love everything about you.” But then something else came into her expression. “Except how you’ve stopped picking up after yourself.”

He swallowed, and said honestly, “Sorry. I know I’m getting lazier.”

“We’ll have to hire a maid.” She grinned wickedly. “Or do two pigs deserve to roll in their sty?”

*

A year into living on his passive income and her subscribers, the couple had not yet hired any cleaning services, and his country club house was...well. Not trashed, but messy and disorganized. She blamed the five pounds she’d lost over the past month on having to constantly throw his trash away. She punished him by making him stand while drinking a whole liter of full-sugar soda. Since he’d developed a strong distaste for any physical effort as he sunk deeper into obesity, he grumbled the whole time. When he finally fell back on the couch, she sat too. Together, they took up most of it. But while she looked perfectly composed, he was panting raggedly, slightly sweaty, a food stain on his pants.

“Look.” She reached out and held his chubby wrist. “I can tell that the fatter you get, the more your natural inclination is to be a pig.” She spoke with total matter-of-factness. As if the emergence of his inner pig was unsurprising and inevitable. “It’s not uncommon in men - that urge to oink and eat as a way of life. But we share this space. I help pay off this house. Please throw away your take out containers.”

Then she added, at his long-suffering sigh, “I’ll reward you.”

He met her gaze. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

*

This time, there were no cameras. There was just her, sitting on one side of their king bed and him on the other, breathing heavy, taking her reward one bite at a time.

Everywhere in their bed were containers and packages and napkins and soda bottles. He had eaten mexican and noodles and burgers and fries. He’d eaten candy bars and sundaes and milkshakes and chunky cookies. He was so full he could feel the skin of his belly stretching. He could practically feel the skin of his thighs stretching, as if they were filling up heavier with fat right then, as he was determinedly overfed. He swallowed another bite of greasy cheeseburger.

“Keep going. I can tell you're slowing down, but I’ll have none of that yet. I want to see progress from you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you want to feel the ecstasy of squeezing through a doorframe or are you going to plateau at being just fat?”

He let out a breathy moan as he ate another bite of the cheeseburger. His girlfriend knew him too well. She knew he liked the new challenges being big was causing him. She knew it turned him on that he sat so much fatter in his own car, belly pressing against everything, ass barely fitting at all. She knew his hands had begun cupping his hips as a half-unconscious habit, admiring his own width.

He liked how his thighs had to push past each other, jiggling every time. He even liked when he accidentally bumped into things, because it was a hot reminder that he wasn’t the same. He was like her now. He was fat. He was a pig. He wanted to eat and get so big he could barely even waddle. He wanted to squeeze through doorways. He wanted to get stuck.

“I want everything,” he said. And she smiled, temporarily pleased.

*

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[redrobin-detective]

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death. 

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave. 

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air. 

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough. 

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die. 

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town. 

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper. 

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light. 

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally. 

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

 Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock. 

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

[zarcake-writes]

Berries and Cinnamon

I like Karl Heisenberg. And I was in the mood for something sweet, loving, and slightly sad. Enjoy!

The village is quiet as a bitter wind whistle past the rickety homes and down the muddy little side streets. Most of the houses are dark; only smoke rising from chimneys to show proof of inhabitance. The outline of Castle Dimitrescu is barely visible against the gloomy night sky.

Karl Heisenberg is alone on the muddy streets. The farm animals that usually roam the village during the day have retreated to the safety of their homes. While the cold weather keeps the villagers inside.

He curls his lip when he passes one of the houses. The smell of animals and wet hay is a scent he cannot grow accustomed to. Most of the village reeks; the stench of decaying wet wood and shit is so oppressive it clings to his coat. Personally, Karl finds the entire place to be an affront to his senses.

But worst is the people. Pious fools who consistently grovel and pray at the feet of Mother Miranda; yet cower in fear at the sight of the Lords.

Alcina revels in the fear. It feeds her massive fucking ego. Donna refuses to interact with any except for the few who work in her house. And Moreau is a disgusting freak whose only concern is the occasional validation that Mother Miranda may give. Karl, though, is not sure if he wants to be feared or validated.

A harsh wind blows past him, shaking the trees and nearly taking the hat off his head.

Snow is in the air. And with it, the promise of a harsh winter.

The human villagers have been in a panic about having enough food and supplies for the coming season. Karl has heard plenty of prayers, seen the offerings to Mother Miranda and the Lords in the tiny church. A few brave villagers even approached his factory at one point, asking for metal scrap.

Reluctantly, he gave them a few sheets of metal.

The humans of the village may fear the coming winter. In an attempt to survive, they give offerings to a Mother Miranda, a fake god. Their stoves are stacked with logs, and they cower under moth-bitten blankets hoping to see next spring. Karl does not share their fear.

He revels in the sensation of the cold slicing through his coat. Cold so sharp it reminds Karl of rust-coated metal. The frost-cold ground seeps through his mud-drenched boots. And as chilled wind bites his cheeks, Karl feels almost human.

Almost.

As Karl comes to the edge of the village that borders up to the forest, he stops. The woods are dark, and the path is barely visible through the overgrown brush and ever reaching trees. There are no lamps or torches to light the way. There is not even a sign. Yet, a trail of smoke rising above the trees comes from deeper within the forest.

He enters the dark forest. Immediately, his eyes adjust to the gloom. Similar to the village, the woods are quiet and cold. The trees creak in the wind as an owl screeches, causing every small creature to scuttle into the brush for safety.

Karl dislikes the forest almost as much as the village. There is not enough metal that sings for his touch. Not enough metal that is eager to bend beneath his command. The trees do not listen to him, roots do not break, and every fucking stone gets caught under the toe of his boot. The only good thing is the smell. But even then, the forest smells too pure. He feels like a trespasser.

The path ends in a small clearing with a small cabin in the center. It is surrounded by the remains of a wooden fence that fell to ruin long ago. A chicken coop is behind the house. Karl cannot stop himself from sneering at the smell of chicken shit. A small raised garden in the front of the house.

The cabin looks abandoned, but the black smoke climbing out of the chimney says otherwise.

Karl’s heart speeds up as he approaches the cabin. The stone pathway beneath his feet is new.

The metal lock on the door sings out to Karl. It would be easy for him to unlock the door using his powers, but he promised to stop doing that. The key in his pocket will do just fine.

Inside, the cabin is warm. The slow-burning fire in the fireplace casts the room in a golden light as shadows dance on the wall. The scent of mashed berries and cinnamon lingers in the air.

All the irritation and anger that was bubbling beneath Karl’s skin melts away. A single word comes to his mind: home.

The cabin is small but decorated by someone who loves their home. Pictures of people Karl does not know to hang on the walls. The faces are familiar, and he has heard their stories, but he cannot remember their names. Knick knacks and precious items linger in every part of the room.

On the opposite side of the room is a small makeshift kitchen area that is too small for one person. The stove is old and partially broken, but the sink and cabinets are new. A vase of flowers sits on the dining table. Next to the table are two chairs; one is partially pulled out, while the other is tucked away. A pang shoots through Karl when he notices the jacket and items piled on the unused chair.

A small couch sits in front of the fireplace. A blanket is lazily thrown over the back.

To his right is a partially opened bedroom door.

Karl shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack near the door. A familiar jacket is the only other coat hanging. His hat goes up next. And his boots are placed next to a pair of feminine boots.

The floorboards creak beneath Karl’s weight.

“Fuck, shut up,” he whispers.

The floorboards do not listen.

As Karl pushes open the bedroom door, the hinges squeak. He freezes, expecting the room’s occupant to wake up. But the room is quiet. And the form in the bed does not move. Behind him, the fire crackles.

The bedroom is small. The bed, which can barely fit two people, takes up most of the space. A pile of clothes lay on the floor near the foot of the bed. Paintings of the ocean and a field of flowers dot the walls. Karl has spent countless hours memorizing every swirl and color of the paintings.

Tucked into the bed is a woman. She’s buried beneath several layers of blankets. Karl can smell the lingering dust on them.

The mere glimpse of her makes his heart speed up, and his hands grow clammy.

For the longest time, Karl hated that she made him feel like a young man who has never been near a pretty girl. He hated the sweaty palms and word vomit he spluttered. He felt so weak that he decided to avoid her. But he couldn’t stay away for long, and he could not imagine chasing her off.

She shifts in bed but does not wake up.

Karl pulls off his shirt, tossing it into the pile near her bed. He winces at the noise his necklaces around his neck make. Even when set onto the bedside table, they still make a jingling noise. Even his belt clinks as he undoes it.

But still, the noises he seems to constantly make do not wake her. Karl is grateful.

Karl pulls the blanket back. She’s curled up on her side wearing a thread-worn nightgown. Carefully, Karl climbs into bed with her. He gets as close as he dares. The sweetness that clings to her skin is dizzying. He can't stop himself from reaching out and placing his arm on her waist. 

She jolts at his touch and begins to move away. Karl hears her heartbeat speed up. He can smell the panic and fear already rising.

“Just me,” he rumbles in her ear.

She relaxes and leans into him. He feels the relief in her body.

“Karl,” she whispers.

He hums at the way she says his name. For the longest time, he detested his name. Karl. What the fuck is a Karl? Everyone else must agree that the name is terrible because no one calls him that, not even the family that Mother Miranda formed. Miranda herself hasn’t called him Karl since he was a child. For so long, he has been Lord Heisenberg.

But she calls him Karl. Karl. Karl. Karl. Karl. Whether she’s yelling at him, laughing with him, whispering to him in the darkness, or moaning his name with a reverence that should be saved for a church service, he loves how she says his name. He’s even begged her to never call him Lord Heisenberg, call him Karl. Only Karl. Karl. Karl.

“Karl?”

“Hm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“No.”

She rolls over in his arm to face him.

The orange glow of the fireplace slips through the cracked bedroom door, casting the faintest hint of light in the room. The curves and dips of her face are darkened, accentuating her features. The tip of her nose is highlighted, as is the plumpness of her cheeks. Her lips stand out the most. Karl has the urge to taste them, to taste her. But she can see the soft exhaustion in her eyes.

“I asked how your day was.”

It was shit, he thinks.

