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happy74827 · 6 months

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Chaos Theory

[Mike Schmidt x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Mike's crazy schedule finally aligns with one of the so-called "parental meetings" at Abby's school, he decides to see what it's all about. Little did he know he'd come to seriously regret that.

WC: 2,590

Category: Slight Fluff

I failed an exam today, so I wrote this to cheer myself up. I still feel pretty crappy, but this was really fun to write lol.

Also if you see any grammar mistakes, no you didn’t.

『••✎••』

When it came to Abby’s school, Mike was at a disadvantage. He couldn’t go to any of the parental meetings, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was constantly doing something work-related during the time those meetings were scheduled.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping an eye on her grades and school attendance. It just meant he couldn't be there for the day-to-day things. Abby was a good kid, though; she never gave him trouble about the things he missed, and she did a pretty good job of keeping her grades up and attending all her classes.

Her teacher, you, was also very understanding of his schedule and position. He wasn’t sure how many teachers would have been as patient with him as you were. It was part of the reason he had grown fond of you, though it had been a gradual process that happened mostly unbeknownst to him.

At the beginning of the year, he had only been concerned about getting Abby acclimated to her new school. She was a quiet kid, stuck to her drawings, and it was even hard for him to get her to open up sometimes. Runs in the family, apparently. But, somehow, you were able to break down the wall that had been erected around her. Abby still didn't talk all that much, but she would always come back from school with a smile on her face. So, Mike was happy.

Then, like all good things, it came crashing down like a house of cards when his work schedule finally aligned with one of the “upcoming” meetings. This one was apparently a very big deal, and it was strongly implied to show up.

He hated these things despite never going to any before, but he just knew it would be filled with nosey people asking questions about his life. His sister. His “wife.”

God, he was already annoyed. The only saving grace was that it was the last meeting before the holiday break, so once it was over, he would be free for a while. Free to do what, exactly? Work, most likely, but a guy can dream.

The bell rang, signifying the end of the school day and the start of his personal nightmare. The door to the classroom was opened by one of the school's assistants, who held a clipboard in hand and waited for the “parents” to enter the room. He had arrived earlier than the scheduled time so he could speak to the assistant and find out what the meeting would entail, and already he knew it was a bad idea coming in here.

The woman was a nosy old biddy that was all too eager to learn the details of his and Abby's life.

He kept his answers short and clipped, but it did nothing to dissuade the woman. It got worse when he entered the classroom and saw the number of other parents who had shown up. He felt like an animal in a zoo; all the eyes followed his movements as he went to sit closest to the wall and away from the rest of the people.

The surrounding parents looked as though they lived in the next town over. They were clean-cut, hair styled perfectly, and clothes ironed. It was like they were trying to be a picture-perfect family.

He looked down at his own attire. His work boots were scuffed and dusty. His pants had a few grass stains from a recent job. His flannel shirt was buttoned wrong, and the sleeves were pushed up. Even his hair was a mess; he had tried to style it but didn't have much success, so he eventually gave up. The only thing going for him was that he had taken a shower before he left, so at least he didn't smell like sweat and grime.

As the meeting began, Mike had to try his best not to fall asleep. It was the typical teacher stuff. How the kids were doing. What the curriculum was for the following year. What their goals were. Blah, blah, blah.

Mike didn't care. He trusted you, and he knew his little sister was smart. She didn't need someone holding her hand and telling her what she was doing right or wrong. He knew this because he did that, and she didn't need it.

What did interest him, though, was the fact you kept looking his way. You didn't look at the others, and when you spoke, it was usually aimed toward them, but he saw the way you would look at him from the corner of your eye. He figured you were probably in shock that he actually showed up this time.

The meeting dragged on, and he was ready to leave. There were a few moments he had caught himself nodding off as he needed sleep, and this wasn't helping him. But then, like everything else in his life, the universe decided it was his time to suffer.

There was one woman who had sat at the front of the classroom. She wore her hair pulled back tight in a bun, her shirt was pressed, and her face was set in a permanent frown. He hated that lady; she reminded him of his good-for-nothing aunt who only wanted to criticize every choice he made.

The lady was also the mother of the most spoiled, brattiest child in the whole class. That damned kid had made it her life mission to torment Abby. He had come home more than once with her complaining about it, and when Mike had brought it up with you, you had told him that you had spoken with the parent.

That, of course, had done nothing. The child was an annoying pest, and he hated the way she treated Abby, but his sister had learned early on to deal with the bullying on her own. It didn't stop him from wanting to throttle the little shit, though.

The woman, the one who had started all his problems, took the opportunity to start a round of questioning. The first few were innocuous until they weren't.

"You seem to be a very patient woman." The woman had spoken to you, but her eyes were locked on him. "Is it a skill that was learned?"

The question itself was innocent enough, but the inflection and tone she used were meant to cut. He wasn't stupid. He knew she was alluding to something. It was always something, but he had to force himself not to say anything; the woman was a viper, and if he said something, she would attack without hesitation.

"I think anyone can be patient," You had responded diplomatically. "It's just a matter of the situation."

The woman didn't look happy with your answer, but she didn't pursue the line of questioning.

"Well, I couldn’t help but notice a certain someone who decided to finally drop in."

There it was. That was the opening.

Mike could tell you didn’t like the turn of conversation, and you were clearly trying to divert it elsewhere. It was no use, though. Mike could see the glint in the woman's eye as she prepared for the kill. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes were cold. "I was starting to think that Mr. Schmidt had abandoned his responsibilities. Wouldn’t be the first time someone in that family did such a thing."

He couldn’t help but have visions of his accidental mall incident from last year flash in his mind when he processed what the woman had said. He could easily hop over the desk and deck her right in the mouth. He had the muscle for it, and it was very tempting.

However, he would not.

If there was anything Mike had learned over the years, it was how to control his emotions, even if the situation was dire. The last time he had lost his cool, he ended up getting fired, but that was a long time ago… okay, not really, but the point was, he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

He wouldn't give the woman the satisfaction.

Mike leaned forward in his chair, arms crossed over his knees, and looked the woman straight in the eyes. "That's funny. I could say the same thing about your kid."

"Excuse me?!" She hissed, and she seemed offended. Good. He hoped she was offended.

"Okay, okay." You intervened, hands up as if to placate the two of them. "Let's keep this civil, okay? The last thing we want is to be kicked out of the school for brawling. That's not beneficial for any of us." You then looked back at the woman. "Let's not bring personal matters into this."

"Personal matters?" The woman was appalled at your statement, and her voice was so loud in the quiet room. He could tell many of the other parents were looking at them now, and he felt the weight of their gazes on him. It only made his anger spike. "That monkey of his tried to bully mine for three months now, and she's never done anything."

Monkey? Monkey?! Oh, he was going to kill her. It was one thing to talk shit about him; he was used to that, but Abby? No. Absolutely not. His little sister was the best damn thing to come into his life. He wouldn't have it.

But before he could say something, before he could even get out of the chair, you had done something he would never have thought you would. You got up and went to your desk, then you returned, holding a paper. You held it up for all the parents to see.

"This is a drawing my students did a few weeks ago," you started, and he was surprised at the level of calmness you were exuding. "The assignment was for them to draw the thing they loved the most."

Hearing those words, Mike had a feeling what was coming next, but he wasn't going to say anything. It would be like tempting fate. Still, he watched as you grabbed one of the papers, and then you turned it around so he could see it. Abby had done the drawing, and it was not only of him but of everyone else in her class as well. She had even drawn you standing near her with a kind smile. It was the picture she had brought home from that field trip months ago. It was a nice picture. Really nice. He liked it, and he knew Abby was proud of it.

"I made copies of every drawing so the parents could see them," You continued as you held out the picture for everyone to see. "So, tell me, would a bully do this?"

Your voice had a bite to it now, and he could finally see just how angry you were. He was surprised at how much control you were exerting. The other parents, however, were shocked at your sudden display of emotion. Even the woman, who had looked as though she was ready to take you on herself, looked like a deer caught in headlights. She didn't know what to say. No one said anything. Even he was shocked by your sudden outburst.

You were normally such a mellow person. Understanding, even. Always ready to listen, always ready to understand. You were the one who was there to help when something went wrong. You were the person who everyone turned to. You were… nice. You were a kind person. You were—you were just like Abby. That's all he saw in you now. You were just like his sister. You were just like her. You had that same determination and that same look of knowing something that others didn't, but there was also something else. You were a fighter, too. It was just something he hadn't noticed until this very moment.

You weren't the nice teacher everyone thought you were. No, you were more. You were the person he knew his sister was becoming.

"And to answer your question from before," you continued, ignoring the growing outrage from the other parent. "I'm a very patient woman because I understand that not everyone has the same opportunities. Some of us have a responsibility to provide the basic necessities for our family, which can often lead to not being able to attend these types of meetings.”

You looked directly at the woman when you spoke the last part, and you did not look happy. At all. In fact, he was pretty sure that was a little vein on the side of your head.

"Not everyone can be at their best every moment. Not everyone is at their best all the time. Not everyone has the privilege to complain about things not going their way. So, while I am a very patient woman, I will not have any of this derogatory about my students and their guardians." The calmness in your voice was gone, and your voice was rising, and you had started pacing back and forth behind your desk as you spoke. "Because if there is one thing that I cannot stand, it's someone who criticizes others just to make themselves feel better."

You went on to speak about your experience with the woman's daughter, explaining that a meeting needed to be called upon to address the issues with the child. You didn't stop there, though. No, you also spoke about how she should have addressed the situation when it was first brought up and how that, in turn, impacted the rest of your class. You had even pointed out some of the other parent's children who had done the same thing.

Suddenly, this meeting wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

It took a while, but once you finished your little speech, everyone had finally gotten over their shock and embarrassment. The meeting, as such, continued without incident, and by the time it was all said and done, Mike was ready to go home.

As he stood from his seat and made his way to the door, however, you stopped him. You had your bag in your hand and your coat on as well.

"I just wanted to—"

"You don't need to apologize," Mike cut you off. He didn't want an apology. He knew you weren't at fault here. In fact, he was surprised you took the time even to defend him. That didn't happen often. "I was expecting something like that to happen, but I appreciate you speaking up for Abby. She's got a good teacher."

He thought you would be embarrassed or even annoyed, but instead, your face lit up, and your cheeks turned red. "Oh, uh, well, it's my job. It was what I needed to do."

"Maybe, but you did it anyway. So, I appreciate it." He looked around the room and noticed everyone else had left. Even the nosy assistant had disappeared. He didn't know what to say, so he settled with saying the first thing that came to mind. "And hey, maybe next time you can tell them this is why I don't go to these meetings."

Your laugh was light, and you had a smile on your face. He liked the sound of it. He liked seeing it, too. He also liked the way it lit up your eyes. They had a beautiful color. So bright, so shiny. It was almost hypnotic.

"I'll consider it."

Mike wasn't sure how, but somehow, he knew you were telling the truth.

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 6 months

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Scared Half to Death | Bucky Barnes x reader

Hi! I haven't posted a fic in forever. School has been a nightmare.

I literally wrote this in under an hour lol it's very short and not my best. But I just wanted to get something kinda Halloween-y out there in time to celebrate!

🎃👻🎃👻🎃Happy Halloween! 👻🎃👻🎃👻

Warnings: blood, Bucky's anxiety, injury

Bucky pulled his hand from the doorknob with a disgusted expression. A thick, sticky substance coated his palm and dotted his fingers. He rolled his eyes at whichever small child had covered his door handle in candy residue while he was gone. But just as he tried to wipe the syrupy remnants on his jeans, the color caught his eye. The flash of red sent shockwaves through his system.

He’d stepped away from the apartment for just a few minutes, only long enough to replenish his candy supply for the next wave of trick-or-treaters. But in the short time that he was gone, something terrible- something violent- must’ve taken place.

He dropped the candy to the floor and struggled to yank his keys from the lock, his hands shaking with anxiety. And when he finally burst through the door of the apartment he shared with you, he only found more carnage.

Droplets of blood dotted the floor. They coagulated against the tile and wormed their way into the grout, staining it red. Bucky’s stomach turned. A leaden knot formed in his gut and weighed him down like an anchor. Where were you? Was this your blood? Were you hurt- were you dead?

He followed the gruesome path like a trail of breadcrumbs, fearing what he’d find at their end. Only a few hours ago, everything was perfect. He’d sat with you as you got dressed for your best friend’s Halloween party. He rested on the bed you shared and delighted in watching you dance around the room as you did your make up and put on your costume.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” you asked as you shimmied into your costume.

“I’m sure, baby. It’s not really my thing,” he shrugged. “You know how I am with big crowds. Plus, Halloween is a little weird for me. People dress as my friends-” He swallowed hard, “people dress as a version of me that I try not to think about… it’s just not for me.”

“Yeah…”

Silence filled the room. Guilt coursed through your body with each beat of your heart. Part of you itched to change out of your costume and forget the whole thing.

“You know, I don’t have to go-”

Bucky stood from the bed and made his way to your side, “Yes, you do.”

A stern expression crossed your face, “I really don’t. And I shouldn’t ditch you for a stupid party-”

“You’re not ditching me,” he said. “You love this party! You look forward to Kelly’s-” he paused, struggling to remember the name of the shindig. “What does she call it again? Her Creep-Tastic?”

You laughed, “Spook-tacular!”

“Right!” Bucky rolled his eyes at his attempt. “You look forward to her Spook-Tacular every year! And I’m not gonna let you miss it just because I don’t wanna go.” He took your face in his hands, careful not to mess up your make up. Never had anyone made him felt so loved, so cared for. You put him first at every turn, prioritizing his wellbeing and his mental health above all else. You sacrificed so much for him in the early stages of your relationship; the last thing he wanted was for you to miss out on the party you’d looked forward to for the last eleven months.

“Seriously, doll, I’m gonna be fine. I’ll hand out candy to the kids and watch some tv,” he shrugged. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

It wasn’t a trick or a test; Bucky didn’t secretly hope you’d choose him instead of the party. He only wanted you to be happy. And you knew he meant every word he said.

“Okay. Then tell me…” you did a quick spin, “how do I look?”

Bucky eyed you up and down, drinking in the neon pink and highlighter yellow leotard. The electric yellow kneepads. The pink visor. The bright yellow high-top sneakers.

“You look amazing, Barbie. You belong in the Dream House!”

Not soon after that, you left. He’d walked you to your Uber and made you promise to be safe. He’d told you that he loved you. And that was the last time he saw you.

Until now.

The trail of blood ended with you. Bucky discovered you sprawled on your back on the living room rug, your body soaked with blood. Smears of red coated your neck and stained your arms. Your clothes were saturated with gore. This Barbie didn’t belong in the Dream House; she belonged in a nightmare.

“Oh, god-” Bucky made his way to your side and sunk to his knees, breathless. “Baby, hey- can you hear me? Open your eyes, look at me-” His fingers traced your neck in search of a pulse, desperately scrounging for even a flutter of life.

And there it was- your pulse. You were still alive; your heart still managed to beat despite the blood loss.

But Bucky’s gratitude only lasted a moment. He still had to find your wound and stop the bleeding. He had to call 911. He had to keep your heart beating.

His hands scrounged across your abdomen in search of a stab wound or evidence of a gunshot. But just as he reached for your side, you made a sound.

Did he heard that right? Did you… giggle?

“Whaaaaaaat’re you doin’, Barnes?” you laughed. “Don’t tickle meeeee!”

Bucky’s gaze shot from your blood-soaked clothes to your face. “Baby?”

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Barbie!” you slurred, your face plastered with a smile. “Oh, nooooo- wait, you’re just Ken!” A fit of laughter exploded from your chest as you sang, “I’mmm juuuuust KEN! Anywhere elssssse, I’d beeee a TEN-” A sudden contemplative look banished your lighthearted spirit. “But you reeeeally are a ten, Buck… and I mean that.”

