#this show is giving me the brain worms and it’s fighting with a bunch of other shows imao

[gregmarriage]

sooooo many thoughts on those last five eps, i can barely think to get them all written down, holy shit!!!

[fantasy-mixtapes]

Riz Gukgak Season 1 Playlist Breakdown

Yeah so I really quickly posted my Character playlists to get them out there asap but god I put sooooo much thought into them and I love them so much so I want to talk about each song so you can take a peek into my brain and see what the worms have been cooking. I'll make like a masterlist with links and stuff once I get more out but yeah this one's going first because I decided to go table order right to left.

For all my playlists I choose songs based on a bunch of criteria which is but is not limited to :

vibe

whether I think the character would like the song/artist

whether I can picture the song playing in the background

If the lyrics match up to a specific scene or feeling

if, when put together the general character arc can be reflected in the playlist

if the songs cohesively go together (i.e. similar vibes, genres, themes)

For Riz, the playlist consists of a mix of Alt Rock, 80s/90s, Math Rock, and Punk/Grunge. Here's the playlist if you haven't listened to it

Without further ado... Lets get into it

1. Happy to Hide, Pile of Love

Smiling between my teeth Acting up accordingly Why do I waste my time performing? I don't see the comedy you see In all the scenes involving me As if I wasn't dull and boring I'm happy to hide I'm happy to leave with no goodbye Would you believe me if I said I couldn't cry?

I wanted to start with the classic early 2000s "I'm a nerd in high school" movie song. I can picture this at the start of a movie starring Riz, where he gets to school and gives out his business cards, and it's Not Working, and he doesn't understand why. I also love the way that being "happy to hide" works with his rogue class :)

2. We Are Detectives, Thompson Twins

Someone is on our tail We think they're openin' up our mornin' mail (Whoa) And now each time the telephone rings We think of frightening things We are detective We are selective We are detective Come to collect

This song is so fun and so camp, very 80s alt, I think Riz would love it. I also think it kind of shows how while Riz is definitely extremely serious about the Missing Maiden Case, he is also playing out one of his biggest fantasies and is a high schooler snooping around corners.

3. Daysleeper, R.E.M.

I see today with a newsprint fray My night is colored headache gray Don't wake me with so much The ocean machine is set to nine I'll squeeze into heaven and Valentine My bed is pulling me, gravity Daysleeper

We love our insomniac little guy

4. Cops and Robbers, The Hoosiers

Got your revolution, now you're waging war again Marching on the spot when you should have made amends You say you fight for us, cross your heart and hope to die You're a bully in the playground and we'll hang you out to dry Blame Simon 'cause he said You've got two lives down and one life left Blame Simon 'cause he said You could think better with a hole in your head

Listening to The Hoosiers brings me back to my high school days. This song for me really gets at the change in tone that the "mystery" goes through, specifically with Riz and his relationship with Biz Glitterdew. The way the song kind of starts out as a fun kitchy romp and then devolves into a screeching violent swirl really shows how out of everyone, even though Riz was probably the closest with Biz at the start, he was definitly the one ready and willing to hold him violently accountable for his actions. Riz shows you how to deal with violent incels.

5. Big Sea, Crash Of Rhinos

We'll stand trial, our will won't be broken Your mistake is not that you care, it's that you don't notice Our favorite part is not how this ends It's just how its starts And just that it starts I'll paint you from my memory

I do think that Riz would absolutely love math rock and I do not mind going to jail for that opinion (because every guy that I've met that likes math rock has been proven to be not great - but I'm holding out). Either way, do you guys remember how they literally were in jail for months. Like Riz "son of a cop (at the time)" "The Ball" Gukgak spent several months in jail not being able to do anything but ruminate on the case, what he could have done differently, and what could be happening without them present. Yikes.

6. Black Dragon Fighting Society, My Chemical Romance

Yeah, I drink juice when I'm killing 'cause it's fucking delicious ... Switing out my style bring a friend out with Better grab your soul from the fingers of death I got a medical emergency A medical emergency We got a medical emergency A medical emergency (Mayday, they call the shots, yeah)

This is the type of song that you play during a full throttle drag out feral goblin fight, and its' the song that Riz deserves to end the season with, since he and his mom ate the fucking dragon that killed his dad. Hell yeah.

[halfagone]

Sudden thought I had:

Phantom, after everything he did for Amity, now being an adult (I'm putting at 27 here) with the necessary emotional maturity to recognize that he doesn't owe them anything, seals the portal, places the entire frame in his lair for safekeeping, along with all the blueprints his parents had, and leaves to go explore the world, like his little girl likes to do so much (I'm a sucker for Danny adopting Ellie, and being very supportive of her while also being always ready to be summoned next to her and crack some skulls if needed).

While going through Paris, and finding a pair of teenage heroes, like he and Valerie had once been, Danny decided he can take a break from his travelling to helpd these baby heroes and give them the training and support they need.

They get along better than anyone expected. Danny is Life and Death, Balance personified. Who else would be better to teach the hosts of Creation and Destruction than the one who embodies both in perfect balance?

I'm envisioning Danny sits down to have a nice chat with the Guardian about getting the kids proper training, and he's not going anywhere. The kwami in the box swarm him because he feels like a spirit of incredible power, and really, what else would happen except Danny finding himself taking spiritual custody over two teenage heroes who are clearly way over their heads fighting literal adults.

Step number one: get legal custody of Adrien Agreste and get his father charged to the fullest extent of the law for being so negligent to his own son.

I'm seeing this going 2 ways:

Danny gets custody over Adrien, moves into an apartment next to the Dupain-Cheng bakery, and their place becomes Vigilante Central, with Phantom often watching over the kids as they go out at night, typically going invisible to not give away his presence.

Hawkmoth tries one last desperate move to get the Miraculous before the police come for him. He takes to the field...and is subsequently trounced by Phantom, who beats him into the ground for picking on a bunch of children instead of getting therapy.

Plucking the Miraculous and setting the kwami within free from the old man's control, certainly expedited the process of acquiring custody over Adrien, but it also sent the poor boy spiraling for a while.

Or 2:

Their entire issues are solved by Gabriel being unable to use his Miraculius, because prison doesn't really...allow...jewellery. Which means Hawkmoth no longer shows up. Until Natalie, ever loyal to her boss, picks up the Moth Miraculous and tries to make his dreams come true. Except Phanton is...a little more ready to throw hands, and by the gods she's going to catch them whether she wants to or not.

By the end of it, Danny just doesn't really go anywhere else. Just stays in France full-time to help raise these two reckless kids. And sure, Marinette has her own wonderful parents. Doesn't mean Adopted Cousin Fenton won't spoil her rotten and enable all her chaotic gremlin tendencies while also keeping her safe. Add Ellie into the mix, and Paris has never been more happy and yet annoyed by all these gremlin heroes running around, cracking the most awful jokes and keeping the city safe.

I actually really like the idea of option 2, not gonna lie. I like the slow, dawning realization some people might have, Adrien specifically, as they realize the possible reason for Hawkmoth's sudden disappearance. While I usually like public reveals for Danny, for Hawkmoth I actually prefer more low-key ones because I know people would probably blame or question Adrien for not knowing sooner. (Because let's face it, this is the same world that lets kids like Chloé get away with all sorts of stuff.) So I think if I ever wrote a fic following along with this kind of idea, I would actually go the route of #2.

You're giving me such brain worms, don't do this to me! One of these days I may actually have to commit to a crossover between these two specifically, and I already have so much to write TAT

[leaf-kei]

Hello! Love your Time squad posts ! Canon wise: do you think Larry was in love with Tuddrussel? What about XJ5 being in love with Sheila idea ? I really love checking for canon evidences it is so fun

HI!!!! I AM SO SORRY it took me so long to answer you ;__; My bad... I wanted to wait until I could give this ask my Full attention (tbh I've had Team Fortress 2 brain worms for weeks and have been unable to focus on anything GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT).

I'm so glad you like my posts! ;w; In general, I don't think things need to be canon to be worth thinking about & exploring creatively... but buddy? Larry being in love with Tuddrussel? That is IN THE SHOW. I can't stress enough that this HAPPENS in Time Squad. I would venture to say Larry wanting a loving relationship with Tudd and Tudd not giving it to him is a reoccurring theme (along with history and slapstick comedy and. gender roles, weirdly??? tune in for THAT essay later lmao). You may have seen it already, but I compiled a bunch of my favorite TuddLarry moments in a video here! It also includes moments where Something Gay Happens On Screen no matter what characters are involved... I know it's all there for comedy, but for the most part, the gay jokes in TS don't feel like they come from a hateful place to me. Everyone gets made fun of equally in this show... it has that kind of mean-spirited early 2000s humor lol

My absolute favorite underrated TuddLarry canon moment of all time is in A Thrilla At Attila's. In Tudd's fantasy recollection of the mission, Otto and Larry look up to him as a great leader... it's VERY CUTE that Tudd's dream is to be genuinely admired by them 😭 BUT at one point, the fantasy Larry (who is inexplicably wearing a tutu) swoons over Tudd with little hearts over his head while Tudd is fighting some other guy?! THIS IS IN TUDD'S FANTASY HE WISHES THIS WOULD HAPPEN

U know what, I'm gonna take this opportunity to ramble about family commitment as a central theme of the show!!

- Otto is literally adopted by Tudd and Larry (Larry calls it adoption in Kubla Khan't), and Otto's addition to the squad forces their business-only relationship to change. Time Squad is (at least partly) about three very different characters navigating a new family dynamic formed by chance.

- They naturally fall into typical sitcom family roles: Tudd's the manchild fun dad, Larry's the homemaking strict mom, and Otto's the sweet kid who's trying to keep the peace... their personalities clash as they try to live and work and be happy together. It's significant that they're alone on the satellite they live on; with no one else from their own time period around them while they're at home, they're isolated with one another like a family unit in a suburban house. Even though they fight, they grow to love each other over time... what's that thing people say about hate and love being two sides of the same coin? I feel like Larry's love for Tudd manifests as anger a lot of the time—he gets upset whenever Tudd doesn't measure up to his ideal of a domestic partner. Is that healthy? Idk, probably not, but that's the way it is for them (at least in the two seasons that exist 👀).

- Of course, family commitments aren't always harmonious, and for these guys things are chaotic MOST of the time... but no matter what historical figures they meet or temptations they face, at the end of the day, they always come back together. They're a family, it's as simple as that. Otto doesn't need to have a logical reason to turn down George Washington's offer to adopt him in Father Figure of Our Country—no one can replace Tuddrussel, and that's it.

So tl;dr, Time Squad is about two men adopting a child and having a domestic committed relationship, and it uses that setup to tell funny stories and introduce fun conflict !?? And it's all in a cute art style AND there's HISTORY??? Cartoon Network should ABSOLUTELY bring it back and make a new season HEAR MY PLEA

—Of course, I think Tudd and Larry's relationship developing into a romantic (but still wacky) one would be a great setup for such a new season! But that's just my post-canon fantasy ;^) ... and what all my fanart and little writings are about lol

ANYWAYS HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Edit: SHIT I forgot to mention XJ5!! I ADORE the idea they have a crush on Sheila, that's my headcanon too!! BUT instead of being a jerk like Tudd is to Larry, Sheila is only ever considerate and nice and professional and friendly to XJ5 🤲 And XJ5 is so awkward with social situations (a real Robot's Robot) that they have no idea how to approach these feelings or how to articulate them at all... they could use a few lessons in human behavior from Larry hmmm?

[oathofkaslana]

hi hi hi leeeee :] as a colleiwarrior it is my duty to ask about collei o7 and if you want to do it id like to hear your thoughts about xiao too hehe

HAI PLUTO!!!! ill do collei and then xiao :3

Collei:

First impression:

OHHH I LOVE HER ALREADY SHE'S SO SNARKY AND HER LORE IS SO COMPELLING....... very very excited to see her in game i hope she comes out soon (<- had to wait like what. two/three years????)

Impression now:

gives me brain worms my God. i think i've thought about her too much bc theres so many lil symbols that i associate w her that just aren't intentional in the slightest. she has so so so much lovea nd heart in her and i wishhhh people understood her better. also extremely disappointed in her in-game writing for multiple reasons but like. the ableism and misogyny being a big one. :( colleination could fix her...... i wish she were more mean in the game.

Favorite moment:

her fight w kaeya and the subsequent "confrontation" w amber....... makes me so so sick in the head that was The original collei trio to me. i looove how it plays w all three of their characters even if it isn't shown very well. it's also the basis for a lot of my interpretation of collei since it shows the extent of her beliefs/lack of belief. dear god..... it's so so good.

