#they’ll bring up packages

[thunderon]

actually my day just got marginally better because one of the neighborhood kids insisted on holding an umbrella over me and walking me to my car. it wasn’t actually raining or anything lol for some reason the kid just really wanted to hold an umbrella over my head but it made us both happy so whatever

[ninyard]

I just saw a post wondering what Andrew and Neil’s first proper argument is, and naturally I have to offer this:

Andrew and Neil don’t fight. They’ll ignore each other if they’re pissed off - but never for more than a few hours, or maybe until one of them has slept it off and decide it’s not worth it (usually Andrew). They’ll have tiffs but never over anything serious.

Except for in the months coming up to Andrew’s graduation. That is when I believe Andrew and Neil have their first real argument.

Andrew gets officially signed to his pro team around abouts the February of that year. It’s in a state further away that Neil expected, and since they found out, Neil keeps catching Andrew looking at apartments or researching the state and the team. He’s happy for him, of course he is, but he can’t quite identify what this feeling in his stomach is every time Andrew brings it up. The little fights that last longer than their usually bickering start not long after; Neil getting more pissed off by the little things Andrew does, Andrew having off-days with Neil more and more often, each of them asking for their own space because they know if they stay around each other they’re going to start a fight. It’s gradual in a way that they don’t realise for a little while that it’s getting worse, until just after the championship finals, and the season is officially over, when three days have passed without them talking for not much of a reason at all. Neil used his finals as an excuse, but Andrew didn’t have any good reason. After those three days, they’re finally alone in their dorm for whatever reason, and maybe Andrew has started packing or he’s just got some sort of welcome package from the team: everything explodes. Andrew tries to kiss Neil, and something feels wrong, and when Neil asks what the fuck is going on, all hell breaks loose.

Andrew doesn’t yell, of course he doesn’t, but he’s venomous. He’s asking Neil why he’s acting as if the world is going to end just because he’s graduating, he’s angry at him for becoming so dependent on his presence, he’s angry at himself for feeling like he’s found a future in Neil when this was never the plan. He was supposed to be nothing. A casual fuck, with an end date and no feelings but fuck if he can’t live his life without him now. Neil yells, because he does, and he’s angry that Andrew still seems so unsure about what they are, how comfortable they were, but suddenly things are different, and it feels like he doesn’t care. He’s angry at himself for building his life around Andrew, but he’s the only reason why Neil Josten exists. Andrew reminds him of that, and it makes everything worse.

It goes on for far too long, quickly becoming meaningless and just an excuse for either of them to vent out the frustration they’ve been keeping inside for months.

“You know that I won’t overstep your boundaries,” Neil points a finger at him. “So in your head it’s okay to treat me like shit and ignore me because you know that I will give you that space.”

He doesn’t even really think that, but every little thing, every little excuse is multiplied by a thousand when he feels this red hot rage. He hates the things that come out of his mouth, but Andrew gives it back, and his insistent refusal to back down just further butts their heads together and infuriates them both.

“I won’t chase after you because you’ve decided to allow me distance,” Andrew says, calm and ice cold. “You can’t invent boundaries for me and then be upset that they exist.”

Lows blows after low blows, unfair quips and insults from both sides, slamming of drawers and doors and throwing of things; they have never, ever fought like this before. It’s over everything and nothing at the same time. Andrew knew it was only a matter of time before campus security was called, but when he tried to tell Neil to calm down and lower his voice, it only made things worse.

They’ve been unkind and awful with each other for about an hour when Neil finds himself starting to get so furiously angry thats he’s upset, that he can feel himself being needlessly nasty with Andrew. For the first time ever he feels the tilt. He feels their foundations getting rocked, a crack in the base of the pyramid of their relationship that gives him the feeling that this might not last forever. He leaves their dorm with a slam of the door, and goes for a run. He hasn’t done that in a while, a run from his feelings, running from his problems and responsibilities. He’s not sure how long it’s been before he finds himself too far away from campus, because he just ran in a straight line.

When he checks his phone he realises he’s over an hour walk away from their dorms. He almost calls Matt, and hesitates over Coach’s phone number, but instead he clicks Andrew’s name. It’s only ringing for two rings before the ringing ends and there’s a quiet hiss at the other end of the line. Neil double checks that he’s answered, because Andrew hasn’t said anything, and brings the phone back to his ear.

“Can you come pick me up?” His breathing is heavy, all of his anger drained out through his feet with every single step that he took to get further away from their dorm.

“Where are you?” Andrew is quick to respond, and Neil can hear him already picking up his keys.

Neil tells him the name of some bar that he can see, and Andrew hangs up almost instantly afterwards. Neil starts to put his phone away, used to the abrupt endings of phone calls, but wishing he would say something more. He puts his phone away and wonders why Andrew can’t just give him something. He’s not looking for a Love you! Bye! But maybe just an answer that let him know he was listening. but then it starts to ring again, and it’s Andrew, and Neil doesn’t say anything when he answers.

“I’m leaving now,” Andrew says. There’s something in his voice. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Neil responds. “Thank you.”

Andrew hums in acknowledgment, but this time he doesn’t hang up immediately. He hesitates, but he’s somewhere outside now.

“I will always pick you up.” He says after a while, after he’s shut his car door and the engine has rumbled to life, and maybe it sounds like I love you, I care about you, I need you. Maybe it sounds like I need you to know that i can’t lose this.

“I know,” Neil says, and it sounds like I can’t do this without you. “Thank you.”

Andrew waits a second or two then before hanging up, and Neil waits for him by the curb. Andrew is there quicker than twenty minutes later. Neither of them say anything as Neil slips into the passenger seat, and neither of them say anything as they pull away. Neither of them say anything until Andrew has switched the engine off, and the car is sitting in its parking spot. They look at each other then, and maybe then they understand what’s happening.

“I’m not above telling you that I don’t want to leave here,” leave you. “But this was always a certainty. You’ve had plenty of time to prepare.”

“I thought that I had,” Neil tells him.

It’s the truth, in some way. He realises then that all of these little fights, and growing agitation, and this almost primal urge to push Andrew away was how he’d prepared. He’s been trying his hardest to soften the blow that it would have on him, and if he pushed him away first, then it wouldn’t hurt when he inevitably pushed him back or let him go. Only, that was never going to happen, and that’s what made it worse - nothing could happen to them now that would not bring them back to each other. So when Neil pushed and pushed and pushed and Andrew was constantly hitting a wall instead of a door, all they were doing was filling the room with resentment.

They sit in the car then and talk about the reality: Andrew was moving away in just a few weeks, moving further away than they’d ever been apart. The truth was that regardless of whether or not Neil decides to spend the summer with him, August would come, and Neil would go back to PSU, and Andrew would stay wherever it was that he was staying. They’d been fighting more in a subconscious test with each other, to see if one of them were going to give up, to see it this was the thing that would finally tear them apart. They talk about that, too, as difficult as it is for Andrew to be honest about that kind of thing. Neil asks him if he thinks it would be better for them to break up, to give each other space, to let Andrew flourish on his new team and meet new people and grow into himself as a professional exy player. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged the possibility out loud with each other, and it destroys Neil to ask it, and it destroys Andrew to hear it.

Andrew thinks about how Exy was supposed to be the deal with Kevin: how he was supposed to come off his meds, and Kevin would give him purpose, and he would find something to live for in the sport that would not love him back. Instead he gave him Neil. That was his something to live for, and while he’d started to learn how to live for himself, and he would eventually survive without him, he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He would sooner give it all up just to keep him, and Neil knew that was the truth.

Neil thinks about how Neil was supposed to be temporary. Now it was the future, it was Andrew, it was a long and successful life. Neil Josten did not have an expiry date anymore. He could have things that were his own, things to keep, things to live for.

They knew it wouldn’t be easy, but as the evening went on, and they stay in that car and talk about the future, they’d truly come to the understanding that neither of them can lose each other. They will always be half of one another, and no amount of distance can change that. It’s hard conversation after hard conversation, and it’s emotional in the way that Andrew and Neil get emotional. All the fighting ends up being a catalyst for possibly the most personal, deep, intimate discussion they’ve ever had. There’s lots of silences and voices that threaten to raise but stay low. There’s a lot of questions, and answers, and questions without answers, too. Buts it’s needed. Andrew could not leave PSU without them having this conversation. If he had, I think they would’ve struggled a whole lot more with the distance, and the conversations they would have afterwards would’ve been far more difficult.

Ultimately that’s where they end the conversation sometime past midnight - with a semi newfound understanding of where they stand with each other, what they are, what the future means for them. It’s a fight that needed to happen, and in their own ways they apologise for the things that they said. Maybe they don’t say sorry, they just say everything is going to be okay, and distance will not be the thing that ruins this.

I don’t know. I really do think it’s a fight that’s needs to happen. I think it’s a terrible, angry, nasty argument, and they both feel awful about the things they said and did, but it had to happen. Yeah, could it have been communicated with words? Sure. But Andrew had to understand how afraid Neil was of losing him, he had to understand what Neil was doing to protect himself from it. And Neil had to understand that Andrew was always, always willing to fight for him, but he couldn’t do that if Neil wasn’t willing to see that he would.

[p1utofairy]

PICK A CARD

“something heavenly led me to you.”

★ what will your future partner’s family & friends think of you?

DISCLAIMER: take what resonates, leave what doesn't. omg s/o to anon for requesting this — this was such a cool read so thank you for sharing this idea. enjoy bbys.