Bucky remained frozen. He was lost, confused. Were you woozy from blood loss? Or alcohol? Were you even hurt? Did you need an ambulance or a cold shower?

“Baby, are you hurt? Are you okay?” He took your face in his hands, “Why are you covered in blood?”

“Because this Barbie hugged her friend!”

A befuddled expression took over Bucky's face. "What?"

The room spun as you struggled to sit up. Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat; if you were hurt, you needed to lie down. You needed to stop moving and let him dress your wound. But you moved without wincing, without crying out in pain. Sure, you swayed from side to side just a little in your intoxicated state. But that was the worst of it.

“I huuuuuugged Kelly! But Kelly was aaactually Carrie! Y’know, the girl covered in pig’s blood,” you laughed. “It kiiiinda ruined my costume a little. Buut, now I look like Scary Barbie! So s’okay.”

A deep sigh of relief filled Bucky’s lungs. He rocked back off of his knees and plopped down onto his butt. His bloody hands covered his face. “Then what are you doing on the floor, sweetheart?”

“Sometiiiiimes… sometimes ya just gotta lay on the floor. Y’know?” You shrugged, “And I didn’t wanna get allllll the blood on the couch.”

He nodded.

"I guess I fell asleep for a hot sec," you shrugged. "I was just waiting on ya to get home."

Bucky did his best to regulate his breathing, to calm the aggressive tsunami of anxiety that drowned his every cell. His entire world came crashing down the moment he found you on the floor, and now, he had to put it back together.

“You okay, Buck? I came home early cause I missed yooou- I missed you sooooo much,” you placed a bloodied hand on his face. “But I didn’t mean to ruin your night to yourself. I’m sorry…”

“No, you didn’t ruin anything. It’s not that at all. It’s- baby, I thought…” he shook his head. “I thought you were hurt. I thought you were…” He didn’t want to finish his sentence.

“Ohhhhh no, I’m fine! I’m okay! I’m druuuunk…” you laughed, “But I’m okay!”

Bucky pulled you close, grateful that the blood clinging to your skin came out of a bottle. "I know that now, I'm just..." he took a deep breath. "It's just gonna take a minute for my body to catch up with my brain." He let his hand roam up and down your spine. He needed to feel you breathe, feel your voice vibrate against his palm. Seeing you like that- bloody and unresponsive- on the floor of the home you shared nearly scared him to death.

This wasn't the kind of Halloween scare that flooded your system with pins and needles and left you laughing. No, this stripped him of all breath, of all ability to think. It cut him to the bone.

He never wanted to imagine you getting hurt, about you getting killed. For him, losing your was a fate worse than death.

The two of you sat there together in the quiet calm as Bucky remembered how to breathe. He held onto you as tightly as he could without leaving bruises, and didn't care than you'd stained his white shirt with your gory mess.

“I’m glad you’re home, doll. And that you’re okay," he said after his heart returned to its normal pacing. "I just- I didn’t expect Bloody Barbie.”

You shrugged, “no one ever does.”

Bucky let out a loud laugh that echoed off the walls and made your heart flutter. “Alright, we need to clean you up and get you to bed, baby. I think we’ve both had enough Halloween shenanigans for the year.”

You allowed him to help you to your feet and guide you to the bathroom for a much needed shower. He was always there for you when you needed him, even without you asking. You knew he'd protect you, do anything for you- he'd even scrub fake blood from your nail beds.

"Buck?" you whispered as he helped you into bed.

"Yeah, baby?"

"You're soooo much better than Ken."

He knew it was a genuine, drunken compliment, but it nearly made him burst out laughing. "Thank you, doll. Yeah, I prefer Allan anyway."

"Saaaaaaame," you sighed, melting into your pillow.

Bucky tucked the covers around you and made sure your water was within reach. He placed a kiss to your forehead, once again thanking his lucky stars that you were home safe.

"Goodnight, Barbie."

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etaleah · 9 months

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What Is the Appeal of Sonadow?

I have a lot of thoughts about this ship, what draws people to it, and why some of the criticisms of it are exaggerated or less than honest. Putting them under a cut because it’s gonna get long.

First of all, the critique of “Lol why do people ship them when they beat the shit out of each other whenever they disagree on something, they’re abusive!” is dishonest framing for two reasons. One is that it ignores the fact that Sonic and Shadow are allies far more often than they’re enemies, and even when they are enemies, it’s usually over something serious, not just a minor disagreement. The other is that it’s bad media criticism to apply real human standards to a cartoon animal universe.

When you watch the classic Looney Tunes short where Bugs and Daffy are arguing over whether it’s Rabbit Season or Duck Season and Bugs tricks Daffy into shooting himself, do you see Bugs as abusive and evil? Probably not, because the laws of physics don’t apply in cartoons and Daffy getting shot in the face doesn’t actually hurt him. He’s still completely fine afterwards because he’s a cartoon and is therefore invincible. The same is true for Sonic and Shadow. Have you ever seen either of them seriously injured after one of their fights? Has either one ever needed to go to the hospital because the other beat him up so badly? No, of course not. They groan in pain for about two seconds and then they’re fine. If the creators wanted to convey them being injured, they could show bruises or blood or have bones snapping and the characters limping, but they don’t. The fights are never meant to be taken that seriously. I find this criticism every bit as annoying and overzealous as people who insist that Pinky and the Brain are abusive because Brain bops Pinky on the head. They’re cartoons, y’all. They’re not realistic, were never meant to be realistic, and shouldn’t be treated as realistic. Different standards apply.

To the second point, Sonic and Shadow don’t actually fight that often. In all the interactions they’ve had together, it’s only been a handful of times. They’re allies in the Archie comics, Sonic ‘06, the canon ending of Shadow the Hedgehog (they’re only enemies in that game if the player wants them to be), Sonic Forces, Team Sonic Racing, The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, and most of the IDW comics, along with the endings of Sonic X, Sonic Adventure 2, and Sonic Heroes. They’re allies for much of Prime as well. But hey, let’s break down the times they do fight:

Sonic Adventure 2: Shadow’s memories have been tampered with and he and Sonic are literally fighting over the fate of the world.

Sonic X: Same thing for season 2, and in season 3, they’re fighting over whether Cosmo should live or die. Sonic says killing her is wrong, Shadow says stopping the Metarex is what’s most important and if that means little Cosmo has to die, well, them’s the breaks, pal.

Sonic Prime: Sonic has broken their world, Shadow is trying desperately to save it, and Sonic is valuing the Shatterverse inhabitants over Green Hill.

IDW: Shadow says Eggman is too dangerous to leave alive and if that means Mr. Tinker has to die too, well, them’s the breaks, pal. Sonic says killing anyone is wrong no matter the reason.

You see a pattern here? Most of the time what they fight over is literally life and death. They’re not going at each other’s throats over petty bullshit like who gets the last slice of pizza or who gets to pick the film for Movie Night. They fight over serious moral differences. I would argue that Amy and Knuckles have gotten angry at Sonic for way less than what Shadow does.

Now, there are a few instances where their fights are stupid, namely Sonic Boom and Sonic Heroes. But I think it’s pretty universally agreed that Shadow is out of character in Boom, and honestly, all of the fights in Sonic Heroes are very forced. There was no reason for Team Dark or Team Rose to fight Team Chaotix; their goals don’t contradict each other in any way and it’s clearly just manufactured conflict to give the player another boss fight. And these are the exception; most of their fights are over serious ideological divides.

Those serious ideological divides are exactly what makes Sonadow so interesting. I personally prefer ships where characters can learn and grow from each other, where their differences can clash until they learn to reconcile them. I don’t find a ship like, say, Sonamy nearly as interesting because I don’t think there’s many (if any) moral stances Sonic would have that Amy wouldn’t. They already agree on the important things. I’m not bashing anyone who likes that ship; if that’s your thing, good for you. It just doesn’t appeal to me because I think Sonic and Amy already having a lot in common morally means they can’t really grow and change from interacting with each other in the same way.

Sonic can bring out the best in Shadow, teach him to trust others and lighten up and learn how to live in the moment rather than being tethered to the past. Shadow can teach Sonic how to think before he acts, to view the world more realistically, and to consider the impact that his insistence on moral purity will have on others. That setup makes for some amazing stories.

Also? These guys love fighting each other. They’re both athletes and very competitive. Look at how much they smile when they fight:

Like…they love this. It’s so much fun for them. Sonic and Shadow are both competitive athletes who love pushing themselves, but in terms of speed, no one is any competition for them except each other. No one else can beat either of them in a race. Imagine spending your whole life winning so easily that there was no accomplishment in it, and then suddenly this guy comes along who’s actually as good as you or maybe even better. Finally you have a challenge and can really enjoy the feeling of being the best. That’d be amazing. They give each other something no one else can, and to me, that’s what good romances are made of.

And all of that is combined with the fact that Sonadow offers an Odd Couple setup, which is always fertile ground for fun, comedic situations that require opposite characters to work together. Plus the Enemies/Rivals to Lovers aspect, which adds a bit of “forbidden fruit” to the mix because we all know that the most tempting and appealing relationships are the ones that are Forbidden (TM). That’s literally the premise of Romeo and Juliet, people who aren’t supposed to be together but end up wanting to be anyway.

I wouldn’t want Sonadow to be canon, but I definitely enjoy exploring it in fandom. It’s a fun ship that offers a lot for a writer or artist to work with. And while I would never force it on anyone, I wish the criticisms of it weren’t quite so shallow and disingenuous.

#it’s possible I missed a few bits because I haven’t played all the games #if so I’m sorry #it’s just not financially feasible to play all of them ya know #sonadow #sonic the hegehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic prime #sa2 #sa2b #sonic games #shipping dynamics #sonic heroes

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brittle-doughie · 4 months

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Infinity and Beyond - Looking Into The Sweet Signals from Space Update!

We’re finding the imposters among us with this one!

The aim of this concept is to have it be a multi-update deal akin to the Dragons storyline with how they say “like the dragon series, we’re diving into a story set in a rich, expansive universe”. This peaked my interest, I’d love to see what they have in store! I know there are some folks who like or don’t like the Dragons story, so I wonder what you all think of this!

Meet Astronaut Cookie! She’s cute, has an ice cream sandwich satellite for a pet, even has a cat cookie motif with her costume? What more could you want! Yeah, her skill might be a bit too reminiscent of Cyborg’s (who also got a skin after 84 years lol), but I’m willing to look past that.

Alright, I’m kind of vibing with the setting already, cookies are probably toothpaste, wonder if they clean your teeth when eaten. How does one “escape” or even fortify against a blackhole? The event itself sounds similar to the Sugar Maze event to me…in a way somehow. Wait, why is Stollen Cookie here?Also Planet H A M B O R G A R

I’m now getting Star Wars: Rogue One flashbacks. Just like Cyborg, it’s been 84 years since he got attention, so I’m happy to see he got a cool skin to deck himself out with!

The Surprise Bears. They can either go well or go very poorly, still means I don’t have to run over and over again for the god damn legendary ingredients. However, I do hope the challenges aren’t meant to be a cap in any way, since that already drags it down when you were able to AFK for hours beforehand, even if it sucked. Team Fight getting a gem boost might give me more incentive to play.

(Gmod flatline sound effect plays)

The Deal with Legendaries is canceled, y’all /j. I can’t keep up with their pace, bro. I’m over here trying to write it from time to time and they already have another one on the way, I’m dead. Xylitol Nova himself is getting flak for having a supposedly dull design unworthy of the rarity, I’m already seeing it in the QRTs on Twitter lol. For me, I’ll wait until I cast judgment, he has a pretty cool skin though…

———————————————————————

(Astronaut Cookie looked all around her new setting, seeing the city’s sleek, clean, futuristic design she hasn’t seen much of back on Earthbread. The cookies here didn’t look all that different too, save for their ingredients being possibly toothpaste in some capacity. She was caught staring at this one cookie in particular, she observed them inspecting the shield and instructing the robots to different spots close to the barrier, Xylitol Nova Cookie chuckled at her once he noticed.)

Xylitol Nova Cookie: Ah, I see you’ve taken an interest in one of my cookies. That would be Xylitol Y/N Cookie, they’re in charge of making sure the barrier is in peak performance, they’ve been hard at work ever since we’ve seen reports of the blackhole.

(Xylitol Nova walked over to them as Astronaut followed. Meanwhile, you were instructing both cookies and robots alike on the status of the barrier, making sure that no fault in any way was detected. Until the voice of someone very familiar to you called your name..)

Xylitol Nova Cookie: Hello, Xylitol Y/N Cookie. How are you doing?

(You greeted Xylitol Nova in return and proceeded to ramble on about the barrier. You did your best at trying to speak to him, but couldn’t ignore that cookie next to him staring at you. It also looked like Xylitol Nova wasn’t taking your analysis seriously with that smile of his, something that bothered you to no end!)

Xylitol Nova Cookie: How routine of you, Xylitol Y/N Cookie. Always thinking about the barrier when we haven’t had any issues in the past couple rotations. We have a guest here today and I’d like for you to meet her-

(You couldn’t, you had to inspect the rest of the barrier-when Xylitol Nova Cookie suddenly hugged you from behind with a strong grip, a scene that made Astronaut Cookie feel…envious. You complained and grumbled as you try fruitlessly to free yourself)

Xylitol Nova Cookie: Xylitol Y/N Cookie. You are taking a break from now until further notice, I’d hate to use my authority on you, but this is for your own good. Feel free to interact with your fellow cookies, come and see me in my residence, or even introduce yourself to our guest here~! (I’d prefer you pick the second option in my opinion)

(You continued to struggle until it felt tighter to move, you looked to your front to see Astronaut Cookie hugging you from the front, her head resting on your chest. You swear she’s…shaking a little bit?)

Xylitol Nova Cookie: What do you know? Even our visitor is agreeing with me, she appears to have taken a liking to you too.

(…Who was this?)

#brittle speaks #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #cookie run ovenbreak x reader #crob x reader #crob #astronaut cookie #xylitol nova cookie #cookie run update

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ascendanttarot · 8 months

Text

PAC: Reassuring Messages From The Universe

Hi everyone! I have a feeling some people may need a pick-me-up at the moment hence why I made this reading. I think this may be my longest reading so far! There will be signs listed before to ensure the message is for you. If you resonate with one or more signs, that is meant to be your reading. At the end, each pile will also have a quote and channelled song to listen to that resonates with your reading. The specific lyrics that I heard are listed below the title. :)

Please remember your fate is not set in stone so your answers may change depending on the actions you take and will take if you please. Tarot is not a substitute for professional advice. The images I’ve used are not mine.

From left to right, Pile 1, 2 & 3.

Pile 1

Signs:

You may be a Lana Del Rey fan, or at least have one of her songs be your one of your favourite songs

You may be really creative. Specifically, I see most of you here are artists because I just saw an image of someone’s hand covered in paint like a make-shift palette to find the right colour, or someone wiping away excess paint on their skin

You may be left-handed. To be honest, this kind of relates back to the art thing because I just heard someone swearing because their pencil sketches were smudged by their hand again lol

You are a ride-or-die friend. I’m not picking up any signs that the people who picked this pile could be ‘low maintenance friends’ because all I could feel was a loyal and passionate heart, particularly towards their friends

Okay this is an odd message but some of you here are DEHYDRATED, like you’re not even thirsty anymore this is beyond that. Please drink some water if you haven’t at all today

Back to music here, but do some of you spend hours making playlists? I just saw someone using a lot of their free time to curate playlists. I even saw some of you here like making playlists for specific people

Another weird message here but I just smelled crayons, so I’m interpreting this in a few different ways: you may be connected to your inner child, or you may work with children/have plans to work with children, or you would like to be a parent/are a parent

Your Cards: The Emperor, Knight of Cups rx, Page of Wands rx, Justice rx, The Star, 10 of Pentacles

Your Reading:

Okay, the first thing I heard while looking at these cards were the words, “Lost time” and I think that sums up half of your reading quite well.