Idea for a story:

i've talked abt wt spin off au and windblume rewrite a bunch on this blog so let's go with amber and collei liyue trip!! :DD someone comes and tells amber they heard something about her grandfather in qingce while collei's in town and obv collei's like i can't hold you back on this! so they jsut decide to go together bc collei's packed a bag anyways and they're both adept w survival skills surely their different skills will come in handy for liyue. going to qingce leads them to going to yilong port (i'd do qiaoying but i feel like its too close) and amber's like. kinda stumbling w her broken canto-mando and feeling weirdly emotional and she and collei both bond w "coming back" to a generational homeland while feeling like a stranger and its an important moment to both of them bonding as friends and a pivitol point of collei changing her idea of amber as a savior as more of amber as a best friend yk :''). also ga-ming....... i don't know if he'll stay for long bc honestly i do want it to focus on amber and collei but i think it'd be fun for him to at least make an appearance or sm yk!! the narrative there could be so compelling.

Favorite relationship:

........................okay yeah obv it's amber and collei aksjbdkbsdja BUT. her and cyno are a close second :]

Favorite headcanon:

SNAKE MOMENT. i have a moment in my wt spin off au where she tends to a snake in spite of a phobia of them and it's representative of her first step towards healing AND her caring for her younger self even if she's still wrapped in so much hatred of her. also trans (she/her) lesbian.

Xiao:

First impression:

he's so sad :(( i want him please come home.... he has so so much heart and he doesn't even know it because of his own grief and guilt and objectification of himself :(( he's bruce-coded FUCK.

Impression now:

MAKES ME VIOLENT. i love him so so bad i miss him all the time. his story is soooo entangled with grief and acceptance and every little step he takes reflects that. he's such a fun character bc it's kinda a study on what comes after the tragic hero's story yk? except the tragedy is in part because he lives! he feels so so much and has such a big hear tbut denies it any priority bc it's easier not to. :((

Favorite moment:

PERILOUSWS TRAILS CUTSCNEe......... MY GOD. DERA GHODDD. FUCK. it makes me so so sick in the head that entire quest. xiao so readily sacrificing himself for the others because it's his duty to and because its what all his loved ones did. him closing his eyes and accepting it and finding comfort in the fact that he knows what happened to bosacius and that he's following his footsteps. him being saved and being surprised but That being such a key moment to his grieving process. also the poem from the waterborne poetry event :'') (aka the only part of that event that matters). it referencing all of the yakshas :'''''') and talking of him missing them

Idea for a story:

i don't have an actual story w xiao in mind... i would loooove to see another story quest w him and the other adepti though :''') i wanna see him in the past so so bad :C

Favorite relationship:

him and zhongli! :] they're both characters whos stories are about grief but both have different timelines to it and i think that's so so interesting especially when you remember how zhongli showed no emotion during the archon war and how his depart from his duty was his final stage of grief (acceptance) whereas xiao plunged himself into duty and emotional repression as a means to cope with all the grief and guilt and pain that he feels.

Favorite headcanon:

i think the wangshu inn staff gives him li xi sometimes and he's just like "i am literally older than you please stop i have no need for this" but he keeps it anyways. they have a small room saved for him at all times just in case he ever wants it (he never takes it but he appreciates it). <- its small bc he'd die if it was an open space.

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

Hey, I was thinking about elemental outbursts. Specifically in regards to surprise. Surprise tends to have a couple different elements mixed in. So you could say it's expected for the different emotions to be expressed by different elements and their facets. For the audience at least, we have a baseline. Well, what if for a particularly bad outburst it's based around only one element (or it looks like it at least.) Specifically the plant one. It might not hit the characters in the story as hard as being out of the ordinary (unless it happens after they see one, which would be fun because then you could justify the outburst being stronger. It not what they're usually expecting so it generates more surprise) Anyway he uses his ability to affect nature to summon flowers to give to his friends and crushes. They're how he shows affection. I know Jesse's outbursts tend to be triggered by jealousy, jealousy isn't inherently bad. It's just one of the ways your brain can point out a need. That doesn't mean it can't be hard to deal with it. I wanted to point out the jealousy aspect because he tends to get jealous of, lets say something very specifically related to who he gives flowers. Anyway I got plagued by brain worms where Jesse has a plant themed elemental breakdown because the implications would be very very fun and also you could use so much flower language in the fight (if there is a fight, could just be a breakdown in a closet with a bunch of flowers appearing but I stand by it being a very fantastic mental image either way.)

"It might not hit the characters in the story as hard as being out of the ordinary (unless it happens after they see one, which would be fun because then you could justify the outburst being stronger. It not what they're usually expecting so it generates more surprise)" <- THIS

is almost entirely why Jesse has to be away from people during his Outbursts in the first place. The amount of Surprise the outburst would generate just from occurring on top of how violent his are in a short amount of time + accounting for each individual person's reaction has the potential to be DEADLY, especially if he's having a REALLY bad time and he's way out of control (or if a person making him feel a certain way is literally right there.)

But the idea of only one element being channeled is a fascinating one! Especially being the Nature one, for, as you said, all the potential flower symbolism. This...gives me very fun ideas, thank you :D

(And the idea of Jesse giving out flowers with less than kind meanings–or they're just popping out against his will—in the middle of a fight has me reeling)

[diamond-coral]

A Game

Summary: Tony suggests a game that you, the unfortunate intern, get dragged right into the center of: who can make a woman cum the fastest?

Pairings: all dark!: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, Tony x Reader, implied natasha x reader

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON (oral: f-receiving, fingering, tiny smidge of analplay) VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM, BLACKMAILING, OVERSTIMULATION. The characters in this story are NOT good people. After reading the warnings, your media consumption is your own responsibility!

As Stark’s party mellowed down and all the guests left, you, the unfortunate intern, were called over to the small group of five Avengers seated in a section of couches.

“Y/n, come!” Thor’s voice boomed.

“Y/n, come!” Sam mimicked, deepening his voice to make fun of Thor’s.

You approached them as the men snickered at Sam’s joke. 

“What can I do for you?” you ask, a fake smile plastered on your face.

Stark cleared his throat and raised a brow at you; a silent command. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” 

“A round of drinks please, and add this to Sir Barnes, Sir Rogers, and I’s drinks.” Thor handed you the flask of his Asgardian liquor and you accepted it, hiding the slight nervous tremble of your hands.

“Of course, sir.”

“Someone’s been learning their manners,” Steve taunted, and it took all your restraint to not snarl at him.

“Easy there, Rogers,” Stark interjected, noticing how your fingers clenched Thor’s flask tighter. “Pretty sure Barnes fucked the brat outta her couple days ago when he came back from that shitshow of mission in Bosnia. Got a lot of pent up rage there, Buck?”

“Mission just put me in a bad mood,” Bucky shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think I fucked all the brat outta her. Got anything left for me, doll?”

“I have nothing for you, you self-righteous, ignorant prick,” you spat venomously.

“There she is. I always love a challenge.” Bucky smirked at how your knuckles were turning white around the flask. “Now didn’t Thor ask you to go fetch us some drinks?”

You huffed, opting to bite your tongue rather than lashing out, and spun on your heel toward the minibar.

Three-months ago, you would never have imagined your internship interview at S.H.I.E.L.D to bring you here. Your interview had been conducted by Captain America himself, and just as things began to look promising, it was interrupted by a sharp knock from Tony Stark. Tony had brought Steve into the hall, leaving the door to the conference room open, and you could only sneak glances through the window of the room, hearing Steve whisper about how it was “a question of morality” while they both kept looking back at you.

You got the position, and the next day, Tony sat you down and gave you an offer.

The Avengers needed to be ‘taken care of’, as he put it, and you being a ‘stress-reliever’ would boost morale around the team. Most of the them never had time for the outside world (apparently saving the world was a big commitment?) and were rarely ever able to make lasting relationships. You could accept the position, be compensated monthy, and get to live in the compound, or you could decline, and walk away with your mouth sealed by the confidentiality contract you signed before the interview.  Something about S.H.I.E.L.D. work being linked to a lot of top secret information, meaning you weren’t allowed to speak any details of the job to outside parties unless you wanted to get sued for every penny you were worth.

You had been on the cusp of taking the second option before Tony mentioned your sister’s job as S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent. She was half the reason you’d interviewed for an internship. A couple words from Tony about her possibly falling into a fatal accident on a mission, and you took the position offer in a heartbeat.

You almost overfilled the glass while getting lost in your train of thought. Setting down the bottle of expensive whiskey, you placed the last glass next to the others on the silver tray, and picked it up, gracefully yet begrudgingly making your way back to the small gathering.

“Y/n, finally. We were just talking about who here can make a woman cum the fastest.”

The complete utter bluntness of Tony’s words caught you entirely off guard, and you tripped over your own feet, stumbling in your high heels to keep the tray of drinks from falling before Sam reached an arm out to catch the tray and another arm to hold your hip and steady you.

You ripped yourself from Sam’s touch without acknowledging or thanking him, to disturbed by Tony’s previous words to do so. You began passing out the glasses of dark liquid. “And you’re telling me this why?” Your voice was flat in hopes of showing Tony you were completely disinterested in any plans he might have.

“Why, we need your aid, Lady Y/n,” Thor answered a little too cheerfully for your taste.

“I won’t be partaking in your little immature competition of toxic masculinity.” You crossed your arms and continued. “It makes it seem that women are nothing but prizes. Games to be played by boys as they fight over the highscore. Toys.”

“Aren’t they?” Steve cocked his head, eyes glimmering with amusement while a smirk painted his face. The rest of the men chuckled at his reply.

“I think HR would be shocked to hear that Captain America is being a sexist dick to a woman in the workplace,” you bit back, but your threat was weak and they all knew it.

“I think HR would be to busy writing a condolence letter to your sisters family if, let’s say, on her mission with Sam tomorrow in Russia, a stray bullet hit her,” Steve replied. A quick reminder at the stakes. 

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sympathy. “Those darn Russians and their careless aim.”  

He abruptly pushed himself off the couch and clapped his hands together. “I wanna go first,” he declared.

“Just remember, you can’t use your dick,” Tony added. “Some of us don’t have super soldier serum enhanced fuckwands.”

“Please never, ever say fuckwand again,” Bucky said, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, the hydra serum didn’t do anything down there.” He waggled his eyebrows while elbowing his enhanced counterpart. “Don’t think I could say the same for this punk here though.”

Steve muttered a ‘shut up’ while the group snickered.

All while they compared sizes like a bunch of teenagers, Sam manhandled you onto the coffee table in the center of the couches. You let out a grunt as you were shoved onto your front, stomach pressed into the tabletop while your pelvis was slammed into the edge.

Sam kneeled behind you and brought up two fingers to your mouth.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby.”

The men around you went quiet, entranced as you reluctantly took Sam’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them.

When Sam finally pulled them out, he looked back at Tony.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Sam hiked the flowy skirt of your dress up your legs causing you to squirm and pathetically thrash; a desperate attempt at putting an abrupt stop to this stupid game.

“You’re on the clock.”

At Tony’s words, Sam immediately stopped your desperate attempt at worming away from him by catching you by the back of your neck and slamming you back down hard on the coffee table. Much to your disdain, the rough treatment made you wet, and that was the last thing you wanted them to see.

But when Sam pulled your lacy panties down, you could tell it was the first thing he noticed.

“Fuck babygirl, I didn’t need you lubing up my fingers, you’re already drenched,” he noted.

You let out a soft moan as Sam worked two calloused fingers into your pussy. Although they’re thick and long, they were nowhere near the size of his dick and you silently thanked whatever was out there that he wasn’t splitting you in half with it at the moment. Sam released the grip on your neck, moving to settle the hand on your ass before giving it a light squeeze and a slap that elicited another moan from you. While Sam slowly began moving his fingers- twisting, curling, and pumping them- he leaned over you, caging your body under his broad chest, to speak dirty words into your ear.

“Baby, you’re so wet right now, I think you like having them watch you.” Your cheeks burned in shame while he picked up the pace. “You want them to see how well-behaved you are for me? Want them to see how you come on my hand like a good little slut?” he cooed.

Slow pumps now turned to quick thrusts from his skilled fingers and Sam groaned as you fluttered around him.

“That’s it. You’re taking me perfectly.”

Twisting his wrist so his thumb could also strum your clit, Sam was moving so fast you’d easily mistake him for a superhuman.

“Yes, Sam, please,” you cried out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, babygirl. Wrong word,” he scolded, although his pace never slowed as his fingers brutally fucked into you.

“Daddy!” you screamed. “I’m cumming!”

You chanted those words, cunt clamping down on his merciless fingers. He gave you no reprieve, mercilessly thrusting into you, until you squirted, your release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Only when you were almost crying, did he finally remove his hand from your abused cunt.

“Now that-,” Sam stated, grinning while he stood. “-is how you make a girl come.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Birdbrain.” You don’t have any strength to look at Tony as he speaks. “Give her a couple minutes before whoever’s next.”