PILE 1. ❄️

how their family views you:

pile one i feel like your future partner’s mother is really going to like you! your person could come from a culturally different background, but you two just make sense together. i think that your charisma/mindset/demeanor is what initially made your person fall head over heels for you - and your charm will work just as much on their family as it does on them. their mother is going to ADORE you! omg i see the mom pulling your person aside towards the end of the evening (it looks like a dinner or a social gathering of some sort) and they whisper to them, “you picked a good one. i’m proud of you.” AWWW they have this twinkle in their eyes like they’re about to cry. you’re everything that they could’ve ever hoped/prayed for your person to bring home. you’ve got the whole package in their eyes! you might be a little shy when you first meet their family — i’m seeing you get all antsy and jittery while you’re getting ready, but your person is going to hold your hand the whole way through…you will never feel alone.

even when you’re talking to their family members, i see them keeping a gentle hand on your back or their arm resting on the back of your chair; just little gestures and signs to make you feel comfortable and secure. i don’t think they’ve ever really brought anyone home to meet their parents/family…i’m seeing that scene from ‘how to lose a guy in 10 days’ after the game of bullshit, andie is like “how many other girls have lost this game?” or something like that and ben’s mom is like “what other girls, honey? you’re the first girl he’s ever brought home.” and andie’s face drops like WHAT?!?!! lol yeah that’ll be your reaction if that ends up being the case, cause it'll just solidify how your person has never experienced something as real and beautiful as the connection they share with you.

your persons family will see that they’re making an effort with you. they may have been a bit of a player before they met you, but you unlock a different side of your partner that they’ve never seen before. they’re like “[YOUR PARTNER'S NAME]? is that you?” LOL they’ll be thoroughly shocked when they see how enraptured and affectionate they are with you. i’m hearing caught up in the rapture by anita baker mhm they loooooveeeeee you, pile 1. i’m tryna not to cry :,) but they love you so damn much it's so wholesome. every moment with them is gonna feel like you're on cloud 9 — this is a whimsical ‘once in a life time’ type of love. they would scream their love for you from the mountain tops if that's what was asked of them. you make them feel like they can do anything, and that's why their family is gonna love you so much. you bring out the best in this person, UGH. LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS.

how their friends view you:

not far off from how their family will feel about you — their friends will also approve of you! like i said before, you seriously bring out another side of your partner that they haven’t even seen before either. if anything, they feel like their friend is more motivated and less in their head about shit since you’ve come into the picture. i think your partner used to be really pessimistic and a bit of a downer when it came to love/relationships, but meeting you helped them realize that love truly is real. their friends will think that you’re very witty and knowledgeable, you may like to debate about certain topics and they’ll find it hilarious and engage with you. they may also think that you're a bit stubborn lol but ultimately you’re persuasive enough to make them see your point of view. i think they'll really like you, and they'll love how different you are from the previous love interests your person would bring around/talk about.

PILE 2. 🌬️

how their family views you:

hey pile 2! i'm ngl i'm kinda picking up on some mommy issues here? i don't think your partner has the greatest relationship with their mother. they posibly had an absent mother or their mother was very cold towards them growing up. your person had to grow up fast (they didn't have a choice) is what i'm hearing. if not that, then they might’ve grew up in a household where love and care was never displayed or given to them. your persons energy is very masculine and kind of cold.

they didn't have a stable home life growing up, so the idea of "family" is a bit foreign to them. YOU are their family, their home (ugh i'm not gonna cryyyyyy) and their light. before you came into their life, they were solely content with just being alone and doing what they wanted to do, cause they felt like nobody truly cared enough about them. damn someone was really tough on them — TW [one of their parents might've been addicted to drugs/alcohol/abusive] i'm sensing a feeling of neglect from your person's childhood.

their father may have raised them or an older brother or an uncle…idk there's an important masculine figure in their life that tries to help them navigate through life. this male figure will approve of you and this relationship — this is the first time in forever that they've actually seen your partner truly happy. they know what this person’s been through, and how much their trauma has held them back from positive experiences; but again, you’re the light in their life. love by musiq soulchild is playing, “through all the ups and downs the joy and hurt…love. for better or worse i still will choose you first.” your person will take this leap of faith and take a chance on this connection…that's how deep their emotions run for you.

it's gonna take everything in them not to self-sabotage due to their trauma, but this masculine figure in their life is going to have a talk with them and really make them think about what they’d be giving up if they were to let you go. after this conversation they're going to realize how much you mean to them and how they can't imagine a world without you being by their side — they're gonna put a ring on it. YUP PILE 2. you heal this person in so many ways that i can't even fully express. they’re always learning something new from you and they see you as such a positive influence in their life.

how their friends view you:

their friends know how much they've been through, and how hard it was for your person to get close to anyone platonically let alone romantically. so you coming into your partner's life will be an absolute shock to them, but they'll be super appreciative of you! they see the passion and happiness you ignite in their friend, pile 2. they'll think you're an absolute gem. they'll be happy that you two are together and i see them clowning their friend (all in good humor) about how sprung you got them lol this is so light-hearted compared to their family dynamic. your partner’s friends really became their family — they were right there in their time of need. i feel like you and their friend group will mesh together so well.

PILE 3. ☃️

how their family views you:

seeing how tight knit this person is with their family might be a bit intimidating at first, pile 3. you're gonna be in your head like "omg will they like me? will i fit in?" their family dynamic might differ from yours in terms of how they talk/interact/express themselves — you might be used to sitting back and keeping to yourself during family events. you're not loud or overly expressive when communicating with/around your family, so seeing how boisterous and animated this person and their family members can be will catch you off guard.

i'm seeing that they might be big football fans or something of that nature where they’ll host a party/gathering and have drinks, food, entertainment — i'm getting a lot of fun and playful energy from your persons family! they'll see that you naturally keep to yourself, but that won't stop them from encouraging you to join the festivities and make you feel welcomed. i see you joining them on a lot of trips, vacations, gatherings, parties, etc. you're gonna have a ball with your future partner's family. you’ll love to see your partner in their element…that’s what’s going to make you want to open up and join in with them.

your future partner’s family will think that you have a great head on your shoulders, and they’ll truly see how much you’ve ground your partner. your person is naturally funny and flirty (they could possibly be an air sign) but their family will notice a newfound sense of maturity about them. i can hear them asking your partner, "when are you ever going to grow up?” lol they are just full of so much energy and they're playful at heart.

they operate a lot from their inner child and that's what will make you fall for them. you are rigid when it comes to letting your hair down, and just doing whatever you want whenever you want. however, your person has mastered the concept of spontaneity! they love doing things on the whim and just saying “FUCK IT, WE BALL!!!" i mean don't get me wrong they can be practical and level-headed, but they also want to be happy and allow themselves to experience the joys in life.

random but they might love ‘the dark knight’ movie and quote the joker a lot cause i'm hearing “why so serious?” lol your person is a goofball…it's so cute and it also makes sense, because their family is so down to earth and ‘go with the flow’ type of people. their family will feel like you’re a great addition to the family, and they’ll feel so proud that your partner found someone like you.

how their friends view you:

your partner’s friends are gonna feel like you’re hot as fuck? uh OKAY then! you def are attractive af pile 3 but damn someone in this friend group might be plottin' frfr uhm. i'm feeling like this is one specific friend…the rest of their friends are gonna be happy about this relationship but this specific person is giving off weird vibes 😬 like i can see you and your partner sitting on the couch all close and cuddly, in y’alls own little cutesy bubble, and this person is watching y'all from a distance thinking to themselves that should be me like WHAT?! this specific friend feels like you're a rare catch…they are giving off immature vibes ugh they could be younger than your partner or just really really childish i don't like it. they definitely want your person to fumble but guess what — that's not happening! your person will come to see them for who they truly are and they will cut them off expeditiously LOL GOOD RIDDANCE. you and your future partner's relationship will prevail and the foundation you two are building together will remain solid.

[dira333]

Cats in the Cradle - Itoshi Rin - Part 1

Baby Series - part 2

It’s not that he didn’t think about having kids before it happened. Rin was everything if not thorough and though he did not bring up the topic on your first date - truthfully, he had been too flustered to think properly in your presence that night - he brought it up soon after.

He wanted children, but he would not let them go through what he’d gone through.

“An only child,” he said, “and I’m not willing to compromise on that.”

He was willing to compromise on a lot of things. Where to live, when to get married - and how - or if you wanted to keep working or not after the wedding or the birth of said child. 

This decision could make or break your relationship, but luckily it was one you could compromise on.

“They’ll find lots of friends at school,” you agreed, “and we can adopt some pets to play with.”

Pets were another thing Rin wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

But, as it turned out, he could be convinced to keep the little furry thing you’d found on your way home from work, a kitten that liked to sleep on his stomach, purring up a storm.

-

It’s not that he didn’t think about having kids before it happened, but as the red line appeared on the pregnancy test everything shifted, like an earthquake had hit his home and his home alone.

And even if he might have wanted to wait another year or two, enjoy the comfortable Silence only interrupted by Kita’s purring or your giggling, the breathless wonder on your face made all of that irrelevant.

-

“Vitamins?” is a daily question in his household now, popping one out of the package for you each morning.

There’s a pile of books on his nightstand and he spends most evenings reading now, your body curled into him, Kita snuggled in between, purring so loud he can barely hear the TV in the background.

“We’re going to have to cut back on the coffee,” he says one day, never once phrasing it as something only you’re going to go through. If you have to miss out on something, so will he.

At least until they tell you to cut back on sports. That’s non-negotiable for now.

“What do you think of Mana?” You ask over a cup of tea on Sunday, going through your own books. “For a girl? Or Yoichi for a boy.”

“Not Yoichi,” he groans, “Anything else.”

“Megumi?” Your giggle betrays you.

“Not Megumi either,” he still plays along, leaning in to kiss your nose.

-

“Now you’ll hear the heartbeat,” the doctor announces, Rin’s hand squeezing yours so hard it hurts. The sound fills the room, new and somehow familiar at the same time.

“Oh,” the doctor blinks, “There’s a second one.”

“What?” Rin’s voice breaks on that single-syllable word. You repeat it for him.

“Congratulations, you’re having twins.”

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie exchange looks. “Can you tell how long?” Nancy asks.

“Less than a day,” El says, sounding apologetic. “Other than that…” she shakes her head and slips the blindfold off. “I am sorry.”

“You’ve done more than enough, El,” Robin soothes. “Thank you.”

“We have to go after her.” Nancy looks pleadingly at Steve. “You want to save her, too, right? Not just Will?”

“I do,” Steve nods. “I didn’t know how long we’d have. I’d hoped we’d have more time, but it looks like we’ll have to go in twice: once for Barb and Will, and once to kill Vecna.” He looks around the room, focusing on the three boys. “I know Will was the artist, but Lucas, I know you can draw too. If we get you a map, can you find points and direct us?”

Lucas sets his jaw and nods. “I’ll do my best.”

“Okay. Here’s the plan, then: you three, stay here with El.” He looks at Dustin, Mike, and Lucas. “We’ll have walkie talkies, so we can keep in constant communication. El, how long can you stay in that space?”