The cards show that at the beginning of this particular situation, you felt like you were fully in your power. A very Mars-dominant energy to be in, or an Aries energy to be in wherein you felt like you could take on anything. It’s like this was a time when your confidence was at an all-time high about yourself, but also about something. For most of you, this ‘something’ was a project. For some of you, this could be a relationship. The point is, this was something in your life you felt was given to you like you’ve waited for this and finally you’ve got it, but that hope didn’t last.

As we moved on, I felt heavy feelings of frustration. Like you were ready to spring into action but something or someone else was telling you to wait, like they were stringing you along. At the back of your mind, you knew you were being taken advantage of, but you decided to stick with it anyway. I just heard, “It’s worth it.” So maybe this was something you wanted for so long that you felt like you had to stick to it because you couldn’t see how another opportunity could be better than this. I’m really sensing this was a career move for some of you here. Maybe some of you were promised a promotion but you didn’t get it. Maybe some of you were given false hope by a higher-up that this project idea of yours would be taken seriously, but you just had to wait for the right time.

And these people kept giving you excuses. If this were a relationship, I could sense that maybe this was someone who you thought would be ready to fully commit to a relationship, but they never ended up being mature enough to make that decision. It could even be a platonic relationship, and this person wanted you and them to be more casual friends, but you were ready to be a ride-or-die as I’ve stated in the signs above. The overwhelming feeling here is that you got the shorter end of the stick.

But, of course, this doesn’t last. The universe is trying to tell you that if you were broken down before and were able to build yourself back up again, then you can do that now. For most of you, I feel you’ve already left this situation and are worried that this was a mistake, and that you shouldn’t have left in the first place, but the cards are saying otherwise.

Your hope was burned out because of what you’ve gone through. You’ve sacrificed your hope and your sense of self, but the next chapter of your life won’t ask you to do that anymore. If anything, this new chapter will nurture all of those traits you have always felt were intrinsically part of who you are.

If this were a relationship, you’d probably take a break from dating for a while, but your friendships will be a cornucopia of love and support, with new and old friends alike. If this was a job or project, a new opportunity will not only cause success, but stable success. The universe is giving you the new direction you need. “One door closes so the other one opens.”

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 1!

Your Channelled Song: Let The Light In by Lana Del Rey and Father John Misty

“Put the Beatles on, light the candles, go back to bed”

“Put the TV on and the flowers in a vase, lie your head”

“Ooh, let the light in

At your back door yelling 'cause I wanna come in

Ooh, turn your light on

Look at us, you and me back at it again”

Pile 2

Signs:

You may be a blunt and direct person, and you may have even gotten in trouble for this in the past. Really, I could sense you’re just a BS detector. I also saw someone rolling their eyes and saying “C’mon, talk to me straight I’ve got things to do!” haha!

I just heard ‘homebody’, so I feel like plenty of introverts have picked this pile!

You may be the sarcastic, unintentionally funny friend. If you know you know. But to specify I saw someone in a group setting saying something like “I hate half of the people in this room/I didn’t want to go—I got dragged here by my friends, please don’t talk to me” and someone laughing because they didn’t think you were serious (You were)

You’ve got a dry/witty sense of humour when you do try to make a joke intentionally, but either no one gets it, or it may be a touch too dark for their taste (Nothing problematic though!)

I got tempted to swear so many times writing out these signs so you may swear a lot. Like sometimes, if you’re in a professional environment you may find it difficult to filter out your words because of how automatic it is for you

I also feel like you’re really articulate. The first word I actually thought to describe your humour was ‘sardonic’ and I wasn’t even sure what that word meant so I can guarantee you that did not come from my mind (Yes, I had to Google the meaning)

For astrological signs, you may have Scorpio and/or Virgo in your chart. Possibly a stellium. With how active your mind is coming through in this reading and how much communication is highlighted in this section, I would not be surprised if your dominant planet is Mercury, or if you have many aspects involving that planet in your chart

Your Cards: The Hermit rx, 2 of Cups, 5 of Swords, 2 of Swords rx, King of Wands

Your Reading: Pile 2, please don’t get mad, but when I opened up to your energy, I was expecting a different message than what I delivered right now. I was ready to get serious, to go into deep waters and dive face first. But when I saw the cards… I may or may not have audibly giggled.

Not in a bad way! Hear me out before you scroll, I promise I’m saying this with the same fondness as a best friend, but pile 2, I know you’ve been in hermit mode for a while and are very comfortable staying there, but the universe isn’t really going to let that slide. For most of you, I could see you not wanting to go out but being pushed to do so by a friend. For some of you, you’ve even been convinced by some of your close friends to go on blind dates or new places to meet people in general, and you go but you really don’t want to.

The message here is clear: You’re going to meet someone new. For most of you, this will be a romantic partnership. For my aromantic folks or my readers who are simply not at all interested in romance, this will be a platonic relationship. Whatever this is, I could specifically see one person here coming out of nowhere and earnestly offering you love or friendship with respectful persistence, you wouldn’t even know what to do with them at first. I think a lot of you here have closed yourself off, not to your pre-existing close relationships, but to new people. This person is going to test that wall you’ve built around yourself and despite how much you try to intimidate them, they are not going away. Think of someone with ‘golden retriever’ vibes, which is funny because as I was tapping into your energy I got ‘black cat’ vibes from you. (I just heard, “The Arthur to my Merlin” and “The Gwen to my Morgana” whether platonically or romantically doesn’t matter, but wow, do I have some Merlin fans/old Merlin viewers in this pile)

In all seriousness though, I don’t think you have this boundary up for no reason. I’m seeing a very specific message of someone in the past that you used to trust no longer being in your life because they’ve done you wrong. This could possibly even be a betrayal of trust? Like you told them a secret, but they shared it with one person, and it quickly spread through word-of-mouth. The severing of that relationship was as fast as the betrayal done by the other person.

This made you more guarded towards newer people in your life. But also, I could see this even had a domino effect making you wary of new experiences and environments too because you’re scared you’ll meet a new person that way. The universe is saying this past relationship has clouded your judgment and will cloud your judgment when you meet this new person. What you don’t realise is that this person could actually be good for you if you take a chance. Some of you may be worried about co-dependency. The universe is actually saying that a relationship like this will actually make you more independent, and this is because this person is emotionally mature enough to actually commit. They’ll give, you’ll take. You’ll give, they’ll take. It feels like two people who genuinely see each other as equals, and therefore respect each other as such. Their commitment and genuine belief in you will make you a more confident person in the future, but more importantly, you’ll be bolder in your choices in life. You’ll grow to have a brave heart that other people will appreciate in you, and that you’ll appreciate in yourself. “Fortune favours the bold.”

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 2!

Your Channelled Song: King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men

“We won’t run, and we won’t run, and we won’t run”

“I’ll be here to hold your hand”

“'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart”

Pile 3

Signs:

Your sun sign may be an earth sign or an air sign. I also feel like some people who picked this pile may be a Leo rising or have a Leo Midheaven, but more on the Leo rising actually

I feel like some of you here may have curly hair

You may be a part of the LGBTQIA+ community

You prefer winter palettes over lighter and pastel colours for your clothes. I’m not getting a specific style but the colours here are striking. Either an all-black outfit but with the same shade of black making you appear more put together, or someone wearing jewel-toned colours like emerald green or a very striking purple

You may like wearing statement pieces. I saw this image of you in someone else’s point of view, admiring a watch you always wear or commenting on how they know you’ve just been in the room because they smelled your perfume. Picture this, someone walks into an office and just says, “Was pile 3 here—actually, you don’t need to answer that I know they were here.” And the other person who doesn’t know you getting really confused so they clarify by saying, “Oh, I know they were here because they’re the only one in this building that wears (insert fragrance here)”

Some of you here may have a ritual of listening to music in the morning while you’re getting ready to hype yourself up. All genres are coming up right now, (No, seriously. It went from Gangsta’s Paradise to successful by Ariana Grande songs to It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'N' Roll)) but what unifies these songs together is that it’s there to put you in a good mood in the morning

You may be interested in working for yourself by either starting a new business or working your way to the top. Highly ambitious energy coming from this pile, but in all the best ways possible; it makes your energy infectious. Yes. That word specifically. Just a really great energy to be around

Your Cards: 5 of Wands, 3 of Pentacles, 8 of Swords, High Priestess, The Star (clarified by 3 of Cups)

Your Reading:

Okay, I want to preface this reading by saying that this pile feels similar to pile 1. You may not have had the same circumstances, but the arc is similar, so if you are attracted to pile 1, feel free to read it as a supplementary reading after this.

There’s a very clear energy here that you may have had a falling out with people in your life. This could be a group of co-workers, friends, or even family members. There was chaos surrounding your previous situation and you felt like people were constantly at each other’s throats. If it was not as aggressive as this, it is possible that at the very least you were in an environment you did not feel safe. I think these people showed their true colours, so to speak, and it made you realise how you shouldn’t have trusted certain individuals involved. The thing is though, I can feel you being an outsider in this situation. Like from the start of all of this, you made it clear to everyone you did not want to get involved. I literally just heard, “Get over yourself.” from this pile, so maybe some of you here may even feel that people were blowing up a whole pile of nothing, and/or that they all needed to act more maturely about the situation. I also feel like one person may have taken something personally when they shouldn’t and that could’ve made you particularly frustrated because you felt this person missed the point completely.

I could see that you tried providing counsel to try to smooth things out, but no one listened. This was your last straw. You left or will leave this situation and the universe applauds you for doing so. I think a lot of people in this situation had a victim complex. This is not a judgment on them, it’s simply a message that they have a lot of unhealed wounds they need to work on. You didn’t stand by this though, and this led to you making your boundaries clear and cutting yourself off completely. For some of you, this may be a temporary situation (I heard, “Fix this or don’t bother coming back.”) but for most of you, this may be a temporary step away from these people.

The universe saw that you trusted your gut and left and are rewarding you as such. I think you have a logical mind and are not used to making decisions intuitively, but this all happened because you did what felt right, and this show of trust is going to lead to positive effects.

For the people who picked this pile, I’m getting a strong message that your intuition is a muscle, and that’s true for most people but it’s especially true for yourself. I think you’ll be asked to make more quick decisions in the next phase of your life, Some decisions have larger consequences than others, but most will be small and trivial decisions such as, “Which café should I visit today?”. Before you might’ve picked the familiar or logical option, but now you’re allowing more spontaneity in your life, and this may even surprise you a little bit. I just heard one of your friends saying, “But you always go there!” and seeing you shrug before saying, “Well, I’m in the mood to try something new.”

This will reward you with a new sense of self. The 3 of cups traditionally has a more social meaning, like friends who see each other as equals coming together to celebrate, but for you, I could see this as different sides of yourself finally living in harmony with one another. With all of that stress gone, you’ll finally have the chance to recognise how deeply complex and interesting you are, and you’ll do so with an acceptance you may have not known you needed. “To know myself is to love myself.”

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 3!

Your Channelled Song: “New Person, Same Old Mistakes” by Tame Impala

“I can just hear them now

"How could you let us down?"”

“Two sides of me can't agree”

“Feel like a brand new person… I don’t care I’m in love”

#pick a card #pac #pick a pile #tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #divination #spirituality #witchcraft #witchblr #witches of tumblr #messages from the universe

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 25 days

Note

S/O says

" I know what you did..."

They meant it jokingly but what would the Skeletons reaction

Main 10 plz

Undertale Sans - He shrugs. Then out of nowhere takes out your favorite food item he stole in the fridge and eats it right in front of you. What? You said you know what he did. He's helping to make the proofs go poof.

Undertale Papyrus - And no one can prove it because he has a cute baby face, too bad for you. ... Wait, what? What did he do? Papyrus? Papyrus, what have you done?! The Tumblers need to know, come back here!

Underswap Sans - He looks behind, confused. Who are you even talking to? Him? He did nothing wrong, silly. What do you think he did? You said he's under arrest for being cute. He smiles like a shark and tells you to go arrest him yourself, before sprinting for his life. Good luck to catch him now.

Underswap Papyrus - He gives you the confused sad puppy eyes. He doesn't know what he did, but if he did it, he's going to look as pathetic as possible so you don't stay mad at him. He's good at this.

Underfell Sans - Ah crap. He sighs loudly and takes out a notebook with preconceived apologies in case he did something but doesn't know what he did. He starts to read them one by one and stares at you to gauge your reaction lol.

Underfell Papyrus - He gasps, offended! Him? He did nothing wrong! Why? What did YOU do? You wouldn't ask him that if you didn't do something! He's using reverse psychology on you, it's very effective! Now you're confused if you did something or not????

Horrortale Sans - He pretends he didn't hear you and that he forgot what he did before (even if he has actually no idea what he did???) and quickly runs outside to pet the cows or something, acting like nothing happened. If he doesn't remember why you're mad at him, you can't be mad at him. Elemental logic.

Horrortale Papyrus - He high pitched screams and quickly hides what he's holding behind his back out of habit. Don't do this! You're going to give him a soul attack! He's simply cleaning the floor, you can't do that to people!

Swapfell Sans - He tells you that it's not his blood and that the body is taken care of. You look at him confused. What body? He looks suddenly very sweaty. ... No, but seriously, what body???

Swapfell Papyrus - He sighs and opens his jacket. About thirty rubber chickens fall on the ground. He then realizes you were actually not serious. Well, shit. You ruined his prank, are you proud of yourself? He stomps away, falsely upset.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He immediately gets defensive, and screams that he doesn't know what you're talking about, before realizing you're messing with him. Ah, ah, very funny. He hisses at you, leaves the room and gives you the cold shoulder for the rest of the day lol.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He looks at you like a kicked puppy and opens his mouth. A dozen chamallows are stuck in it and he can't get them out... Help... You sigh. God dammit, Coffee.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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spicywhenspeaking · 3 months

Text

Bad Omens Valentine’s Day Headcanons ❤️

These are all just my made up little ideas about how the version of them that lives on my mind palace would act! Not at all meant to be taken seriously:)

Under the cut

Noah Sebastian:

makes a home cooked meal

buys flowers from a local florist

Words of affirmation and quality time and physical touch

Gifts expensive chocolate assortment in a heart shaped box

has a record playing when you get home from work

Prays to every god that you’re wear the red lingerie set that makes drives him crazy

Writes a very sappy note in the card he got you and gets an intense blush when you read it

You share a bottle of red wine or a mocktail

You end up going out to see a movie spontaneously but sit in the back row so you can make out

Nicholas Ruffilo:

Believes Valentine’s Day is a corporate holiday but makes you a handmade card with a beautiful note inside

Words of affirmation and quality time

Orders your favorite food on Uber eats

Gifts you comfy new pajamas and expensive skin care that he knows you like but don’t buy offer for yourself

You two split an edible and watch horror movies and eat dinner on the couch

Buys all the Valentine’s Day themed gummy snacks for you to share

End up high and playing a card game but forgetting the rules and laughing so hard you get dizzy for a second and hold onto each other for support

Clumsily climb up the stairs after each other and flop into bed in a cuddled mess arms and legs tangled up together.