Whatever the conversation was between them (you couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in your brain), it was much too short to your liking. The few minutes Tony gave you only felt like a few seconds before Bucky was getting up.

“Guess I’ll take a crack at it,” he announced, rolling his head from side to side.

“No one says “take a crack at it” anymore, old man.”

“Keep talking when your in last place, Sam,” Bucky quipped, however, his tone was still light.

You felt a metal hand on your hip before you were rolled over onto your back, now facing Bucky while your eyes pleaded with him.

“Please dont,” you croaked.

Bucky just scoffed, kneeling down between your legs and wrapping both arms around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

“Tony?” His hot breath fanned your pussy as he spoke and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stark said.

Bucky wasted no time the moment the words left Tony’s mouth. He started by licking up from your hole to clit over and over, the lazy stripes already driving you wild. Letting go of one of your thighs to bring his flesh hand to your pussy, he pulled the hood of your clit back, pausing his licking to blow on your engorged bud.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll,” he murmured before turning his head around and speaking louder. “You guys seeing this?” 

He moved his head out of the way to showcase your glistening folds. A couple groans from the men on the couches had you trying to close your legs, but Bucky’s grip was like steel (especially considering his hand was metal).

“Wasting time Buck,” Steve commented and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I can still beat Sam and have time left over,” he scoffed.

Bucky directed his attention back to your folds, this time, diving in right away. He still had the hood of your clit pulled back as he encased the bud with his lips causing you to writhe at the intense sensation. And yet, you were held down with practically no effort as he methodically played with you. Each time he groaned against you, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and by the time he started sucking on your clit, you were wrecked. Your hand found home in his brown locks of hair while he quickly moved his tongue back and forward on your sensitive nub that was trapped in the vacuum of his mouth. The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, and suddenly, while Bucky began shaking his head from side to side, it snapped. Your clit pulsed rapidly while encased in his hot mouth, and you screamed, legs locking around his head while your hand held his head in place. He worked you while you rode out your orgasm on his face until you could barely move.

Bucky got up from his knees, grinning down at you, so weak, you couldn’t muster it in you to glare back.

“Now I think I really fucked the brat out of you,” he said. “What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did I hear a thank you sir?”

“Thank you, sir,” you whimpered weakly.

You were so fucked out, all the next events were but a blur.

Thor had feasted between your thighs the same as Bucky but was more sloppy, although, your body seemed to love ‘sloppy’. His tongue was constantly lashing and worming around your clit, the wet muscle accompanied by lewd slurping sounds, and in record time, Thor’s suckling and licking had you tensing and building up so much that your orgasm felt like a waterfall crashing over your body.

Steve was just as methodical and precise as Bucky, also pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. He was sweetly slow, dragging out your pleasure to the point where you were begging him to come. His warm tongue dragged across your sensitive cunt, while another hand reached up to grab a breast and pinch a nipple. You felt like your body was on fire. It wasn’t until Steve had inserted a thumb into your ass that he finally allowed your body sweet sweet release.

Your head span as finally collapsing on Tony’s floor, listening to the muffled voices above you.

You didn’t even register Stark’s words as he announced Thor had won and Steve had come in last. You barely even heard Steve’s defense that he was just enjoying himself too much in the moment.

Although ten-minutes later you had a somewhat sense of clarity, after hearing their conversation, you wished you were just unconscious. Even better, dead.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I made her squirt. She definitely came the hardest with me.” Sam’s voice rang.

“Dude- she was literally grinding against my face and holding me in a headlock with her legs,” Bucky argued.

“I literally made the brat beg to cum,” Steve inserted.

“I’d say that by bringing her to release the fastest, it was most intense with me,” Thor declared, victoriously.

You were on the brink of tears as they talked about you. Until another voice cut into the room. A female voice.

“What do you boys think you’re doing?”

It was Natasha. Your head jolted up as you felt a glimmer of hope surge through you.

That glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished at her next words.

“Not inviting me to the boy’s party?” she scolded. “You think a girl might beat you by a landslide?”

Nat squatted down next to you, running a soft hand on your cheek.

“Well you’re right. I’ll beat Thor’s record and cut it in half.”

She began unbuttoning her pants.

“And I’ll do it while riding her face.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Time Travel ft. Leia and Vader

(Helped by @atagotiak)

I was reading a bunch of different time travel fics, and my brain slotted in that one "Vader hands over the Empire to Leia and is now her most devoted sycophant" dynamic and mixed it with the "Luke and Vader time-travel and Vader does the right thing but only because it would make Luke sad if he didn't."

I landed on "Leia time travels to prequels era, but her least favorite family member has also traveled with her, though it takes him a few months to find her because he has less resources without the entire Imperial Navy, but he's still a scary Sith in all black with a breathing mask and intimidating cape."

"Tiny angry lady who wants to force democracy and her giant Sith father whom she hates but has resigned herself to pointing at threats like a tank who inexplicably loves her" is a delightful dynamic.

The first few months included a lot of concern about "why do you know so much about Sith if you're not trained or looking to be one" and then Vader shows up and calls her 'daughter' and she insults him and it's like "Oh. That explains it."

Council Member: We have a Sith in the Temple. Vader: Former Sith. Leia: Listen. He is your best chance against Sidious. Also, do you want Dooku dead? Vader can make him dead. Council Member: Your father i-- Leia, scrunching up her face: Don't call him that.

Like Leia is deep in conversation when the Temple starts panicking because Vader just. Showed up? He snuck in, somehow? So Palpatine wouldn't catch him on video entering through the front door? And people try to keep her away from the trouble, because there's an entire array of Jedi Masters to deal with this Surprise Sith, except she can sense exactly which Sith it is and once she shouts "oh you have got to be kidding me!" she just starts running and, well, it's Leia. Nobody can stop her.

(Leia does have less combat training, at least less force-assisted combat training, than the Jedi. But then the Jedi don’t want to hurt here here. She's not fighting her way down, either, she's just running really fast and all the best fighters already left. They had a head start. So Leia's mostly running past random padawans and the like.)

She shoves her way to the front of the group of Masters who. Well, they're certainly ready to attack. But Vader is just standing there. Doing nothing. Still intimidating as fuck but he's not doing anything.

And then Leia bursts onto the scene like "You motherfucker."

She hits her head on a clipboard and whines because UGH he's a walking WMD and they could REALLY use him against Palpatine but also. She hates him so much.

She tries to hand him off to the Jedi council but he insists that he will only take orders from Leia herself.

Jedi: Wait, what. Leia, completely ignoring them: Did you follow me here? Vader, through the mechanical wheezing: I have no loyalty to my master and no empire to serve. You are all that I have left. Leia: Me? Me? I'm all that you have left? You committed a genocide that killed all the family I had except for the twin brother you later mutilated! Jedi: Wait what Vader, going to one knee: I pledge my loyalty and blade to you and only you, daughter. Leia, ready to explode: I. I just. Jedi, some of whom really want to say things but are slowly realizing that they just accidentally acquired a Sith Lord by proxy: What. Leia: I hate you so much but I can't even get rid of you, you're too useful. Vader: I live to serve. Leia: Yeah. Got that. Fuck. Someone get him a full medical rundown, I don't know the last time that mess of a life support system was updated. Jedi, agitated again: WHAT Leia: Listen, I don't like him, but I'm not stupid enough to throw away the second most dangerous person in the universe when I can point him at the most dangerous person in the universe. Especially not if he's going to listen to me. Jedi: But... he's a Sith. Leia: Please trust me when I say this: you might be able to take him down eventually, but he will take dozens of you down with him, and right now he's... honestly, I'm pretty sure he's more depressed than malicious. Jedi: You hate him. I can feel it. Leia: Yes, but I can be professional about it. Vader: They have not yet d-- Leia: Nope! No talking! Not until I've had a chance to process this mess!

There is a whole lot of Leia snapping at Vader to stop it whenever he starts giving off vibes like he wants to take the most violent shortcut possible.

She is not the gentle hand that Luke would be.

Leia isn't a Jedi or working for them but she's wormed her way into being an ally. They don't 100% trust her, especially not with Vader just showing up and declaring her family but like

How do you say no to a WMD walking into your house and saying "I will fight the monster you cower from at night."

There's a lot of Leia snapping off an admonishment that sounds just a little too odd and then when questioned she just says "He knows what he did."

tbh I'm not sure how long it takes for them to tell anyone that Anakin is Vader. They might hold it off in hopes that Anakin can just retire to be Mr. Amidala after the war is over.

Well, Leia hopes. Vader just lets Leia make that call and then glowers at his younger self every time they're in the same room.

I do feel like Leia tells Obi-Wan the truth first

Imagine. Imagine a Vader who’s past still isn’t known. But has gotten somewhat comfortable around the Jedi (not really but the bar for what counts and comfortable for him is low). And Obi-Wan habitually banters with darksiders, right? If Vader’s guard is down for a moment and he, without thinking, references an inside joke...

Might be the most fun in terms of ways to tell Obi-Wan "We're time travelers and Vader is what happens if you let Palpatine drive Anakin off the edge"

If Vader has decided to pledge himself to her orders after destroying her planet, then fine. She can work with that. She's not going to be happy about it, but she can make it work.

The Jedi Temple hates having Vader anywhere nearby but he is actually very good at hiding himself from people, including Palpatine And for all that Leia seems perpetually irritated with her apparent bodyguard, he does seem to listen to her.

Jedi council: We still haven't figured out how to handle Dooku Leia: Do you know his location? Jedi council: Yes. Leia: [sigh] Leia: Vader, deal with it. Alive if possible.

(Leia does need to clarify an acceptable level of violence against the people protecting Dooku.) (She needs to clarify... many things.)

Leia always says "Vader" and one time a poor fool just asks why she doesn't call him dad and she snarls out "He is not the man that raised me, and I am glad for it."

Someone less foolish later prods more compassionately and she lets them know she was adopted and didn't properly meet Vader except in passing until she was nineteen.

"And then he tortured you." "And then he tortured me, yes." "Damn." "Didn't even find out we were related until a few years later when he chopped my brother's arm off." "You... wow." "I know."

At least one exchange that is L: You mean when you tortured me? A: He did what. V: I was not aware of our relation at that time. L: Not the point! I am fully aware of your interrogation methods and I refuse to let you be the one to acquire the evidence for-- A: Wait no go back he tortured you? L: Move on, please, we already have. A: That means I'm... oh Force, I'm going to torture my own daughter what in the actual fu-- L: We're moving on.

(“I end up torturing my own daughter” If Leia’s feeling especially spiteful I can see her saying “you mutilate your own son too”)

Concept: Leia is very free with traumatizing details of her past re:Vader and Anakin thinks that it sucks but doesn’t think much of it bc Sith. And then some time later he finds out...

(I love characters who use the traumatizing details of their past to shut down conversations.)

It's such a wonderfully horrifying concept for him to try to awkwardly comfort this girl he kind of knows because having a Sith for a dad sounds like it would suck and Leia seems nice, even if she's kind of weird and uncomfortable around Anakin, but he saw her flinch around a few other tall people wearing black robes the way she stiffens around Vader so maybe it's just that!

It is not.

Vader does get a significant amount of medical treatment. Including a bunch of "holy shit, that's a lot of drugs" and similar. There is so much lightning damage.

hnnng I'm just really in love with the image of Tiny Tiny Leia sitting behind a desk for some fancy negotiation, the picture of professionalism, while Vader just stands behind her shoulder, looming, glaring expressionless death at whoever came to speak with his baby girl.

Not that he would call her that, because she'd just hate him more and he's really not sure how to fix that problem, other than doing whatever she asks with no complaints and hoping she appreciates it.

Vader: [looks at children wandering by, has complicated emotions] Leia, tired of his shit: What now? Vader: I killed them, once. Leia, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath: And you're not going to do that again. No killing children. Vader: I know that. Leia: Great. I am... regretting asking. I am so very much regretting asking.

I do really like the idea of someone asking Leia once if she wants Jedi training and she says, no, actually, she's fully aware of the fact that she's angry little ball of hate sometimes, especially towards her bio father, and she'd like to refrain from putting herself in a position where she knows enough about the Force to Fall. She wouldn't Fall. But it does make people shut up.

[leam1983]

Rummaging Things Around

I have a thing in mind. A vaguely Lovecraftian thing, inspired by my re-reading Champion of the Worms, by Mignola and McEown. The early stretches are basically a pastiche of a pastiche, but that's never stopped me before...

So we have this guy - sort of a failed academic with something like a decent brain to call his own, that gets pulled out of a life of relative non-ambition by a more successful relative. The uncle's long been a curator for a bunch of obscure exhibits and more or less lives like the Dieselpunk Forties never ended and Eldritch Horror were real. He's the type who speaks six languages, unearths remote tribes the world over and somehow finds ways to show even the people of the 21st century that yes, here sometimes be dragons anyway.