She looks at him steadily. “I can do it.”

Steve looks at her, then nods. “I trust you. Robs, you’re with me?”

“Just try and get rid of me, Dingus.”

Dingus? Jonathan mouths to Nancy, who shrugs.

“Nance, Jon, and Eddie. You’re with us. We’re getting in and out as fast as we can. If all goes according to plan, we’ll have two more people coming with us on the out. They’ll be weak, but between the five of us, we can and will get them out safely. Robin, you stay here, direct the weapon-making. Make sure I get a bat. I’m going to go get walkie talkies, masks, and a whole lot of first aid supplies.”

“Got it,” Robin nods, then points at Eddie, Jonathan, and Nancy. “You three, with me.” She leads them to the backyard, and Steve knows she’s bringing them to the shed, where his old sports things and various tools are.

He looks to the boys. “Keep working on those plans. We’ll need them for the second attack. El, do you want to rest before we begin?” She considers it, then nods. “Okay. You know where the bed is. I’ll be back in less than an hour, alright?”

She nods and begins climbing the stairs. Steve looks around once more, taking stock, then grabs his keys and walks out the front door.

He gets to the store no problem, walks inside and starts filling his basket. Seven walkie talkies, seven masks, seven pairs of goggles, antibacterial cream, bandages, a suture kit, some ice packs. Two bottles of pain pills. He thinks about it, then makes his way to the front desk, smiling at the employee. “Hey, could I use your phone for a minute, please?”

He looks at Steve, unimpressed, then shrugs and gestures towards it. Steve thanks him and dials his home number.

“Hello?”

“Dustin. Do me a favor and get Eddie?”

“Yeah. One second.”

He hears Dustin yelling for Eddie as he walks outside, then a minute later, Eddie’s on the line. “Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie. I grabbed some pain meds, but I’m wondering if they’re going to be strong enough. I can pay you, but could you…”

“Yeah, no, I’ve got it. And no, dude, you’re not paying me. Not for this. I’ll head home and get them right now.”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “Thanks so much, Eds, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Uh, y-yeah, no problem. I’ll, uh, go now.”

“Okay. I’ll probably beat you back. See you there.”

“See you,” Eddie agrees, and they hang up,

Steve looks around for a few more minutes, finds a package of nails, adds those to his basket and goes to check out.

He’s well aware he probably looks like a serial killer, but he knows from experience the cashier is blindly scanning his items.

His luck runs out when Chief Hopper walks in and ambles towards the checkout counter. Steve does his best to keep the sigh internal. “Chief,” he says, giving him a little nod. The chief returns the greeting, peering over into Steve’s basket.

Steve suddenly becomes very interested in the gum options.

“What’s all this?” Hopper asks, inclining his head towards the basket.

Steve shrugs. “A few different things.” Please accept it, please accept it, please accept it-

“Like what?”

Dammit. “Uh… well, I noticed I didn’t have a first aid kit, and I figured I probably should, y’know? And I wanted to do some work around the house.”

Hopper grunts. “The masks and walkies?”

“Um.” Steve blanks. “It’s for a game with my friends?”

Hopper sighs. “If I get a call from your neighbors-”

“You won’t,” Steve says. Promises.

“Fifty-one sixty-four, sir,” the cashier says. Steve’s never been more grateful to be interrupted.

He pays, grabs his things, and sends Hopper a salute on his way out the door. He notices Hopper watching him as he leaves the parking lot, and he forces himself not to speed on the way home.

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[charliemwrites]

Rudolfo time!!

(Slightly more kidnap-y but not entirely through his fault. Also, this character is mute, I hope i portrayed it well but please let me know if I’ve used any words or phrases that aren’t correct)

You aren’t actual cartel. Not a single one of them would protect you or have your back or even spare you a sip of beer. No, you’re just a runner. Transport messages, mostly. Code words that aren’t usually that clever, USBs sometimes. Once a shitty flip phone.

You don’t want to be cartel. Even tangentially as their messenger. But your family needs the money, badly, and they pay well. Especially when you’re good at what you do. And you are. Perks of a messenger who can’t speak your secrets.

In the end, you don’t even think it’s your fuck up. Just wrong place, wrong time, and a very important thing that you’re carrying for the cartel.

You don’t resist Los Vaqueros. Go along quietly and politely. When they ask you questions you just shake your head, hands trapped behind your back and unable to sign an explanation. No matter how they shout and threaten and explain how much trouble you’re in (and oh don’t you know it) you can’t answer beyond over-exaggerated facial expressions and weird half-gestures.

They drag you to their colonel and his second. The colonel is scary. Scarier than any cartel lieutenant you’ve faced. The more he yells and gestures, the more scared you get. You don’t know these men, after all, don’t know how far they’ll go in pursuit of stopping the cartel.

It’s Rudolfo that steps in, something in his face curious. He squats down in front of the chair they’ve sat you in, expression easy and calm.

“Can you tell us your name?” he asks.

You sigh softly and shake your head.

“Can’t or won’t?”

You swallow, blink once. Thankfully, he gets it.

“You can’t speak?”

Relief floods you as you shake your head, shoulders slumping.

“If we get your hands free, can you find some to communicate with us?”

You nod, leaning forward a bit. He clicks your cuffs loose and you’re quick to begin signing but he puts his hands up.

“Wait, wait, it’s been a long time since I saw LSM. Let’s get you an interpreter.”

They bring in one of the other Vaqueros, who speaks as your hands move. You tell them your name, where you’re from, answer their questions.

Please, I’m scared. I don’t want work for them anymore but my family…

Even the colonel has softened as you’ve cooperated, softens further at that last message.

“We’ll secure your family. In the meantime, write down everything you can remember. Locations, names, messages, packages. Anything and everything,” he explains.

He leaves Rudolfo in charge of you. You… don’t mind. He’s patient as you find a way to organize things, carefully written index cards organized in groups. Names accompanied by physical descriptions, where you saw them, what you brought them. Vehicles, code words, and anything else you saw while delivering.

Rudolfo is surprisingly kind to you. He offers you food and water, updates on your family. (They won’t speak to you for working with the cartel. You understand… but it hurts. Rudolfo is gentle as you cry into your hands).

He talks to you. You don’t understand why, but he does. Tells you about Los Vaqueros, Alejandro Vargas, himself. Waits patiently for while you write out answers about yourself.

When it gets to be late and you’re just entirely wrung out, you finally ask, why are you being so nice?

“I don’t blame you for trying to help your family. The cartel prays on the vulnerable. You made a mistake, and now you’re trying to fix it. That’s what matters to me.”

You’re not allowed to leave. Even if you were, you wouldn’t want to. The world seems even bigger and scarier than before, now that your former employers will mark you as a turncoat. You are, of course, but it’s frightening. It wears you out.

Rudolfo clucks after your health, asking if you’ve slept or eaten. You hardly ever have. He’ll cart you off for a meal or a nap, promising to stand watch, that no one will bother you. You often end up in his clothes, few of your own as you’ve got.

He’s also learning to sign. The first time he says, good morning how did you sleep, you start crying. He gives you a big hug until you stop.

When he has time you help him practice. He’s teaching the others too. They’ve learned how your hands form “Rudy” to help you find him.

One day, he and Alejandro sit you down. You’ve long exhausted what you can actively remember from being the cartel’s messenger. It was only a matter of time, you think. Your usefulness has ended.

“You’ve been granted a full pardon given the circumstances and your cooperation,” Alejandro explains. You’ve warmed up to each other quite a bit since you first arrived. “You’re no longer detained here.”

You nod, trying to blink away the stinging in your eyes. You should be happy, relieved, grateful. They didn’t have to pardon you.

But all you can think about is having to leave. You’ve come to feel safe here with Los Vaqueros. With Rudy.

“You don’t have to,” he blurts.

You blink at him, a bit startled by the unusual outburst. He runs a hand down his face, starting to flush.

“You don’t have to stay… but you don’t have to leave,” he explains. “We’ll keep you safe here.”

You stare, throat thick with emotion. He takes that to be hesitation and leans forward, taking one of your hands in both of his.

“Let me keep you safe. Please.”

You stay. How can you not?

You don’t actually know what your official job is on base - except that it’s a lot of following Rudy around. So, nothing to complain about.

He keeps a close eye on you always. That the others are at least cordial given your past. Has squared up with one or two others for questioning your loyalty. He’s not an easy man to anger but people quickly learn that you are the exception.

The first time he brings you a flower, you fawn over it before making him place it in your braid. After that, your hair is often adorned in dahlias and roses and honeysuckle. He swears that you smell like them even after they’re gone.

You’re in love with him, can’t imagine any other conclusion you could come to. It hurts when you see new recruits flirting with him, or women out at the bars. Can’t blame them either, really.

“Why the long face?” he asks after politely declining an offer to dance. You were hoping you hid in your drink fast enough. “No, no, not on my watch, flower.”

He stands and gently urges you to your feet, guides you out onto the dance floor and sweeps you into the rhythm of bachata. You fluster, hide your face against his chest as he laughs.

“There we go,” he chuckles, “that’s better than looking sad.”

You huff, caught between longing and enjoying the moment. He leads you through two more songs before taking you outside for fresh air, a hand on the smell of your back even once you’re leaning on the balcony.

“What is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

You try to figure out how to explain without ruining everything. His eyes dart between your hands and your face, trying to decipher a garbled message that just won’t form.

I just…. like you too much, you admit finally.

He tilts his head, but pauses to consider that. Then shakes his head and crowds close. Your hands press against his chest, feel his heart beating hard and strong against your palm.

“Impossible,” he replies. “You can’t like me too much when I love you.”

And he says it so simply, like the desert is hot or the sky is blue. You stare at him, mouth parted. He grins, swoops in to kiss you, little more than a peck compared to what you crave.

“C’mon, let’s go home. We have a lot to talk about I think.”

Home brings clarity. It brings promises. It brings you a man that massages your hands when they get tired from writing, who teaches you his grandmother’s tamale recipe.

Home is a man who laces flowers in your hair. Who teaches you to shoot and how to pick handcuffs. He brings a life where you’re always pointed in his direction, or he in yours. Safe inside his base, with his soldiers.