Nick Folio:

Loves Valentine’s Day so much

Lots of physical touch and gift giving

Buys you a new Valentine’s Day stuffed animal every year

Gets you an edible arrangement and 12 dozen red roses delivered to your office/job/apartment

Wants to kiss you all day and remind you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you

Appreciates a gift in return (lol) and he gets teary eyed when he reads the note you put in his card

Rents a hotel room for the weekend and went before to decorate with rose petals

You get drunk on champagne together and take a bubble bath

He brought bath paints so you end up making a fun game out of drawling on each others skin until the water runs cold and you dry off and head to bed ;)

Jolly Karlsson:

Very romantic and treats you like a queen

Lots of words of affirmation and affection

Breakfast in bed with homemade pancakes and omelet

Has the whole day planned for you

Takes a cute picture for his instagram to make a sappy post about how much he loves you

Coffee shop date at y’all’s favorite place

Picks out your outfit for dinner including the new lingerie he bought you

Fancy reservations at a nice restaurant

Wants to hold your hand across the table all night

Buys an expensive bottle of wine

Buys you nice ethical jewelry

Ubers home to be responsible

Wants to dance in the candle light when you get home

bad omens Taglist: @cookiesupplier

#jolly karlsson #noah sebastian #bad omens #nick folio fluff #Noah Sebastian fluff #nicholas ruffilo #Nicholas ruffilo fluff #jolly karlsson fluff #bad omens fluff #nick folio #bad omens headcanons #badomenscult

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showtoonzfan · 9 months

Note

Any thoughts on the pitch bible for HB?

I remember seeing it a long while ago and holy shit it was such an embarrassment lol, I cannot believe she actually wrote all that and showed it to studios/other people. It’s screams edge-lord galore and she clearly has no idea how to create a pitch bible, or at least create something studios would be interested in.

This goes for how she describes the characters too, I rest my case when I said that she had no idea on what she wanted in store for the characters cause she only saw them as one thing, but it also shows how she clearly wanted this show to be about edgy assassins and nothing else. Blitz is the crazy goofy boss who “loves his employees deep down”, Millie is the killing machine wife, Moxxie is the straight man guns expert, and Loona is LITERALLY described as a “lazy bitch”, (man Viv, you really know how to tell people which character is your favorite and which isn’t) but yeah this show was NEVER meant to be taken seriously and it especially shows since Stolas isn’t even included in this pitch Bible, bro was never supposed to be a main character.

I will say the only thing I wish we could have gotten was the old premise regarding Blitz. Beforehand he was basically obsessed with the fact that he never killed this mysterious target from his past that would have caused him a more successful life had he did, and it was also the only thing that got under his skin. While this is very vague, I would have 100% preferred THIS storyline rather than the shitty soap opera rip-off version of Bojack Horseman that we have today.

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #reply #ask

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psithurista · 10 months

Text

approach shift pt. nine

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x

series masterlist

The back of your head is torturously itchy.

You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap.

It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.

“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”

She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside.

It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.

“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.

He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor. How are you?”

He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”

You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”

You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.

He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”

You stare at him. “You. What?”

He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”

You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.  

Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.

“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”

You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability.

But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing.

He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.” His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”

You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius.

“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”

Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”

“Well, yes.”

He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“Uh.”

You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”

He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”

You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking.

“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.

“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”

You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”

“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”

You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”

She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”

She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.”

It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.

You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.

He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles.

He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.

“My phone was—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”

His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”

Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers.

He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”

You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken.

He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just want you to know—”

“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”

His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”

It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.

“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”

He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”

You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.

His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”

You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”

He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”

“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”

“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.

You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful.

Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”

You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”

Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”

“Does anyone else?”

His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”

“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”

He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”

You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”

You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”

He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”

Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”

“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”

“What about the, uh, pattern?”

“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”

The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”

He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”

“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”

The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer.

He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline.

Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.

“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper.

He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.  It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.  “Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified.   “It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”

“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”

That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”

“I can’t ask you—"

“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“

“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”

“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”

“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”

He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“

You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”

This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt.

All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch.

He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"

“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap.

You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing.

His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.

You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.

“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him.

You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you.

He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.

You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.

You slump your weight against him.

Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.

“Peter,” you murmur.

“Mmm.”

“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”

He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”

“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”

“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”

“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"

“Yeah, yeah, okay—"

“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours.

Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest.

You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.

It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.

He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”

You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.

You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.

He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”

He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”

He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”

There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”

You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”

He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”

“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.

He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”

He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”

“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles.

He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”

You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”

You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.

#peter parker x f!reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x f!reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!spiderman x reader #tasm fanfic #tasm fanfiction #tasm imagine #peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter fanfiction

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indieyuugure · 10 months

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Hi I love your art it has so much emotion and detail! But I was wandering if the turtles from 2018 will learn about the 2012 love interests, and what would be their reactions?

Thank you! I try my best to put as much raw emotion into the pictures as possible!

So the Donnie-April-Casey love triangle disaster has been brought up a few times in the comic (mostly as a joke)

The first time it’s brought up is Colliding Worlds part 2, where the Donnies find Rise Leo, 12 Casey and April. Donnie and Casey throw each other’s their favorite insults (Gap Tooth and Cave Mouth) hinting at the tension between them and April. Leo and Donnie definitely acknowledge the tension as Rise Donnie then says:

“Not to intrude on your conversation that is apparently of extreme importance, but perhaps we could pick this up any other time!?”

The next time their love triangle is mentioned is in Eye of the Storm Part 2, where if you look closely you can see this interesting little scene while the others are recapping the book so far.

Later in Eye of the Storm part 3, you can see that Rise Casey has taken notice to the 12 Casey and Donnie’s tense relationship.

He asks why Casey and Donnie dislike each other so much, but is cut off with a harsh “No.”

A few pages after, Rise Casey sees 12 Casey flirting with April and Donnie walking in very upset. Rise Casey sees what’s going on a puts it together out loud, to which 12 Raph says:

“‘Love Triangle’ makes it sound so romantic. It’s more like what happens when you add water to hot oil.”

And of course in the most recent update, you see while the 12 boys are hugging it out, Casey and April flirt, April asking “What’cha thinking about Jones?” And Casey delivering the corniest one liner, “A red and yellow sunset.” (Give Casey a break, his two brain cells worked really hard to think that one up!)

As for Leo, There’s some scrapped dialogue from Retribution Part 1 where the Leo-Karai debacle was going to be brought up.

As you some of you probably noticed, Rise Leo is accidentally quoting Karai. In some of the ideas for the dialogue, it looked something like this:

R!Leo: You always talk to yourself when you’re alone?

12Leo: Ka-L-Leo? *sigh* Gosh you sound like my sister…

R!Leo: Wait! You have a sister!?

12Leo: uh…well um, it‘s…kinda complicated…

Later on the next page:

12Leo: thanks…I…I needed that…

R!Leo: Hey! I’m just returning the favor! But, by the way, you seem really awkward talking about your sister, you didn’t like accidentally fall in love with her because she was adopted by your enemy and so thought she wasn’t related to you and you thought she’s super hot, right?

12Leo: … … …

R!Leo: WHAT!? Wait Seriously!? That was like the stupidest thing I could come up with!! Ohmigosh that’s priceless! What’s she like? Is she super into martial arts? Is she hot? Is she-

12Leo: I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!

R!Leo: *snicker-snicker* (so he still likes her, lol)

As for Raph’s relationship with Mona Lisa, I’ve posted this concept Art before, but I’ll post it again. Mona was meant to appear earlier(probably somewhere in Corrupted Logic) however, that was scrapped, and while I would like to put her in later, I don’t think it would work.

I do, however plan on doing some shorts that’ll go in the back of the comic, much like the holiday specials I’ve done and the Behind the Scenes Potty Mouths short. I really REALLY love Ramona and I think if any of the ships get a special, it’s that one.

Mikey and Renet or Shinigami(whichever you were thinking of I guess) haven’t been mentioned at all. I don’t plan on either of them showing up or it really being mentioned at all. Sorry Mike.

The vast majority of the romance(what little there is) in the comic, is played out in the background, as I don’t want it to take the stage as the main focus. The plot is not about the Donnie-April-Casey love triangle or whatever the heck is going on with Leo and Karai, it’s about the turtles defeating the Krang and learning to work with their counterparts and be a better team along the way. So sorry if it’s a little hard to spot/doesn’t exist in the canon, lol

Good question! :]

#rise of the parallel #tmnt #ninja turtles #q&a

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itsclydebitches · 3 months

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The amount of times RWBY wants us to feel scared for the safety of characters while conveniently forgetting Aura exists is staggering. Neo attacks Ruby with the intent to kill but her Aura is still active. James almost shoots Marrow with the intent to kill but his Aura is still active. Watts hacks an Atlesian Knight to run towards Qrow, Robyn and the Ace Ops with the intent to explode but their Auras are still all active. Sure the attacks would hurt like hell but they're not gonna kill, why should I fear for their safety?

If we're being generous (I'm having a good night lol) I suppose we could read moments like James vs. Marrow as shocking not because it would be a one-shot death sentence, but because he's threatening - in general - to take Marrow down. Sort of the equivalent of an IRL person raising their fists. Is that an immediate threat to the person's life? No. Are you making it clear that you're willing to fight over this while also ambiguously leaving it open how far you're willing to take things? Yeah.

You're right though, too often RWBY relies on average action threats (a pistol, an explosion, etc.) to raise the stakes without taking into account that none of that should be very scary to our protagonists. Not until their aura breaks (and we have no sense of when that will happen, despite them all supposedly carrying Scrolls to tell them. Which I get because if RWBY introduced clear thresholds of when aura breaks they'd have to actually abide by that rule). I feel the same way about characters about to fall: Ruby hanging off the airship with Neo, Ruby hanging off the cliff while fighting Cordovin, Ruby and Oscar both going down in an airship. The very first technique we're shown is a landing strategy, so how is falling from a massive height - even while taking into account other factors like, say, snagging the farm boy who never went to Huntsmen school and might need to use you as a personal parachute - meant to be taken as a serious threat?

In this regard the void of Volume 8 is actually a GREAT idea. Suddenly your landing strategy doesn't mean a thing if you have nowhere to land. Suddenly a single hit can be a threat. Not because the hit itself would seriously hurt you, but because it might knock you off the edge. I actually love the concept of Yang falling at the start of that fight, RWBY just did such a horrific job of executing it that there's nothing left for me to enjoy. Why does Yang panic like that when, as established, a single hit from Neo is not going to kill Ruby, or even seriously hurt her? Why is she jumping in front of her sister at all when the entire POINT (supposedly) of her Volume 3+ arc was to learn fight smarter, rather than relying on emotional impulsivity? (I will seriously never be over how that moment is an exact repeat of Yang trying to save Blake and yet the show doesn't seem to realize that.) Why does only Blake have a reaction to Yang "dying"? Why didn't the whole team of talented fighters with various ranged weaponry/magic/speed make a serious attempt to catch her?

All of this isn't even taking into account how Yang, as someone who powers up via taking hits, should consistently be standing her ground like she did against the mech, knowing her aura will not only save her, but give her an advantage. She's the tank. If Yang had gotten in front of Ruby with a confident, calm expression that conveyed her understanding that Neo can't one-shot her aura like Adam once did, taking the hit both to spare Ruby's aura and power her semblance as a strategic decision (give her a smirk and a taunting line like, "Thanks for the boost" before knocking Neo back), then later falls some other way after her team tries and fails to save her... that would have been so much better imo.

Yang's lack of engagement with her semblance has been especially frustrating for me after her line about how Adam "cheats." If Yang thinks it sucks that she has to take a beating to gain an edge... show her actually taking a beating to gain an edge. You know, like the show once did. It would be so badass to watch Yang getting in the way of all the attacks against her team, toeing the line between safety and breaking her own aura, before finally EXPLODING with a massive attack she's been saving up for, making that sacrifice worth it.

(Also potentially devastating if she's taking those hits with turning the tide in mind... but then she falls before she can see her plan through.)

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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sgt-seabass · 1 year

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Hey Ambs!

Drabble request!

Being Dark Daddy Lloyd’s good little puppy…

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆

✧˚ · . 𝘓𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺.

pairing — lloyd hansen x puppy!reader w/c — 1.9k (i thought this would be under 1k. i was wrong) this is a dark fic. 18+ only. warnings — puppy!reader, dark mean lloyd (but that's canon so lol), implied smut, butt plug tail, puppy ears, collar, lead, referenced kidnapping, referenced stokholm syndrome, pet play, referenced punishment, violence and murder (not towards lloyd or reader), kinda victim blaming if you squint but it's just lloyd being a dick on purpose cause he wants a reason to punish his pet. a/n — you know me too well lmao. okay this was seriously meant to be a drabble but now it's almost 2k whoops. i guess pet play just does that too me. i hope you enjoy and i did lloyd justice! not beta read, all mistakes and shit are mine.

Sometimes life kicks you while you’re down.

Or sometimes, you just get kidnapped by Lloyd Hansen for the world’s biggest fuck you.

The various televisions on the mansion wall do little to interest you. It’s just another operation, one of many that Lloyd runs from his secluded safehouse. It wasn’t home. Nothing was cosy about the intricate and obnoxious crown moulding or various paintings scattered about.

It was all a façade, much like Lloyd himself.

He put on the act that he was better than everyone else, that his skills and intelligence made him superior, but that was all bullshit.

At the end of the day, he was just as desperate for love and attention as much as the next person.

Lloyd had taken you the same day he’d sighted you working at your aunt’s café. You weren’t sure what he saw in you, but it was clear he had some interest by the way he fucked you in the car before you even got back to his safehouse.

He was ravenous. If he didn’t have his job, you had no doubt he’d spend every minute of the day fucking you over every surface.

Giving up your life was hard. Becoming Lloyd’s puppy was harder.

He didn’t want a partner; he wanted a pet. A doting little thing to follow him around. And while that wasn’t you at first, the punishments Lloyd would hand out made sure you became it quickly.

At this stage, Lloyd’s contractors had seen you humiliated, suspended naked or spanked raw. Lloyd loved to string you up and leave you to be a nice addition to the paintings in the room.

But what he loved most was you sitting at his feet. Being on your knees so much had hurt at first, but you’d grown used to it.

So, that’s where you sat. By Lloyd’s chair while he stood with a glass of scotch, intently watching the screens and yelling out orders to the various agents for hire in the room. You didn’t know who they were hunting, and you didn’t care. It was the least of your problems.

Your eyes fluttered tiredly, fatigue causing your lids to feel heavy. Lloyd had fucked your ass the night before, leaving you with a lack of sleep. No position was comfortable with the biting, stinging sensation left behind by him. In your kneeling position, you could still feel the slow seep of his cum from your tight hole.

It leaked around the tail butt plug Lloyd had put in this morning. The grey fur of the puppy tail matched your ears that were secured with a headband. Around your neck was a matching grey collar with little black crystal embellishments.

Lloyd never was one for colour. He dressed you in cute attire, but always with a muted colour palette. As if you were his gothic puppy.

You covered your mouth as you yawned, your tummy grumbling. You sighed, glancing around the room. There were snacks on the back table, but you couldn’t get to them. Lloyd had tied your lead to his chair, so you couldn’t get far.

Not that you could run anyway. Having to crawl everywhere had caused the muscles in your legs to become so weak you doubted you could stand for very long.

Plus, there was a part of you that liked this life.

It was a simple existence. Please Lloyd. Please daddy. That’s all you had to worry about.

You looked behind you and through the large window panes. It was cloudy outside, with dark clouds threatening to rain on the mansion grounds. You could smell the moisture in the air, a damp smell that brought you ease.

The world was full of darkness. People worked until they died, searching for some sense of accomplishment they’d never find. Unless you were privileged, money would be an endless struggle, and you’d likely never truly be happy.

But here, there was none of that. You were treated like a cherished pet, as Lloyd loved you in his own way. Anything you wanted, he would give you, in return for your undying loyalty.

It was admittedly nice.

Lloyd fucked you better than you could have ever deemed possible, bringing endless pleasure. He wasn’t a selfish lover. He had a sense of pride in making his puppy fall apart.

You smiled to yourself. Stockholm Syndrome or not, was it so bad if you felt happy?