Dropout is brought in to help his uncle with the curation of his new exhibit in an obscure little New England town, and it's through piecing things together that our main guy realizes the object of the exhibit-to-be is Hyperborea, also known as Ultima Thule - the very continent Nazi occult weirdos spent years chasing in the hopes of anchoring their theories about the Aryan race to anything at all. Hyperborea is Antarctica, of course, and briefly consisted of a few landmasses that weren't yet covered in ice, several million years ago. The story goes that the archipelago was colonized by an extant Hominid species, a forgotten branch of Humanity that has strengths and weaknesses altogether different from the Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon species that both preceded and followed them. They grew in secret, mastered art, language and philosophy - even dove into the mysteries lying beyond mere intellect and intuition.

Then, they vanished. No fossil records, no bones, no traces of their civilization - nothing except what our Uncle character finds.

And what does he find? Two burial sites that would make Tutankhamen absolutely green with envy. The catch is is laden in dark portents and the other one has an almost messianic undertone - as if opening this particular tomb would somehow usher in Mankind's next stage in History.

It's a small museum, Uncle's on the frail side, and his wing's curator isn't exactly on-the-level... Things get leaked, pictures are taken, and thieves get involved. As greedy as you'd expect and far too confident after overpowering an older man, an out-of-shape thirtysomething and a dumpy idiot in his sixties, they crack open the bigger, more festooned sarcophagus.

Things... take a turn for the worse. The Hyperboreans, as it turns out, owe their disappearance to their falling under the insane sway of a death cult. A Great Old One-esque monstrosity more than likely claimed them so completely it erased Hyperborean civilization from the map, leaving its priest to serve as the hierophant of things to come if anyone were to awaken him again. If an entire culture's drank the Kool-Aid, it follows that someone hell-bent on spreading destruction would receive Grade-A Messiah treatment, complete with a beatific burial site that just so happened to send the wrong impressions to a bunch of credulous grave robbers, millions of years ago.

Fighting back against zombies, spirits and other monstrosities, Uncle and Dropout lose the curator. Eventually, Uncle dies. Dropout is alone, barricaded in the same room as the second stone coffin, one that's etched out of crude limestone and that's had every carving and identifying marker chipped away by chisel. Someone did not want anyone else to find thar second tomb, and did not want anyone to open it.

With the world slowly succumbing to chaos outside and with nothing else to do, Dropout opens the second sarcophagus. What he finds inside is a... different kind of undeath, one that feels less like a perversion of life and more like one heck of an obstinate man that absolutely, positively refused to give in to death. The dessicated mummy reaches out with a dusty moan, grabs ahold of Dropout's neck - and pulls him in for a kiss.

When he finally breaks away, gagging and heaving, Dropout somehow instinctively knows that this contact served as a means to copy his thoughts, linguistic and situational skills, and awareness of the situation. As for the mummy, it's sitting up in its sarcophagus and lounging in it for a few moments, stroking its beard for a few breaths.

"Six million years, eh?" it says, its voice going from sepulchral croaks to a precisely-toned and conversational King's English over the next minute or so. "Well, I have to give you credit - you lot at least look like you never went snooping about in places where sane men aren't expected..."

It catches itself. "Ah, well, there was this one chunk of you with a thing for portents brought about by sulfurous fumes - Athenians and the Pythia, hm? Overall, however, if we're generous? Barring brief moments of potential concern like MKULTRA or some of your Feds keeping an eye on the Ayahuasca fad? I guess you could call yourselves blessedly ignorant."

The second mummy grins, which isn't a pretty sight. It scoffs. "I know - I look horrendous. Past a certain point, it really doesn't matter who or what your keeper is, man-flesh is as man-flesh does - but you're not here to listen to me ramble, are you? The Serpent is loose, the world will be devoured, End of Times, yadda yadda - unless you help me climb out of this thing."

The dropout screams. Shenanigans ensue.

[gaiuswrites]

Thread the Needle | Yoga!Din

Pairing: Modern!Din x Yoga Instructor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, goodbye)

Word count: 3.5k~

Warnings/tags: Yoga!Din (yes, he gets his own warning), hurt/comfort, language, smut, good ol' fashioned cunnilingus, piv

Notes: ✨ HI FRIENDS ✨ Yoga!Din rides again. This idea has been stewing (pun intended, you'll get it later) in my dumb brain for a while now and I've finally decided to write it. Technically, this takes place a little farther into the future (perhaps when the pair is more of an item, and less of a fuckbuddy fling, but thorough plot? We don’t know her). Anyways, enjoy! Cheers x

He doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s the most agonizing sixty minutes of his goddamn life.

He’s seated on his mat, legs folded into a fucking pretzel—lotus pose, a calm voice inside his head corrects—and he’s steaming.

She isn’t here.

He is—Din, for all his faults, showed the fuck up to class but she didn’t, and in her place there’s some smelly old bat, this woman’s wrinkly ass – sits bones – plunked down at the front of the studio— occupying her spot, where she should be.

His eyes stalk the movements of this other woman as she putters around the studio—the godawful stench of something earthy wafting behind her— and it looks wrong. It feels wrong; like a violation somehow—of the space.

Of their space.

“The light in me recognizes the light in you,” they all utter in unison like a fucking hippie cult, and he books it out of there, swiping his mat up with an aggressive slap and rolling it under his arm.

“Hey,” he calls out, pacing towards the front desk. The receptionist— Riley? Kylie? Din can never remember—glances up from her phone, bright eyed.

Poor thing.

“Who the fuck is that?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the studio, the gaggle of ladies trickling out of it already gossiping and clucking away. Din doesn’t mean to sound accusatory; he doesn’t mean to be this intense. It’s not this girl’s fault, he knows that— but she’s in proximity and she’s shit out of luck.

“M’sorry?” she sputters, blinking up at him.

Breathe, that same voice coos—he can feel the tickle of it behind his ear.

“Our usual Wednesday instructor,” Din begins again, clipped. “Where is she?”

“Oh," she shrugs, "she called in sick.”

With a furrowed brow he pitches forward, craning over the desk. “Is she okay?”

The girl— Miley? —all but flinches back from him, a quizzical expression wormed onto her. “Uhm, yeah she has the flu—nasty one, too, but she’ll probably be back by ne-"

Din doesn’t linger long enough for her to finish. He’s wheeled around, striding from the building, the tinny chime of the bell ringing out as the door creaks closed behind him. The women exchange waggling glances in his wake, tittering in mouthwatering delight—more juicy fodder for their post-yoga soiree.

///

He doesn’t remember driving there. He made a quick stop to the grocery store— their grocery store, now— to pick up what he needed and before he knows it, he’s at her front door, bringing his fist down upon it in hard raps.

He hears movement—can sense it there, can practically imagine it: her lithe body tip toeing over— no, she’s got the flu, maybe it’s more of a shuffle—and peeking through the peephole. There’s a weighty pause and then—

The slow, dubious clicks of unbolting locks, the turning of a handle, the yawn of the wood as it opens.

Her voice is made small with disbelief and exhaustion. “Din?”

“Can I come in?”

She cracks the door ajar, standing in the frame of it now, a thick blue comforter slung over an arm, and she can’t quite mask the stupefied look etched onto her face.

He’s never done this. She’s never done this. He’s been to her place twice—three times, if he counts them fucking in the car in her driveway—and he’s certainly never showed up unannounced.

“Uhm, I-”

“Great.”

Din pushes past her, plastic bag swinging heavy at his side.

“W-What?”

She’s left gaping, mouth and eyes opened incredulously, ogling the way he struts through her entryway, before finally having the wherewithal to close the door. “Hey, what are you-”

“You need to keep your fluids up,” he says roughly—as if it’s obvious—making a beeline towards the kitchen.

She follows after him, bunching the throw snuggly around her shoulders. “Din,” she utters feebly, “I really don’t think you should be here right now.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Please, I don’t wanna get you sick."

He thunks the bag onto the granite countertop, producing two cans.

She doesn’t know why she bothers, it’s not like he’s listening to her anyways. If she’s learned anything about Din Djarin, it’s that he’s nothing if not stubborn—impossibly immovable. He’s tossed his jacket off, slinging it over the island, a determined glint in his eye as he prowls around the kitchen, opening cupboards at random.

“Seriously, I don’t want you catching this. I feel like shit… Oh my god, I look like shit,” she groans in realization, burying her head in the blanket, hermitting herself away.

“You look fine,” he replies gruffly, delving through the drawers in search of a can opener.

Frumpy sweats and a baggy t-shirt with some faded logo on it that’s absolutely hanging off her. Hair tossed up and sloppy, coiled into a loose bun, errant pieces rebelling every which way. A little pale, maybe. Tired eyes. Messy.

Beautiful, he meant. She looks fucking irritatingly beautiful.

Din continues to rifle through her cabinets and he exhales in frustration, “Jesus, where do you keep your pans?”

“Bottom right,” she points begrudgingly.

He grunts, finding one big enough and sets it down on the stove.

She can’t stop fussing over him; making comments here and there, asking if he wants anything, needs anything—water, kombucha, tea, a beer, a snack—if she can help in any way possible—and it nearly sends him over the damn edge.

“Would you quit it and just let me take care of you?” he grits out, and her mouth clamps shut with a pop.

She’s quiet after that, picking anxiously at a thread poking out from the blanket she wears like a shawl—observing as he empties the cans into a large pot, lights the gas stove, and brings it to a boil. She gives him space, stationing herself by the kitchen table, leaning a hip into one of the four chairs there.

Honestly she does try to keep to herself; she tries to accept what Din is doing for her, but she can’t help it. As soon as she sees him ladling the soup into one of her favorite cups—it looks so tiny in his grasp— and bringing it over to her like a goddamn patron saint, she breaks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah well, you need to get healthy so you can take your class back from that fucking fossil.”

“Din,” she admonishes.

“Baby,” he gives her a pointed look and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, a blush blotting her clavicle. “She fucking smells. Now sit your pretty little ass down-”

“But-”

He presses a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sink into the chair with a soft oomf, and places the bowl in front of her. “Don’t fight me on this. Drink the fucking soup.”

She huffs, glancing down, and then back up to Din.

“Progresso?”

He grunts.

She blows at the steam rising from the hot liquid. “Chicken noodle?”

Din crosses his arms over his chest and plops back onto the island.

“Classic,” she praises, mumbling into it.

She loathes to admit it, but the first sip tastes like heaven. It soothes her raw vocal chords, worn hoarse from nights of coughing, and seeps deep to warm her cold bones.

Din remains mute through the whole affair, staring owlishly as she spoons it down, slurp for slurp, until he’s satisfied she’s finished. When she does, she arches an eye brow at him— mouth pressing into a thin line. Happy now?

He tips his head and pads over to her.

“Wait, no you don’t have to-" He swipes it from the table, the spoon clanking against the ceramic rim. Din moves to the sink and she groans.

“Just leave it,” she whines, but he ignores her—stubborn stubborn stubborn— he’s already got soap on the sponge and the water running. Again, she huffs and rises to her feet, hem of the blanket trailing behind her.

“Thank you,” she gives in a hushed tone.

It’s so strange— being taken care of in her own place. She doesn’t know what to do, where to go. It’s ill-fitting, foreign, and she can only hover there, buzzing like a pesky insect beside him.

He’s wiping the dish off with a towel when he chances a peek back at her, practically stuttering when he does.

She’s swaddled in that fucking quilt, awkward and impossibly sincere and precious just standing there—watching him play house in her home. A brush of color has sprung up on her cheeks—more light in her eyes, too—and Din, try as he might, can’t pry himself off her.

She’s sick—she’s sick and gorgeous and he wants her. He wants her to feel better, he wants to fuck her, he wants to hold her. He’s overcome with it.

He swallows.

Fuck.

He abandons the bowl and rag in the drying rack and turns to her, her eyes widening, glassy and bloodshot, as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear— knuckles trailing down her jaw.

“Din…”

Her tongue skips over her lip—mocking him—damp and full and begging to be taken by his own, and her breath catches as he drags a thumb across that plump flesh, enrapt with the way her mouth parts so effortlessly for him—so fucking supple. Din’s gut twists and his blood thickens in his veins—the air between them rippling with something velvet and carnal.

He takes a step towards her. Her throat bobs.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she pouts in protest, rutting her palm into his chest, but there’s no fight in it. The blanket slips from her shoulders, hitting the ground with a dulled splat.

“Din,” she tries again, “I don’t want you to-"

He leans in, cradling her cheek, murmurs fanning over her face. “I’ll risk it.”