“Oh. It was fine,” he says.

Her eyes narrow. “Karl.”

He can’t keep her gaze. She knows him too well. Knows that when his jaw clenches, and he blinks twice that he is lying or avoiding the question.

But Karl can’t stop himself from lying to her about his day. He spent most of it with Mother Miranda and the other three Lords, so of course, it was a shit day. But he can’t tell her the truth because she will no doubt want to know why his day was shit. How can he tell her the religious leader of their village is a fucking cruel bitch? How would she react if he screamed about the other Lords? Moreau is fucking disgusting. And Angie is an annoying fucking freak. Not to mention the dick-cutting mega-bitch that is Alcina.

And worst is he can't explain to her that his shit interactions with the Lords and Mother Miranda were because of her. 

All the Lords and most of the village know that Karl Heisenberg has a sweetheart he's trying to keep a secret. Angie asks irritating questions. Alcina gets this unhinged look in her eyes. While Mother Miranda is silent on the topic, but Heisenberg knows she is plotting something. He could see it with the slightest tilt of her head. The only one who doesn’t bother Karl is Moreau.

The sinister glint in Alcina’s eyes combined with Mother Miranda’s silence made Karl’s skin crawl. He knows they can hurt her, kill her, or experiment on her. Karl knows he needs to make some kind of claim on the woman in his arms before those two bitches can act.  

Her hand cups his face, bringing Karl’s racing thoughts to a stop. He refuses to look at her. His face will reveal too much. She whispers his name, so soft and sweet, and he cannot refuse her anymore.

He meets her gaze, and she sees it all. The anger, hate, pain, and fear burned in him. But she does not push him away, only smiles and runs her thumb along his cheekbone. Her hands are gentle but worn from working in her garden behind the house.

“I will not pry for details, Karl. But you can be honest with me. I won’t judge you for having a bad day. We all have them.”

“I haven’t just had a bad day, sweetheart.” He clasps her hand that is still holding his cheek. “I’ve had a bad life.”

His voice cracks at the end. Body growing hot with embarrassment and fear of her judging him for the emotion that screams for release in his chest, Karl looks away. He cannot bear to see the rejection in her eyes. 

But her silence is loud. Karl's ears begin to ring as his body grows hotter and hotter. He wants to scream for her to say something, anything. He wants her to push him away now for being a weak, broken man.

She does none of that. She sits up in bed, making sure to keep a hand on Karl, and readjusts her pillows. When she lays back down, she is sitting up. She smiles and opens her arms, welcoming him home.

Karl curls around her body, nuzzling his face into her chest. The tears in his eyes bleed onto her nightgown. If she feels the dampness grow on her chest or feel his trembling against her, she says nothing. She is silent as fingers moving gently against his skin. And slowly, the overwhelming emotion that nearly consumed Karl fizzles out until it is all gone.

“Your tits are soft,” he mumbles eventually.

She snorts. “Kind of like your gut.”

“Your tits aren’t hairy like my gut though.”

“And my tits are probably quieter. No grumbling from digestion.”

He hums in agreement. The only sound from her chest is the gentle beating of her heart.

“Go to sleep,” she whispers.

He opens his mouth to reply, but her fingers begin to move up and down his bareback. Nails that she keeps short and blunt leave soft trails along his back, taking care to ghost over the numerous scars. He can’t form a response, only hum at the sensation.

“Go to sleep, Karl,” she whispers again.

Her hands move up towards his head. She gently pulls at his hair, starting from the ends before pulling at the base of the strands. And with gentle fingers, she brushes through the knots in his hair, careful to not yank or hurt him.

Being in her arms is the closest thing Karl has ever been to having a home. Mother Miranda was no mother. And the other Lords are not his siblings. They are no family, just pawns that Mother Miranda will use as she pleases.

And used him she did. She took everything from him, turned him into a monster by making him perform terrible experiments. He’s numb to the monstrous things he has done and continues to do, that Karl does not feel human. Fuck, he hasn’t been human in so long.

But in this tiny cabin, in the arms of the woman he loves, Karl has a home and a family. And he feels human.

[ceciliablossoms]

I just read the whiskey angst and i cried a bit 😭 can i request Fruit Punch + Absinthe after that the reader feel stressed and go for a walk outside but are attacked by Abiss Mages and seriously injured and Diluc / Childe / Kaeya is surprised when the reader return with a pathetic form but the reader don't want them to touch them pls 😭😭😭 REVERSE UNO

I genuinely wasn't expecting people to like that one enough to request a sequel. I originally had no intention of making a sequel but with so many people asking how can I not?

Haha.. I couldn't sleep again...

The Whiskey fic

TW: Mentions of Injury, Swearing, Self Hatred

Absinthe: “Get out of my sight! I don’t fucking want you here!”

Fruit Punch: “Why are you bleeding!? What the hell happened?!”

-------

Diluc

It had been several days since he had last seen them and honestly speaking the man was a mess. What he said hadn't fully sunk in until he finished his work and upon realising that he had made a severe error, a pit formed in his stomach.

He was extremely disgusted with himself. Nobody should ever talk to their significant other in such a way under any circumstances. Not only that but he had also called them a hindrance when they had only been trying to help him. Pathetic.

He ended up seeking them out, arriving at their small house in Mondstadt. He had approached their door as they were exiting their home. They visibly bristled.

As the days passed they wallowed less, sadness and dejection becoming anger. How DARE he have the AUDACITY to talk to them like that? To treat them as though they were holding him back?

“Get out of my sight! I don't fucking want you here!”

He didn't even flinch out their outburst. He deserved it, "I have... come to apologise for my actions. I-"

"Didn't mean it? Save your words. I don't wish to hear it." They pushed past him. "I'm going for a walk. Don't follow me."

He watched as they exited the gates, steam practically pouring from their ears. As much as he wished to apologise, craved to say that he was sorry, he was sure that they wouldn't have it. But, he sat on the stairs to their house regardless and waited for their return. Whether they would accept it or not he was still going to try to make amends.

He didn't know how long he sat there waiting but they still had yet to return. The worry had long set in, hitting its peak when there was a small commotion at the gate. They pushed past Swan, who was following after them in a panic.

They walked with a limp, blood seeping through the hand that clenched their shoulder tightly. A cut adorned their face from temple to jaw. It too was bleeding heavily.

Diluc approached them with haste, alerted by their state, "Why are you bleeding?! What the hell happened!?"

They pushed past him too as he reached out to them, "Don't.... touch me..."

Diluc glared at Swan as a way to tell him to go back to his post. He jumped but obliged nonetheless as Diluc began to follow after them. Grabbing their non-injured shoulder in his gloved hand, he tugged them gently to stop them from moving.

His tone was stern, "You do not have to speak with me nor do you have to accept my apology. But you will get those injuries tended to even if I have to drag you to the church myself."

They pulled themselves from his grip, out of breath and tired, "Why is it that you care? I'm but a hindrance remember. Even as we speak I am obstructing you."

"If those were my feelings I wouldn't be here. I don't expect forgiveness but I would still like to let you know that what I said doesn't define how I feel for you. That is of little importance right now. Your injuries need to be dealt with"

They said nothing, looking off to the side. Sluggishly they move towards their home again, quietly ushering for him to follow. "I have plenty of medical supplies of my own." They paused, "When my injuries heal, I expect an apology in full. And as for my trust... You'll have to work for it."

He was relieved. Their words suggested that there was a still a chance for him.

-

Tartaglia

It took him a while to calm down. After all, he did tend to brood on things until they festered. At first, he only got angrier. Angry that the cheater got away with it. Angry that they sided with the cheater. Angry that they helped the cheater.

He thought about it more though, and the more he rationalised the more he calmed down. They didn't really side with him, did they? They only helped him because he would have bled out had they not. As much as he wanted to beat the man's ass all over again, he let it slide. Killing him would be a waste anyway. Instead he would let the man's near death experience serve as a reminder.

When he was fully calm, he sought them out, their words echoing in the back of his head. 'Talk to me when you're fucking sane', they had said. Had his actions truly made them feel that way? Or was it in anger just as his words had been?

He checked Bubu Pharmacy first, seeing neither them nor the cheater. He assumed it was because the cheater was in the back getting treatment and that they had gone on their merry way. The search continued.

His hunt continued all across the harbour and he was unable to tell if they were going out of their way to avoid him or if he was looking in all the wrong places. Finally, he resorted to asking around, getting a couple tidbits of information from some Milileth.

He was told that they were seen exiting the harbour and that seemed extremely miffed. So retracing their steps, he left the harbour as well, following along the path that led toward Guili Plains.

He continued to follow the path until Wangshu Inn appeared in the distance and quietly pondered why they came out this far. Something seemed off though. Halting his movements, he scanned the area, sapphire eyes landing on a familiar silhouette sitting at the base of an apple tree.

He was unaware of how long they'd been sitting there when he approached, but there they were an apple in hand. They finished mid chewing and spoke after they swallowed the fruit in their mouth.

"Get out of my sight. I don't fucking want you here." Despite their icy tone, he knew that they weren't angry anymore. They did, however, want to be left alone though he did not oblige.

His eyes travelled to the blood that coloured the grass beneath them. There was a teasing edge to his voice as he tried to lighten the mood, "Why are you bleeding? What happened, hm? Get in a fight without me?"

Finding each other bloody was nothing new to either of them and playing it up was a game of sorts. An inside joke if you will. Most of the time he acted like a worried spouse for them and vice versa, but at this moment it was genuine worry. They scoffed.

"Yes, but unlike you, I don't try to kill men on the street."

He held up his hands in defeat before sitting down across from them, "Not gonna let me live it down, are you?"

They rolled their eyes, leaning their head against the tree trunk, "It happened a few hours ago. But you get a free pass because I don't have the energy to debate right now."

He moved to check their injury and they slapped his hands away with a quiet 'Don't touch me'. Yet he continued to eye it warily, staring at their face as if to ask permission. His gaze was gentle, genuine worry spread across his face. They caved after several minutes, looking away.

Pulling their shirt up to reveal the injury on their hip, it appeared as though they tried to cauterize it. With a sigh, he stood and held his hand out to help then up. After a moment of hesitation, they accepted his hand and immediately after they stood he crouched in front of them and signalled for them to get on his back. They obliged and he carried them back to the city.