Another garbled sound came from your stomach, and you sighed.

You should have eaten more for breakfast, but you were distracted by the soreness in your ass. But now you were regretting it.

A soft whine left you at the sight of the plated fruit behind you. Lloyd was fully engrossed in the screens, not even turning back to look at you. You crawled on all fours towards the platter, tail swishing behind you, only getting about halfway when your lead went taut.

It wasn’t long enough by a long shot. You looked back to Lloyd, who seemed royally pissed off about something going wrong. Yeah, not the appropriate time to ask for food. He’d probably spank your ass raw for stress relief, and you were in enough discomfort as it is.

One of Lloyd’s hired men, Brayden, walked past you to the table, and you turned to return to your spot by Lloyd’s seat. A tug on your lead caught your attention, and you looked back to see Brayden squatting at your level. You looked at him like he’d gone insane because he surely had. Lloyd would kill him for interacting with you. He didn’t take well to anyone else playing with his things. The last time someone talked to you, they lost an eye.

You looked from where Brayden held your lead, to the piece of pear in his hand, to his smiling face. Your mouth dropped open in shock. No, bad idea. Really, really bad idea.

He held out the piece of fruit, and you looked at it like it was a bomb. Because it was just as dangerous. You shook your head, unable to speak in case it caught Lloyd’s attention.

“C’mon, you’re hungry,” Brayden whispered before he moved forward, putting the piece of pear into your mouth as he held your lead so you had no escape.

He may have pitied you, but he was just as bad as Lloyd. He put you in a position you didn’t want to be in.

The sweet twang of the pear set your senses alight, and you closed your mouth to hide the food before scurrying back to Lloyd’s chair.

You did your best to chew quietly, but then Brayden signed his death warrant.

He patted your head as he passed you back to his seat, the ruffling sound of your headband causing enough sound to catch Lloyd’s attention.

“Did you just fucking touch her?” Lloyd’s voice suddenly boomed, and you squeaked and flinched from how it reverberated throughout the room. “Did you just touch my fucking pet?”

Brayden froze, trying to play it cool with a shrug. “She was trying to get some fruit, but she couldn’t reach, so I gave it to her.”

Lloyd was fuming before, but now he was irate. His pupils dilated as he took it all in, nostrils flaring. “You fucking touched my puppy. And fed her? What, you think I can’t take care of her? Think you can do a better job than me, huh?”

You wanted to hide away, so you did. You curled yourself around the back of his chair, watching as Lloyd stormed over to Brayden.

The whole room had become motionless, the clack of fingers against keyboards stopping as Lloyd towered over the smaller brunette.

“Look, she was hungry. I didn’t mean anything by it, just wanted to—”

Anything more Brayden wanted to say was cut off by the crack of Lloyd’s fist against his cheek. You gasped at the sight of Brayden’s broken nose, blood pouring to the floor. “How fucking dare you touch her!”

There was another punch. And another… And another. You were forced to watch the morbid show as Lloyd went feral, gripping the man by the collar and letting his fist go wild. Brayden never had a chance to even fight back.

The taste of the pear had turned sour, and you spat out the remnants onto the floor. You wanted nothing to do with this.

“She’s mine, do you hear me? Nobody but me touches her.” Lloyd’s point seemed to fall on deaf ears as Brayden’s head lolled to the side, only held up by Lloyd’s fingers in his shirt.

Brayden’s body hit the floor with a crunch when Lloyd let him go, a soft groan coming from the male. You felt a little bad for him. But he played with fire and got burnt.

If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.

And Brayden’s stupid prize for touching you was a bullet to the head.

You covered your ears when you saw Lloyd pull out his handgun and closed your eyes when the first shot rang out. It wasn’t until four shots later that Lloyd had stopped, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at the gore.

There was a beat of silence before you felt hands clasp over yours, gently pulling your palms away from your ears. “Sorry puppy, didn’t mean to scare you,” Lloyd’s voice called to you, much softer now. “Did he hurt you?”

Your eyes opened and met the deep blues of your captor. There was a lot of anger blazing in his orbs, but also concern. You shook your head, your voice failing you.

“Good. I would have killed him a second time if he did,” Lloyd gave a grin, and you forced a small smile, trying to appease him. Lloyd seemed relieved you weren’t harmed, but now he knew you were okay, his voice turned a baritone deeper. He loved looking for a way to punish you. “But he did touch you.”

This time you nodded. “On… On my head…” You mumbled, feeling small and feeble in front of Lloyd. Blood splattered his polo shirt and slacks, the metallic smell filling your nose.

“And you let him.” Lloyd’s eyes darkened a fraction. It wasn’t just Brayden he was mad with.

“I’m— I’m sorry…” You blurted out, clinging to the chair.

“You should have asked me if you were hungry. Now you’re dirty. Like a used slut.”

“You were busy and mad, and I didn’t want to interrupt your work and—” Lloyd cut off your rambling with a finger to your lips before he picked you up, so you were straddling his waist.

“Silly puppy. Couldn’t wait for food, so you whored yourself to get it from my workers, huh?” Lloyd sniped, and your blood ran cold. He carried you past Brayden’s dead, desecrated body and towards the master ensuite as you began to shake in his grip.

“We’ll get you washed of him, and then I think my pet needs a little attitude adjustment. You’ll think twice about letting someone else near you after I’ve tried out my new paddle, won’t you, sunshine?”

Lloyd had showed you the paddle when it arrived in the mail. Black leather with a cut out at the end in the shape of a puppy paw so it would leave an imprint on your body. Tears quickly bubbled in your vision, the fear taking over. Lloyd always rewarded you with pleasure after the pain, but you still had to get through the demoralising punishment first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t want excuses, puppy.” Lloyd placed you on the bathroom counter, fingers wrapping around your throat and bringing your face close to his. “You think that little ass is sore now? You just wait until I’m done with you. Maybe I’ll fuck that puppy cunt, so your holes match, both red raw and stretched from my cock.”

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

#ambswrites #ambs answers #jen 💙#dark fic #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x y/n #chris evans #chris evans character #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction

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winteroceangalaxies · 2 months

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hello I am very obsessed with mean girls the movie musical, I had such a fun time watching it and saw it three times in theaters. Now, I see a lot of people talking about how hot Renee Rapp is in the movie (which, iconic, you love to see it) and how the movie is for the gays (also iconic).

Me seeing the movie three times has no heterosexual explanation, however, I am aromantic and asexual and was struggling to verbalize the ways I am obsessed with the movie and with the girls. I see so much love for renee and auli'i (deserved), but I want to articulate how much I appreciate the other characters, even if it is in a different way, so I worked through my thoughts in the only way I know how: creating a highly subjective chart

As an aroace human, the way I use "hot" "pretty" and "cute" as descriptors is based on aesthetics and vibes, not necessarily in equal measure. This is based on the characters in Mean Girls (2024) and really is not meant to be taken too seriously lol

if you are aro, ace, both or neither, please let me know what your thoughts on how you use descriptors like hot/pretty/cute are!

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starshine555 · 1 year

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Astro notes

These are things that I've observed from people with different placements in their natal chart. Some of these things might or might not resonate with some people, and that's fine. A lot of these observations are subjective, and they are not meant to be taken too seriously. But anyways, enjoy!

Scorpio mercuries and capricorn mercuries, are very investigative. They love getting information out of people and asking questions, especially scorpio mercury. From my experience, they are definitely the type to be into conspiracy theory, and they make amazing private investigators, as they love finding top-secret, underground information. However, I will say that this trait can occasionally come off as creepy or nosy, but I've noticed that that's not always their intention, it's merely just them being curious.

Idk if this normal but usually I can feel people's mars sign energy. If their energy is soft and passive, even if they're a leo or aries sun, they usually turn out to be a water mars. If I find someone that is very strong about their opinion and verbally loud, they usually turn out to be a fire mars lol. Air and Earth mars are a little harder for me to identify though.

Many people I know with Earth mars are amazing at manifesting things into their life. Earth=material things, Mars=action, thus making them really good at bringing and executing things into the material world (especially capricorn mars, HOLY SHIT.)

Cancer mars is a pretty accurate combination of both scorpio mars and pisces mars. When you first encounter them, they can be very protective of themselves and may conceal information about themselves until they feel like you are safe and you cannot hurt them, and THEN they are super openly affectionate!! Also they secretly loves hugs! (This is my mars sign lol)

Underdeveloped Gemini mercuries can lack emotional intelligence, very badly. They can be very quick to invalidate other people's emotions if their reasoning for being upset sounds petty or unimportant. Gemini mercury is a logic based mercury sign, so when they see someone upset over something they think is silly or small, it can make them think of that person as mentally inferior or weak. But for some reason they don't understand why people don't have that kind of empathy for them when they are upset 🤦‍♀️ . Also if they have mars in a fire/water sign, they can act very emotionally immature (ONLY if underdeveloped ofc.)

Libra is a pretty underrated sign. Something I think is really cool is the fact that many libra suns/mercuries I know are the kind of people that want to make sure that everyone gets treated fairly, and they don't want anyone to be left out. Personally, I think that's a pretty cool trait.

#scorpio mercury #capricorn mercury #mars signs #astrology #gemini mercury #libra #cancer mars #mercury signs #astro notes #astrology observations

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sirdindjarin · 1 year

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The Choice - (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

After returning Grogu to his kind, the Mandalorian must also face the consequences of his bounty hunting. Or: Din Djarin Has Two Very Bad Days.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

A/N: Canon-divergent - Grogu is saved at the Seeing Stone. Citing again my same sources from The Concession.

TAGS: two smut scenes, helmet stays on, helmet comes off, child neglect lmao (din trusts grogu not to get into trouble way too much), angst, fluff, light torture lol, allusions to sex, P in V, rough-ish P in V.

MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU

It happened slowly. The change that the Mandalorian wrought in you, though dramatic, was one born of love and patience. While he had always detested your acting like a servant to him, now you were banned from even feeling like a lesser lifeform. Din insisted you learn whatever he could teach you. You needed to know how to protect yourself, and how to trust yourself. He had even demanded that you learn to control the Razor Crest. That had been a scary day.

Day by day, you began to see yourself through the Mandalorian’s eyes. Self-esteem through your own merit bloomed, and it was the encouragement of Din Djarin that watered the soil.

Once, during a particularly grueling training session, Din saw defeat darken your eyes though he hadn't yet won.

“No. Don’t do that,” his modulator flatly stated as he relaxed his posture.

A caught breath later, you'd asked what he meant.

“Don’t concede the fight before it ends.”

“You’re going to win. I’m terrible with strategy.”

“Then rely on your strengths. You are quick. Resourceful. Don’t give up again.”

He had waited, patient and calm, until he saw the fire return to your eyes, and then he sprung at you.

Your favorite weapon was the smooth beskar spear Din had been gifted by the Jedi he’d met. It was hard to hide your admiration of it. An ideal weapon for you, it was your frequent choice during your sparring matches. You’re grateful Din even allowed you to touch it. But Din was far from offended by your fascination and talent with the spear; he found it turned him on, actually.

Days spent sparring always ended in another, more intimate, type of physical activity. Sometimes, such as the day he watched you give up, it was tender and slow. Sometimes it was as desperate and aggressive as the first time he had taken you for himself. You loved both.

Tonight, after he eases himself from you and tucks you in his lean arms in the dark, he is quiet. Though Din was often contemplative after lying with you, this silence has the strain of anxiety. It sets you on edge. You let him drift through his own mind until finally his low voice fills the tiny room.

“As a Mandalorian, removing my helmet is forbidden. While I have technically broken this rule, you have not seen my face.” It's obvious he's thought about this in depth; the tone of his voice is rich with unseen emotion. “That intimacy is reserved for committed partners. For those who share in a riduurok.”

You don’t mean to tense up, but his seriousness forces every fiber of your body to listen, to absorb his words.

“You okay?” He murmurs when he feels it.

You nod on his chest, so he continues.

“When a Mandalorian removes their helmet for another, they are asking that a decision be made. You have known me as no one has. When my helmet is removed, free of all impediments, then will I be asking that same question.”

What decision was there to make? To explore your options? You’ve been enslaved for most of your life, but even you can see that this - this with him - is as good as life gets. There was nothing more you could ask for, let alone want. If you were going to tie yourself to anyone, it would be Din Djarin - a man of sheer will, loyalty, and an Outer Rim type of honor. Your body relaxes.

“I understand. If that moment comes, I’ll have an answer.”

“It is not a question of ‘if,’” he states, his sultry voice full of restrained feeling.

You can’t see him, but still your head tilts up to his face. You let your fingers drag through the patches of hair along his jawline, and then you press a kiss to his pulse point on his neck.

“I mean, I can give you my answer now… if you’d like?” He can hear the smile in your voice.

His muscled arm pulls you tighter against him, as though your answer might be no. You hear Din’s hair scratch on the durasteel wall as he shakes his head.

“I don’t mean to rush you. I only wanted you to understand the way I will do this.”

The room quiets again as you trace his lips, then his throat, then lower. Small bumps appear on his skin, and you brush over them.

“I’ll never understand why this feels as good as it does,” he sighs contentedly. “All we are doing is touching.”

Agreeing, you laugh, “I don’t either. But I never want it to end.”

“Good,” Din gruffly replies.

___________________________________

The Mandalorian feels the time slipping through his grip. Too many weeks had passed since his meeting with the Jedi. The Seeing Stone awaits Grogu. Determined to do right by the child and his creed, Din finally navigates to Tython. You watch from the Razor Crest as Din cautiously sets Grogu upon the Stone. Din waits. You wait.

For hours Grogu sits there, consumed by the blue light around him, reaching out. When the sun begins to meet the rocky horizon, Din treks back to the Razor Crest to check on you, and that’s when everything falls apart.

***

As you lean forward in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, the Mandalorian swoops his creaking ship down an embankment and fires upon an errant Imperial TIE fighter. You’ve been around good pilots, but Din is the best. Despite the grief you gave him for continually abusing his ship, he truly is talented.

Another TIE fighter screams past, and Din pulls the Razor Crest up from its dive. He fires two blasts, but his first shot was true. The TIE fighter explodes.

On the Stone below, as Din makes another pass, you can see pure Force flowing around the child. His eyes are closed.

“How much longer can this take?” You ask rhetorically. You know Din is as exasperated as you are. Probably more so.

“I tried to get him back, but the shield was too strong.”

“I don’t think that’s a shield, Din. It’s the Force.”

“Whatever it is, it won’t let me get to him,” the worry in his modulated, tired voice breaks your heart.

“In that case, at least he’s safe,” you try to reassure the Mandalorian. “If you can’t get to him, neither can the IMPs falling from the sky.”

Din presses his lips together underneath his helmet. While you have a point, he wouldn’t feel right about this until the child was back with him.

The Mandalorian has been shooting down incoming Imperial fighters for almost an hour, and he’s starting to believe it won’t end when his radar picks up a different, older spacecraft. You shoot forward, staring at the viewer.

“Is that an X-wing?” You ask incredulously. “The Republic came all the way out here?”

If it’s Republic, that means it’s low on Din’s priority list, so he pays it much less attention than the three TIE fighters that break the sound barrier above him.

You’re suddenly thrown back in your seat when the Razor Crest’s shield system rings the alarm and Din calmly spins the ship skyward, arcing over another ridge to maneuver out of the target lock of an IMP. When he banks, he yanks the thruster backward, and the TIE fighter screams by. Din wrenches on the trigger and the black craft disappears in a ball of fire.

Rising up through the flame, another black fighter barrels down on the Razor Crest. Before Din can shove the Crest into a better attack position, the third fighter flanks him. You hear the Mandalorian sigh.

From the east, red laser blasts blow apart the first TIE fighter, and then the second. The X-wing flies lazily through the debris, looping above the rock where Grogu sits.