And he dissolves the gap, sealing her mouth with his in a tender kiss. It’s almost chaste at first, how they rove tentative and unhurried over each other—an innocent exploration— all until his tongue darts out to touch along her lip and she whimpers into him, letting Din dip into the dark cavern of her mouth. She tastes warm, like comfort and broth and rainy days, and he sighs as she brings her hands up to weave into his hair.

Neither of them fight for dominance like this—their tangle of soft sounds is perfectly balanced— Hatha; effort and ease, breath and body. He pushes, she relents—she surges forward, Din bends. They dance like this, slow as tar, until she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

He seethes, inhaling sharply as his hands slide possessive and greedy down her body, grabbing fistfuls of her waist hidden under all the oversized layers, and crushing her into him. She’s making these airy noises, panting and urgent and fuck if it doesn’t tear him apart—viscerally, from the inside out.

Din walks her backwards, step for choreographed step, foxtrotting until she bumps into the kitchen table. He breaks away from the kiss to reach past her, frantically pushing away the unopened mail and receipts and loose change, the jingling of her keys cutting through the wanton quiet as they clang onto the tile, and he hitches her up to sit there with one fell swoop.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he husks, inbetween the bites he’s searing onto her neck. “Please, just lie back for me sweet girl.”

“Din, I-“

He silences her with a nibble to her ear, coaxing a breathy yelp out of her. “Lie back, baby.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. She acquiesces, Din’s wide palm splayed on her breasts, guiding her to recline back onto the table. He makes speedy work of her sweatpants, yanking them down her legs and flinging them off to land in a crumpled heap.

He sinks to his knees, pulling the cradle of her hips to the edge of the table before parting her thighs. The gloss of her cunt, wet and glistening for him, makes his hardening cock jump up to his stomach, and she twitches as soon as the cool air brushes against her.

“Fuck me,” he groans, whispering into her heat like he’s pained, like the sight alone is torturing him—like it’s slowly but surely ending his fucking life.

Din breathes her in with a sigh, that summer fruit tang— the scent of her aching and pulsing for him— and he starts tracing up and down her inner thigh with his tongue and teeth, nibbling along the path there until he’s at her apex. He’s dimpling her pliant skin with his calloused fingertips, strong hands wrapped under her knees, keeping them splayed as he kisses along her outer lips, nipping at her hip bones, teasing everywhere but where she needs him most.

It’s devastating—debilitating—and she’s shaking now. Every muscle, every fiber of her, convulsing with anticipation—with the promise of being dissected, of being torn apart and stitched back together again. She’s already got a hand covering her mouth, muffling the sobs he’s drawing out as he toys with her— playing her like a fucking fiddle.

Din’s eyes flit up to find her like this, brow pinched tight and cries stifled, and he chuckles— he fucking laughs— heady and ambered into her legs.

“You doin’ alright up there, teach?”

“F-Fuck you,” she hisses out with a weak whine.

God, she’s fucking perfect.

“You need something, sweetheart?” He smirks— she can feel the shape of it against her thigh, the way his stubble grates along her skin— and she can only mewl, speechless. Pathetic.

“Yeah, I know what you need...” Din hums, before finally - finally - taking mercy on her.

With one single drag, he tongues a broad stripe up her slit.

The noise that rips through her sounds like she’s being strangled— it gets caught in her throat like a trapped animal in hot car— a desperate little thing clawing to get out. Her nails scrape against the wood, leaving nicks in the chestnut lacquer. Immediately, she cants up to him, searching for his mouth hungrily and Din all but obliges as he clasps onto her hips, keeping her still while he fucks into her.

He’s carving her out— hollowing her; burying himself in her folds, nosing against her mound. He laps her up in kitten licks, delving the muscle of his tongue in and out of her, leaving her weak and gasping. Din laves up and down and side to side in clever little swivels, before he reaches her clit and sucks.

Her fist shoots from her mouth to grip his wavy locks, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“O-Oh my god, Din - fuck - Din. Oh fuck oh fuck-"

He loves it when she gets like this; that serene and tranquil exterior— the one that can quell a studio full of strangers into a haze with only the sound of her voice, that voice he can’t get out of his fucking head, the one that got them into this mess in the first place— shattered, mutilated beyond recognition and all she has left is her need— her wild, unbridled need.

Her need for his tongue, for his fingers, for his dick. Din Din Din, she only wants him— only needs him.

He slips a finger into her, easing past his knuckle in one movement, and her chin tips back, crown of her head digging into the table, hair mussing against the wood grain.

Her nipples have pebbled through her shirt, her pretty feet arched and contorted, and she’s heaving - writhing - like this above him.

He adds another digit, pumping in and out, the squelch of her pussy sounding lewd and obscene and fucking divine as he grazes her clit with his teeth, pulling at it.

“Fuck-” she rasps, legs quivering on their own accord— instinct and reflex demanding she tremble— and Din moans into her sex, feeling her walls constrict around his fingers, and he curls them up as he thrusts, hitting against that spongy patch insider her that makes her vision go white.

“Din, I- I’m—"

She can’t manage the rest. Instead of words, she cries— high pitched and wounded, as if she’s barely making it out alive. Her legs clamp around his head, bracing him there, and she cums— she loses it for him— her slick coating his nose, his lips, the hair speckled around his chin. She soaks him, and it leaves Din rocking his hips and humping the fucking air— as randy as a teenager, ravenous for anything, even if it’s just the friction of his pants drawn tight around his erection.

He takes her through her orgasm, lapping at her softly until she’s warbling—a slew of nonsense babbling out of her— and he leans back on his heels to admire his work, eyes singeing into her cunt made puffy and swollen pink, fluttering at the loss of him.

He plants one final kiss to the cleft of her pussy before shifting his weight back up to his feet, slotting himself between her.

Fuck, he isn’t as young as he once was— he feels his age in the ache of his knees. All the yoga in the world can’t erase his scar tissue, can’t undo time.

But he thinks maybe—if he’ll let himself—that she makes him feel younger. Lighter.

He squeezes her calf and begins to move away when she whimpers, bolting upright to palm greedily at the bulge pressing painfully against its constraint, her fingers fidgeting with his zipper and Din— in an uncharacteristic show of strength and self restraint— gingerly clasps onto her wrists, holding her still.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and her eyes snap up to meet his. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, but-”

“You don’t- we don’t have to-"

“Din,” she pants, grabbing onto the waist of his jeans and pressing her center into him, smearing herself along the denim there, her pearled clit catching on the rough fabric. Her eyes have gone jet-black with desire, obsidian lust burning through them. “Din, fuck me. Please fuck me, plea-“

Shit.

He’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life, unbuttoning his jeans in a flash, untucking himself— throbbing, leaking already—from his briefs. He gives himself two rough jerks, his blunt tip prodding at her entrance, before pushing into her with a gasp.

Fuck, she’s warm— not just warm, she’s hot. She’s molten, and she’s milking him for all he’s worth, gripping around him, fucking strangling his cock with how wet she is—how tight. God, she’s a fucking dream—a nightmare too, undoubtedly.

“Fuck baby - shit - you’re—hnng-” He groans—can’t even form a real sentence—all of his blood has rushed out of his brain and straight to the juncture where their bodies meet.

His eyes flutter deliriously at the feeling of her stretching around him like this and for a passing, fleeting moment, he considers the fact that he should be gentle with her— that she’s not feeling well, that she’s probably sore with body chills and God knows what else and that she should rest—

But once her knees are split apart and legs spread long— so fucking flexible, fuck she’s killing him— his well-met concern all but abandons him.

He fucks her hard— so hard she falls back, that unforgiving surface bruising into her spine. He probably hurts her a little—just how he likes, just how she loves.

Din plows into her, digging into the meat of her thighs, slamming into the pussy that takes him so fucking well, the pussy that feels like it’s made for him— like she’s made for him— and the table shudders with each roll of his hips, scraping it inch by inch along the tile, knocking against the chairs with loud, clattering bangs.

“W-Wait— wait wait wait-“ she pants, hands scampering up to his arms.

He slows his thrusts until he’s stilled inside of her, worry creasing around his eyes. “W-What? Are you okay—what’s wrong?”

“T-The table," she whines, “it’s from fucking IKEA. I built this piece of shit myself— there’s no way it’s gonna stay standing with you fucking me into it like this.”

Din barks out a laugh, throaty and genuine, and for the second time today, he comes to the conclusion that she’s perfect.

“Bedroom?” she nods down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he growls before scooping her up, lifting her off the table, her legs scrambling to hook around his waist, forearms bracing around the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Din!” she squeals in surprise, “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, giving her a bounce and a light slap to her ass. “You’re sick.”

///

“Onions,” he mutters, leaden eyelids nestled shut.

He didn’t mean to stay over this long—well past sunset, later than he’s ever allowed himself—but how could he be expected to leave? After she came on his cock - twice - and he had filled her up until his cum was gushing from her, extricating himself out of this exact position of woven, spent limbs and sweat stained sheets sounded criminal.

“What?” She cranes groggily up at him.

“The sub. She smelled like onions. And patchouli.”

“Hey,” she tuts in mock offense, “Brenda is nice.”

“Good for Brenda. Doesn’t make her smell any better.”

“God, you are so rude,” she laughs, shaking her head as she nuzzles into Din’s side, lips curving into a sleepy grin against his chest—right above the aching thump of his caged heart.

Taglist (I apologize if I missed anyone!):

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamers @greatcircle79 @iamskyereads @imnotinlove-thisisnotyoursong @fan-of-encouragement @read-and-rec @helmet-comes-off @keeper0fthestars @hellabaybee @ourmotherofyearning @krissology

[dadsbongos]

late night for a sinner

Movie/Game/Show: The Devil All The Time Dynamic: Arvin Russell/Reader Warnings: religious overtones cuz it’s this movie, described and enacted violence (against teagardin), preston teagardin (and all his sexual assault-y/manipulative bs) Notes: uhm people got married at like 20 in the 50s and i assume arvin is about 20 so no i will not apologize for making you his wife, my country-accent writing is bad(?) idk Summary: Arvin’s a protective man, especially when it comes to those he loves. ~~~

“Somethin’ ‘bout that preacher don’t feel right,” (Y/n) murmured to her husband as they stood outside the doors of the church, “Gives me a shiver right up my spine.”

Arvin nodded along to her words, watching as his grandmother and sister shook hands with Preston Teagardin - fancy name for a guy like him. A guy who gave women chills. He reached into his dress pants pocket and plucked out a cigarette before placing it between his lips, “Watch yourself around him, darlin’.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for Lenora, too,” (Y/n) crossed over the creaky boards of the church's stoop as people began exiting, her hands coming out for the man’s tie, “Did you loosen this durin' the sermon?”

“Too tight,” he let the woman adjust his tie, “You know how I feel ‘bout comin’ to these things.”

“I know, I know - hey, I don’t like comin’ either, but it means a lot to Ms. Emma and Lenora,” pulling back from the tie, (Y/n) placed her hands on Arvin’s shoulders, “‘Sides, someone’s gotta watch for that blasted preacher, and I think we’re the only ones who will.”

Removing the cigarette from between his lips, Arvin leaned over to kiss his wife’s forehead, pulling away to ask, “You take my light outta my pocket when you pressed my pants this morning?”

“Maybe I did,” she shrugged, grinning, “Maybe even I think you shouldn’t be smokin’ outside a church.”

“Maybe,” Arvin nodded, “Maybe.”

Emma and Lenora finally came out of the church and started towards the family’s truck, the two women got into the back with Arvin and (Y/n) getting into the front to finally head home. Lenora leaned forward as her brother started the truck, “You shoulda been in there for the goodbyes.”

“Oh?” turning her head and leaving her cheek pressed to the headrest, (Y/n) quirked a brow at the teenager, “What happened?”

“Reverend Teagardin said he’s interested in meeting you,” Lenora beamed at her sister-in-law.

“Just her?” Arvin pulled out of the church parking lot, “Seatbelt, Lenora.”

“I got it, I got it,” the girl waved off before returning to her previous conversation, “But yeah, just (Y/n). He was talkin’ about putting together a church choir. Thinks (Y/n) would have a pretty voice.”

“She’s got a pretty voice but she ain’t singin’ for no church choir,” Arvin’s brows furrowed, white-knuckling the steering wheel at the mere idea of that damned preacher trying to get close to his wife, “Not in that man’s church choir.”

“Let the girl speak for herself,” Emma cut in, “Thought I raised you better than that.”

Pursing his lips, Arvin turned to (Y/n) for a split second before returning his stare to the road, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she looked back to her sister-in-law, “You singin’ in the choir, Lenora?”

“I’d love to try.”

Clenching her jaw, (Y/n) thought over her choices. Leave Lenora to sing in that choir - leave her sweet, naive little sister-in-law in that preacher’s hands for far longer than was typical or wanted… Or, suck it up and sing for the bastard.