[simply-ivanka]

Harris and Schumer Target the Supreme Court

Democrats make clear that if they win, they’ll push measures to destroy the judiciary’s independence.

By 

David B. Rivkin Jr. and Andrew M. Grossman -- Wall Street Journal

Democrats have made clear that if they win the presidency and Congress in November, they will attempt to take over the Supreme Court as well. Shortly after ending his re-election campaign, President Biden put forth a package of high-court “reforms,” including term limits and a “binding” ethics code designed to infringe on judicial authority. Kamala Harris quickly signed on, and Majority Leader Chuck Schumer has made clear that bringing the justices to heel is a top priority.

Democrats proclaim their devotion to democratic institutions, but their plan for the court is an assault on America’s basic constitutional structure. The Framers envisioned a judiciary operating with independence from influences by the political branches. Democratic “reform” proposals are designed to change the composition of the court or, failing that, to influence the justices by turning up the political heat, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt achieved with his failed 1937 court-packing plan.

Now as then, the court stands between a Democratic administration and its ambitions. The reformers’ beef is precisely that the court is doing its job by enforcing constitutional and statutory constraints on the powers of Congress and the executive branch.

Roosevelt sought to shrug off limits on the federal government’s reach. What’s hamstrung the Obama and Biden administrations is the separation of powers among the branches. President Obama saw his signature climate initiative, the Clean Power Plan, stayed by the court, which later ruled that it usurped Congress’s lawmaking power. The Biden administration repeatedly skirted Congress to enact major policies by executive fiat, only for the courts to enjoin and strike them down. That includes the employer vaccine mandate, the eviction moratorium and the student-loan forgiveness plan.

That increasingly muscular exercises of executive power have accompanied the left’s ascendance in the Democratic Party coalition is no coincidence. The legislative process entails compromise and moderation, which typically cuts against radical goals. That was the lesson self-styled progressives took from ObamaCare, which they’ve never stopped faulting for failing to establish a government medical-insurance provider to compete directly with private ones. Similarly, Congress has always tailored student-loan relief to reward public service and account for genuine need.

Then there’s the progressive drive for hands-on administration of the national economy by “expert” agencies empowered to make, enforce and adjudicate the laws. The Supreme Court has stood as a bulwark against the combination of powers that James Madison pronounced “the very definition of tyranny.” Decisions from the 2023-24 term cut back on agencies’ power to make law through aggressive reinterpretation of their statutory authority, to serve as judge in their own cases, and to evade judicial review of regulations alleged to conflict with statute. By enforcing constitutional limits on the concentration of power in agencies, the Roberts court has fortified both democratic accountability and individual liberty.

That explains the Democratic Party’s attacks on the court. The New York Times’s Jamelle Bouie recently praised Mr. Biden for identifying the court as the “major obstacle to the party’s ability” to carry out its agenda and commended the president’s “willingness to challenge the Supreme Court as a political entity.” That explains the ginned-up “ethics” controversies: The aim is to discredit the court, as has become the norm in political warfare.

An even bigger lie is the refrain that the court is “out of control” and “undemocratic.” Consider the most controversial decisions of recent terms. Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization (2022) returned the regulation of abortion to the democratic process. West Virginia v. EPA(2022) and Loper Bright Enterprises v. Raimondo (2024) constrained agencies’ power to say what the law is, without denying Congress’s power to pursue any end. Securities and Exchange Commission v. Jarkesy (2024) elevated the Seventh Amendment right to a jury in fraud cases over the SEC’s preference to bring such cases in its own in-house tribunals. And Trump v. U.S. (2024), the presidential immunity ruling, extended the doctrine of Nixon v. Fitzgerald (1982) to cover criminal charges as well as lawsuits, without altering the scope of presidential power one iota.

Meanwhile, the administrative state has scored wins in some of this year’s cases. In Consumer Financial Protection Bureau v. Community Financial Services Association, the justices rejected a challenge to the CFPB’s open-ended funding mechanism. A ruling to the contrary could have spelled the agency’s end. In Moody v. NetChoice, it reversed a far-reaching injunction restricting agencies’ communications with social-media companies seeking to censor content. And in Food and Drug Administration v. Alliance for Hippocratic Medicine, it reversed another injunction, against the FDA over its approval of an abortion pill. The last two decisions were notable as exercises of judicial restraint. In both cases, the court found the challengers lacked standing to sue.

What Mr. Biden, Ms. Harris, Mr. Schumer and their party are attempting to do is wrong and dangerous. They aim to destroy a branch of federal government. For faithfully carrying out its role, the court faces an unprecedented attack on its independence, beyond even Roosevelt’s threats. Unlike then, however, almost every Democratic lawmaker and official marches in lockstep, and the media, which were skeptical of Roosevelt’s plan, march with them.

As Alexander Hamilton observed, the “independence of the judges” is “requisite to guard the Constitution and the rights of individuals” from the actions of “designing men” set on “dangerous innovations in the government.” The political branches have forgone their own obligation to follow the Constitution, which makes the check of review by an independent judiciary all the more essential. Ms. Harris and Mr. Schumer would put it under threat.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office in the Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations. Mr. Grossman is a senior legal fellow at the Buckeye Institute. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

[the-marigold-reception]

May I req a Rocky rickaby x upperclass! Gn or fem! Reader who adores Rocky, they give him a place to stay at their humble abode, renew his car and hire a seamstress to stitch his clothes back up.

They’ll probably accept the cactus too ngl

He’s so honored that you like him

He always feels a bit small compared to the others who were fighting for your hand

But he’s comforted at the fact that you chose him!

If you offer to stitch his clothes? He’s fighting the urge to get down on one knee- his appearance is one of the most important things to him so you’re essentially mending the way he views himself

Please let him play his violin for you, dedicate music stanzas to you

Write intricate poetry sonatas about you

If you’re willing he will bring you down to the lackadaisy lounge and introduce you to everyone

Freckles a bit suspicious of you at first- why would someone like you be interested in Rocky?

But he warms up to you as you ditch you upper class facade and start to dance with Rocky

Your laughter mixing together as you enjoy the moment with each other

When you see the state of his car, you’re shocked and slightly depressed at the state of it- so you secretly get it repaired fully behind his back-

You tell him you’re just repairing the windows

You’re not you’re getting it fully done up

So when you tell him, his cars ready and you go with him to see it

He 100% breaks down into tears

He just can’t believe that you’re being so nice and loving to him

Takes him a while to calm down but when he climbs inside and takes you for a ride

He honestly starts to imagine the rest of his life with you

(The cactus is part of the package deal I’m afraid)

I hope you enjoyed!!

[popatochisssp]

Could we get some romance headcanons for your gaster boys? And maybe also the undergloom boys if you feel like it? I'm rereading sweat treats and it's making me feel very soft<3

Somehow I’m always surprised when someone asks about my weirdos, but hey!

Some romance hcs about Sunny (Gastertale Sans), Aster (Gastertale Papyrus), Ash (Undergloom Sans), and Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus)!

Starting with Sunny…much like his (nick)namesake, he brightens up every time he lays eye-sockets on you.

Sure, sure, most everyone will get a smile on their face and little thrill of happiness when they see their partner, but he takes it to the next level. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been out of his sight for five days, five hours, or five minutes, it’s the same reaction every time. He perks up and grins big, eye-lights aglow like he’s just so excited that it’s you!

And he is, that’s exactly what’s going through his head—there you are, that’s you, he’s so happy to see you and it doesn’t matter if he just saw you, the thrill is fresh for him every single time.

That might be at least part of the reason that he’s always dragging you around, introducing you to everyone he knows and then some.

Whether you’re shy or a social butterfly yourself, it seems to be one of his favorite activities to bring you around with him and as quickly as possible, jump to the part where he gets to say, “hey, have you met my partner?” and tell his friends your name and what you do and stuff you’re good at.

Is he bragging? Well, maybe a little, but mostly he’s just trying to showcase you, all the things about you that he thinks are cool and that all his friends and acquaintances should know so they’ll see how cool you are… and maybe they’ll be your friends and acquaintances too.

He wants you to be comfortable and appreciated in all the circles he runs in, because more places you fit in means more time he can have hanging out with you in those places, and obviously he wants that!

He shows a lot of his affection with closeness, and if that weren’t already obvious to people from all of the above, they’ll definitely get the message when he always seems to have a hand on you somewhere whenever you’re together.

He loves the hand-in-the-back-pocket thing, sliding up under a jacket to touch your back, fingers riding up a shirt hem to hook into your belt-loop… Believe it or not, there’s nothing possessive or even lusty in the way he does it. His intention is purely about making contact, mingling the two of you and making a package deal that can’t be pulled apart as easily as taking a step back.

It definitely adds a few seconds of disentangling every time you need to go to the bathroom or something, but it’s a hard habit to try and break him of since as soon as you’re in range he just wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

As for his twin, Aster…

Well, he’s not quite as touchy-feely with his partner, but he has plenty of ways of his own to make your relationship status abundantly clear.

For example, the pictures he’s always taking.

He loves taking photos—occasionally just of you, but preferably of the both of you—pretty much anytime you go anywhere together. It can be as special an occasion as an anniversary dinner or as casual as coffee by a nice fountain and either way, inevitably, he’ll try to draw you in and snap a quick pic.

If you’re camera-shy and need a bit of prep to be sure you’re ready, that’s fine, and he has no intention of posting anything for anybody else to see. He wants the photos more for himself than anything else, getting to pull them up whenever he wants and think fondly of the time you spent together; a visual record of times you enjoyed each other’s company.

He's a far more sentimental and emotionally-driven man than his demeanor might suggest, which is to say that it maybe shouldn’t be as surprising as it is that he’ll often sing to you.

Admittedly, he’s not…especially musically inclined. He rarely stays on key (and occasionally flubs lyrics to whatever he heard that makes more sense to him), but aside from that he has a pleasant-sounding voice and he likes to use it to woo you, when the mood is right.

It’s nothing like a full serenade, rarely more than a romantic lyric or two crooned in your ear or belted out to you across the kitchen, but it usually does the trick to make you smile or get warm in the face, so he counts it as a win.

That sentimental nature of his even bleeds through into his unconscious, so you may also find a whole slew of sweet nothings waiting for you if get him talking while he’s half-asleep.