A crackling sound pops into the cockpit of the Mandalorian’s ship, then a dignified, cheerful voice speaks.

“My name is Luke Skywalker. I’m here to help the child.”

Uncharacteristically surprised, Din had been expecting that X-wing to be carrying some stuffy officer bent on harassing him, not a kriffing Jedi.

He hits the button on the comms.

“I can’t get to the kid. He’s stuck inside that Force… shield.”

“I see him. Looks like he’s sleeping.”

Sure enough, as Din crests the hill, the blue light flowing around Grogu is gone.

“There will be no more Imperial fighters for a while. You’re safe to land.”

You make a skeptical face, wondering how the Jedi could know that. Reaching forward, you tenderly grasp Din right above his elbow. Din’s tension is greater now than while he was shooting down scores of the Empire’s best.

For the Mandalorian, that had been the easy part.

***

By the time the Mandalorian settles the Razor Crest down and the two of you race to the top of the rocky ruins, Grogu is awake. The Jedi, Luke Skywalker, is seated and clearly performing some kind of Jedi magic to read Grogu’s thoughts.

Grogu’s ears perk up and he turns from Luke when he hears the clinking footsteps of the man striding toward him. He raises his childlike arms, and Din scoops him up.

“I’m glad to see you, too, buddy.”

Grogu babbles in the cradle of Din’s arms. His head swivels to look back at Luke.

“Your young one is strong.”

Din nods, his two-toned glove on Grogu’s back. You step up behind the tall Mandalorian. Reaching around the broad man, you rub Grogu’s ears. He purrs under your affection.

Luke speaks again, “I can see he was well cared for. Grogu is very fond of you both.” He frowns. “Attachments are forbidden to Jedi. Emotion clouds our judgment. It’s best that he learn the ways of the Jedi - and when he is older, he may make his own decision.”

“Yes. I was tasked with bringing him to his own kind,” the Mandalorian’s modulator hides most of his voice, but the devastation radiates from him. He tilts his helmet down to the child.

Grogu, eyes shining, reaches up to touch Din’s helmet, expressing his feelings for the man who has protected and loved him.

“You have to go with the Jedi, pal,” Din murmurs, hating the words.

Grogu whimpers, his ears drooping, and with only a moment’s hesitation, Din begins to lift his helmet.

Inhaling sharply, you move further behind the Mandalorian and drop your gaze. This moment is between Din Djarin and his kid.

_________________________________

“Ducked in there,” you tilt your chin at the seedy cantina door.

Several members of the local crime syndicate stand outside smoking death sticks, the smoke spiraling up into the vibrant night air.

“You good?” Din asks, his hand reaching toward you protectively.

You wipe your lip free of blood, “Yeah, I should’ve seen it coming.”

“When we go in, we cir-”

“I know, Din,” you smile fondly at him.

In the past year, you’ve completed plenty of bounty jobs with him. It was easy to use the same tactics on different targets, so you’ve become familiar with the Mandalorian’s strategies. And anyway, it made sense. Of course you would flank the quarry.

Din watches, not a little besotted, as you confidently walk into the business full of slimeballs. It always ached to let you go into danger, but that was why he spent hours each week pouring his knowledge and experience into you. You’ve always been capable, strong, and as ruthless as he is. Din follows you inside.

The thumping bass and flashing lights play with your eyesight. Unlike the Mandalorian in his enhanced helmet, your eyes were susceptible to any kind of trick or weakness. You squint slightly against the glaring lights. When you sweep the room, you catch sight of Din circling around the far side of the bar. He inclines his head at you, then disappears.

One of the red strobe lights twists from the stage and into the crowd, and that’s your excuse for not seeing the quarry as it hurtles into you. They tackle you, taking you to the sticky cantina floor with a wheeze. The blue, humanoid woman lands another blow to your face before you overpower her, ripping her off you. You nimbly get to your feet, drawing your blaster. The woman grins wickedly from her seated position on the black floor, then she feints to the right.

“Stop. Stop moving,” you warn, the barrel of your blaster now pointed at her head.

The pounding music makes the quarry’s voice near inaudible, but you hear her snarl, “I know about you. You’re a karking slavegirl. Where’s your master?”

Insults had run out their efficacy on you fifteen years ago, and this weak attempt is no different. You look bored.

“Give me your wrists,” you indicate with your chin. And when the woman’s eyes dart to the exit, you shift on your feet, stating, “I don’t want to blast you.”

Suddenly noticing the scuffle, a stranger looks from your pointed blaster to your face and shouts, “Hey! No officers allowed.”

“Not Republic,” your eyes stay glued to the woman on the floor. “I’m -”

Your sentence ends when the stranger - a large, Dyplotid with four eyes blinking simultaneously - wraps a massive hand around your blaster arm. You whirl, trying to break his hold, but he’s much too strong. Instead, he curls his arm around your throat and squeezes. Your eyes refocus as you watch the quarry sprint to the door.

A man, his armor reflecting the rotating colored lights, lunges at the quarry, gripping her arm. Using her own momentum, he flips her onto the floor and snaps binders around her wrists. It’s then that he looks up to see why you had allowed her to get so far.

Abandoning the quarry, Din strides powerfully forward, his steel gaze locked onto the Dyplotid, when its head jerks.

A hole burns through its arm, and the Dyplotid stumbles back, clutching and screaming at it. You let the blaster fall away from where you'd placed it against his arm. Shaking your head in annoyance, you look up at your partner. Din carefully, wordlessly, raises your chin, looking you over.

“Let’s just get her out of here,” you grouse.

***

In the cockpit, while Din freezes the quarry, you begin the takeoff cycle. Grumbling under your breath, you mentally poke at yourself over your failure with the quarry. Muffled steps echo as Din climbs the ladder.

“You did good,” Din quietly praises when he reaches the top.

He swivels the pilot’s chair you sit in around to face him. He knows you’re upset. Standing, imposing as always, he watches you duck your head in shame.

“I shouldn’t have let him get so close. If I had been faster -” you stumble over your thoughts. “I’m a liability to you. I’m not a good partner if I get caught up like that.”

Din leans, his hand tilting your face upward again.

“You are not the only one who gets into fights. What matters is that you get out of them. Which you did.” His thumb presses against your lips, and his voice turns suggestive. “Would you like me to make you feel better?”

His advising words will take root and grow, but his offer is one you can’t accept. Because he can see your distress, Din would be gentle and sweet, and you don’t believe you deserve that at the moment.

“I don’t feel right about you taking care of me,” you admit. “I want you to be mad at me.”

Din’s beskar mask tilts in interest. He nods once. Your eyes drop to the grooved, durasteel floor, knowing he will leave you to your task.

The Mandalorian pulls off his gloves slowly. He tosses them on the control panel behind you where they land with a dull thud. You look up at him - a question in your eyes.

“Stand up,” his modulator orders. His chin tilts upward.

“Din -”

He leans forward a fraction, his body eclipsing all else.

“Stand."

A knot forms in your gut, and you obey him. He doesn’t back up, so you’re forced into his personal space. The Mandalorian’s hands slide underneath the bottom hem of your top, palms against your skin. His callouses leave a burning trail.

Din’s hands stop their advance on your ribcage. You know what he wants, so you lift your arms. His skin skates over yours as he rips your top over your head, leaving you exposed in his cockpit. Your eyes toss him a shy look, and Din feels something dark take over.

He grips your upper arm and pushes you over to the side panel. Din turns you to face the exterior. His hot palm lands right at the top of your spine, and he bends you over the chair. Desire coils and pools where you want him most. Your hands grasp at the bottom edge of the side windscreen.

Thank the Maker Din landed on the outskirts.

Din shoves your pants down your thighs, grunting airily as he does so. One of his rough hands comes around to grope at your breast, lazily rubbing at your peaking nipple. Moderating his strength, his boot kicks your foot to the side, allowing him to fit closer.

You can hear the rustling of his flight suit, and you clench in anticipation. A rush of wetness dampens your thighs when he thrusts his velvet length against your folds. Encouraged by your arousal, he continues.

“You wanted this,” he gruffly warns not a second before he draws back and spears his cock inside you.

From the outside of the Razor Crest, if someone stumbled past in the vast landscape, they would see your mouth agape, your body jolting, and the Mandalorian fisting your hair. They would see him slip a hand around your throat, thrusting you back onto him.

But they wouldn't hear the rhythmic slapping, the duet of pleased and desperate sounds from two drunk voices.

Your mind is numb with the plunging feeling of the Mandalorian splitting you in two. Something heavy and metallic falls to the floor, rolling away. Then Din's scruff scrapes against your spine as he hunches over you, wantonly biting and sucking at your shoulder.

His pace is intense, and if you close your eyes, hyperspace is passing through your eyelids. He grunts as you clench down on him, legs shaking. Your knees knock into the edge of the chair with each thrust. Filthy are the squelching sounds that your joining bodies make.

"D'you still-" he groans when you arch, allowing him deeper. "You still want punishment?"

It's not a real question. He was never going to deny you pleasure. This is as close as he can get to hurting you.

Din slips a hand between your legs, his fingers performing your favorite melody. You throw your head back, body locking as your orgasm builds. When the pressure shatters into bliss, your moans, your fluttering around him has Din fighting his own peak.

Arm barring your chest, his other hand cups your throat and his unveiled cheek presses against yours. You slam your eyes shut, wanting to experience every bit of his touch and ignore the temptation to look at him.

"Damn, you’re squeezing me s-" he mutters, but his words end in several rough groans as his cock pulses violently.

Cheek to cheek, his lips hang open right next to yours. He pants, his cold chestplate stinging your back, as he releases himself. Din relishes the way you whimper in tandem with each of his spurts inside you.

He drops his forehead to your shoulder and brushes his lips along the bruised skin he finds there. The two of you stay motionless for a moment, basking in it. It’s one of the best experiences you’ve yet had with him, and you’re unsurprised he came so quickly considering you did as well.

Din allows his hands to linger - he skims your chest, your sides, then gently cups your ass as he pulls himself from you. The Mandalorian's sweet, unmoderated voice cuts the silent cockpit.

"Turn around.”

Though he is uncovered, his request tells you that he's not intending on asking you anything, so you face him, eyes shut.

His soft lips pry yours open. He kisses you with sensual tenderness, as though he wasn't just ramming you against a window. His wide tongue slowly drags through your mouth, over and over, upending your sense of direction. Din's hands cradle your jaw, thumbs sliding over your cheeks.

Tears spring up behind your eyes at his care. You drift toward him, craving his steadiness. When your naked chest touches his beskar, you shiver.

"Sorry," he remembers your state.

Din lets you go and you wiggle your bottoms back up, head down. The Mandalorian crouches and picks up his helmet, replacing it.

"You did well today. I am proud of you," Din's modulator lets you know you can open your eyes. “Do not argue with me.”

He drops into the pilot's seat and finishes getting the Razor Crest ready.

You laugh, biting your lip. “No point,” you tease. “It’s only another thing I wouldn’t win.”

The Mandalorian’s head swivels to you, and after a pause, he deadpans, “You didn’t learn much just now, did you?”

You smirk at him. “You’ll have to explain it again.”

***

The Crest drifts past an exploded star. Long had it burnt out, no cause for current concern. Din Djarin simply wanted you to see it. The gas and debris that hang in spacetime manifest in purples, blues, greens, and yellows. It’s incredible - unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Sitting in your usual chair, your lips are parted slightly in awe as you take it in.

The Mandalorian has seen it before, so he watches you instead. Something heavy presses on his chest, and he can’t quite put name to it. He feels as though he weighs as much as the karking ship he pilots.

You make a comment to which he doesn’t respond, so you tear your eyes from the view outside to the view inside. He’s facing you, his shoulders hunched.

“Din, what’s wrong?” You immediately push out of your chair and reach for him.

Caressing his helmet, you frown, knowing something is brewing underneath. Sometimes, you hate that helmet. Though you know it as Din, and therefore love it for that reason, the human connection that it cuts him off from saddens you.

“Nothing is wrong,” he flatly asserts, though he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You touch your forehead to his and he inhales sharply. You take his hands - blessedly ungloved - and settle them on your waist.

“You miss the kid,” you state gently.

Din does not allow the stinging in his eyes to become tears. He grits his teeth, then opens his mouth to allow a pained sigh to escape. Din finally identifies the weight pressing on his chest. It’s a void. You and Grogu make up his heart, and with either of you missing, the emptiness makes itself known.

“Could we not go see him?” You murmur, drawing back to look at the Mandalorian.

You smile at the thought of Grogu’s excited coos, the way his ears would perk up at Din’s voice.

The Mandalorian sits back in his chair, renewed by hope, “You're right. We should find him. Make sure the kid’s alright.”

_______________________________

Din Djarin found the location of the Jedi's training facility easily. All it took was tracking down an old Republic archive worker, bribing them to provide Grogu's implanted beacon code, and then finding a device capable of tracking such an outdated string of symbols.

It took the Mandalorian less than two days.

The new problem was that the Razor Crest suffered a hull puncture during an unforeseen meteor shower. Frustration and impatience line his back and bow his shoulders as he lands the Crest on the nearest populated planet. Repairs would take at least a day, and that was a day that could've been spent getting to the kid.

"This planet is in the same system as Charal. Where you dishonestly obtained a room for us."

You laugh, "I remember that planet for an entirely different reason."

The T-shaped, black slit turns to observe you.

You oblige him with an explanation, "It was the first time you touched me."

But Din was already smirking underneath his helmet.

"I remember."

***

Walking alongside and slightly behind the Mandalorian, you hide your grin at the way he parts a crowd. You watch as people eye him as a danger, and others eye him as an object of interest. For all his social isolation, he drew attention like a tractor beam with that swaggering confidence and gleaming beskar.

And he was all yours.

You wait a few steps away while Din trades credits for some type of food you’re unfamiliar with. The Twi’lek vendor actually bats her eyes at the Mandalorian. When he drops the credits in her hand, she stumbles over her words when his glove contacts her skin. From a distance, you grimace - whether in embarrassment for her or irritation on your part, you’re uncertain.

Seemingly oblivious to the Twi’lek’s distress, Din wordlessly rejoins you, touching your elbow to indicate his presence. It wasn't that he didn't notice the attention, it was that he didn't care. Though you never doubted the man raised on devotion and respect, it was a balm to your disquiet soul that you could trust him in every way imaginable.

A few minutes later, he abruptly swivels his head to you, “I have something I need to do. I’ll find you.”

The fingers on Din’s right hand twitch as though he wants to touch you, but something tells him not to. The Mandalorian could never be certain whose eyes were watching. Instead, he bows his helmet solemnly at you, and disappears down a narrow alley.

Din had mentioned a task earlier, so his departure was expected; but now you had to face the thronging marketplace by yourself. The last time you were alone amongst a crowd, you were running for your life from a frothing bounty hunter on Niamos.

While Din had bought food for the two of you, your goal is to get the little womp rat something. So, you straighten your shoulders and stroll down the busy venue.

Your attention is fully focused on sorting through the unreadable languages, garish banners, and hot smells to find something that Grogu might like when the hair on the back of your neck rises. Swearing you felt a puff of air on your skin, you furtively search, but the milling crowd gives nothing away.

So many eyes and yet none of them seem to be looking at you. Continuing past several chrono traders, you slink down a peaceful side street. It’s shaded from the pinkish sun by balconies and overhangings.

Forcing yourself to relax, you lean against the smooth, exterior metal wall and close your eyes. You let your mind wander back out into the mass of lifeforms, wondering who had gotten close enough to feel their breath. You try to absorb any shred of detail you can hear or remember.

Your eyes snap open when you realize, with a self-conscious scoff, that you’re imitating the way Grogu reaches out with his mind. But something is wrong. Something is coming. Angling your body to peek around the corner, your eyes frantically search the crowd.

Where is Din?