“I’ll sing with ya, sweetheart.”

Arvin sighed quietly, glad none of the women in the car heard him over the rumbling of the truck’s old engine. To distract himself, and by proxy the women in the car, he suddenly changed the topic, “This damn old truck. Gonna hafta fix it up or take it in.”

“You’re gonna take it in?” (Y/n) tilted her head.

“Thing’s old; I’ll do as much as I can, darlin', but sometimes there’s only so much I can do. You know that.”

“I’ll need to go with you,” the truck jumbled with the rocky bumps of their home’s pull-in, “Pick up a few things for dinner.”

Lenora felt her heart warm and lips quirk into a smile at her brother and sister-in-law. They weren’t so into the church as her and Grandma, in fact - Lenora’s certain they only played along to please her and Grandma, but watching them was nice. Nothing to play along to, just a simple, pure expression of adoration between the couple. Arvin was never a man known for something as soft and tender as love but (Y/n), since the two were in grade school, was easily able to pull it out of him.

From high school sweethearts into married lovers. It was overjoying to know someone else was looking after Arvin.

“I’ll check up on Mr. Earskell and be right out.”

“No, no, (Y/n),” Emma shook her head, taking the woman’s hand as she was assisted out of the truck, “I’ll handle things. You and Arvin go on and stay out here.”

She didn’t bother fighting against the older woman, she was the matriarch of the family - she was just the rule maker. It was only fair.

“You don’t hafta keep callin’ em Miss and Mister,” Arvin came out and around to the hood of the truck, “They’re part a’ your family now.”

“Feels improper,” (Y/n) rebuffed, standing beside her husband, “I’m just thankful they’re lettin’ me stay here.”

“And why wouldn’t they?” he knew why she felt that way - her own family was insufferable and he could barely stand being around them for a dinner - he couldn’t imagine having to live with them.

“Let’s not open that can of worms today, huh, love?” (Y/n) placed her hands on her hips as she watched her husband look over the truck’s interior and drag over his tools and oil.

“Don’t joke ‘bout that, love,” despite his words, Arvin was smiling slightly, “Poor fishermen work hard to get those worm cans.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” she sarcastically relented, peeking over the man’s shoulder, “Wish I knew anything to help you.”

“I could teach you a thing or two.”

“Maybe not now, baby.”

Which, of course, was code for ‘I’d rather not. Ever.’ but politely.

There was silence between the married couple as Arvin worked until he sighed and planted his hands on each side of the open hood, head hanging low as he murmured, “You’re really goin’ to that choir?”

“We both know I gotta be there for Lenora.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ll still be worried to hell ‘bout you,” he turned to face his wife, restraining himself cupping her cheeks and smearing grime over her, “Both a' you,” then he finally admitted as to why he was so apprehensive, “I’ve been watchin’ him.”

“You what…?!” she whisper-screamed, coming in closer to her husband, “Arvin Eugene Russell, you been what?”

“Watchin’ him,” Arvin almost regrets the admission at the sight of his wife’s shock, “He’s a no-good-sonofabitch, (Y/n). Messin’ around with a young girl behind his wife’s back. She’s good to him, (Y/n), she cooks him dinner and she does her best to keep him happy. He’s no good to her. He’s no good, at all.”

(Y/n)’s brows furrow, “Cheatin’ on his wife?”

“A girl from Lenora’s class. He’s worse than a cheater,” he turned back to the hood of the truck and quickly said, “We’re takin’ it in.”

“Why haven’t you said anything yet?”

“Nobody will ever believe me, (Y/n), you know that. Everybody here loves that damn radio bullshitter.”

Nodding quietly, (Y/n) fisted a hand in her skirt before turning towards the home’s door, “I’ll tell Lenora we’re goin’.”

The topic is ultimately dropped as they leave into town. As they take the truck in for the shop and as they pick out items for dinner that night and even on the walk home. Reverend Preston Teagardin didn’t come up again, neither did his affairs or his disgustingly, sickeningly low age preference for said affairs.

They weren’t the only people in town on watch of their new preacher in town, they were just another young couple walking home.

Even as dinner passed and time for rest came - as they pressed into bed and huddled together in the cold night. Teagardin was temporarily forgotten, pushed to the backs of their minds as they slipped into slumber.

And when Arvin darts up from bed after another nightmare over finding his father’s body that fateful night, (Y/n)’s thoughts are solely on her husband. Bringing him back into the present, where he’s not in the woods finding his father knelt down in front of their makeshift church but instead in bed with his loving wife. With his sister down the hall. His grandmother at the end of the corridor and his great-uncle's own room across from theirs. He’s in a home that isn’t going anywhere - he’s with people who won’t leave him, not any time soon anyway.

It’s not until the next day, after Lenora’s first day back at school for the week had finished and her daily visit to Hellen Hatton-Laferty was over, that Teagardin even peeked back into the couple’s brains.

“If that sonofabitch touches you or Lenora, tell me,” Arvin whispered to his wife, hands holding hers tightly before she went into the church for choir practice, “I’ll make sure ain't got no hands to touch you, or Lenora, or any other unlucky woman.”

“I’ll come right to you, honey,” (Y/n) was quick to confirm for her husband, “Promise.”

“Good,” he cups his wife’s cheeks and pulls her into a tender forehead kiss before going to his sister and giving her a tight hug, “Be the loudest one there, got it?”

Lenora chuckled quietly, patting her brother’s shoulder, “You know I can’t do that.”

“You can.”

Shaking her head, (Y/n) goes up the stairs and pulls one of the double doors open, “You just shouldn’t, ain’t that right, Arvin?”

A teasing shrug and he’s walking off towards the car while Lenora follows her sister-in-law up and into the church.

Teagardin is sitting in one of the pews with his back turned towards the two women.

There’s nobody else in the church despite having been told this was the meeting time. It’s silent. Preston still hasn’t turned to the two.

Lenora is fidgeting beside (Y/n) the longer the man stays quiet. The younger girl nervously bunching the skirt of her dress in her fists. Her brows drawn tight in confusion and lips pressed into a thin line.

(Y/n) steps forward, ignoring the nerves urging her to run and encouraging her knees to buckle underneath the weight of her body, “We’re here, preacher.”

His head lifted, a smile coming over his lips, an unnatural smile - one she’d imagined on the devil when he tricked another soul into his claws. Preston comes to a full stand and approaches the women, “I didn’t expect both of you to come.”

“I wanted to support Lenora.”

“How wonderful.”

~~

“Preacher’s dirty.”

“What?”

(Y/n) sighed, sitting up in bed and looking down at her husband and whispering into the night air, “Teagardin. He’s just as dirty as you said.”

Immediately, Arvin was also sat up, no longer tired and now entirely focused on his wife, “What happened?”

“Tried touchin’ Lenora ‘til I stopped him. Grabbed me. I got us out of there and now Lenora’s tryin' to figure out how to tell Ms. Emma.”

Arvin stood out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants over his boxers, slipping on a shirt and his hat before heading to the bedroom door and slipping out of the room. (Y/n) followed after, eyes wide and brain springing into panic as she watched him tug on his shoes. Hurriedly, the woman put her shoes on as well while Arvin snuck out of the home, her continuing to follow after him.

Once they were in the car, (Y/n) turned to Arvin as he pulled out of the driveway, “What the hell are you doin’? It’s late, you can settle this tomorrow, can't ya?”

“No. It don’t matter if he’s with his wife or at the church, I’m puttin’ that bastard in his place. I hope that woman leaves his ass,” he shook his head, “Rotten fuckin’ bastard.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

The man was silent as he drove towards where he knew the Teagardin residence was. Every few minutes he would take off his cap and run a hand through his matted hair - if he could force himself to do so, he could almost pretend this was a nice drive with his wife. A simple late-night cruise through town with the love of his life, but then he would remember exactly why they were on a late-night cruise. A peek at (Y/n) would remind him, she must be frightened to all hell - it must’ve been awful to be in that church. Be near that rotten man.

And Arvin’s rage was freshly re-lit.

“Is this the right time?” she remembered each time her husband had repeated the phrase from his father, it was usually enough to sway him from acting out at that moment.

“Best time there is. He’s asleep - won’t be expectin’ us.”

(Y/n) settled into her passenger side seat, turning her head to stare out the window, “How’re you gonna get him out?”

Arvin was silent once again, fingers tight against the steering wheel as they pulled up to the bend at the end of the preacher’s street. He got out of the car and stormed towards the Teagardin home with (Y/n) trailing after.

It wasn’t long until Preston came stumbling out of his home with Arvin banging on the front door. Cynthia was out soon after her husband, clinging to the door frame.

“Late night for a sinner, kids,” Preston rubbed at his eyes, “Can this wait ‘til the mornin’?”

“You try touchin’ Lenora?” Arvin was blunt, he didn’t like sugar coating and he didn’t like the people who did it. Turning, he gestured to (Y/n), “Tried touchin’ my (Y/n)?”

Immediately, Preston’s eyes widened, “Now, now, I- I didn’t do nothin’ to those two.”

“Callin’ my wife a liar?”

Cynthia looked between her husband and the younger couple on her lawn, “What’s this about, Preston?”

“You just go inside now, Cynthia!” the preacher called back to his wife, “These two are full of delusions!”

“Arvin, let’s just head home now - you can take care of this tomorrow…”

Shaking his head, Arvin only approached the older man further, “My wife ain’t no liar. And those hands ain’t free of sin.”

“Go inside, Cynthia!” Preston shouted at his wife once again before turning back to the other man, “You won’t say nothing. I will have your lives ruined. Who will the town trust? Me, or two scruffy children who married straight outta high school?” he gives a forced chuckle, shaking his head and pointing at (Y/n) with a shaky hand, “Your wife… she- she… your wife is delusional. She’s crazy.”

Arvin Russell had been fighting nearly his entire life - he learned from his father and he continued on far after his father passed. Preston Teagardin had never been an athletic boy nor had he been confrontational by any means, preferring to hide in the shadows and smile his way out of trouble.

It wasn’t a mystery as to how Arvin managed to land Preston on the hard ground, chest pressing into the dirt and hands tightly wound behind his back in Arvin’s hold.

He didn’t know what he was looking for in the man. He didn’t know what he wanted from the preacher. He couldn’t kill the bastard - he still had a sister and wife to look after when his grandmother and uncle could no longer. Was it admission? Was it a promise to not even look at the women of Knockemstiff? It wasn’t an apology, he knew that - because there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be giving out forgiveness.

“You take back what you said,” Arvin grunted out, pushing his body harshly into Preston’s back and hoping it’d hurt as much as when boys did it to him on the playground, “You take back what you said about my wife, you hear me?”

“She’s crazy!”

Arvin took a hand into the preacher's hair and smushed his face deep into the dirt, “If I- “ when Teagardin’s whining got too loud, Arvin let his head up before roughly smashing it back into the ground, “Fuckin’ listen when I talk. You listenin’?” he waited for a nod of confirmation before continuing, “If I even hear your name in the same sentence as my wife’s or my sister’s, I’ll bash your fuckin’ brains in, hear me?”

“Arvin!” (Y/n) finally screamed out to her husband, hands landing on one of his arms and pulling, “Arvin, you let him go!”

“He deserves this, (Y/n)!”

“I know, but dammit Arvin, you’re gonna get the sheriff on you, let’s go home!”

Giving one last thunk of Preston’s skull into the ground, Arvin stood and kicked the man’s ribs before nodding at Cynthia with a brief ‘goodnight ma’am’ and returning to the car.

“That was a dumb thing you just did, Arvin Russell,” (Y/n) scolded, rather lightly, as her husband drove.

“I don’t regret a damn thing about it, (Y/n) Russell.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she reached over and snatched his cap before fixing it over her own head, “I’m proud my husband cares so much.”

“Least I could do for the woman of my dreams.”

[goineedsleep]

Apothecarion

Sorry @alynnl the answer to 🌿🗡️ is apothecary! therion, not olberic/alfyn hope it isn't ur OTP

-after getting betrayed by Darius, Theri is found by Ogen and treated by him -when he wakes up, Ogen tells him that it's a miracle he survived -he would've died if Ogen didn't find him when he did, and it's more of a miracle that Ogen forgot himself and chose to heal Theri -Theri takes out a gold pouch, and Ogen stops him -"I don't need any ill-gotten gald. If you can get me some noxroot outside, I'll accept that as payment."