"Don't think that this means I forgive you for what you said to me."

For once he didn't feel like teasing, knowing that it wouldn't help mend the situation, "I know. I do wish to apologise though. My words were... unnecessary. I took my anger out on you."

"Damn right." They patted his head, "Though if you're a good boy I might forgive you faster."

He sighed, fully aware that they were going to use him as an errand boy for the next few days.

-

Kaeya

He continued after their encounter as though nothing had happened at all. The silence that filled his office after they left was deafening but he took the time to finish his work. All of the paperwork that had piled up and all the tedious remedial tasks had been finished, the rest of his duties taken care of as well.

Days passed before he finally decided to confront them, and over that period his the guilt over his cruelty toward them festered. He was fully aware that they were trying to help, trying to make his workload lighter, yet he still snapped at them.

If he hadn't taken out his frustration on them then the two would be together right now. If he had just let them help will all of it then we would have gotten done much faster and gotten to relax much sooner. The stack they did do, however, was the biggest one from the piles which did shorten the time he was working. If only he hadn't scared them away.

He began his search for them at their home, finding it empty. Thinking for a moment, he began to check the usual places they went when they were upset. As he headed to Windrise it turned out that he didn't have to look far, for they were limping over the bridge that led into the city.

They were bleeding heavily from their chest, hand clutching the wound with unspoken panic. He rushed toward them, reaching out to support their body weight.

His voice was demanding, "Why are you bleeding?! What the hell happened?"

"It was just an Abyss Mage. Get out of my sight! I don't fucking want you here."

He knew he deserved their scalding words but that didn't stop him from trying. He held his tongue to stop a smart ass comment. Usually, he wouldn't hold back but he knew this wasn't the time.

"You may not want me here, but if you don't get some help you'll bleed out before you can make it to the cathedral." He spoke calmly despite his internal conflict, and they knew that he had a point.

Begrudgingly they leaned against him as he escorted them through town. Moving hurt as it aggravated their injury but it was necessary. As soon as they got inside the cathedral he called for Barbara who appeared around the corner. Her face contorted in horror as she escorted them to the infirmary.

Kaeya sat amongst the pews and waited, having an internal debate with himself. Would they forgive him? Would they even hear him out?

Hours passed before Barbara remerged with news of their condition. He could see them but they could not leave for a while. With caution, he entered, knocking on the door frame to get their attention.

They turned their head in his direction but scowled when they realised that it was him. "Do you need something?"

He hummed, "No but you do." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took their hands in his, "I wanted to apologise. Both for what I said to you and for taking your kindness for granted."

They stared him down but say nothing but sincerity in his eyes, "I'm listening."

He was slightly caught off guard by their response, nevertheless though it made him happy. They fact that they were willing to listen showed that there was a possibility for forgiveness.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 4

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of blood and injury, cursing, alcohol consumption Summary: You and Mando choose Sorgan as your place to lay low, only to get wrangled into a risky job. Notes: I didn’t post last week, so have two chapters! Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme​​ @beskarhearts​​ @dincrypt​​ @honey-hi​​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​​ @red-leaders​​ @zoemariefit​​

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

The next few days passed in a haze of planning and training. You helped instruct the villagers in hand-to-hand combat alongside Cara and firearms training with Mando. When Cara asked why you happened to be proficient in both skills, you told her that working with the clientele you did occasionally necessitated self-defense. That was true enough.

After a day or two, however, you decided it was best to leave the blaster training up to Mando. You focused on assisting Cara, who was good company, and joined the crew that was constructing barricades and digging trenches.  

It was irritating to feel a tinge of jealousy at the comfortable way Mando interacted with Omera so soon after meeting her. She was beautiful and clever, welcoming and kind. You understood her appeal. Still, despite yourself, you were annoyed by their borderline flirtatious interactions.

You could practically feel Mando’s heart drop when Omera was the only villager to raise her hand when he asked the group who knew how to shoot. He looked like he might actually be in physical pain as he watched her hit the pan she was aiming for over and over in quick succession during target practice. He was visibly tense, holding his shoulders back uncomfortably far as he regarded her, deeply impressed.

You were honestly even a little nettled by easy relationship that had developed organically between Cara and Mando. Their connection was strictly platonic, but they acted like they’d been friends for years. 

Why is it so different with me?

Both of these developments were irritating, but what really drove you to avoid Mando was your frustration at yourself. This wasn’t the plan. You weren’t supposed to get invested or attached—both because you’d part ways soon enough and because you were witnessing Mando get attached to someone else.

It was easy enough to limit your interactions with him during the day. You spent what little spare time you had playing with the kid and the gaggle of children that followed him around to squeal at every adorable flap of his ears, or wandering through the forest. You always stayed closed to village, but it was relief to get some time alone. As nice as it was to have regular company—something you’d wanted for so long—you also missed some aspects of your solitary existence. It was simple and comfortable. It was what you knew best.

***

At night, you made sure to stay away from the barn as long as possible so Mando could have plenty of time to eat and do whatever else he did with his helmet off.

Each night, you would approach the barn after dark had fallen, making sure to stomp loudly up the steps. You’d stand off to the side of the doorway and knock, waiting to hear the telltale sound of beskar dragging across the wooden windowsill and the subsequent hiss as he fit the helmet back over his head.

The fourth night, however, when Mando arrived back at the barn in the early evening, he stopped at the doorway.

You had stacked every box, crate, and stray item in a line down the center of the back half of the room to make a barrier that was as high as your shoulder. You’d hung a sheet across both sides, so you each had an enclosed space.

“I know it doesn’t fix it, but I thought it might make you feel better? I promise not to get up with out warning you... I know you’ll probably keep your helmet on anyways, but I have to imagine sleeping in it is killing your neck, and since you won’t let me figure out somewhere else to sleep, this is the best I could come up with,” you stopped rambling, punctuating the end of your sentence with a decisive nod.

“Thank you,” he said.

You were relieved—and slightly surprised—when later that night, after darkness had fallen and you were tucked under your blankets, hovering on the edges of sleep, you heard a hiss and a thunk, which you registered as him removing his helmet and setting it on the floor. It was slightly harder to fall sleep knowing that Mando was only feet away from you, helmetless.

The warmth that blossomed in your chest at this display of trust stayed with you well into the next day.

***

The next night, after a long day of training, you were back in the barn, getting cleaned up before bed. Mando, having just entered, was untying the knot in his cape. The kid was standing in his crib, tiny hands gripping the bars, watching you and Mando with eager curiosity.

Seated on a crate, you pulled the necklace that was tucked under your shirt over your head, preparing to wash the sweat and grime of the day off you. You leaned over to stow it in a tiny zip pocket on the outside of your bag, when you felt a tug on the thin gold chain. You looked down at your hand, thinking the child must have tottered over when you weren’t looking. But, looking up, you saw that he wasn’t near you. He was still standing in his crib, and he whined at you, his tiny hand outstretched. He seemed concerned, his eyes squinted and forehead wrinkled in concentration.

You looked from the necklace in your hand to the kid and back.

“What the—?”

You glanced at Mando. He was watching you, the cape he was folding frozen in his hands. He dropped the cape and strode over to the crib to grab the child, hugging him tight to his chest. He turned to leave the barn, walking to the doorway. The child struggled against him, until his big ears and eyes appeared over Mando’s shoulder, a tiny hand stretched toward you again.

Curious, you opened your hand and straightened your arm, offering the necklace on your palm.

The baby’s face wrinkled in concentration once again. Mando was almost out the door when the necklace jerked out of your hand and flew across the room. The chain hooked on one of the kid’s tiny fingers. He grasped it, and the purple crystal at the end of it clinked distinctively when it collided with Mando’s pauldron. Mando stopped dead in his tracks.

Your jaw dropped. Mando whirled around, adjusting his grip on the child so he could see the necklace clutched in his tiny hand, the pendant swinging back and forth like a pendulum. The baby was cooing and wiggling his ears in triumph. His other hand grabbed at the crystal.

Mando’s entire demeanor shifted in the space of a second. He stopped breathing and crossed the space between you in a few long strides, raising a hand to point a threatening finger at your chest.

“You can’t tell anyone.” The anger in his voice failed to conceal the fear underneath it, even through the modulator.

“I won’t.” You were absolutely bewildered by this development, but you’d never do anything that would endanger the child.

Mando stayed frozen like that, his hand outstretched. In his arms, the child tittered and cooed, examining the object clasped in his tiny hands.

“Mando, I promise. I won’t.”

He nodded, dropping his accusing hand, and looked down to gently extricate the necklace from the three-fingered hand it was wrapped around. You could see the reflection of the baby’s huge, imploring brown eyes in Mando’s visor. The baby let out a frustrated huff in protest and began to whine in earnest when Mando successfully disentangled the necklace.

He thrust it back into your hand, turned on his heel, and left.

The Mandalorian has a baby... Jedi? And he does not want to talk about it.

***

After two weeks of preparation, the day finally arrived. Tension was high among the villagers as the final arrangements were made. The plan was reviewed, and finally, the sun began to set. You and Mando headed back to the barn to gear up.

It only took a few minutes for Mando to grab all he needed. Slinging his rifle across his back, he walked toward the doorway and paused. He turned around to face you.

“We’re headed out. You’ll make sure the kid is safe with the others?” he asked.

“Of course. Be careful out there.”

“You too.” He gave you a curt nod and swept out the door.

You gathered what you needed, delivered the child to the building that was designated for children and a couple caretakers, and took your place with the villagers behind one of the barricades. You shared words of reassurance with those around you.

The night passed in a blur of adrenaline. You had been put in charge of one of two groups of the villagers who were capable of fighting. Omera led the other. Mando and Cara attacked the raider’s camp, drawing them out of the forest. The Klatooinians rushed the village, purposefully funneled to the open space between your group and Omera’s by the barricades, and the AT-ST stuttered into view shortly after.

The villagers were roughly trained soldiers, but in the end, it was enough to scare off the Klatooinians—especially once Mando and Cara managed to lure the reluctant walker into the trap, incapacitating their largest weapon.