Before you can finish worrying about the Mandalorian, a hand slaps across your mouth, effectively silencing your startled yelp. Then another hand, cold, immutable metal, manages to snag both of your hands behind you. Thrashing, you jerk your head around, vainly hoping Din decided to play a cruel joke. Instead, a female cyborg grins maliciously down at you.

You allow her to drag you away from the mass of innocent people, fighting convincingly the entire way. She smells like unwashed armpits and oil. It’s foul and you fight a gag as her arm winches your throat.

Once out of sight of innocent bystanders, you suddenly drop all of your body weight to your knees, and she toddles off-balance. Thrusting your shoulders forward, you throw her over you. She lands with a guh! as the wind is knocked from her.

Able to assess the threat now, you take stock of her cybernetic left arm, waist, and left leg. Her right arm, right leg, chest, and most of her face are still flesh. The cyborg snarls at you and rolls to her hands and knees, preparing to spring at you, when you draw your blaster and fire from your hip. A move Din made you practice daily.

A pathetic, horrible sound issues from the woman as the blaster bolt burns through her right eye and she falls to the ground, smoking.

***

As he struts back through the town, the Mandalorian weighs the small package in his hand with contentment. Though you had loved that beskar spear, the Armorer was right: it was far too dangerous a weapon, and it could serve a greater purpose.

Din is thrilled with his deception. There hadn’t been any damages to the Razor Crest - well, not any that couldn’t wait a little while. Din simply needed a reason to land on this planet and find his Covert without you asking him a thousand questions.

Now, his task is complete. Grogu will have something to keep him safe and remember Din by, and you’ll have… the Mandalorian’s smirk falters a little when his thoughts consider your reaction to what he had made for you. He rarely second guesses himself, if ever. But this is territory he never considered.

All at once, he notices that people seem nervous for a reason other than him; he can hear the hushed whispers between friends. Din’s keen ears latch on to the word ‘abducted.’ His heart rate kicks up.

He tucks the small package of gifts into the pocket behind his belt, and lengthens his stride. The Mandalorian flicks on his heat sensors, but there’s too many warm-blooded species swirling about, and he growls as he flicks it back off.

To Din’s left, two booths set up to sell chronos are quickly packing their wares away; they look considerably more afraid than the rest of the crowd.

“What happened here?” Din demands of the closest shopkeeper, a Trandoshan.

The chrono seller winces as a Mandalorian stalks toward him, and rapidly answers: “A girl was abducted. Right there -” he jerks his hand to the side, pointing at the alleyway next to his booth.

“What did you see?” Din isn’t threatening the Trandoshan, but his quiet, forceful voice certainly sounds like it.

“I- I don’t want to get too inv-”

Din’s body language shifts ever so slightly. He cocks his head; and that’s all the Trandoshan needs to restart his sentence.

“Human girl. She was being dragged off by a karking cyborg. It was terrifying; I tried to help her but the thing was too big,” the giant lizard’s words flow so fast, they blur as though he took a shot of spotchka before answering.

Din lurches past the vendor before he finishes his second sentence. Though the Mandalorian has no proof you are the girl in question, the knot in his gut and the hollowness in his chest tell him all he needs to know.

Heat sensors back on his viewscreen, Din follows the yellowing, fading trail. The tunnel-like road is utterly quiet; it’s clear it’s a residential street, but there isn’t a soul to be seen.

The trail ends in an expansive lot. It’s a confusing tangle of heat signatures in the dust, and Din can’t make out exactly what happened. He switches the sensor off again and crouches to examine the footprints himself.

Someone had been dragged. Din looks up and to his right. A small ship idles on the far edge of the field. Scanning the ship, he identifies two lifeforms - at least one is female. The Mandalorian's footsteps are quick and quiet as he approaches the small-scale freighter. The boarding ramp is down, so he slips on board.

At the far end of the cargo hold, in a pile of cargo hauling material, lies a female body. Din knows without further examination that it is not yours. Over the past year, Din Djarin had memorized every facet of you; he committed you to memory like each entry was a precious artifact. And this body is decidedly not yours.

Din switches his heat sensor back on to look for the other lifeform, but a brutal blow to his ribs sends him on his side. Din scrambles to his feet and is shocked to be staring into the face of Con Macta.

“Come to settle a score?”

The Mandalorian goes to draw his blaster, but, from behind him, the arms of the female cyborg cinch around his neck, tightening rapidly. Too quickly for Din to react, Con Macta stabs through Din's flight suit and into his bicep with a syringe. Unconsciousness steals the Mandalorian.

***

The cockpit of the Razor Crest is cold, silent.

Cara Dune’s blue face greets you with a grimace.

“It’s good to see you, but not like this. I sent his chain code to the Razor Crest. And, hey,” she frowns. “I can be there in less than a cycle.”

“In that time, I’ll have found him,” you insist. “Thank you for searching the Republic database."

"Anything for you two,” she smiles grimly and the visage fades.

You spin away from the fading hologram and begin powering up the Razor Crest's navicomputer. The hologram of the star system flickers to life in front of you. Two planets fill your vision, and on the planet adjacent to your current position, a small yellow dot blips.

Slightly taken aback that Din is no longer on the same planet, you recover quickly. It doesn't take much for you to add up all the evidence. A cyborg attacked you and now Din is on Charal.

You bring up the entry log from that cyborg job a year ago. The data screen reads in Aurebesh:

Con Macta - Stormtrooper, 607th Battalion - Missing/Killed in Action 1 ABY.

You frown. Either the database had missed an important detail, or the female cyborg was on a revenge mission. Chewing on your lower lip, you’re finally thankful Din taught you how to fly.

***

Brought to wakefulness by searing voltage in his veins, Din's jaw muscles are forced taut by the current, preventing his pained groan from escaping. His entire body tenses painfully.

Laughing cruelly, Con Macta cuts off the switch on the dirty, steel wall.

"Good afternoon, bounty hunter. Really didn’t think you’d be so easy to capture. I didn't even have to go looking for you. You thought your apprentice was on my ship, didn't you? Very touching, your affection for her."

Din doesn’t reply, too busy catching his breath.

“I sent my own lady friend to snatch her up, but your rather wily apprentice almost killed her. Say hello, Venita.”

Venita saunters toward the containment field Din is suspended in and taunts, “Hello, Mandalorian. You really were a disappointment compared to your friend.”

“You know, we never did find your real name. We found your apprentice’s, but yours seems to be kept in a secure section of Imperial files. Very interesting. And in that case, don’t worry about dying here. You’ll be going to meet them next. They pay top dollar for their bounties.”

The Mandalorian does not speak. Hanging as he was inside this energy field, there was little he could do. Whatever he’d been injected with still held him in a dazed consciousness.

“You were all bravado when last I saw you, Mandalorian. What’s changed?” Macta goads. He flips the electricity on for a second, then cuts it again. “You don’t like this? This is what you forced me back to. My maker created me here, in this filthy lab, against my will. Poor stormtroopers. We’re all pulse-cannon fodder or failed experiments.”

Din once again does not reply. Nothing he could say would change the outcome, and he damn sure wasn’t going to give Con Macta any sense of satisfaction.

The cyborg huffs. “You’re far more boring than the last time we met. I guess I’ll have to find your apprentice. That will make you lively.”

The Mandalorian forces every ounce of will he has into not reacting to that statement, but his sudden rigidity gives him away.

“I can find her, Con. Let me have another go,” Venita begs in a hiss.

The cyborg takes his demented friend by the arm, leading her out of the room.

Din can just make out his answer: “We’ll both go. If she’d blasted your real eye, you’d be dead.”

The Mandalorian growls with frustration. It’s essentially useless to struggle. Containment fields are made of pure energy. The control panel with the large, white power switch sits unhelpfully across the mid-size, gray room.

The cyborg had yet to remove Din’s helmet, thank the Mythosaur; but Din is unable to reach the vision-changing settings, so when a small, dark shadow creeps in from the steel doorway, the Mandalorian squints to hurry its focus. The light from the containment field blinds him to much of what occurs outside its glow.

The shadow moves to the control panel, and Din loosens his muscles in preparation. Tensing would only make the spasming more painful. To his great shock, the blue energy field suspending him disappears and he falls to the ground with a clang.

Groaning, still groggy and in pain, he unsteadily rises to his feet. They must’ve accidentally released him and now he had to fight. But as he continues to squint, a soft, anguished voice comes from the direction of the control panel.

“Din! Dammit, what did they do to you?”

You hurry to him, sliding your shoulder underneath his to stand him up fully.

“I’m alright. Injected me with something,” he shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. The two of you move toward the exit. “How did you find me?”

“I ran to the Razor Crest right after I was attacked. I had a bad feeling, so I holocalled Cara to give me your chain code. Can’t have been much more than half an hour behind you.”

Underneath his helmet, Din’s eyebrows shoot upward. “You were smarter than I was,” he chuckles.

“I was terrified,” you whisper.

His arm clutches you to his side and he rubs his thumb across your hip soothingly.

Din releases you to retrieve his blaster from its place on a table. They hadn’t removed any of his other weapons; he supposes they didn’t deem it necessary. He feels a little insulted.

Suddenly remembering, Din jerks his hand to the place he’d held yours and Grogu’s gifts. Empty. He growls under his breath.

You peek around the open doorway out into the hall. Your options are left or right. Following the same way you came in, you go right.

“Those two droids,” he says it like the slur it is to him, “went this way. Stay alert.”

Two blasters are pointed down the dark hallway as you and Din skirt the circular building. It was shaped like a moisture silo - round and high. You’d set the Razor Crest down a click to the west. All you needed to do was find the busted ventilation grate you’d entered through and sprint to the ship.

In the poor light, you can’t see the object flying at you. A weight slams into your stomach, and you crumple to the floor. Unable to catch your breath, you try to duck out of the way when the gleam of a metal arm comes at your face. It stops mid-air with a dull sound, and you focus your eyes to see that the cyborg’s fist has been caught by Din’s hand.

The mechanical woman rips her arm from his grip right as he tries to grab a better hold. She disappears into the darkness. You fire your blaster in her direction and the instantaneous red beams of light creepily illuminate the hallway. It’s too brief to confirm, but at the apex of the curve, two figures seem to be lurking.

The Mandalorian is a protector; dividing his attention between you and the threat is as easy as breathing. He flips on his dark-vision, and with his other hand, he gently helps you stand. Slowly, you get to your feet, clutching your ribs.

“You okay?” His voice is clipped, worried and angry.

“Yes,” you groan.

His world lights up a sickly green. The two antagonists are at the apex of the curve, believing themselves to be hidden and waiting in ambush.

“For an ex-stormtrooper, he is extraordinarily unskilled in tactical matters,” Din whispers drily.

The pain in your torso spasms when you snort a laugh under your breath. “Can we make it out alive before you start imparting your wisdom, O God of War?”

The Mandalorian’s hand splays across your lower back in familiar affection. He keeps his eyes trained on the two cyborgs as they crouch in wait.

“They’re setting a trap for us.”

“What do we do?”

“Walk into it."

“Are you still feeling that drug in your system?”

“Yes. Start firing when I do.”

Advancing on the hidden threat, you keep your blaster at shoulder’s height, waiting for Din’s cue. Blood red light casts the hallway into faint relief as the Mandalorian’s blaster repeatedly fires. Your blaster joins his, and the two of you continue approaching the now-dodging cyborgs.

The female launches at you again, apparently very upset about her missing cybernetic eye. This time, with Din’s dark-vision, he sees it coming. The Mandalorian bumps into your blaster, preventing you from shooting him in the back, as he lunges in front of you. He catches the woman mid-air and brutally throws her to the ground.

You poke out from behind him and fire another blast at the oncoming Con Macta. His yell changes in pitch when your shot burns through his left thigh. Limping, his charge is slowed considerably.

In the split second you take to shoot at Con, the Mandalorian is kicked in the back by Venita. As she gets to her feet, Din twists and fires at her. His blast does not go through either eye, but through the center of her forehead.

Con Macta’s roar echoes throughout the building. The mechanical mixes with whatever’s left of his humanity to form an utterly hair-raising lament.

“Mandalorian, you’ll watch yours die for that.”

The cyborg steps underneath an exterior grate, and in the faint, purplish light, you can see that he had undergone further modification after the Mandalorian had taken out his bounty. Before, his entire head was flesh, now only his eyes and mouth remain uncovered. His cheeks and forehead are plated in a tan, utilitarian metal. His thin upper lip snarls.

“I also have this.” The cyborg pulls a fist-sized red and white bundle from a pouch on his hip.

Din tenses beside you.

“Let’s see what’s inside. I hadn’t gotten around to examining my spoils yet, but I’m curious what a minimalist Mandalorian could be carrying so dearly.”

As the cyborg looks down to untie the material, the Mandalorian raises his weapon and pulls the trigger. Con Macta stumbles as the bolt hits him in the arm. The package drops to the steel floor with a muffled clink.

He roars again, charging at the two of you. He dodges the Mandalorian’s blasts until finally he leaps, knocking Din to the ground. Unwilling to accidentally shoot Din, you try to get an angle on the twisting cyborg. Deciding that was no good, you finally just kick Macta’s partially-human head.

The tortured, destroyed ex-stormtrooper cries out and wobbles to the side, giving the Mandalorian an opportunity. Still pinned, Din thwacks his right leg on the ground, firing a knee rocket directly into the cybernetic back of Con Macta.

Following the ear-splitting explosion, the cyborg delivers a groaning death rattle, and slowly collapses to the ground with a resounding crash.

The Mandalorian hefts to his feet, and quickly walks to the small bundle lying on the dirty floor. He brushes it off absentmindedly, and turns to you.

"You still okay?"

Nodding, you move toward him. He holds out his hand, palm down, and jerks his head toward the exit.

__________________________________

Grogu sits on a yellow stone. His eyes are closed and his breathing is audibly shallow. His mind is focused on the incoming ship. The Jedi across from him can feel it, too.

Luke Skywalker frowns with acceptance. The child had made its choice.

***

“You’re very quiet,” you observe, hoping Din will tell you his mindset.

He doesn’t. The Mandalorian continues performing the landing cycle with rote movement, jostling slightly as the landing gear settles onto the gravel below.

“I can’t wait to see him,” you smile, peering out the glass, hoping for a glimpse of the kid. “His little face -”

“I know.”

You press your lips together in a knowledgeable smile. Din is anxious.

***

The boarding ramp lowers, and you bounce once or twice on the balls of your feet. Beside you, Din is composed except for the fingers on his right hand. As the two of you strut down the ramp, a figure in form-fitting black materializes from the treeline.

“Hello. I was expecting you sooner, actually.” Luke smiles. “You really do care for the child to have denied yourself for so long.”

The tall grass sways for a second before Grogu flips out and onto the gravel path.

“Patu!” The child begins waddling toward the Mandalorian.

Din strides forward and crouches to one knee, taking the kid into his hands.

“Hey, buddy. I missed you, too.”

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes at the blatant love in Din’s voice. Grogu reaches for the Mandalorian’s helmet, but Din does not remove it this time. He half-turns, and Grogu’s attention shifts. His childish hand raises at you, cooing.

Nearly jogging to them, you allow three stubby fingers to grasp your thumb. Pressing a kiss to his wrinkly head, you murmur an affectionate greeting. Grogu begins to purr.

“Is he happy here? Is his training going well?” Din asks the Jedi.

“Happy enough. But he is distracted. I believe Grogu has made his decision.”

Your brow furrows, “What decision?”

“Grogu has learned all he will from me. I know his feelings, sense his thoughts. They remain with his father. A life dedicated to the Jedi Order is not his path.”

“You’re saying that you won’t train him anymore?” You clarify, shocked.

“Grogu has seen both of his choices and made his decision. That decision is to return to you.”