-Therion heads out, looking around. he finds a few weeds, and asks Ogen if they're what he's looking for -Ogen shakes his head and tells Theri what he needs to look for: a purple plant with four leaves. he'll find it in the forest outside of the northern entrance -Therion nods and makes his way over there -after fighting many a monster, he finds a patch of this stuff and hides it in his pockets

-Theri presents it to Ogen, who sighs before handing him a satchel filled to the brim with junk -he'll need it to make healing balms on the road for the scars from his cliff-jumping adventure -he asks him how he does this -he sighs. "You thieves don't get the most universal educations, huh? ...Don't take that as a no. Here, let me show you how to do it..."

-the day afterward, Theri chooses to stay in town until he's feeling better. he picks Ogens brain about how to make a bunch of crazy remedies and poisons, and Ogen makes him get the ingredients for each one -an apothecary from the Riverlands stops by, and admires Therions work ethic -he's learned a lot of salves for a guy who's not plannin' on going into this career! -Ogen sees him and has a desperate look on his face. "Alfyn, I ended up saving this dope from a cliff-dive. I could tell he's a criminal, and I treated him anyways." He nods in approval of Therion's salve-making and faces Alfyn once more. -he giggles. "Seems I've rubbed off on ya! I'm glad about that; this guy seems like a nice sort." -Therion rolls his eye. He sneaks up behind Alfyn, takes his satchel, and puts it back where he found it. "Don't go off appearances alone, medicine man." -Alfyn chuckles. "Bold thing for a guy who just gave back my satchel after stealing it to say!"

-Therion huffs after Alfyn leaves. "That guy made so many naive assumptions about me! I'm a petty thief... there isn't a single redeemable thing about me, whether that guy wants to admit it or not." -Ogen shrugs, eyebrow raised. "You don't seem too bad to me." -Theri groans. "Not you too!!! You both can't be that gullible: there's no way you haven't seen the dark side of people at your age." -"Oh, I've seen it alright." He looks to the side, tears in his eyes. "There's more good out there than bad though. ...Alfyn showed me that." -"whaddaya mean?" -"I'm not gonna go into that can of worms. Let me show you how to concoct this..."

-Therion stays for a few months. He figures knowing every little facet of the apothecary trade will help him patch himself up in a rough scrape -he finds out that there's a corrupt noble going around making people pay too much for basic necessities, and he plans a heist centered around robbing his money and these resources -he convinces them that he's a doctor investigating the health and safety of the building, takes all the resources, and finds an injured person on the street -he gains more personal satisfaction from healing this injured person than robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, and he's shocked by this revelation

-he keeps studying under Ogen, who jokingly calls Theri his apprentice -Ogen treats Theri like a son, he hears, though he scarcely believes it -one evening, Theri celebrates his birthday by stealing some apples and eating them in private. He lights a candle, singing himself a happy birthday in his native tongue, before Ogen knocks on his door -"you were sayin something about having a birthday recently, so I had the baker make this, since you like apples and all." -therion looks at a crispy, golden brown crust, encasing delicate, warm apples and a toasty cinnamon sauce -"you got this... for me? I'm just some pathetic thief; I don't deserve this!" -"Alfyn's right about you." Ogen gives Therion the pastry and some kitchen utensils. "You don't steal from anyone and everyone... hell, since you've started learning about salve-making, you've managed one heist! It was an impressive one, and it helped people an awful lot." He sits down, looking into Therions eye. "Yet, you found an ill person on the road that day, and you haven't tried to even sketch a floor plan since." -"So what?" Therion raises his brow. "I never wanted to be a thief. When my ma died, I had no living relatives... it's not like I had a choice." -"Why did you end up falling off that cliff?" -"I trusted the wrong guy. I started performing my craft at his side, and as we grew older our relationship turned more... romantic. At least, until he threw me off a cliff when he got a promotion." Therion huffed. "I should've known... I never should've trusted him. Never should've trusted anyone." -"If you never trusted anyone, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. ...That's what you're thinking, ain't it?" Ogen looks at the floor, anguish in his eyes. "I once treated another thief. I didn't think he was too bad of a guy; he wanted to move on and find a better occupation, he told me. "The following day, I found my wife in a pool of her own blood. My patient had bloodlust in his eyes. I asked him why, and you know what he told me?" Therion looks at him intently as tears filled his eyes. "'You should've known better... than to trust a criminal.'" "I spent 20 years roaming this continent, playing judge and jury on which of my patients live or die. I was a miserable man, kid... I didn't feel anything except hatred and a sense of self-righteousness. Then, I met Alfyn Greengrass. He seemed a little too compassionate to me at the time. He refused to play judge, jury, and executioner. He found it sickening to do that. He treated another guy just like the one that made me a widower, he ended up killing that man in the woods surrounding that town. Yet, when I fell ill, he saved my life. He slew an atrocious monster for my sake. I told him that I'm worthless, and yet he went on with it. If you don't end up trusting others, you may not get hurt. But you know what? You will miss out on a million healing experiences in the process." -Therion looks down sadly. "Aren't all people willing to throw their companions off a cliff for the slightest chance at success, though? How is there good in that?" -"Not all people are willing to do that: you've met more bad apples than good ones if that's what you think all people are about. You mind if I surprise you with something good tomorrow? I'll let you take the spare bed in my house, if you don't mind." -Therion responds with a small nod.

-he enters a small room. It has spruce flooring, baby blue walls, and white curtains covering round windows. Therion checks the white drawers for some clothes, and he finds some pajamas about his size. Soft purple pants and a crisp white shirt suit him; not a criminal's choice of clothing... it certainly suits the kindness and compassion he's found within himself as of late. -before he crawls into the guest bedroom, he looks at Ogen curiously. "Which criminal ended up doing that to your wife? I may be able to use my old information routes to help you make a stand against 'im." -"He called himself Darius. He has red hair, pale skin, and a murderous glint in his teeth." -"Darius?!" -"What, you know 'im?" -"Of course I do! I started thievin' at his side. He and I were really close... he was my first romantic partner." he fiercely balls his fists. "He threw me off a cliff for that promotion." -"Both of our lives got destroyed by the same man." -"That's a funny thing, ain't it?" -"That, it certainly is." Ogen pats the empty bed. "Get some sleep tonight, OK? This surprise is gonna take a lot out of ya if you don't." -Therion closes his eyes, dreaming of salves and apple pastries.

-The morning after, Therion inhaled Ogen's gift. It tasted like a splash of fresh fall air in a crispy, delicate crust. -He stepped out of the room, eying the sign above it. "'Baby Theodore's Room'..." He glances over to a ceramic counter, Ogen placing two plates of bacon and eggs on it. -"My wife was pregnant when Darius killed her." -Therion ran his hands through his hair in anguish. "I wish I never worked with that coward..." -"It's not your fault that you had poor luck with relationships, Theri. Now, for that surprise I was talking about..." he walks near a wardrobe, and pulls out a pair of dark gray cargo pants with silver buckles; this is complimented by a plain dress shirt. Ogen finds a purple vest with silver accents, and a new dark pink scarf to match. -"How do you feel about becoming my apprentice?" -Therions eyes are wide, tears beginning to form: his hands cover his mouth as he grins. "...I would be honored."

[wille-zarr]

The Mandalorian: “Kissing is Disgusting”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Eight ~ “Kissing is Disgusting”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; angst; threats of violence; alcohol consumption

word count: 12.7k

chapter summary: after waving goodbye to life on arvala-7, you anxiously continue along your journey to nar shaddaa... but when tensions erupt and dangers arise, your bond with the mandalorian is put to the ultimate test.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: fluff and angst awaits!

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Eight: “Kissing is Disgusting”

Well, so much for promising yourself to behave around the Mandalorian… Only ten days since you were gutted like a colo claw fish, and you’re already back to flirting with a vengeance.

You will never learn, will you?

“Not bad, Ka’r’ika.”

You stare at the target, your brows creasing as you assess your hit.

“Not bad? Kriff it, Din! Look at that!” You fling your arm out in the direction of the target. “My vibroblade hit the inner target ring this time! Almost the bullseye!” You spin around, glaring daggers at him. “How about you give me just a little bit of positive praise for once?” You cross your arms tightly across your chest, a smirk tickling on your lips. “Or would that kill you?”

The Mandalorian tilts his head to the side, hooking two fingers in his belt as he stares over at you. “I did give you praise,” he grumbles through his vocoder. 

“Not bad? You call that praise?” You purse your lips, a smile threatening to break the character you were playing. “Din Djarin, have you ever taught anyone anything before? Positive praise is a crucial part of the learning process.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the heavy, long-suffering sigh that slips beneath his helm. 

“Fine. You’re doing… okay.” His voice is dry, utterly unbothered by your grievances.

“Well, if I’m still not meeting the Mandalorian’s standards-” you march over to the target, yanking out your vibroblade from where it juts from the board- “you’ll just have to show me how to throw the blade again, step-by-step.” 

You casually stroll towards him, twirling the blade between your fingers. Flashing Din an impish grin, you hold your vibroblade out expectantly.

The Mandalorian sighs, heavy and tired. But you’ve spent enough time with him that you could now detect the jest, the amusement layered within his tone.

Spinning around to face the board, it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl as his hands curl around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest. 

Maybe it was a tad conniving of you, but…

You’ve been, uh… faking bad throws… Lots of them.

In fact, you really didn’t require any training from the Mandalorian in vibroblade throwing. A few days prior, you took the initiative to do some independent practice. It only took a few initial swings, and your muscle memory kicked back in, each one of your throws hitting the bullseye, true and center.

But, well, let’s just say you have a reason- a good, though admittedly mischievous reason- for feigning incompetence at the moment… 

“Okay, Ka’r’ika-” Din’s gloved hand glides around your shoulder, gently inching its way down your right arm. He pauses at your wrist. “Relax this,” he rumbles right above your ear, his left hand lightly squeezing your shoulder. 

“And stop tensing.”

Oh, karking hells. You clench your teeth, trying to ignore how big and warm and close he is. How the kriff are you supposed to just not tense with the Mandalorian glued to the back of your body like a blasted Mynock? 

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing!” you squeak. Okay, maybe you had been holding your breath, but, again, he’s glued to your back like a Mynock leeching off electromagnetic energy. How the hell are you supposed to just blasted… breathe?

“Loosen your stance,” he whispers in your ear, releasing your wrist. He takes a step back, and you frown at the loss of his comforting- though admittedly distracting- presence.

You stare at the bullseye, letting your eyes drop-drop-drop down to the outer ring. 

There. 

Your target. With one last little smirk, you fling your arm back, shift your body weight forward, and give a sharp snap of the wrist.

Bang.

You hit exactly where you intended, the outer ring. Holy shavit, your dad would be proud! 

“Hell yeah!” 

You catch Din staring at you, head angled curiously at your elation over an apparently even worse throw than before. “Oh, um-” you shrug, flipping your grin for a scowl- “Din, I, uh, I’m just really bad at this. Please, let’s practice hand-to-hand defense now. I’ll have more use for that anyway.”

“No,” he grunts, stalking towards the target to yank your blade out. “You aren’t healed enough.”

“Come on, Din!” You drop down into a fighting stance as he slowly strides back towards you. “I am perfectly healed. Omera’s slathered me in enough bacta to heal a chopped-in-half dewback.” 

He moves closer, and you playfully reach out to slap the back of your hand against his Beskar-armored chest. 

“Come on, Mandalorian, what are you- WHU- HEY!”

He’s bent you over backwards, trapping you against his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“OOF! DIN!”

“This is what you wanted.”

“Let me go! I wasn’t ready!” 

“You weren’t?”

Stars, you hate that stupid smugness in his voice! You wiggle against his hold, but he only presses you tighter under his arm.

“Blast it, Din!” You fling out your hand, landing a sharp smack against his ass. “Let me go, you rusted tin can!”

He drops his hold, and you stumble out from under his arm. You promptly flip around, shooting daggers into his darkened visor. He just stares right back, resting both hands on his hips, all cool and calm against your fire.

You reach up, bunch your hat in your hand, and smack it down against your thigh. “Din Djarin!” you snap. “You take too much pleasure in dominating me!”

He does not answer. Just… stands there- his visor latched on you. 

You open your mouth to speak, but you slap it shut when he sharply angles his head to the side. “Ready to try the blade again?” His voice is gruffer than usual, gravelly. Deep and, blast it, okay! 

Fucking sexy.

You yank the hat back on your head, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “Yeah, sure,” you mumble, averting your eyes from him. “And I will hit that karking bullseye.”

You will. Kriff it. You’re done playing your little flirtatious game for attention. It’s time to show the Mandalorian what you’ve been holding back. Make him bloody well proud of you…. Not that you care to make him proud or anything…

You dig the heel of your foot into the dirt, marking your distance from the target. “Watch and learn, Man-do.”

A hand slips under your arm, gripping your elbow from behind. “Relax this time,” Din rasps, low and deep, into your ear. He releases your elbow as swiftly as he had grabbed it. You swallow, ignoring the little lurch in your stomach.