Halfway through the fight, your blaster jammed, so you traded it for one you took off a dead Klatooinian. It was large and awkward in your hands, but it did the job well enough.

When the walker fell and the remaining Klatooinians turned tail, the villagers began to cheer, letting their guard down immediately. Mando and Cara disappeared into the woods after the retreating raiders to clear out any stragglers.

You scanned the dark scene from where you stood behind the krill ponds to ensure that every Klatooinian had left. When you turned back toward the village, you noticed an injured raider, who had been lying on the ground, lurched to his feet. He started towards Omera, who was kneeling beside an injured villager, tending their wounds, with her back to him. As he stood, he pulled a long knife from is belt.

“Omera!” you yelled. She looked around at the sound of her name and exclaimed when she saw the man charging her, only a few feet away. Her hands scrabbled along the ground around her, trying to locate her blaster. The other villagers in the vicinity, caught off guard, froze and watched in horror.

You fumbled with the safety on the unfamiliar blaster in your hands, feeling slow and awkward. Fuck.

You sprinted forward to position yourself between Omera and the Klatooinian, catching him off guard and meeting his face with the butt of the heavy blaster. He growled in pain, closing his eyes for a moment as he reeled back, slashing the air blindly with his blade. You took the chance to kick him in the stomach, putting all your weight behind it. He doubled over, but managed to throw out his arm as he stumbled backwards, just as you were drawing your leg back. You cried out in pain as his blade bit through the meat of your calf.

Omera, who had recovered behind you, shot the raider before he hit the ground.

You staggered back, breathing hard, and sat on the ground abruptly, gritting your teeth at the sharp pain. He’d cut deep into your muscle, leaving a laceration as long as your hand. Bacta would fix you well enough, but it hurt like a bitch. It was bleeding freely, thick droplets of blood running down your shin into your boot. Without thinking, you ripped your shirt off over your head, leaving you in just your breast band, and wrapped it tight around your calf to staunch the bleeding. Several villagers rushed over to help you, but you waved them off, reassuring them that you had it under control.

Omera knelt beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Thank you for having my back,” she said genuinely.

You smiled at her and covered her hand with yours: “Anytime. Thanks for having mine.”

You heard the familiar clank of Mando’s armor behind you. He must have finished flushing out the nearby trees. He crouched next to you.

“What happened?”

“Knife wound. Not bad. I’ll be fine.”

Blood was rapidly soaking through the thick fabric of your shirt. Okay, I might need stitches.

“You need stitches,” Mando said, verbalizing your thought.

“Yeah.”

“I can do those for you,” Omera offered. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you nodded.

She threaded a hand under your arm to help you to your feet. You started to get up.

“I got her,” said Mando, waving Omera away. She moved back.

You were too focused on the stinging pain of your leg to process what he meant. Mando got to his knees and leaned forward to slip an arm under the crook of your knees and one around your back. You flinched at the feeling of the cold beskar on your side.

“Mando, I can walk,” you protested, surprised, as he lifted you. You instinctively wrapped an arm behind his neck, while your other hand held tight to the shirt around your calf.

“You’re losing too much blood.”

His chest plate was cold against your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You were surprised when he turned in the direction of the barn where the two of you slept, instead of toward the structure that had been designated for medical care. On the way there, he poked his head into the room where the kids were hidden. The child chirped happily up at the two of you from where he was seated in Winta’s lap. Satisfied, Mando turned to carry you the rest of the way to the barn.

If you weren’t exhausted and in pain, you’d probably be more acutely aware of how exposed you were in just your breast band in his arms. You would probably be enjoying the easy way he was carrying you.

He stepped onto the porch in one stride and strode inside, setting you down gently on your blankets. You lay back immediately, bending your injured leg to keep the pressure steady with a tight grip on your shirt. You closed your eyes, trying to not focus on the pain. You heard Mando rummaging around.

“My med pack is in my backpack,” you said. “Will you hand it to me?”

But when you opened your eyes, you saw that he already had his own med pack open on the floor next to you.

“I have anesthetic bacta spray. I’ll use that first so you don’t feel the stitches.” He held up an aerosol can to show you.

Knowing how expensive that was, you protested: “No, no, save that for something more serious. I’ll be okay. I’ve had stitches before.”

“It’ll be easier for me if I know I’m not hurting you,” he insisted, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

“I can handle it.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? Yes, I can. I’ve done it before.”

“Will you just let me do it?” he asked, exasperated.

“Are you okay though? Don’t you have any injuries?”

“No. Beskar,” he replied, tapping his chest plate. “Just let me do it,” he pressed with an imploring head tilt.

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly. “Thank you.”

He moved down to your calf, taking the shirt gently from your hands. When his fingers brushed yours, you registered that it wasn’t a glove you felt—his hand was bare.

You closed your eyes again, trying not to fixate on the feeling of his bare skin on yours. Plus, you still weren’t sure if seeing his bare skin would somehow violate his Creed.

He peeled back the fabric slowly. You winced.

“The worst of the bleeding has stopped,” he said, using the shirt to wipe away the drying blood on your skin. “I’m applying the spray.”

You nodded vaguely, then hissed through your teeth at the sting of cold spray on your leg, but the effects were immediate—the pain disappeared instantly, completely.

“Ah, fuck, I forgot how good that stuff is. I got so used to getting patched up without it.”

He let out a grunt of agreement. “Stay still.”

“I will.”

You glanced down at Mando, appreciating how out of place he looked, his large metal form crouched over your leg, administering precise medical care with careful movements.

Feeling like you were in good hands, with the pain gone, you let the fatigue overtake you. Your eyes drifted closed.

Sometime later—you weren’t sure how long in your hazy state—you felt Mando move beside you. You opened your eyes, and he was on his knees by your shoulder, his gloveless hand hovering a couple inches above your arm like he wasn’t sure whether or not he was going to touch you. You gave him a sleepy smile, and in a sudden movement, he lowered his hand the rest of the way down to your bare shoulder.

I guess it isn’t against the Creed to reveal your skin to someone else.

“I’m done.”

“Thank you,” you replied, reaching up to pat the hand on your shoulder. You kept the gesture brief, concerned that your touch might prompt him to pull his hand away.

He didn’t.

His hands were softer than you were expecting.

“Rest,” he instructed. “I put water next to you.”

He stood to leave, the weight of his warm hand retreating with him.

You tried not to overthink how tender Mando had been with you. You didn’t want to process what it meant or the fact that it sort of left you swooning. Though, maybe that was the blood loss.

As you drifted to sleep, you thought about what the future might hold. It was a relief that the fight was over and the village was safe, but it also meant your job here was done and it would soon be time to leave Sorgan. You weren’t sure what this meant for your partnership—if you could really even call it a partnership—with Mando. Would you go your separate ways now?

It wasn’t until the next morning—when you were examining the precise row of stiches on your calf—that you realized, with great dismay, you’d exposed the scar on your chest to Mando, Omera, and a handful of other villagers.

***

The following evening was a celebration. The entire village stayed up late into the night eating, talking, and drinking in the long hall.

After dinner, you were five shots into a drinking game with Cara when Mando rejoined the two of you. You were drinking a clear liquor, something stronger than spotchka that you didn’t know the name of.

Mando sat down stiffly across from you, watching the two of you howl with laughter over a joke he’d missed.

“I was just here half an hour ago. How are you both already drunk?”

“We’re efficient,” said Cara in a mock-serious tone.

“You want to play, Mando? I could get you a straw,” you offered.

He tilted his head, and the sassiness of the gesture made you cackle.

Cara laughed heartily, slapping her hand on her thigh: “I guess that’s his way of saying he can’t handle his booze.”

“What exactly are the rules of this game?” he asked.

“We stopped worrying about the rules awhile ago,” you admitted.

“So who’s winning?”

“Me!” you declared, reaching for the half-empty bottle once again.

“I don’t know about that,” said Cara, skeptically, snatching the bottle and unsteadily pouring two more shots. She handed one to you.

“Maybe you guys have had enough,” Mando said, reaching out to take the glasses from Cara.

“Maybe you’re not the boss of us,” you sassed, knocking his hand out of the way and tipping the proffered shot down your throat. You were drunk enough that it didn’t burn anymore.

“We’re celebrating, Mando!” Cara proclaimed before she downed hers too, and you both laughed at the long-suffering sigh that Mando let out.

A woman that Cara had been spending most of her free time with sauntered over to your table and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Cara smirked.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” she said, standing and taking the woman’s hand.

“Have fun,” you said, winking.

“You too,” she shot back.

You turned to Mando: “Welp, looks like you’re my new drinking buddy.”

He sat silent, helmet following Cara and the other woman as they left the hall.

“Oookay, then. I’m going to bed.” You slapped your palms onto the table and pushed yourself up. 

Mando followed you as you stepped out into the cool night.

“Where’s the kid?” you asked.

“Asleep already.”

“That’s good. Babies need sleep.”

“He’s fifty.”

You turned to Mando, spluttering, “Fifty?!”

“Different species age differently,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, no shit... Still, that’s crazy. You have a fifty-year-old toddler. Your baby is older than you...I mean, I assume so. I don’t know how old you are. If I had to guess, I would say... Is that rude? I probably shouldn’t guess...”

Not paying attention, you started wandering in the wrong direction, and Mando laid a guiding hand on your lower back.

“Come on,” he sighed, directing you toward the barn.

You pushed out the loudest, most dramatic sigh you could muster, and he looked down at you.

“That’s you. That’s what you sound like. You looooove sighing, you know that? It’s your favorite thing, second only to the kid. You might like it even more than the kid, actually,” you mused, making yourself chuckle.

“You’re a chatty drunk,” he observed.

“Everyone is chatty compared to you, Mando.”

He grunted.

“What are you like when you’re drunk? I want to see that. Do you even drink?” You stopped walking, and he did too, visor trained on you.

“Sometimes.”

“I bet you’re a nice drunk.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, no, I know so. Because secretly you’re a nice not drunk person so I bet you’re an extra nice drunk person.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that your usual verbal filter was completely gone. Oh well.

“Is that right?”