Granted, you probably won’t understand it, since it’ll be in Wingdings—glottal, guttural, sounds that seem incompatible with any kind of language and probably nothing human vocal chords can replicate…but he’s a skeleton, and it’s the first language he ever spoke, and he hasn’t forgotten as much as he’s pushed it down.

But, he’s the sort of person who takes awhile to really wake up when he wakes up, and before conscious thought gets involved in the whole matter, a whole lot of romantic, poetic nonsense can slip through the gates: that you’re brilliant, wonderful, more radiant even than the sun and he’d gladly suffer years—no, decades—no, centuries more in darkness if he only had you by his side…

You may not find that out, though. If he hasn’t totally forgotten what he’s said by the time he’s alert enough to switch to a tongue you understand, he might be too embarrassed to repeat it. 😳

Moving onto Ash…

Well, it’s not a secret that he’s a tired guy, actually chronically so, and that keeps him seated or reclining pretty often.

So ‘pretty often’ is how much you’ll find him leaned up against you, or laying on top of you, or just otherwise smooshing his way into your space. Consider yourself his favorite personal pillow—because you are—and anytime you’re sitting or laying close enough to where he’s doing the same, he’s bound to remind you of that.

To him, you’re comfort and support and safety all in one, so it’s really just natural instinct for him to flop over into your lap, or rest his skull on your shoulder. He can fall asleep on you real quick too if you’re not careful, so be wary of getting trapped if you have anything urgent you might need to do!

Another things about him is that he’s very cozy, rarely without a couple layers of sweaters and/or hoodies. You’d think that’d make him a prime target for the time-honored tradition of boyfriend-hoodie theft—y’know, since he has so many.

You’re in for an Uno Reverse, though, because he’ll be stealing your hoodies if you ever make the mistake of leaving him unattended with them. He’s got a million and one excuses for it, if you protest—he was cold, he thought it was his, he just wanted to see if it’d fit—and a pair of entirely-too-effective puppy-dog eye-sockets when he asks if you want him to give it back, so you may not get some of them returned until laundry day at the earliest.

He’s not unreasonable, though, and can certainly be negotiated with. It might be worth proposing a partner-hoodie hostage exchange program to get some of his in return for the ones he nabs from you. He wouldn’t be opposed to making some kind of arrangement there!

And speaking of arrangements…

He loves music. He loves you. It makes perfect sense to him to combine his loves together somehow, and his favorite way to do that is by making mixtapes for you.

Anyone can make a Spotify playlist and send you a link, but he’s a traditionalist. If he’s going to cobble together a collection of songs that make him think all the best warm and fuzzy thoughts about you, he’s going to do it right—CDs burned on his own laptop with notes in sharpie scrawled atop the disk, set in jewel cases plastered with stickers and all the badly-doodled hearts and stars and clouds you could ever ask for.

It may be cheesy, but he puts a ton of thought into the song choices and what order they play in, to the point that each disk is pretty much a love-letter in polycarbonate plastic form, so be sure to listen close every time he adds another to your collection.

Last but certainly not least, Yrus!

He’s fantastic for your ego, for one thing.

No matter how long he’s been with you, he’s always affected by you—deeply, intensely, visibly. A simple touch to his hand is enough to make him start stumbling over his words, and even just a little peck on the cheek will turn him into a blushing, flustered mess.

You’re just so attractive, and so wonderful, and the thing you want to spend your time and attention and affection on…is him?! Oh, he can’t get over that, and he never will!

Your love is like a sunrise to him—just because it happens every day doesn’t make it any less miraculous, or him any less lucky to be able to see it.

He feels so lucky every moment he gets to be with you, and because of that, he wants so badly to be able to make you happy, to provide for you and make you feel as seen and cared for as you deserve.

Cooking is probably the biggest way in which he tries to do that. Probably one of the first things he ever tried to learn about you was your favorite meal, so that he could make it for you and not only that, but perfect it.

Whether it’s the most time-consuming, complex dish to make or a quick and easy snack, he’ll learn it and go through as much trial and error as needed to get it exactly how you like it the most.

He wants his version of whatever it is to be your favorite, and to be able to make it for you whenever you need it the most.

It’s just how he loves…

You might not realize it right away, but the truest measure of how much he loves you won’t be in anything he does for you, or how he reacts to you, or even in what he says.

It’ll be in silence.

He spends so much of his time trying to help everyone, trying to do everything and be cheerful and positive and entertaining, all the time.

But with you…maybe he doesn’t have to.

Maybe with you, he can just be, without having to fill every silence with conversation, without having to constantly try to impress you, without having to stay on his feet and play host to you, because you’re no longer a guest in his home—you are his home.

When he starts allowing those slow, quiet moments to happen, that’s when you’ll know this thing is forever.

[angelinpiink]

May I ask for some hange nsfw head-cannons❤️

❥ note: ofc! ive been waiting far longer than forever for someone to request some hange fics so i'd have a reason to expose my obsesssion w them so yayy with that being said enjoy ^-^

Hange Zoe Nsfw Headcannons࿐ྂ。

Given their personality, hange is neither submissive nor dominant. They are an experimentalist always wanting to try something new to keep things exciting in the bedroom. They’re so very versatile, so much so you never know which version of hange you’ll get– the sadistic side of them waiting to inflict sexual torture with some new toy she’d discovered or the side that is desperate for you to do the same to them.

Hange often uses pet names like “darling.'' And let's not forget to mention the tons of praise you'll receive for just existing. They call you “good girl.” any chance they get as if your life depends on it. They’ll do just about anything you ask with the exception of degrading you. They just can't seem to bring themselves to say such awful things to you without feeling guilty afterwards. Hange just adores you far too much. However, that's not to say they can't find joy in it when it's done to them.

In fact, nothing makes hange more turned on than when you are mean to them. It's exciting for them to see how far they can push, teasing you until you are a whiny mess, begging for them to take care of you. Or How when the roles are reversed and you are the one in control, they say all the right things to make you cave and give them what they want.

Hange has a high sex drive and truly doesn't care where you are or if you too fucked a few minutes ago. They will never ever get enough go you. Just being in your vicinity is enough to get them worked up. Did I mention they don't know how to keep their hands to themselves? They have to be touching you at all times because let’s face it they are obsessed. This will undoubtedly lead to you two fucking at the most inappropriate of times.

Public places are not exempt from the list of places they’ll have their way with you. Hange will make you sit with a vibrator inside of you, when going out to dinner together with friends and turn the settings to the highest vibration, giggling to themselves because to them it’s a fun little experiment or game to see how long it takes everyone to notice you're on the verge of cumming. Originally they don't notice at all. Instead they just take your shuffling in your seat, the fumbling over your words or the random inflections in your voice when you you speak as hange’s personality rubbing off on you. That is until the two of you excuse yourself from the table mere minutes apart from one another, your reasoning for this being to head to the bathroom and hange’s unclear gibberish answer of where they’re headed off too makes its obvious that their destination is the same as yours.

During sex, hange likes to start things slow and sweet despite what their personality may suggest or how eager she may come off as, things are more enjoyable to them when they have a chance to savor it. This is not to be confused with hange being slow in bed either because the second you ask them to quicken the pace of their fingers pounding into your pussy, I hope you can take it. Hange will fuck you mercilessly until your thighs are quaking and tears are streaming down your cheeks and all because hange is so fond of savoring the moment they're not going to let you cum anytime soon.

It's safe to say that hange is a one of a kind lover, you won't ever find anyone who can satisfy you as well as they do or who’s as wrapped around your finger. Never will you be bored of them due to them constantly introducing you to new things and helping you uncover what it is that gets you off. In short they are the full package, any needs you have can and will be met.

here's my masterlist!

ps. be on the lookout for nsfw headcannons for all aot characters.

[murderoushagthesequel]

Gifts

from @jegulus-microfic's prompt, camera (295 words)

ok i struggled with the title on this one, there were a few options... i think this one is nice for now. but enjoy!

“Happy birthday!” James says quietly, handing a small package to Regulus. “You’re thirteen now!” The school year is almost over, and James won’t see him again until September. Sirius will probably find a way to sneak over to his house, but James knows Regulus won’t leave Grimmauld until autumn. So he tried his best to get him something special. James can’t explain why, but seeing a smile on Regulus’ face brings him more joy than anything. 

Regulus, as he always does, carefully examines the package with great focus on his face. James loves it. He carefully pulls back the string and uses two fingers to peel back the paper. When he sees what’s inside he gasps and puts a hand over his mouth.

“James-”

“Oh I almost forgot,” James cuts him off. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black case. He picks up the gift and places it inside the case, and it transfigures itself into what appears to be an ornate jewellery box. James transforms it back and returns the gift to Regulus. 

“They’ll never know,” James reassures. Regulus looks up at him with a rather frozen, awestruck stare before breaking into a smile. Oh, how James missed his smile.

“You got me a muggle camera,” he whispers. James nods, feeling a smile spread across his own face. Regulus very carefully wraps the camera back in its paper and sets it to the side before flinging his arms around James’ neck and squeezing. James has never been hugged by Regulus before but he never wants it to stop. “Thank you,” Regulus whispers.

“It was my pleasure,” James responds. And he is graced with possibly the greatest gift in the world in return, even though it isn’t his birthday. Regulus giggles.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter two

live to rise series

two: morning will come soon

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: As the Mandalorian makes himself a more permanent addition to the barracks, you get to know the elusive man a little more while grappling with the reality of the arena. [We get to know everyone a little better before things kick up a notch in chapter three :) ]

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, prisoner of war, slavery, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide & war, graphic descriptions of violence & injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, major character deaths, minor character deaths, angst, helmetless Din Djarin, themes of grief and loss, slow burn

Please heed the warnings.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He doesn’t notice until his forty-eighth fight, but there are children in the stands. It’s not their mere presence that simmers his bile. 

It’s the glee.

Violence is a wet nurse for Mandalorian children. They witness the raw essence of life turned to food and know the gush of a foe’s blood early in life. But they respect it. 

They respect the fight and honor the lives they take. They weigh each kill and hang it from their ribs. They know what it means to be capable of exposing a being’s innards to the sun, what it means to hold a creature as blood froths in its lungs. 