Though you can’t see his face, your eyes turn up to the Mandalorian anyway. Your imagination serves you well enough. His eyes are surely glassy, and a soft, disbelieving smile is certainly spreading across his face.

Luke bows slightly, and turns away, walking down the path with his hands folded behind his back. In the distance, a stone hut is being built by spidery droids. You watch him go for a moment in curiosity before returning your attention to the two in front of you.

Din’s helmet tips down to look at the child. “You’re coming with us?” The hope in his voice confirms your picture of his expression.

Still aggressively purring, Grogu burrows down into the crook of Din’s arm.

The T-shaped slit tilts up to you, and you wish you had the ability to freeze the image. The Mandalorian contentedly holding his green child, looking at you with what you're sure is pure happiness.

"Let's go, then," you grin.

_________________________

Deciding that a reunion could be better savored while resting on a peaceful planet, the Mandalorian lands the Razor Crest. Gentle hills of sand roll in every direction, and, once outside the ship, the sound of ebbing water can be heard.

"This is Illen. The entire surface is made of small islands. The waterline is on the other side of that dune," Din points his chin upward.

"Is it late in the day's cycle?" You wonder, referring to the soft, golden light that illuminates the planet.

"The sun does not set here."

You raise your eyebrows in appreciation, "It's beautiful."

Din kneels, laughing under his breath at Grogu's immediate fascination with the sand.

"Kid, I have something for you."

Grogu's ears flop slightly when he looks all the way up at Din. He tilts his head in curiosity.

The Mandalorian unwraps the little bundle he'd carried with him and pulls out a child-sized chainmail shift.

"This is yours by right, Grogu. You are a Mandalorian foundling, and part of this clan."

The child seems to understand the gift he's being given. His eyes look upon his father with adoration, and his hand touches the beskar chainmail with respect.

***

Several hours later, Grogu begins to slow his excitement. His tiny mouth opens wide showing a range of even tinier teeth as he yawns.

Grogu plops down in the sand, grabbing fistfuls and letting it trickle through his fingers. Miniature crustaceans with towering, swirly shells scuttle by, fascinating the kid as he slowly starts to drift to sleep.

"He'll be busy for a while," the Mandalorian nods his head toward the ridgeline.

Traipsing through the soft, sifting sand makes your journey to the top of the dune longer than usual, but when you join Din at the top, your breath catches.

"Woah," you blink, ensuring your eyes aren't lying to you.

Gentle waves lap at the silky white sand. The ocean is a vibrant blue, contrasting beautifully with the golden tint of the sky. Purple and yellow clouds dot the horizon. The burning sun casts yours and Din's shadows far behind you.

Din gallantly holds your hand as the two of you trudge down the dune, stopping several paces from the water.

"I have something for you, too."

Tearing yourself away from the natural world, you turn to look at your own.

"What?"

Din's thumb and forefinger dig into his pocket, and he fishes out a metal pin shaped like a Mudhorn.

"You are also part of this clan, if you so wish. This does not bind you in any way, however," he assures.

You smile warmly and raise your palm for him to drop the pin onto. It's even lighter than it looks.

"Being bound to this clan is all I want," you shake your head and pin the object to your shirt. Your cheek twitches up into a lopsided smile at him.

The Mandalorian simply stares at you for a breath, enjoying the moment.

Reluctantly, he starts to speak. “While I am reminded of it: I did have something I wanted to teach you,” he unhooks his real binders from behind him. "You are going to learn how to get out of these.”

Your shoulders fall and your face is unmistakably wary. “Seriously? Can’t we have a single day without some type of exercise?”

Real binders represent a litany of bad memories. If you can avoid this, you will.

"No. And don't be afraid. You trust me."

He says it as though it's a fact. And you realize that it is. The bond of trust between the two of you hasn't been up for debate in a very long time. He has your best interest at heart. Always.

The Mandalorian clasps the thick metal around his own wrists, and to your immense shock, a shadow in your mind whispers something excitingly foul.

“When you’re…” Din’s words trail off when he notices something. The blank face of the beskar helmet tilts. “Your heart is racing.”

"It's not," you lie.

"I’ll get you out if you’re unable to break them. You need to learn how to do this."

Din worries that your past might be causing you to fear. It was, but a more insidious idea has taken root.

"No, I know. I believe you."

Din's shoulders tense, his bound hands folded in front of him. "Then why is your heat signature rising?"

The breeze from the sea is cool, and the sun is at a perfect place in the sky to allow for a comfortable amount of warmth. Trying to understand, the Mandalorian watches as your cheeks flush, and it finally strikes him that you're embarrassed.

"This -" he pauses, truth dawning on him. "You like this, don't you?" He raises his hands.

You bite the inside of your cheek and look at the shifting ground beneath your feet.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why."

Din considers that for a moment. It wasn't hard to understand. A lifetime of servitude and bondage, you might enjoy being on the other side of it.

The Mandalorian shifts his body, his knee cocking. “If you win today, I'll see what I can do."

Your eyes widen, nerves sparking already at his voice. Then you frown.

"But I never win," you retort.

Din shrugs his shoulders.

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes, "Alright, well. Show me how."

The Mandalorian twists one of his hands, working against one of the hinges. One edge of the hinge springs up. Then, Din raises his hands above his head and jerks them down and apart with all his strength, popping the hinge. One cuff remains, but his hands are no longer constrained together.

You raise your eyebrows, impressed.

"These are a low-grade set. You won't be able to break free of the high-end binders; unless you pick their lock," he explains. "But I want you to know how to do this."

Din resets the hinge, and holds out his hand for you to take them. As your fingers close around the binders, however, the Mandalorian sweeps your leg out from underneath you.

Instinct takes over, and, though you're laughing at the change in plan, you duck into a recovering move to the side, giving yourself space from him.

He nods at you, and the fight is on. Binders still in your hand, you feint to his left. Din actually reacts, so you take advantage and charge his right.

You land a blow to his side, then grab his arm and try to set him off-balance. From the modulator, you hear him breathily laugh at your pathetic effort. He crouches and whirls you off him, sending you down onto the sand.

Scrambling onto your feet, you're laughing too hard to focus. Even without a weapon, his strength was such a formidable opponent that you'd never win.

"You can do better.”

"I can't," you snort. "Din, you're as broad as an X-wing."

He gestures like So what?

"Try again," he demands, folding his hands cockily.

Huffing, you narrow your eyes, looking for some kind of misstep. But he's just standing there - unimpressed as a karking Republic officer. Eventually, you decide on trickery; that seemed to work before.

Feinting again, Din expects you to go to the opposite side like you did last time, so he twists a little to that direction. But then you continue through on your "feinted" movement, launching at him. You come at him from below this time, grabbing and pushing at his waist, and as he bends, your leg swipes out his knee.

He grunts, rotating and falling onto his back, and you go down with him, arms still around his waist.

Din takes the opportunity, while your ankle is awkwardly underneath his knee, to wrestle on top of you. He's chuckling under his breath, clearly enjoying this.

As Din supports himself above you, you knock your elbow into the crook of his arm, causing it to give out and his body to drop to one side. He grips your waist as you roll and force him onto his back once more. A click resounds between you.

"Stop doing that," he growls at your cheap shots on his joints.

As you straddle him, he hears a second click.

The Mandalorian looks down now at his hands where they lie against your stomach. Binders lock his wrists in place. The black slit on his helmet considers you with a sigh.

"Well done,” his modulator conveys his flat, raspy tone. “I concede."

Your eyebrows draw together, mouth agape, and you place your hands on his breastplate for stability.

"You can't concede a fight you lost."

"I just showed you I can break out of these, did I not?"

"That doesn't negate my win."

Din huffs dramatically. The motion tenses his abs underneath you. Once again, you’re tempted by the way he looks right now, bound and pinned underneath you. Heat begins to pool where you sit astride him.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian lurches upward, looping his bound arms over your head and around your waist. He shifts on the sand until he's sitting up with you in his lap, your legs still sprawled around his waist.

"Can you take this off for me?" His gravelly voice asks. "My hands seem to be tied up."

There comes a lurch in your stomach that has very little to do with your position around him.

"The helmet?" You whisper.

"Yes, the helmet."

"Din, are you sure? Shouldn’t you -”

“I think it is fitting. You won and I’ve already made my decision. You make yours.”

Reverently, you place your hands on either side of his beskar face. Your fingers curl around the concave shapes that resemble cheek bones. A third Death Star could splash down into the ocean and you'd only know when the tsunami engulfed you. The weight of the moment is almost too much to bear.

The sharp edge of the helmet crests the top of his head and short, wavy, brown locks fall away from the interior. You set the helmet down beside him, and, with the gravitational pull he has on you, you can’t stop yourself from touching his face.

His face.

Huge, sensitive brown eyes look up at you, reading your reaction. His full lips pout in a way that forces you to stutter over them several times in your exploration. You’re surprised at how easy he is to read, and for a moment you believe it’s because of how well you know him, and that is much of it. But then you understand. A life behind a mask meant that he never learned to hide his expressions.

You press a gentle kiss to his angular nose; to the patch of missing hair on his jaw, oddly shaped like a heart; and finally to those unfair lips. Your hands cradle his jaw as you press your kisses, and he sighs underneath your touch.

The Mandalorian is beautiful underneath beskar and bone.

This is the first time Din has seen you without his helmet, and the weight of his gaze as it travels across your face, down your throat, and back up to your lips sets your already-taut nerves ablaze. The knot in your stomach has yet to loosen; instead, Din only twists it tighter.

Taking a liberty, you peck him on the lips shyly, drawing back almost immediately. The corner of his mouth turns upward ever so slightly and his hooded eyes pin you with a look full of deep admiration.

When you pull back, your eyes open to the true intimacy of the moment. The Mandalorian could not show you any more blatantly that he cares, that he’s yours. Bound and unhelmed under you, Din is still in control. At any moment he could break his bonds, but he chooses not to. You take a shaky breath, then surge into him again. This time, however, your lips slot between his with heated fervor.

He groans into your mouth, crushing you to him. Din reclines a few degrees onto the sand dune behind, allowing you a better position on him. Your sounds become more desperate, and Din breaks the kiss.

“Take this off,” he indicates his chestplate.

His eyes are hooded and completely on board with this new dynamic, so you comply. You bite your lip, trying not to ogle, as you carefully divest the Mandalorian of his armor. The illusion of control was yours, but he always held the power. Him choosing not to use it makes your blood boil.

When his armor is lovingly placed to the side, abandoned in the daylight, you run your hands up his chest over his flight suit. Without waiting for instruction, you unfasten it. Quietly he watches you, his arms still around your hips, and his breathing grows shallow.

You pull open his flight suit and duck to press open mouth kisses along his chest. Sparse, dark hairs curl in the center, tickling your cheeks and lips as you move.

Din groans through his nose, his eyes closing above you. At the apex of your thighs, his length twitches and thickens. You kiss along his collarbone, encouraged by his faint sounds, then suck a biting kiss on his tense neck.

A wrecked groan rips from his mouth, and his hands press into your back, egging you on. Your hips buck of their own free will as his arousal becomes hot and hard between you. His eyes roll closed when you drag along him just right, and the sight of his pleased face soaks your underwear.

“You going to run the whole show?” He murmurs. “Or would you like me to -”

Before he’s finished speaking, you retrieve the thin key for his binders, unlocking them. Pulling off his gloves and tossing the binders into the sand, he immediately skates his hands underneath your shirt, tugging it off you. When Din tosses it away, his eyes shamelessly follow his hands as they explore.

He suddenly sits forward, his arms cradling your back, and he sweeps you underneath him. His knee spreads your legs, so it’s really his own fault when your drenched, needy core rides his thigh. Looking directly into the Mandalorian’s soft eyes, you whimper; his eyes darken further, and he roughly shuffles your pants down.

Your hands fumble with the rest of his flight suit, but he shrugs out of the sleeves, tying them around his waist. He opens the codpiece area and your eyes widen. It’s not the first time you’ve had sex with him in the daylight, but those times had always been from behind. Din’s hands are already large, and yet his cock makes them look smaller. The memory of it inside you is enough to make you arch into him.

Your arms reach for his neck, and he bows over you, tenderly kissing between your breasts. He makes his way to your throat before he returns the favor, sucking a bruise into the crook of your neck. Din’s heavy erection settles against your thigh, and it throbs when you moan.

“Stop teasing,” you beg breathlessly.

“I’m not teasing. I am enjoying this,” Din says honestly.

“I really need you,” you take his face in your hands, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

The Mandalorian takes the hint. He groans; his hands grip your waist, pinning you into the sand. One hand abandons its post to drag his length through your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Brown eyes bore into yours as he lines up and, with a rough sigh, nestles the head of his cock inside you. The Mandalorian breaks eye contact to look down and grab the underside of your knee. He throws your leg up over his waist, maintaining his hold, and inch-by-inch, buries himself in your tight heat.

Watching him enter you has you teetering on the edge of an early orgasm. His eyebrows draw together and his full lips part slightly. His chin tips upward with pride when you cry yes, and his heavily-lidded eyes blaze with lust.

Adjusting to his size is simple when he’s driven you to the point of an orgasm just from insertion. You wait for him to move, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses you without agenda. You relax into him, letting him lead. He said he was enjoying this, and the more you touch him, the more you agree.

Curling your hands in his dark brown waves, you drift with the roll of his tongue and his lips. His slow sensuality seems to turn him on even more. You whine each time the Mandalorian throbs inside your body, and each time it sets your heart racing.

Eventually, when your body shakes with anticipation and sheer want, he has mercy on you. His hand leaves your knee, sliding down your thigh and between your two bodies. His thumb rubs smooth circles over your sensitive bud and you tighten around him immediately.

Whining, muscles stiffening, you lean away from his lips just to breathe, when his low, crisp voice asks earnestly, “Will you come on me like this?”

It’s the missing piece. It whips through you like a wildfire, and you bear down on his cock. He groans in his throat, enraptured, as you shake beneath him. Din takes advantage of the moment, surging forward to claim your lips.

Din drags his length out along your walls, loving your overstimulated expressions. Then, he reseats himself in a single motion, sending your body forward in the sand. You cry out, begging him for more.

The Mandalorian thrusts into you, replacing his hand around your knee and using it as leverage to please you deeper. His muscular arm settles near your face for balance. Burying you in the sand, his warm body pressing into you from above and inside, the feeling of bliss sinks into your very marrow.

Grunting, his lips lose their steady rhythm on your mouth, insteading hanging above you. Sweat shines on his forehead, his brown hair curls in the same place, and he looks at you with such admiration that you can’t stop yourself from cupping his face between your hands, kissing and worshiping every part of him you can reach.

Shaking in his arms, he rides it out with you, breathing rapidly into one another. Sand sticks to the both of you where you’ve perspired. Din leans his forehead against yours, whispering his affection. He kisses your nose, then carefully removes himself from your body.

Your second orgasm sneaks up on you. Din loops an arm around your back, pulling your chest flush with his while he works himself into you, grunting as his aching member begins to empty itself. The coase hairs between you tangle, acting as friction. The thrusting of his body nudges your clit, and the powerful shuddering of his cock in your overstimulated channel forces you right over the cliff.

You lie there for a moment, basking in it all.

“I’m too dirty to put my clothes back on,” you laugh.

“I am, too.” Din agrees.

He stands, having tucked himself back in his black flight suit. His upper torso is still uncovered, though, and you stare.

The Mandalorian holds out his hand and you take it without hesitation. He helps you stand, then begins to undress himself further, not wanting his knee rockets and boots to get waterlogged.

“You’re… going to bathe with me?” Your lips curve into a coy smile.

“Is that not obvious?” He responds drily, chucking a boot onto the beach.

“I’m not going to keep my hands to myself,” you warn in a whisper.

“Neither will I,” the Mandalorian promises.

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