“Yep, you pretend to be all scary with your sexy voice and your blasters and your bounty hunting and your fire bracelet and your shiny outfit, but really you are soft, and you love babies and helping people and carrying injured friends.”

“My sexy voice?” He titled his head suggestively.

“Really? That’s what you took from that?” You hiccupped. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what your voice sounds like. This is the way.” You hit him with your best Mando impression.

He chuckled.

Your mouth fell open, and you pointed up at him, incredulous. “You laughed.”

“I did.”

“Well, don’t do it too much or I might start to think that you’re a real human being under all that.” You gestured at his beskar.

“We wouldn’t want that,” he said, and you both started walking toward the barn again.

“Look at you, making jokes.” You tripped slightly, and Mando steadied you.

“My boot is untied,” you announced, flopping onto the ground unceremoniously to tie it.

Mando set his hands on his hips and leaned down to watch you.

You held a palm up to him. “Before you do it, I’ll sigh for you,” you said, letting out another exaggerated exhale.

He crouched down in front of you and batted your hand away, pulling your laces tight to knot them.

“You’re trying my shoe,” you said stupidly.

“Yeah, because you’re taking too long.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know. I am perfectly capable of getting back by myself. You can go to bed.” You waved dismissively in the direction of the barn.

“I’m not going to leave you out here drunk and alone.”

“See.” You tapped a finger against his chest plate. “Soft.”

“I guess so.”

“Andddd, I think you still feel the need to babysit me because you don’t trust me.”

He looked up at you. “That’s not true.”

“Convincing.”

He shook his head and stood up. You reached out both hands, and he gripped them, pulling you to your feet.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, replacing his hand on your back.

“Oh, it’s good. You make very tiny, very neat stitches. I was impressed. I assume you’ve had lots of practice.”

He hummed.

You hiccupped again.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” you scowled up at him. “I’m not even that drunk.”

He pushed your shoulder lightly, and you stumbled.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

“Proved my point though.”

Putting all your weight behind it, you shoved his arm as hard as you could in retaliation. He didn’t falter. Taking a different tack, you snaked a hand under his arm and tickled his unarmored side. He leaped away from you.

“WHY!?” he grunted.

“You’re ticklish!” you announced triumphantly.

“No. I’m not.” But he was careful to stay more than an arm’s distance away from you.

“Yes, you are! But don’t worry, I will take your secret to my grave,” you promised solemnly, placing a hand over your heart. “It wouldn’t be good for business if everyone knew the greatest bounty hunter in the parsec could be bested via tickling.” Your voice cracked, and you dissolved into giggles.

Mando halted and turned to you, putting his hands on his hips again.

“Oh, Mando, lighten up. I’m just teasing you.”

In two decisive steps, Mando closed the distance between you, crowding you backward. You looked up at him, surprised, unable to get a read on him. “I didn’t mean—.”

In one swift movement, he hauled you over his shoulder.

“Hey!!”

He chuckled and tightened his hold around the back of your thighs. You surrendered quickly, going limp. His pauldron dug uncomfortably in your stomach, but otherwise, it wasn’t so bad.

“That is the second time you’ve laughed in the last five minutes. Are you feeling okay? Are you sure you didn’t sustain some sort of head injury yesterday?” you asked.

“Pretty sure, but I’m starting to think you might have.”

“Hilarious. You know, I could still tickle you like this,” you threatened, trailing a hand down his side.

“Not if you don’t want me to drop you,” he warned, jolting you slightly to demonstrate.

You huffed. “You can’t just cuff me or pick me up any time I’m inconvenient. That’s not how friendship works.”

“I think it works well for us,” he said as he climbed the steps to the barn.

***

The following two weeks were a period of peaceful recovery and restoration. You, Mando, and Cara helped the village return their home to normal—disposing of the dead raiders, breaking down the AT-ST, taking down the barricades, filling in the trenches. Every day, as there was less and less to do, you wondered when Mando would broach the topic of leaving. You had a feeling he, like you, was also putting it off for as long as possible. You were enjoying the easy routine you’d fallen into, spending time with the kid, Mando, Cara, and Omera; you’d happened into a community and were loath to leave it.

You were seated on the porch of the barn, watching the clouds roll slowly across the sky, when you noticed Mando making his way over.

As he walked toward you, you admired (not for the first time) the way the soft, green light of Sorgan danced across the surface of his beskar. You looked him up and down surreptitiously, wondering if he’d always worn such an elaborate outfit or if it had evolved over time. You knew the armor at least had been replaced. But had he always worn a cape? And like three layers of clothes? And the sash-like bandolier? You weren’t familiar enough with Mandalorian culture to know if they strapped all of that on as kids or if they donned the armor at a certain age...or how any of it worked.

Your eyes paused at his middle. Weren’t utility belts usually worn lower, on the hips? Not cinched closer to the trimmest part of the waist? It did seem to secure the softer part of his armor that covered his stomach, so maybe it had to be positioned there. The idea that Mando had thought about his silhouette when donning his armor was absurd... but something told you that it was not impossible. Honestly, you hoped the belt was just as much for fashion as it was for function because that was too funny. The man wears a cape... it is definitely possible that more than one part of his outfit is both aesthetic and practical.

You definitely weren’t complaining. You enjoyed the view.

You wondered if he fully understood the nature of his effect on people. He was acutely aware of how intimidating he could be; he wielded that advantage liberally and expertly, but you were unsure if he was aware of his appeal. It wasn’t just you who was drawn to him in that way—Omera, for one, was immediately taken with him. And you saw how others in the cantina that first day, or in the Sorgan public house, or even here in the village trailed their eyes down his body when he wasn’t looking.

Your face burned slightly at the memory of telling him he had a sexy voice. You were grateful you hadn’t admitted anything more embarrassing, and that he hadn’t brought it up again. To your relief, that night of joking with him had shifted things slightly—he’d been a little more relaxed around you since.

Mando walked up the steps and leaned on the wall of the barn, joining you on the porch. He glanced down at you.

“How was your patrol?” you asked.

“Good, no sign of any raiders.”

You nodded and let silence hang between you for a long moment.

“That fight was too much action for a backwater town like this though—word travels fast and it’s been a couple weeks. We should cycle the charts and move on.”

Your eyes found the child, who was seated amidst a group of children in the middle of the village. He looked so happy, giggling and playing outside in the sun. Krill flopped on the ground around him.

“I know you’re right, but the idea of taking him away from this place is... hard to think about. He’s so happy here.” You nodded your head toward the baby.

Mando heaved a sigh. He stared forward as he said, “I’m leaving him here. Traveling with me—that’s no life for a kid. I did my job, he’s safe—”

You were shocked.

“Your job, Mando? Your job was to turn in an innocent child for a bounty, and you knew that was wrong, so you didn’t. After that, he became your responsibility, not just a job.” The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them.

You looked away from him, suddenly cold. He said nothing.

“I don’t understand you. You flip flop between being heartless and being caring. How do you go from saving him to leaving him in some random village? He’s attached to you. Please, explain it to me because I don’t understand.” You made no effort to hide the venom that was seeping into your voice, as every frustration you’d felt toward Mando over the last couple weeks bubbled to the surface at once.

You looked up at him. His helmet was trained on your face.

“He’ll get over it. We all do.”

You glared up at him.

“Why don’t you stay here with him? You could settle down with Omera. You know she wants you to stay.”

“She asked me to stay, but I don’t belong here.”

“You could if you wanted to. Don’t pretend like you don’t have a choice.”

You stood and walked away, leaving him on the porch. You couldn’t stand to look at his infuriatingly blank mask for one more second.

You stomped all the way to the forest’s edge and passed under the cover of the trees. You walked until you reached a clearing surrounded by chest-high berry bushes and began to pace back and forth.

What is he thinking?

How could he do that to the child?

How could he just leave him like that?

You knew it didn’t make sense that you would have a say in what happened to the kid, but you couldn’t help the fact that you’d grown attached to them both over the past several weeks. You wanted Mando to be the man you suspected he was—soft and kind-hearted. You didn’t want him to confirm that the moments of selflessness had been outliers, and he was really the ruthless bounty hunter that he looked like on the outside.

But...he was right that his life was not the best life for a child. You thought about your own lonely, unsettled, nomadic existence—not unlike Mando’s. Except, his life also included regular violence in a way that yours hadn’t in a long time. His life would be even worse for a child than yours.

And it made sense that he wasn’t willing to abandon his entire way of life, everything he knew to stay on Sorgan. That was a lot of ask of anyone. He didn’t ask for this.

You’d come out here to calm down but had only made yourself more irritated now that you’d come to the annoying conclusion that Mando was probably right. You huffed.

The threatening crunch of twigs off to your left brought you back to the present moment. You crouched amidst the bramble of berry bushes.

You watched through the tangle of branches as a figure made their way carefully through the forest. They were carrying a long rifle, their face concealed in a mask.

A bounty hunter. A tracking fob blinked in their hand.

Who is their target? The kid? Me? No, it can’t be me. The fob isn’t beeping fast enough. Mando? Cara? Probably the kid. The thought made your heart squeeze.

You stood silently to follow, keeping a safe distance behind them.

The hunter stopped at the edge of the forest, where the view of the village was clear, and set up the sniper rifle on a boulder. You waited to see where the sight was trained before making your move.

Sure enough, the scope was aimed at the baby, who was sitting on the ground beside a krill pond with Winta. Omera was standing in the water, submerging a basket, beside them.

You rushed forward, raising your blaster to the back of the hunter’s head, and pulled the trigger. Birds screeched and took off into the sky in response to the sound.

You smashed the tracker fob under the heel of your boot before rushing back to the village, knowing the ringing shot would have incited panic.

As you sprinted back to the village center, you spotted Mando. He was standing close to Omera, one hand placed reassuringly on her shoulder. The child was held tight in his other arm. Winta was hugged against her mother’s stomach. They looked like a family, the way they were huddled together.

When Mando saw you, he dropped his hand from Omera’s shoulder.

“What happened?” He looked you up and down, inspecting you for any signs of injury.

“There was a hunter in the woods. I took them out. They had a fob for the kid, Mando. They know he’s here,” you panted.