These children are reared to crave it. They’ll never feel the touch of violence, he thinks, but they’re fed by it. They play with these lives like it's a game.

The distraction costs Din a chunk of flesh but gains him a rotted tooth on the edge of the gash. 

You’re in the barracks when they bring him back that afternoon. You go still and quiet, ducking into the shadows, but, as usual, they don’t bother to check the cells. He saw you, though. You’re inside C-6, and he has a clear view through his window into the cell opposite. 

Once the guards leave, you pick back up mid-sentence into what must have been an already brewing rant.

“—pride. So stupid. The only—punished when you resist—is you.”

The humanoid grumbles something Din can’t quite hear. 

“Yeah, well, —bacta, and I don’t, so—” you retort.

When you slip out of the cell, the automatic lock snaps shut with a resounding clunk. Your hands are wound up in the underbelly of your skirts and come back out dry, at least, if not spotless. 

Not that Din notices right away. His mouth had gone fuzzy when you hiked up the layers to reveal the length of your calf. He shoves the feeling away and watches as you check carefully around the corners before slipping into the chamber between the barracks and the rest of the facilities. 

He shakes it from his fingertips. It’s the post-fight adrenaline, he knows. Mandalorians are no strangers to fucking out their feelings as the world burns around them. He cannot—will not—entertain these thoughts of you, lest he become more of the monster they make him out to be.

And every part of him is too rough for the likes of you. He won’t be responsible for marring you with his too-tight grip and desperate cock. He wouldn’t press his pain into your cunt and learn to breathe again through your cries and moans. 

He wanted to preserve you somehow, press you like a flower between the pages of a book. Even his protection would see you crushed by his selfish desire. 

So instead, he funnels the feeling into righteous anger and determination, pushing himself in his exercises until his muscles ache and scream for oxygen. He slumps against the wall, not bothering to go to the cot, and dreams fitfully of his son.

He had made the call in his own chambers. The ship had left two hours ago, tracking along the path with no issues—yet.

“Who is this? How did you get this line?” snaps a voice he does not recognize. 

“He’ll know. Tell him we’re going forward with operation esk, and the package is on-route.” 

“Message received,” cuts in the voice he was waiting for. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the stars light your way,” Din returns, and cuts the line. 

Grogu’s fast asleep when Din tucked him into the pod. He slipped the stuffed blurrg under one of the baby’s arms. It’s to be a short journey, but there’s a canteen and a tin of snacks.

The rest of his son’s belongings are carefully packed in the small cargo hold of the StarSpeeder 1000 they’d managed to salvage, complete with an RX pilot. Din didn’t favor leaving the child’s fate to a droid, but it had been thoroughly reprogrammed to override its tourist-geared protocol. 

All in all, it’s an innocuous ship with a registered pilot and route. The chain code would suffice under basic examination, and the manifest is set with a handful of false identities. 

He may not understand the Force, but he has to draw faith that it will ferry his son safely into the waiting hands of Skywalker at some destination unknown.

Skywalker had sent the coordinates directly to the droid so they couldn’t be tortured from Din. 

A wise decision, Din thinks wryly, but they haven’t interrogated him yet. 

It makes sour hope bloom—perhaps they think there’s nothing to be gained. In the darker moments, he worries they know there’s nothing to be gained. 

As it was, each of the four of them only knew part of the plan. Din had the main strategy. Vizsla, the backup. Kryze, the route. And Fett—the rendevouz. For a man who claimed no ties to the Mandalorians, he was risking everything. 

Even the loneliest striil is loyal to someone, he supposes. 

He loses count after 60 fights or so. That’s about when he stops hating the idleness of his off days and starts longing for more rest. 

It’s not just the physicality. He does seem to be perpetually bruised and bleeding, but that’s not so much different than his bounty-hunting days. He’s loathe to admit that he’s perhaps beginning to feel the effects of aging. To grow old is an honor for Mandalorians. It means you’ve emerged victorious from your battles. He doesn’t feel he can wear that pride, though.

But no, his weariness is from the killing. He tried to see his opponents as quarry, but it was too hard to maintain. Not when he’d see their sallow faces and sunken eyes. Beings with broken tusks and battered limbs. Rebel starbirds. Shock trooper stripes. Prison numbers and slave brands. 

Yesterday’s fight had him facing a Miraluka who couldn’t have been much past her girlhood. And she wanted to live; oh, she wanted it so badly he could taste it. 

She didn’t know a thing about fighting. Worse yet, their weapons for the day were flails, something even he hadn’t much experience with. He could wield it, but instead, he let it fall to the sands. 

What a terrible way to die.

He saw it before it happened. Telegraphed in the arc of the chain, his brain completing the motion before it became real. She swung her arm out hard, trying to strike him in the chest, but he pushed back on his heel and easily dodged. Without something to crush, the momentum carried.

She grappled at the chain, trying to stop it. If only she had dropped it and moved, Din thought. If only, if only. 

Instead, it wedged itself in her back, spikes between her ribs. She gasped, wavering for a moment in shock, and dropped to her knees. The crowd moaned a collective “ooh” at the turn of luck.

He knelt in front of her, grasping her shoulders. 

“Just finish it,” she said, the trace of a whimper on the end. 

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Biala.”

“Biala, is there a prayer I can make for you? Any rites for your journey?”

She shook her head and coughed. Blood dribbled, and they both knew.

“I’m so sorry, Biala,” he murmured, cradling her head in his hands. 

And then it was over. He laid her body down as the bell rang and rose to his feet. Stomps and cheers from the stands fell muffled around his shoulders, and he sneered into the crowd. 

It only made them chant louder. 

He’s brought back to the reality of today at your entrance, voices buzzing as trays clattered back and forth.

“Come here, girl,” calls a voice from across the way. Din watches as you pause, his own tray of food waiting in your hands.

The gruff old Devaronian in C-4 is reaching his large hand between the bars of the window. 

“One sec,” you tell him, making your way to Din. You go to knock before you spy his shadow between the bars and avert your eyes. 

“Good evening,” you say, sliding the tray through the slot against the floor. “Need anything?”

It’s the same old song and dance. “No, thank you,” he says. 

“Okay, have a good night,” you tell the door politely. 

He doesn’t grab the tray right away. He watches instead as you go back across the hall. 

“Whatcha need, old man?” you tease. Vrar is your favorite, mostly because he’s been around for nearly a year, and you’ve had a chance to know him.

But something about his expression gives you pause. 

Din feels suddenly intrusive as you step closer and let the warrior touch your cheek, his palm much larger than your face. 

He can’t hear what’s said, but something terribly sad comes across you as you close your eyes and shake your head. 

“No, you can’t just give up,” you say, loud enough that Din can hear. 

His heart sinks. He had wondered how many were lost to hopelessness. 

“I’m not giving up,” Vrar tells you. “I’m an old man. I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired.”

“No,” you say, a harsh but quiet protest. You want to yell, but the guards will make you leave if they hear you. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. 

“You can’t change my mind. I just wanted you to know before it happens. To know that I made this choice, that I will be at peace. You’ve been the one spot of kindness in this life.”  

Your voice is softer, breaking, crescendoing at the end as it pitches alongside your urgency,“—how much more you need; I’ll trade another year, please.”

“Absolutely not,” Vrar says. “When your time is up, get out and never look back. Look at me.” He waits for your focus. “You can’t save us.”

You break down into tears. Din feels something sharp pricking at his eyes, too. He shuts them and sits down on his cot, food forgotten. 

He doesn’t need to look to know you stay at Vrar’s door until the guards make you leave for the night. You sit against it, skirts splayed out around you like the rising sun, and talk to him, listen to his stories, even the ones you’ve heard over and over before. Especially those, as you try to commit them to your memory, to carry him with you. 

When you bring Din his breakfast in the morning, your eyes are bloodshot, and lips cracked from biting back your grief. For the first time, you don’t say anything. You rap your knuckles and slide the tray under. 

You stay until they come for him. You wait and stand with your hands wrapped around the bars of his window. When they take him to prepare for the arena, you watch down the hall until he’s gone. As he passes Din’s cell, he looks straight in. 

Neither man says a word, but their eyes meet, and Din nods. Vrar returns the gesture, satisfied. 

When Din looks back, you’re gone.

When you return two hours later, as his own turn in the arena nears, he doesn’t have to see your face to know. 

You’re not crying. But you move so quietly, held so tense, as you open the cell and scrub it clean, fitting it with new bedding. It’s the same routine as a deep cycle, but there was just one yesterday, and your sadness, though smothered, is palpable. 

They take him up before you’re done. Din lives to fight another day. He scrubs clean of his opponent’s blood in the cold fresher and tugs on the stiff, starched clothes left behind for him. When they take him back to his room, it’s been cleaned, but you’re gone, and there’s a new prisoner in C-4.  

You’re quiet again when you bring dinner, and though you do speak this time, it’s void of your usual softness. 

“Need anything?” you say, muted tone bristling his spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in lieu of an answer. 

You look up at the window out of reflex before quickly looking away. He’s not close enough for you to see, anyway. “What?” you say. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “for your loss.”

Your eyes close tight, and you cover your mouth for a moment. “I—thank you,” you whisper. Your voice cracks a little, and he feels terrible, like he shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have upset you. 

But you hesitate there, outside his door. You swallow hard against the ache. “Thank you,” you repeat, but it’s stronger, now, and laced with the heaviness of recognizing oneself in another. 

Which is why, when you pass by the newcomer’s door, and he tells you to smile pretty for him, Din snarls, “Shut your fucking mouth.” 

You freeze and look back at his dark door. The man is saying something idiotic, but Din can’t hear it from the pulse throbbing in his ears and his single-minded focus on you. 

You shake your head minutely, and he accepts the request to stand down. Before you turn and leave the barracks, you give his door a small, sorrowful smile. 

He worries a little about the newcomer. You shouldn’t have to be harassed and accosted like this. 

When you had brought breakfast, the man had tried to reach through the bars to grab your face. You had recoiled and dodged his grimy hands but otherwise ignored it. 

It turns out he doesn’t need to worry. The next day, the guards take both him and the creep up to the arena. 

When Din returns, your relief is unmistakable. 