Neither of you spoke, sharing a moment of mutual understanding. You reached over to lightly stroke the kid’s ear. He cooed up at you.

“What does this mean?” asked Omera.

“It means that he isn’t safe here,” responded Mando. The pain in his voice was clear, even through the modulator.

Omera reached out for Mando’s hand, and he took hers for a moment, squeezing it gently before letting it drop.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He nodded stiffly. “Me too.”

You and Mando both turned to head to the barn at the same time. As you walked beside him, you looked over to find his helmet trained on you.

“I—uh, I owe you an apology. This would be a great place for any child to grow up—safe, loving. I get why you wanted to leave him here. I’m sorry that he won’t be able to stay now.”

Mando reached his hand out, as if to touch your arm, then thought better of it and let it fall to his side.

“You know, I actually did turn him in for the reward,” he admitted. “That’s how I got enough beskar for the new armor.” He gestured at his chest plate, hanging his head slightly, ashamed.

You looked at him, eyes wide in surprise.

“I regretted it right away and went back for him. That’s when I ran into you. Or, I guess, you ran into me. ” He let out a small huff of a laugh.

You grimaced, remembering the pain of slamming into his back.

“I understand why you were mad,” he continued. “But, I didn’t want to leave him here. I’m still trying to work out what’s best for him, but I know it’s not staying with me forever.” The thread of grief in his voice was pronounced.

You nodded in understanding, wishing you could somehow help him carry this profound responsibility. You weren’t sure how to express that, or if he wanted to hear it, or if it was your place to say it, so you settled on something else: “He’s easy to get attached to.”

Mando scoffed, “You’re telling me.”

You smiled at him, and you couldn’t be sure, of course, but you felt like he was smiling back at you.

***

You said your goodbyes and readied yourselves for departure. While you hugged the kids and packed your things, you thought about your next move.

A stubborn, cold part of you wanted to tell Mando to drop you off at the closest planet with a major port. You didn’t like that after just a few weeks, you were getting emotionally attached to the pair. It would be easier, safer, less complicated to return to your solitary existence. Plus, your continued presence added to the risk they already faced. That wasn’t fair to either of them.

The quieter, more truthful part of you wanted to stay with him and the child. It was a relief to not be alone all the time, but this was supposed to be a loose, short-lived alliance, not something that made your heart squeeze slightly when you thought about eventually going your separate ways.

You told yourself you’d wait until he brought it up, see what he wanted, and go from there.

You, Mando, and Cara stood at the speeder, ready to leave. Everyone in the village was there to see you off. After a few final goodbyes, Mando and Cara jumped into the speeder. You handed the baby to Mando.

You were about to grab the edge of the speeder to haul yourself up when he reached down to offer you a gloved hand. You accepted. The gesture didn’t surprise you—he was generally polite by nature. What did surprise you was the steadying hand that moved to your waist as you stepped carefully over crates and supplies to find a seat. He squeezed your side gently before letting you go.

***

You had prepared yourself for a conversation that never came.

As you were leaving the atmosphere of Sorgan in the Razor Crest, Mando turned to you to ask, “What are you thinking for our next move?”

He flicked some switches and pressed a few buttons on the console, and a holo-map of the area flickered into view in front of him. A constellation of planets hovered before your eyes.  

***

Chapter 5

[peachy-inserts]

𝕙𝕢 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕤 𝕕𝕒𝕕𝕤

part one ♡  part two (coming soon)

✉︎request: Hcs for Hinata and Kuroo as fathers, please?🥺

✰warnings: none

✎a/n: ahh ty for requesting!! im so sorry but i just.., we dont really write for hinata im so so sorry baby- hes on the masterlist, but we really. just really dont like him. anyways., i added some characters and part two coming soon! i had a little bit of trouble with kuroo, but i hope you enjoy it <3

➳ᴜꜱʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ, ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ, ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰ ushijima

He swears that he just KNOWS the gender of your baby before you’ve even had your first ultrasound, and with your third child you’ve just come to accept that he actually, really does know. Or maybe it’s dumb luck, but that never seems to be the case with him and he’s far too sure of himself

Talks to the baby no different from you, asks them for advice knowing they won’t be able to answer, but their little coos and smiles directed towards him are all the help he needs anyways

Sews patches into their play clothes when they’ve become too worn to wear, and teaches them how too! Makes his daughter a hello kitty bag when she says she wants a purse and she uses the leftover fabric to patch his work jeans, which he tore on purpose just because she wanted to put her new skills to use. He wears them out in public and with pride

Okay I know he’s a pro athlete but he’s also a farm boy sorry. Anyways he throws blankets into the back of a pickup truck and takes the kids on a (slow, and careful) ride through the backroads. Could you imagine having a dog back there with them too?? He’d train it to tug on their pants when they lean too far out of the truck and keep them safe

Excellent at putting babies to sleep. He’s kind of confused by them at first, and isn’t really sure what to do with them, but eases up when he sees how easily they drift off to sleep when he tucks them into his chest and pats their back

Doesn’t bring up volleyball to them, but secretly  has his fingers crossed that they’ll ask him to play one day; which of course they do, duh, he’s a pro player. As soon as they show even a mild interest in it he’s signing them up for the little league teams and bragging to his teammates

Keeps a photo of the family in his wallet and when he’s away for matches that you can’t make it to often gets caught just staring at it; the team shoots confused looks his way because he’s been looking down at the same photo for 30 minutes straight and smiling softly 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰ iwaizumi

Please Iwaizumi with boys is just a role model father. He absolutely adores his little man and drills manners into his head from day one. It’s very important to him that he knows how to treat people with respect and be respected!

The moment he finds out he’s going to be a father he starts planning to build a treehouse. You haven’t even begun to put together a nursery and he’s made several trips to the hardware store and stacked wood in your backyard, and spends the baby’s growing years perfecting it 

He buys/sends you flowers on every single Friday, and hasn’t missed one yet. Your little boy catches on and saves up his allowance to buy you some too, because he’s gone with his dad to pick them up plenty of times and knows the way there relative to his walk home from school

He nearly cries with pride, because come on; that’s too cute.

Iwaizumi with a daughter? Different breed. He may not be real but my feelings for him are and I would do ANYTHING for him

He dresses her up in the ugliest frilly little dresses and takes hundreds of photos, and goes to daddy daughter events/dances??!? Bye I’m smitten. 

Little league coach!!! Listen he knows and loves sports, just the whole category, so everything his kids wanna sign up for you bet your ass he’s signing himself up for too

And he’s a GREAT coach ugh he always knows how to handle the kids, and given his profession is a bargain deal, they’re super lucky to have him there tbh

The other parents try and flirt with him and he just freezes up and panics because he can’t respond to them like he usually would to people given his kids are involved, so he just starts rambling about how great you are

Takes them to practices he’s needed at sometimes and before bringing them in, practically gives the whole team a death threat. They have fun there, though, and he’s screeching instructions and insults out at them with his kid asleep in his arms

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

✰ bokuto 

He cries when he finds out he’s going to be a dad. Big, ugly tears, and crushes you with his hugs. Wastes no time whatsoever in bragging to everyone about how lucky he must be to be having your kids ugh hes a cutie

Also cries when they’re born, and it’s visible in every photo. It’s heartwarming, though, and you’re ecstatic to see just how excited he is. You certainly know you’ve made the right choice

When he’s away for games, he always calls to tell his kids a bedtime story and tell them he loves them. Even if it’s 12pm or 3am for him, he keeps his alarm set to go off for 9pm at home.

When he can’t tell a story because he’ll be in the middle of a game, he begs, BEGS, for someone on the sidelines to answer the incoming facetime call and face the camera towards him. When it’s done and over, he’s handed his phone and it met with their sleeping faces, with an msby flag clutched loosely in their tiny fists

He always makes up for having to travel by taking them out individually so they all feel special, whether it’s for ice cream or to a movie. It’s their choice, and he gives them his undivided attention the entire time

They’re completely spoiled by him, honestly. Their allowance is cut off by you because he’s not even leaving enough for him to buy himself lunch-

Shows up to practice when then they’re born just to show them off, excitedly displaying his blessing to all of his teammates before promptly tucking them away into their carseat and leaving before they can make him stay-

✰ kuroo

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Sends his kids to private school, but makes sure they engage in community activities; he still wants them to have the same neighborhood kid experience that he did rather than being stuck up like their classmates, and will push them towards sports

Carries them around on his shoulders nearly everywhere he goes, when they’re babies always has them strapped to his chest and insists he be the one to hold them when you’re out and can’t use a stroller

Buys EVERY single parenting book he can find. Even the ones in the dollar store bargain bins, and compiles every common suggestion into a spreadsheet. By the time the baby’s born he has 12 pages on every book he’s read, everything he’s learned from it, complete with statistics and a works cited page

Takes classes! Is very nervous and doesn’t really know much about babies so he really wants to just make sure he can’t do anything wrong, and like the nerd he is learns as much as possible

He may as well be a pediatrician at this point tbh

Keeps stuffed animals in the bottom drawer of his desk at work for when he brings them in, and will make a bed where his feet would usually go for them to nap on time so they won’t interfere with your sleeping at home

The dad that is angry that math isn’t done the same way as when he was in school and they both have a whole entire moment at the dining room table

[roanniom]

My request is probably so lame lol. But will you please tell us about Valentines Day with Flip? How does he spoil you and make it extra special for you? I’d love it if you could throw in some praise kink and size kink too please!

I love all your writing and you’re so talented! Thank you for entertaining my request! 💛

Hi my lovelies, thanks for your patience with this, seeing as it is coming over a week after Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t 100% I had another Valentine’s story in me after my Clyde and Charlie ones, but I chose to combine these prompts, got a little inspiration today and voila - a sweet and salty Flip one shot was born. Hope you’re cool with me combining and taking a bit from each of these requests! ❤️

Stupid Little Day in February

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Word Count: 3,890

Warnings: NSFW, PIV sex / semi-public sex / unprotected sex, angst in the form of Flip wanting to love up his lady but having work get in the way

Flip had never intended to find himself in this position. He was a perfectionist, giving everything he had and then some in an effort to be successful in all he did – high school sports, his career at the department, his relationships. It’s why he always tries to make time for the boys, being there for Ron whenever he needs help or just someone to bitch to over a beer after work. It’s why he does his best to shower you with love and affection every chance he gets, bringing home little gifts and spending lazy Sundays doing nothing but you. And he thought that, all things considered, he’d been doing a damn good job.

That is until he overheard you on the phone with your friend the other day. You were twirling the coiled cord around your finger while you lounged on the couch laughing and chatting animatedly. He’d walked by and into the kitchen, careful not to disturb you, but as he cracked open a beer he heard something that made his stomach drop.

“Yeah I know I love Valentine’s Day, but Flip hates it so I can be cool with that.”

Flip had left his beer on the counter and moved silently to the doorway, ears straining to hear the rest of the conversation, mind racing to all the times he had, indeed, condemned the holiday of love as a sappy excuse for bad boyfriends to redeem themselves. A day to stimulate the gift industry. You’d laughed and teased him for his soap box routine and grumpy demeanor but you hadn’t argued.

“Besides, I’ve told you. The man gets me flowers like three days a week. He remembers things, like really remembers things. And he listens. I’d trade fancy dinner, red hearts, and chocolate for him any day.”

And though you’d defended him to your friend, your words had stuck with Flip. He wanted to give you the moon, he would if it wasn’t so damn high up. The least he could do was indulge you in something you enjoyed. You did that for him constantly – sitting through football games, hanging with the boys at the bar, listening to country music though you told him that deep inside it made you want to murder the jukebox. You sucked it up and took it with a smile so you could be with him. Flip kicked himself for not being able to do the same with some stupid holiday.

But at the exact moment Flip vowed to right this wrong, the universe seemed to have made a competing vow to ruin all of his efforts. It seemed that the revelation had come to late, being that it was already the night before Valentine’s Day. He was horrified the next morning to find, after a series of tense calls made at his desk hunched over and hushed so none of the other detectives could here, every restaurant in town was booked full. Which ended up being a moot point because the chief demanded he stay late, regardless of how much he gnashed his teeth.

“Everyone with a serious gal already asked for the night off, Zimmerman. It’s too late now. Guess your gal isn’t that serious,” was the only reply he received.

Head in his hands at his desk, Flip flinched when his back received a firm clap.

“Now I know we’re in the contemplating-marriage-territory here with this girl,” Ron said, pulling a seat up and fixing Flip with a concerned look. “What’s all this about not taking time off?”

Flip repeated the conversation that he’d overheard, sure to explain that he had no intention of disappointing you despite your good nature.

“You do realize that this could easily be remedied by a simple call to your woman, right?” Ron asked as Flip massaged the space between his eyes.

“I wanted to surprise her. Calling at this point feels like admitting defeat.”

“Do you hear yourself? ‘Admitting defeat?’ This isn’t some damn battle, it’s a holiday for a fat little baby with wings.”

“Hey, he does have a weapon,” Flip countered, though this time he cracked a smile. Ron laughed heartily.

“Yeah, one that’s been used to shoot you and your little lady enough to kill a small elephant. You guys are pumped so full of the love juice it’s a wonder you’re able to concentrate on anything else.” Ron turned then and flicked the large stack of files on Flip’s desk with a smirk. “Or maybe that’s your problem, Zimmerman.”

Flip shook his head.

“That might be the case for me, but – ”

“Are you seriously about to argue that she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“How the fuck would you know?” Flip asked gruffly. Ron, used to Flip’s gruffness much as you were, plowed right on through.

“Well besides all the dinner parties and barbeques and nights we all go dancing?” Ron raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “Patrice, man! You think those women get together and don’t talk about us?”

“Patrice has told you things?” Flip’s whole body tensed and Ron was quick to reassure.

“Calm the fuck down, I don’t want any of your dirty details. All I know is your woman is crazy in love with you. I don’t think some stupid little day in February is going to rock your world as much as you think it will.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Flip conceded, putting his head in his hands.

“I’m always right, you just never listen,” Ron said good-naturedly as he headed back to his desk. Over his shoulder he tossed one final piece of wisdom. “Whatever you do, just call her!”

~*~

And Flip did try to call you. Ten times as a matter of fact. It wasn’t until the sun set out the window and he hung up the phone for the tenth time that he remembered you’d had plans to hang out with your mother today. While that probably should have made him feel better – you had filled your day with plenty of things and probably wouldn’t even notice his failed attempt at romance – he couldn’t help but agonize the fact that it proved you had expected so little of him in the first place.

It’s with this on his mind that Flip buries himself in his paperwork. It’s 8pm and every member of the Colorado Springs police force that hadn’t taken the holiday off is out for a dinner break, Flip having sullenly waved them off so he could sulk in peace. He’s neck-deep in casefiles when he hears the sound of footsteps coming in from the bullpen. It was much too soft to be the tread of any of the beat cops he’d expected to see tonight and Judy, the night shift receptionist, wasn’t due in till later.

“Burning the midnight oil there, detective?”

Flip’s head snaps up at your voice to find you leaning against the doorframe to his office, arms folded casually across your chest, cheeky smile gracing your lips.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Flip asks breathlessly as he makes to stand up. He freezes mid-motion, however, when you hold a hand up.

“Ah ah ah, no need to get up,” you tsk, closing the door with a gentle click and dropping your bag to the floor before making your way over to him. He hesitates but lowers himself back into his seat, eyes trained on your frame slinking toward him. You drop your palms to his desk and hoist yourself up onto it, prowling forward across the surface on your hands and knees toward him. “I heard my man needed some cheering up.”

“You did?” Flip asks, a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth as he leans back in his seat to enjoy what has already been and promises to be quite a show. Legs spread wide and hands gripping the arm rests he hasn’t really even heard what you said. Instead he is focusing every single brain cell on the cleavage that is visible through the red peacoat he’s never seen you wear, chest now slightly exposed as you slowly slide off the scarf you’d used to obscure it.

“Yeah. I heard you wanted to love on me but couldn’t because of work,” you say in a low voice, scooting forward so that one leg dangles off the edge of the desk on the outside of Flip’s left thigh while you place your other foot on the edge of his chair to the right of his other thigh. His gaze flits to the expanse of inner thigh that is now visible to him, your legs bare beneath the peacoat despite the freezing mid-February chill outside. His hand shoots up to smooth over your thigh, warming your skin, just as his brain catches up to your words.

“Now where exactly did you hear that, sugar?” He asks with a small frown. One of your hands reaches out to his shoulder, pulling him in his wheeled office chair closer to you and the desk. The same hand slides down his shoulder to smooth back and forth over the plane of his chest, just as your other hand threads into his hair.

“I can’t go around divulging my secrets,” you say breathily, leaning forward and arresting his lips in a sensuous kiss. You are the first to deepen it, tongue flitting over his lips to beg for entrance before plunging into the depths of his mouth. You kiss him greedily like you’re seeking the breath from his lungs to be the source of your own oxygen. Like the pressure of his lips on yours will warm the late winter cold from your bones. When you slide off the desk and into his lap, straddling his thick denim-clad thighs, Flip moans into the kiss, making you break away with a pleased hum. You relish in the look of his kiss-bruised lips, red and wet from the fervor of your contact. “Maybe cupid dropped by with a little message. Told me to come on down here and drive you wild.”

Flip’s breathing deeply at this point but the new intake of air seems to get the gears moving better in his mind. He frowns.

“And by cupid you mean Ron.”

“Bingo, baby,” you confirm with a smile before pressing a kiss to his furrowed brow. “Don’t be mad at him, though. He told me how you tried to make tonight special for me and that you’d probably bite off the heads of everyone working the night shift if I didn’t make my way down here quick.”

“I set something up. I did what I could, things just kept going wrong…”

“Shhh….” Your kisses migrate from his forehead to his cheek, pressing into his dimples till his frown smooths out and his eyes close again. Only then do you move down to mouth at the column of his throat, pressing your lips to his Adam’s apple. “So how many are there?”

“How many what?” he asks distractedly, eyes still closed.

“Dead bodies of people who had the misfortune to cross paths with my grumpy mountain man?” you ask, the smile clear in your voice though you speak the words into his skin. Flips hands tighten around your hips.

“I’m only grumpy because you deserve the fuckin’ moon and I’m stuck here behind a desk.”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed,” you say, angling in his lap so that your lower back leans against the edge of the desk behind you. “I am also behind the desk with you. So maybe it’s not all bad.”

It is at this point that you pop the few buttons at the front of our coat, allowing it to drop open and reveal the gauzy, see-through red negligee you are wearing beneath. It comes down only to the tops of your thighs, but most important of all, you are completely bare beyond the fabric. Your breasts are held in the negligee’s sheer lace cups, nipples hard, and not a scrap of panties obstructs his view of your cunt, evidently glistening from this angle, even through the garment.  

“Sugar.” He intones it soft, deep. It’s a statement. A warning as his eyes slide back up your body to lock on your own hungry stare. “You’re just looking for trouble here.”

With a devious smile you settle forward again, rolling your pelvis this time to rub your heat conspicuously over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“You can punish me later, Flip,” you whisper softly in his ear as you reach down to unbuckle his belt. “When you get home. But for now let me reward you.”

“What’s there to reward me for, darlin’?” Flip asks, helping you rid him of his belt and unfasten the buttons of his Levi’s. He’s not even sure why he’s pressing the matter. You’re here, rubbing your gorgeous body all of his in the middle of his workplace like some fucking fever dream and here he is, practically reminding you of his unworthiness. In some kind of verbal act of self-flagellation.

“Flip Zimmerman,” you chide, even as you pull his half-hard dick out of the opening you’ve made in his pants, careful to keep the rest of his clothing neat. “There’s always something to reward you for.” You begin applying a few measured strokes to his length, squeezing at the base and rolling your wrist to smooth the motion up to his tip.

“Fuck,” Flip grunts quietly, his head dropping to hit the back of the chair.

“This morning you sprinkled cinnamon on my oatmeal. Last night you handed me that lotion that smells like jasmine when I got out of the shower, the one I love so much.” You kiss his jaw as you say this and let your eye lashes flutter against his cheek in the process.