You never ask about the fights, so he doesn’t have to lie to you. He doesn’t have to tell you the truth, either; doesn’t have to tell you how it’s the first one he’s dragged out on purpose. How he broke the man’s hands in his own for daring to try to touch you. How he broke his jaw for talking to you like that. 

It’s unlike him, and he hopes he can shrug it off, that the endless killing of beings he knows are fellow prisoners builds a layer of beskar in his bones each day. But Vrar was right. 

You’re a spot of light here, like the yellow blossoms that push up between duracrete. He’s not sure how you’ve kept it up this long, not after seeing how deeply you’re cut when “your” fighters die. But he’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t lose that. Including keeping lowlife scum away where they can’t contaminate the barrack.

He dreams that night of taking you with him when he leaves and isn’t sure what to do with the thought in the morning. 

You paint him, too. Nicolai. The one who made your skin crawl. Even the portrait comes out predatory, and you wish you wouldn’t have to look at it every time until the page is full. 

It’s not the first time a resident has made you feel unsafe. Won’t be the last, either, you reckon. Unlike those of you who are serving criminal sentences, the fighters are all prisoners of war. But just because they were an enemy of the Empire does not make them a friend.

Most of them are good. Not all even raised a weapon against the Imperials. Some were support—medics, pilots, suppliers. Some were strangers who stood up to protect a Stormtrooper’s victim in the town square. Some were no one, who had the unfortunate luck of being related to or seen with a known insurgent. 

But some, well. Some were grifters playing both sides. Some were mercenaries, assassins, slavers. Some, like Nicolai, were druglords who couldn’t be bought—too busy running their own empires to respect the government. 

It’s funny, in that way that makes your stomach bile bite and claw at your throat. Everyone thought you needed to be afraid of the fighters. You have to shut and stow the book, not wanting to smudge Vrar’s portrait any further by thinking of him.

He never liked you being in the servant’s barracks. And for some reason, he never liked your bunkmate. Didn’t like Eli, who had never been anything but kind. Who was maybe your only friend. 

“Just something off about him,” Vrar had said. “But you shouldn’t trust anyone.” 

You had shaken your head. “I’m one of them,” you insisted. 

“Oh, how could I have forgotten,” he deadpanned, “you and your criminal record of… what was it again? Stealing from your own farm to feed hungry children? Being too polite to a trooper?”

“Shut up,” you groaned. “Evading tariffs is considered very serious, I’ll have you know.” 

When he was done teasing you, he had sobered right up. “I still don’t like it. Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

“No, but I’m sure they wouldn’t trust someone dangerous as a caretaker.”

He hadn’t been so sure, but it’s not like they let just anyone work down here. You had done a stint upstairs for a while, like everyone else, serving drinks in the sponsor’s lounge. 

After all, caretaker neglect could (and did) prematurely kill their stock. And it granted access to much more of the complex than most other roles. 

When you deliver dinner, the Mandalorian speaks to you again. You try to take it in stride. 

“If there’s another like him,” he says, voice like the creak of trees at night, “are you safe? Can you defend yourself?” 

It’s not what you expected. You purse your lips, frowning as you weigh your answers. “Harming a caretaker is prohibited,” you say after a moment.

“That’s not what I asked.” It’s firm and compelling in a way you can’t explain. Maybe it's the regality that he can’t contain, a tone leftover from negotiating and persuading or whatever kings do. 

“I don’t have to worry about being hurt by a fighter,” you say. 

He hums, accepting your answer.

You wonder if he heard the unspoken words you swallowed back. 

You eat with them again at Disdraa’s request, though it’s a quieter affair without Vrar’s booming voice. You find you don’t have it in you to joke around. 

She takes mercy on you, setting aside her meal to regale the hall with a story from her childhood on Ryloth. It’s not a happy story, exactly, but it ends with hope. 

You feel warm for the first time since Vrar’s death. “Thank you,” you murmur through her bars when you stand. 

She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “For what? I just like to hear myself talk, little bird.”

You make a show of returning the gesture, including the solemn smile she gave. 

It wasn’t the story, really. It was the way it reminded you of home. When you would visit the families of the dead and dying. When they would share themselves while sharing their love, how they would leap to comfort despite their own grief. 

Even for you, a stranger until that moment, someone they could easily hate for only arriving while someone was leaving. 

But that was not the way of things for your people. They allowed you, for however small a time, to be the vessel for their loved one, to gather and hold the memories until you could spill them on your canvas. To stand between their spirit and the void of the forgotten. 

To love and be loved, even fleetingly. 

Did you wish that just once, that love would stay? That you wouldn’t love knowing it was to be lost? In the dark of night, though you’d never admit it, you ached for it. 

next chapter

*title from "Prayer of the Refugee" by Rise Against

[ineylesian]

BURY ME WITH ROSES

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 1.3k

— WARNINGS | angst, character death, mentions of weapons and violence, mentions of trauma and abuse

— SUMMARY | ghost remembers the time you asked him what his favorite flower is.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | saw elliot knight’s comment about MW3 and wanted to give you some food for thought <33 sorry in advance 🫠

Ghost of thinks about death often. The concept nearly consumes him. He is surrounded by death and at that it is, and whenever he pulls the trigger, he can feel it in the recoil. Such a natural concept never seems to escape him.

Death is common in the military. War is everywhere soldiers go, and it follows them wherever they roam.

Even home base, it seems.

There’s a funeral, preparation for one, at least. One of the soldiers Price mentored, his name familiar in the golden plaque it’s engraved on. Ghost happens to pass by as they unload the setup, and something in the back of his head brings his legs to a hold.

There are flowers. A lot of them. There’s something captivating about the way they flourish; a myriad of colors bringing life to a declaration of death. Ghost forgets you’re beside him in those moments, and you find yourself following his gaze amongst each stem and petal that decorate the soldier’s casket. It makes you curious, so you ask.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

His gaze snaps away from sharp thorns and glistening anther. You see the way his eyes sweep across the room before he continues walking, almost as if he’s checked if others noticed his behavior. Doesn’t want others to think he’s grieving, life is too short and death is too prominent.

He doesn’t answer until you’re long gone from the scene; you’re perched against his headboard, his gear ruffles the sheets.

“Never thought of it.”

—

Ghost ponders your question for a while. He studies every flower that passes him, not many, being that he’s nearly always away from the comforts of normalcy. Yet, when he does find one, you’d see him crouched down beside it, simply gazing, nothing more.

He never touches them. When you ask why, he shrugs, going silent for a moment before turning his gaze away from you.

“Don’t wanna ruin ‘em.”

Hands such as his hold so much blood that he fears they’ll taint everything they touch. You feel the same way, sometimes. It’s a dangerous way to think, and it worries you.

After a strenuous deployment, you decide to buy some seeds from a department store, and take him out to a barren plot of land on 141’s base. You remove your gloves before poking some holes into the soil. The crumble makes you grimace, but you begin tearing the tops of the packages off regardless. Ghost’s eyes land on the picture laminated in the one you hold; the flower is blue with a yellow stripe in the center.

“You like these?”

You smile, motioning for him to take his gloves off as well. He hesitates for a moment, a few to be exact, before placing them beside yours. A sigh of relief holds itself within your chest when you see it.

“I do.” You answer, dumping a few into his palms. “I was told the blue ones represent hope. Isn’t that sweet?”

He nods, pinching seeds and dropping them into the ground. His hands shake. You smile regardless, and he continues. When he’s done, you cover them in soil, a warm feeling arising in his chest as you do so. It scares him, but it comforts more.

In a few weeks, you check back, and a tiny patch of blue decorates an otherwise dead field. He doesn’t think of them as his favorite, but he finds himself staring at them when you fight. It makes the hopelessness he feels seem a little more bearable.

Little did he know, you were calling him the entire time, and he didn’t answer. When he’d found out you’d been injured, he promised to answer whenever you called, even if he couldn’t be there.

After a rough mission some time later, you wake up to find a bouquet of blue lilacs staring back.

—

You find yourself wandering amidst the small patch of land months after planting the lilacs. Flowers grow in neat clusters everywhere you look, and you can see Ghost attending to a fresh batch of buried seeds. Barren hands run gently against tempered soil, eyebrows furrowed lightly against bone. You crouch down beside him, glancing at the small pile of packets that lay at his feet.

His eyes carry a look of solemn, and he’s focusing as hard as he does when he draws a weapon. You say nothing, opting to rest a hand against his shoulder instead. He softens at your touch, turning to you once the seeds have disappeared into the earth.

“Roses were my mum’s favorite.”

Simon Riley remembers when she would buy them for herself when days were hard. Ghost remembers the nights they were torn up and squashed under a dirty boot. His father would rather decorate their home with bruises and nightmares than flowers.

Roses are not his favorite. He thinks about if often, but he still doesn’t have one of his own. Not even when he imagines himself six feet underground. In that vision, he sees a mahogany casket, a plethora of blurred faces, and no flowers.

—

Ghost chokes on his breath, spitting a chunk of blood onto his uniform. He feels what his enemies do when he’s paralyzed them with a bullet: Unmoving, heart thundering, mind racing. He feels something that he doesn’t often, and it nearly sends him over the edge.

He’s thinking about you, and he knows what he’s feeling is nothing other that absolute horror. The fear of not seeing you one last time constricts his chest in a manner that has his throat sputtering for the toxic fumes that keep him on the edge of living. He thinks back on the life you spent together, the way you pulled him out the darkness that had consumed him and filled the hole that remained with light. Everything and anything in between.

He thinks about the times he felt most safe in his life, with you in a garden miles and miles away from home. Such a reminiscence touches him deeper than any other memory and he feels as if he’s finally managed to find the respite he’d been searching for.

After what seems like an eternity, Ghost feels the vibrations of your boots thudding against the ground, and you’re at his side within moments. Words fail him as he sees your eyes widen, hands fumbling to rip his chest plate off of him.

It’s a bullet, 50 calibers and lodged into his right lung.

“You’ll be okay, Simon.” Your words are wobbly, and he can hear in your tone that you don’t believe yourself. “Just… push through it.”

Tears start to flow, and you realize sooner than later that he won’t be making it out of this without some sort of divine intervention. Your heart and all that you are ache, hands working deftly to bandage the hemorrhage that fights you. However, the blood just won’t stop flowing, and you cry harder, holding a ripped patch of gauze to your mouth to muffle your sobs.