“Those are little things. Nothing,” Flip argues, still mentally kicking himself for the knee-jerk way he keeps dragging this on. Living in this guilt despite your loving ministrations which suggest you feel exactly the opposite.

“They aren’t little to me,” you say, your tone abruptly serious and your fingers digging into his jaw to keep him looking at you. “You read to me on Sunday afternoons. You take me camping whenever you get time off.”

Your tone returns to its original gentleness and you duck your head so that you can nip at Flip’s earlobe. Your hand continues its steady pace on his cock, thumb swirling around in the precum collecting on his tip.

“You fuck me. Good and hard and slow and fast and every which way I need it.” He’s painfully hard now, both from your hand and from your focused attention on him. From the words falling from your lips. He gazes back at you with blackened eyes and massages the skin of your hips and ass with his large, warm hands. You lick the shell of his ear then, marveling in the way it always turns red and hot, regardless of his confidence, regardless of his dominance. “You meet my needs, Flip, every day. And today is just any old day. So just like you do for me, I’m going to meet your needs, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

You say this as you lift yourself up with the muscles of your thighs and line him up with your entrance, sinking down on his cock just as you get to the last few words. Flip immediately mutters a string of hushed curses, fingers digging into your hips through your gauzy negligee so hard you’re already looking forward to the bruises. He breathes through his nose, his labored exhales fanning across your face as you work to adjust to him, eventually swiveling your hips a bit.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to yours. Your face is screwed up in pleasure-pain and you huff out a laugh.

“No, you’re just fucking huge.” Your statement gets a groan from him and you smirk as you begin to lift yourself up and down on Flip’s cock with his help. Your walls pulse, stroking his cock as your tongue moves on to stroking his ego. “You’re so big, Flip. Too big. I can barely take you.”

“You’re taking me just fine, sugar,” he shakes his head, eyes rolling back in their sockets as you grind into him on a down motion. “So wet. This little pussy takes me so well.”

“You fill me up, Flip. Stuff me – ohhh fuck – stuff me so full I think I might burst.” You reach one hand back to grip the edge of the desk for leverage while your other hand digs into the skin of his shoulder.

“Oh for me you do burst, baby. You burst and gush all over me like the good girl you are,” Flip whispers into your clavicle when you throw your head back, an automatic response to him beginning to aid you by thrust up into your quivering cunt himself. This sounds more like your Flip. Confident and powerful. Pressing all the right buttons to drive you wild. “My good girl.”

“I love it when you call me that,” you admit softly.

“A good girl?”

“Your good girl,” you correct.

“My good girl,” Flip repeats and your pussy clenches around him hard in response. So naturally Flip says it again. “You’re my good girl.”

Your breathing has increased rapidly, spurred on in no small part by the way one of his hands has snaked up to pluck a breast from its lacy confines. His head dips to suck your nipple into his mouth and you hum.

“Who’s good girl are you?” Flip asks into your breasts.

“I’m your good girl.”

You begin ridding him harder, faster. The slick seeping onto his cock around your swollen lips indicates that you’re farther along than he’d expect, a suspicion that you soon confirm with a whimper.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close.”

“Really?” he asks, incredulous. He’s used to marathon lovemaking. Even a quick fuck in a bathroom stall usually becomes indulgent for you two, trading speed for roughness and lewdness.

“I kind of…got ready before I – ah! – came here.” You bite your lip as you say it and Flip resists the urge to pull your lip out and claim it for himself.

“And by ‘got ready’ you mean…” he prompts, a wicked smile spreading on his face.

“I touched myself,” you admit, no shame in your words. “I touched myself while thinking about my handsome man and his handsome cock and the way it was going to fill me when I came over here.”

Flip grabs one of your hands then, zeroing in on your fingers. All the while he keeps thrusting up into you, feet flat on the floor and muscles rippling throughout his body with the effort.

“Did these fingers rub your little clit?”

“Yes,” you say, still confident. Flip licks a stripe up your index and middle finger, almost as if doing so would allow him to taste remnants of your essence.

“Did you stuff them inside your pussy. Press that little spot inside you like so much?” As he says it he thrusts up and forward, making his cock drag against your front wall in a way that’s got you buckling in on yourself.

“Oh god oh yes. Yes!” You’re trying to remain as quiet as possible but it’s getting harder by the second. The station was empty save for Flip when you’d arrive but soon other people would return. A fact that made your pussy drool all the more on Flip’s throbbing cock.

Flip watches you fall apart in his arms and speeds up the process by sucking on your fingertips, splitting them apart with his tongue and laving each equally. You swallow a moan as he brings your own wetted fingers down to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he breathes, moving forward to kiss your lips. “Show me what I do to you.”

You begin rubbing your clit just as Flip assaults your senses in all other ways. He captures your mouth in a kiss while simultaneously returning to kneading at your breasts with abandon, tugging and squeezing at the pillowy flesh.

“Did you cry out my name in that empty house when you came?” he prompts. You shake your head feverishly, your thighs shaking around him as your climax nears.

“No. I didn’t cum. I saved that for you.”

In a flash of blinding pleasure, you unraveling on top of him, careful to suppress the reaction to little gasps and whimpers instead of the loud praise and guttural moans you would have preferred to let out. The suddenness of your orgasm catches Flip off guard and he is utterly unprepared for the way your walls flutter and pulse, ultimately milking his cock of his own release. You collapse in his arms with a shaky laugh, one he’s only able to reciprocate when the ringing in his ears begin to lessen and his heart stops trying to pound a route out of his chest.

You both revel in the afterglow for a few minutes after, holding each other like you aren’t in his office in the middle of the Colorado Springs Police Department. Like people aren’t about to file in after their dinner break, bellies full and completely unaware of the fact that Flip had just railed you into next February.

After a while, Flip finally pulls out and tucks himself away, once again the picture of professionalism. Or at least, as much the picture of professionalism as Flip cares to appear, what with his eternal flannel and comfortably warm in jeans, the wet patch of your arousal finally fading. He helps you clean up with some napkins he has stashed in a drawer, ultimately bundling you back up in your coat and scarf. You now look sweet and warm again, a stark contrast to the vixen who had crawled across his desk and stripped for him.

Now descent, you settle back into his lap sideways, opting not to straddle him tis time in case someone did finally walk in. You run a finger through the hair at his chin.

“You said earlier you said you’d ended up setting something up for me. What was it?”

Flip blinks at your question for a few seconds before letting out a laugh that ripples from deep in his belly.

“I sent Jimmy and his brother with a box of chocolates over to the house. They were supposed to sing you a Motown duet.”

“I would pay to hear that. When are they supposed to get there?”

“They’re supposed to arrive right now.”

With that you dissolve into a fit of laughter, falling into his chest as you heave from it. Flip’s arms wind around you and tug you tighter to him. And in that moment, he almost believes in this stupid holiday. Almost believes in the cartoon hearts and the fat little winged baby that flies around shooting people. What else could possibly explain the sharp pain radiating from his chest when he looks at you? The ache that dulls as it floods to his extremities, simmering into a warmth that fills him from head to toe? All Flip can think as he smooths his thumb over your smiling lips is that cupid better have a up-to-date permit for that bow of his.  

~*~

Tagging some lovelies <3 (please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from this list in the future!): @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @edencherries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @paper-n-ashes @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @morby @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @equivocalrabbit @soggywhore @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess

[darkleweather]

Etho VS Evil part 4

The rest of the slow walk through the tunnel is in silence. Etho focuses on just taking one step after the other, trying as hard as he can to keep from jarring his ankle. EX just grips his arm tightly, occasionally shifting when it gets too uncomfortable.

They finally exit into a round deepslate room stacked high with storage chests. Across the room, there’s another deepslate tunnel that disappears out of sight. The room itself is high and wide, with plenty of room to build all kinds of projects. Across the room, there are a few pieces of what looked to be pistons, with some slime dripping messily off a worktable.

“Here.” EX guides him over to a workbench and roughly shrugs Etho’s arm off his shoulders, leaving Etho to stumble the last few steps to his seat.

Etho sits down, takes off his pack, and props his ankle up on his knee, unlacing his boot and easing it off his foot. Definitely swollen. He gently prods his ankle and hisses in a breath at the instant pain it creates.

“Well?” EX demands.

“Sprained. Maybe broken? I can’t tell.”

“The man who is a redstone genius, can’t tell when his own body is broken.” EX chuckles. “I feel like there’s some irony there.” He unfastens his helmet and pulls it off.

Etho tries not to stare. Through the helmet visor, the only scar that had been visible was the big one across EX’s eye. But now, he can see the rest of EX’s pale skin is covered with tiny, fractured scars that make it almost look like his skin is cracking. EX sees his look anyway and smirks.

“This is what happens to someone who is locked in the Void,” he says. “Imagine spawning and dying over and over, locked in place, unable to get free. This is what happens.”

“I--I’m sorry,” Etho says quietly. What else can he say? EX might have tried to murdered Xisuma and tried to destroy the server, so Etho can’t help but think that maybe he deserved being locked out of their worlds, but...it’s still horrible to see.

Ex tosses his helmet on the workbench next to Etho and turns away, crossing to one of the storage chests. Etho takes the time to study the room a little more thoroughly. There’s a bed in a corner, and above it, a ladder leading up to a trapdoor far above them. Too far, probably, for Etho to climb with one leg out of commission.

EX drops a medical kit next to Etho. “No healing potions, sorry.”

Etho raises an eyebrow. “Meaning, ya don’t have any? Or ya do, but ya ain’t gonna give me any of ‘em because ya don’t want me runnin’ off?”

EX looks faintly annoyed. “Can you...not?”

“What?”

“Do this whole ‘I know what you’re thinking’ bit.” EX makes finger quotes. “It’s annoying. I know it’s your schtick, Etho, but Void...it’s annoying.”

Etho shrugs and digs into the kit, finding bandages. He begins to wrap his ankle, not so tightly that it hurts, but tightly enough to provide support. He figures he should be more scared than he is...but EX just isn’t that terrifying. Right now he’s more giving off the vibes of a bratty child than a terror of the Overworld. That’s not to say he trusts EX. Not yet.

But everyone deserves a second chance.

***

PART 5 PART 1 (if you're just finding this post on it's own)