In that moment, Ghost reaches up, sliding his mask off his face and setting it in your hands. His body defies it, but he pushes himself up nonetheless, wiping stray hairs and streaks of dirt off of your skin.

“Bury me with roses, yeah?”

His voice is weak, laced with smoke and not his. It’s a fight against impending death; he stifles the terror that rips thorough him by clamping his fingers over yours.

“Some irises, too.”

You say nothing. His lips meet yours, and you kiss him until his blood runs cold.

The memories that carry on with him matter more than a meaning that doesn’t, so he chooses to die with his own sentiment.

Roses are not his favorite. Irises aren’t, either. You’d never know, but Simon Riley doesn’t need a favorite, because he loves you, and what you love he loves.

[clumsiestgiantess]

My first piece for the @gtgotcha4gaza fundraiser! This one was donated by @biggnansmol with the prompt Overhead; enjoy!

My body presses close to the ground as I watch the traffic rush by in a cacophony of tremorous footsteps and raucous voices.  I hunch down near the street corner of a building who knows how many thousands of times my size, looking intently out over the giants walking past.  They travel without a single downward glance at the tiny man just barely taller than their palms.

Many, if not most, of my kind avoid anywhere near this kind of foot traffic.  As a borrower, you can only withstand so much noise and movement constantly around you before your instincts tell you to run.  What separates me from the rest is that my instincts can guide me through the crowd of gigantic beings, to other places entirely.  I can make it to stores all the way on a different street if I really want to.  I haven’t, but I can.

Cracked Concrete Colony — my home — lies halfway between the giants’ colony above, and the giants’ watery wasteland below.  You’d think the giants — humans, they call themselves — would try pitching in to help us ever since they found out we exist.  They didn’t.  In fact, they now have the audacity to label us as pests; vermin.  No wonder we decided to stay away from them.  

As a seasoned package-runner, my job is to deliver supplies from our place to other smaller groups above, and sometimes bring supplies back again.  Oh, and myself.  I bring myself back every time.  Not everyone does.

The worst shape I’ve come out of running is a sprained wrist, but there are some who’ve broken bones, lost limbs, and even died on the exact routes I take.  I’m not too worried, though.  My instincts are better than theirs, I’m sure.  No one in the history of my colony — that people know of — has survived as long as me.  I’m the best there is.  Sure, I’ve come a mere arm’s length away from the sole of a shoe multiple times, but that’s normal for my line of work.  Defying certain death is my average Tuesday.

So, once I see a break in the crowd, I make my move.

My brain and eyes work in tandem to spot every potential danger coming at me.  Thankfully it’s mostly coming from the same side.  The first few pairs of feet I dodge with ease — weaving in and out between the giants’ legs with perfect timing to their methodic gait.  

However, one giant hurriedly stumbles through the crowd in the wrong direction.  I have just enough time to brace myself before their foot rushes up to meet me.  For a brief moment, I believe they’ll dash by right overhead, but the idea is short-lived.  

The tip of a gigantic shoe digs into my stomach, catching on my side and kicking me across the rugged surface of the cement walkway.  I cry out in pain as skin tears off my bare arms in shreds and I land in the ditch between the walkway and the awful road of machines.  Rule number one of package-running: never go into the road.  Ever.  Everyone knows it’s certain death.

Agony spreads through my body, but I grit my teeth and bare it.  I have to get back up onto that walkway.  After a few minutes of desperate struggling — getting blown down and dragged backwards by the sheer force of the machines’ speed — I realize it’s pointless.  It’s hard enough just hauling myself up with my scratched arms.  Even without the machines, I don’t think I’d make it.

Just as I break out in a cold sweat, a shadow descends over me.  A giant’s hand grabs me from above — fingers coiling around my midsection.  Shrieking in both fright and pain, I claw at the human’s hand and get this close to biting them, when I’m flipped over and tucked much more securely against their palm.

Only briefly do I stop struggling to wonder why their grip is so cautious before trying to escape it again.  “Hey, no no; it’s ok!  I’ve got you little guy, you’ll be alright.”  I… what?  The giant slides their hand up against me to keep me from squirming out of their grasp.  Their palm settles against my chest and my heart skips a beat.  “Let me just find a safe spot to put you down.”

Fear still spikes through me like lightning at the way their fingers wrap around my torso to keep me still.  My mind screams at me to keep fighting them because they’ll hurt me for sure if I don’t.  However, there’s something about the way they’re handling me — as much as I hate the fact that they are handling me — that deters me from wanting to escape.  

Then there’s the way they spoke… they immediately wanted to assure me that I’d be alright.  The only things I’ve been told by giants are “Get out of here!” and “Oh eww, what the heck are you?!” so it’s quite the unexpected upgrade.

Suddenly, the hands around me slide away and I’m deposited gently in a small alleyway.  I peer hesitantly up at the giant, kneeling down over me.  Their worried expression softens slightly when I do.  “There you go, safely away from the road and people.  Don’t go back there anymore, ok?”  My mouth drops open, utterly shocked.  “Th - Thank.. you?” I say in awed confusion.  How am I not dead?  Were they helping me get out of the road?

With a small smile, they stand back up and walk off into the crowd of other giants.  I was left standing only a storefront or two up from where I began.  In a few minutes it’s as if none of it had happened at all.

Briefly, I think about trying to go after the giant — ask them why they did that for me.  Then, I take a step and my entire body tenses in pain — dragging me out of my stupor.  Actually.. I think I’ll just head back and get healed up.  I’d tested my luck enough for one day.  Even without the giant’s help, I’m still lucky I hadn’t been stepped on, only kicked.

Maybe I’d dodge past my unlikely hero on the walkway sometime again and ask them then.  I’m just lucky that the strangely benevolent giant had given me another chance to keep surviving.  Hauling myself to the street corner once again, I dash off into the crowd, making it home in only a little less time than usual.

[consumeroflemoans]

so... jiaoqiu, don't know much about that guy, heard you were somewhat of an expert. headcanons?

Am I a Jiaoqiu expert now? 💀

Augh I feel like any headcanons I would have had are just canon.

Ok. It’s hinted at, but this man absolutely has some form of PTSD and probably some other mental issues tagging along as a package deal like anxiety.

I’ve spoken about this a bit before but having to heal his companions knowing they’re inevitably going to be taken by war really screwed up his brain.

I like to think that’s why in game Jiaoqiu isn’t a healer despite his insistence that he is one. That constant cycle of death has drilled in the mindset that ‘it doesn’t matter who I heal, they’ll die anyway’ which is incredibly nihilistic.

This is also why he brings up the ‘cooking is healing’ so much. He still wants to feel useful as a healer, but he can’t bring himself to properly ‘heal’. But cooking can also only take you so far and I think he knows that. Sure, certain foods do have health benefits, especially in Honkai star rail where food can heal. (I’m not sure if Jiaoqiu is hinting that this is a canon aspect of their universe and not just a game mechanic? That’s a whole different deep dive)

Anyway, yeah, headcanon that may be canon that Jiaoqiu has been so screwed up by war that he can’t bring himself to touch true medical supplies anymore and has to make himself feel useful by ‘healing through cooking’.

Also that’s why he gets so mad when people call him a cook, they’re unintentionally pointing out his coping mechanisms and making him feel less useful.

Ok wow after that dark character analysis here’s a proper headcanon: Jiaoqiu absolutely took shots of hot sauce as a kid. I don’t know how normalized this was in other schools but we went wild with those

[nayatarot777]

messages to remember over this holiday period • pick-a-card

merry christmas y’all 🎄💗

• pile one •

you might be either forced to be around people (presumably family or just close people) who have done you wrong. spirit is asking you to trust that they’ll receive their karma - because what comes around goes around fr. these mfs have karma that’s on its way like an amazon prime package, okay? it’s coming. quickly. spirit is suggesting that you try to blind yourself to their pain. especially if they’re talking mad shit to you with their snide ass remarks or nitpicking over this christmas? trust that you have nothing to fear. try to blind yourself to the pain and the fear that these people want you so badly to feel. it might be difficult but it’s in your best interest this christmas because people could really be trying you at that fucking dinner table. being nonchalant and acting oblivious to their remarks is part of their karma.

significant numbers: 26, 13, 25

astrological signs/placements: jupiter/sagittarius, saturn/capricorn, scorpio/pluto, leo/sun

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• pile two •

this might be a specific message for someone, but there’s someone who feels trapped in a relationship/marriage that you’re going to be around this christmas. this person needs your natural energy, so try to give them some of that. a lot of care. this could even be your mother. through your conversations with this person, they’ll find something enlightening that brings them one step closer to taking back their control from someone who’s keeping them tethered to them. the seed will be planted.

for others of you, i’m seeing that spirit is saying that your family may need you right now. even if you don’t spend the entirety of the christmas period with them, make sure that you’re making time for them. don’t keep yourself just tethered to your partner around this time. this partner may be somewhat controlling. don’t allow them to isolate you from people within your family. i’m seeing specifically for some of you that this is a younger sibling or multiple siblings around you that would like to see you.

over this holiday, you’re going to be releasing yourself from some type of control that someone or something has over you.

significant numbers: 44, 21, 27

astrological signs/placements: pluto in 12th house, taurus in a water house/water planets in taurus, libra/7th house placements (perhaps pluto in 7th or scorpio in 7th house) - check your astrological transits for your birth chart. that could give you extra messages.

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• pile three •

there may be some clear signs about someone or some people around you that you’ve been picking up on for a while now. this christmas period is bringing you a lot of confirmation on what you’ve been noticing about them in the past. perhaps particularly about someone who has a very cold and unsympathetic energy. perhaps someone who’s constantly angry too. watch out for this person picking arguments as a way to try to ruin people’s holiday with their bs.

there’s also a message to not feel guilty or bad about feeling however tf you feel about these people. or about the holidays in general. whether this is wanting to be left alone or holding someone accountable for something. it could be anything tbh.

there may be a transmutation of your anger throughout this holiday period. i’m not sure into what exactly but whatever it is, it’s going to be used to direct yourself onto the right path within something. there may be triggers coming up but you can turn these things into motivation.

significant numbers: 4, 22, 34

astrological signs/placements: heavy scorpio placements, aries/mars, pisces/12th house placements, pluto in 12th house

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