Stars, this man is a menace.

You shake your head, trying to clear it of… uh, distraction. Sighing under your breath, you stare out at the target.

There.

The bullseye.

Pull back.

Aim.

Throw-

“Hello!”

“Pablo!” you yelp, watching as your vibroblade flings well above the target, missing the board altogether. “You absolute dune worm!” Spinning around, you stomp straight up to where Pablo stands a few feet behind Din. 

Pablo leaps back, hands forward in surrender. “Wait, what did I do?” He points a finger at himself.

“You-” you slap his hat back- “made me miss!”

With a sharp snort, he leans down to stare you directly in the eyes. “Maybe you just need more practice, sweetheart.”

“Oh, look who’s talking!” You push against his chest. “A man encased in carbonite until I saved-”

“Oh, here we go again! I told y-”

“Din kicked your ass.”

“I was distract-”

“Froze your ass.”

“He was lucky-”

“And I melted your ass.”

“Now look-” 

Pablo stills, slapping his mouth shut.

At the same time, a heavy shadow drapes over your body, cloaking you within a protective cocoon. You look to the right.

“Mando,” you smirk up at Din. “I’ve changed my mind. Teach me to use a staff. Then I can keep Pablo six feet away at all times.”

You hear a puff of modulated air. “As you please, Ka’r’ika.” The words are husky through his helmet’s vocoder. He hooks a finger in his belt. “But not until you’re completely healed.”

“Works for me,” you grin, letting your lazy outer rim accent slip forward. “Pablo, scram, blurg-brain. But get my blade first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pablo sighs, throwing you a half-hearted salute.

“You did well today.”

The grin on your face grows, practically ear-to-ear. You peek out from under your hat’s brim, meeting the Mandalorian’s dark visor boring into your eyes.

“You’ll be as good as me one day.” The Mandalorian says it so low, so quiet that you could barely hear it over the breeze whipping through the homestead. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns to watch Pablo walk up, your vibroblade extended from his hand.

Pablo winks as you take the blade from him. “Later, sweetheart.” Chuckling, he strolls towards the hut, thankfully leaving you and Din alone once again.

“Come on now-” you turn back to Din- “I could never be a professional such as yourself.” You snort before continuing, “I mean, how long have you been learning all this Mandalorian stuff? Years, I imagine.”

Din drops his hand from his belt, slowly turning, pausing upon finding a few of the children running in the distance. “See the children?” 

You nod. 

He drops his visor away from your face. “I wasn’t much older than they are now-” his voice slows, warming with each word he speaks- “when I was taken in as a foundling.” 

You blink. “Oh.”

You might not be able read his face, but you recognize the raw emotion hidden in his tone all too well.

“I owe them my life,” he rasps, the words scratchy through the vocoder. “After my parents died, the Mandalorians took me in as one of their own.”

Silence.

Oh…

You- you hadn’t realized. Din mentioned his parents died during the Clone Wars, but not that the Mandalorians had rescued him, taken him in. The thought of a young Din, alone and scared, trapped in the middle of a war a child could never comprehend…

Kriff. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. It… hit too close to home.

“We really do have a lot in common,” you mumble, your eyes drifting along the gleaming sunlight crowning his Beskar helm.

He barely nods at your words.

Then the air turns… awkward, tense… neither of you knowing what exactly to say or do next. You mindlessly flip your vibroblade over in your hand, afraid any words would make the air even more uncomfortable. I mean, what do you say? Hey, Din! It’s great we can bond over our dead families?

“To be honest-” you nearly drop the blade at Din’s voice- “I… didn’t learn much about blade throwing from the Mandalorians.”

You raise an eyebrow, questioning the hesitation in his voice.

“When I was younger, a woman... a Twi’lek…” He shuffles his weight back and forth, looking everywhere, it seems, but at you.

Oh. 

Oh. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“A woman?” You smile a bit too sweetly, nudging the Mandalorian with an elbow. “A lover, perhaps?”

He stares out at the distance, but you think you notice a slight shrug.

You force a laugh, more a bark, to be honest. 

“Was she pretty?” 

Silence.

You lean forward, tapping his armor with the end of your blade. 

“Did she… break your heart?”

He looks at you. 

“She tried to stab it.” 

You sheath the blade.

“Well,” you puff, “that’d certainly kill a relationship.” 

Yanking your blade back out, you fling it over and over and over in your hand, trying to ignore the burn searing up your throat. 

Whoever she is, blast her.

Kriffing blast her.

You gasp- a glove shot out, gripping your wrist before you can toss the blade again. 

“Are you trying to lose a finger?”

You rip your hand away, twisting around to hide the warmth exploding across your face. “Don’t coddle me, Din. I’ll never learn if I don’t face peril.”

He makes a noise you cannot decipher. 

“My dad taught me,” you blurt, eager to change topics. “With knives, a little bit, I-I mean.” You slowly turn back to the Mandalorian, finding him still, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You bite your lower lip, picking at the edge of your sleeve with the blade. “But I never took his lessons very seriously. I…I just wanted to make him laugh at my stupid antics, which, of course, he would.” You smile wryly. “But, still, I wish I’d taken a lot of things more seriously back then... I was too busy being a terror.”

Din makes a noise. A breathy “not surprised” slips out from beneath his helm.

You crinkle your nose, choosing to pretend you didn’t hear that. 

Spinning your blade a few times, you stop, sheathing it once again. “You know, he’d sneak me up into the ice caves sometimes. Stars, from as young as I can remember. Taught me to use vibroblades and, eventually, even how to swing a staff. I guess he had it in his head he could turn us into little snow warriors or something.” 

You throw Din a cheeky, lopsided grin. “But then me and my sister started beating each other with big sticks when we’d get angry at each other. Then we’d gang up on my middle brother- two sticks against one.” You burst into warm laughter at the memory. “Kriff, did we ever get a long lecture. Even longer than the time I taught my siblings to use the curse ‘kark’.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve changed much.” The Mandalorian’s tone is layered with amusement, and a hint of… something else.

“No,” you snort. “That’s the problem.” You crouch down on the ground, pretending you’re aiming in the distance with a weapon. “But he loved showing me how to use his hunting rifle the best, even though I had horrible aim…. Uh, still do, actually.” You let your eyes droop closed, releasing a heavy breath into the air. “That thing was his baby.”

Damn it.

Damn it. 

You miss him.

The clank of Beskar forces you to open your eyes. The Mandalorian’s standing in front of you now, a hand stretched out.

“I thought he was a herder.”

Taking Din’s hand, you let him pull you back up. 

“Oh, he was,” you chirp. Bending down, you brush the dirt off the knees of your pants. “But weapons were his hobby, practically his religion, as my mother would tease.” With a small smile, you toss the Mandalorian a pointed look. “I think he would have liked you. Or, at least, your big-ass rifle.”

The Mandalorian just shrugs.

“Well,” you sigh, staring out at the target again while simultaneously removing your blade from its sheathe. “I think I’ve gotten the hang of this now.”

Pull back.

Aim.

Throw.

Slam.

“Not bad,” you sniff, staring at your blade protruding from the center bullseye. “You’re a good teacher, Din. We’ll have to find something else for you to teach me.” You slap him on the back. “I have a few ideas.” You turn to walk away, biting back your giggle.

You hear him make a noise, barely audible with the distance.

“Looks like you could teach me...”

-------

You’re gunna throw up.

You can’t believe you’re leaving this- this haven tomorrow… for kriffing Nar Shaddaa.

Holy Hutt. Nar Shaddaa-

The planet you actually just fled from with only the clothes on your back…

Oh, flutterplume at a festival feast! 

You’re insane. You’re actually insane.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting hard to restrain any sign of outward distress. After all, if there’s one lesson the galaxy beat into your brain, it’s that you never, ever show any sign of weakness. Got to keep the upper hand. Got to stay ten steps ahead… Or, in your case, at least appear to be… 

No, as far as anyone on Arvala is concerned, you’re excited for Keolith.

…Kriff Keolith.

You release a heavy sigh, continuing to bounce the child up and down on your knee, a small smile growing on your face with every little giggle that falls from his mouth.

“Make sure to take it easy, not overdo it,” Omera calls at you from the other side of the room.

“Mhm,” you mumble, barely paying her any mind.

“I mean it. Din, make sure she obeys, okay?”

He makes a noise. “I’d wager-” the Mandalorian lays his rifle down on the table- “it’d be easier to wrangle a varactyl.”

“Din Djarin-” you keep your eyes focused on the baby, wincing as he yanks on your hair- “did you just call me a varactyl?”

“… No.”

“I give up,” Omera groans, taking the chair across from where you sit. “I learned a long time ago; patients never listen-” she sighs- “until they’ve reinjured themselves.”

You lift your eyes to meet her own. “Wait, Omera, you were a doctor?”

She laughs at the question. “I suppose it’s safe to say so, now that the Empire is gone.” She rests her elbows on the table. “I was a nurse in the Rebellion, which is where I met my late husband, a patient of mine. When I found myself expecting Winta, we felt it was time to step away together, leave the battle behind.”

“Pin two ears on a gundark!” You lean back in your chair, laughing in amazement. “No way! I knew I liked you!”

The Mandalorian angles his head to the side, eyeing Omera up and down. 

“Don’t give me that look, Din,” she chuckles, giving his shoulder a light shove. “You never asked.”

“Maker-” you shift the baby to your opposite knee- “sounds like a story straight out of a holo. Meeting the man of your dreams in a rebellion, nursing him back to health.”

“I suppose,” Omera smiles, that certain gleam in her eyes you’ve seen before.

Uh oh.

“What about you?”

“Me? What about me?”

Omera smiles, not about to let you get away with your game. “You can’t tell me you’ve never been in love before.”

Oh Maker. 

Dangerous.

This conversation is dangerous. 

“Maybe,” you grumble, bouncing the baby on your knee again.

Oh kriff.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll find someone.” You can see Omera is trying her absolute hardest not to laugh, but she’s obviously failing. 

Stars.

Someone. 

Anyone. 

Help! 

As if answering your plea breathed into the force, Winta dashes over, pulling on her mother’s hand and whispering for assistance. Omera nods at you, that sly smile still etched on her face, and steps away from the table.

Oh, thank the Maker! Bless all the little children. 

With a weary sigh, you sneak a glance over at Din from the corner of your eye. He’s watching you… intently, helmet angled to the side in that curious Lothcat way of his. He begins to lean forward, as if he’s about to ask you a-

No. Kark that. 

Kark that shit!

You’ve had enough awkwardness for one day!

You burst up from your chair, cradling the baby against your chest. “We’re going to take a walk,” you speak to Din as much as to the baby. You shoot him a quick glance.

He’s still leaned forward, visor still trained on your face. He’s motionless, but relaxed, shoulders slightly slumped forward, the way they do when he’s tired. You read his silence as permission, and so you turn and walk out the door, trying to ignore the lingering sear of heat on your back, that lingering prickle of being watched.

Once you are through the door, you put as much distance between you and Kuill’s hut as quickly as possible, worried the Mandalorian might try and follow you outside. Grumbling under your breath, you stop at the fence line. You point up at the moon and stars, whispering for the baby to look up at them along with you.

“See those?” you whisper, grinning as the child’s large, soulful eyes fill with the reflections of hundreds of sparkling stars. “You’re just as special as those stars. Your force abilities are special, a gift.” You feel your heart swell with familiar, motherly warmth. “Special- just like you are to your father.” 

You tap your finger against his nose, and he bursts into a fit of giggles. “You little womp rat, quit laughing.” You shoot him an exaggerated frown. “It’s against the law to laugh.” 

He laughs even harder. And so you start laughing.

“The child’s grown fond of you.”

You startle at the voice, relaxing when you see it’s just Kuill, limping forward to stand beside you at the fence. “Yes-” you turn your eyes back to the baby’s face- “I suppose, like most children, they’re drawn to whomever shows them the most attention, ya little attention-seeking womp rat.” You caress his ear, smiling wistfully. “Mando doesn’t hug you enough, does he?”

“You’re very good- with all of the children,” Kuill rasps, leaning his weight forward on his cane.

“Yeah, well, I had four little siblings.” You throw Kuill a pointed look, and you continue on with your ramble. “They were such little monsters.” You grin. “And then there’s all the children from my village. Oh, and I often helped the other mothers with the children in the camp and-” 

You freeze. 

“…I- I mean-”

“Labor camp?”

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “H-how did you-”

“Omera described the tattoos on your arm to me. I understood their meaning, immediately.”

“Oh, no,” you breathe, panic bubbling, swelling up in your chest. “I- I can explain-”

“I did not tell Omera- their meaning, and I suggested, for your privacy-” Kuill waves his hand aside- “she should not discuss them with anyone else.” 

No. No.

Blast it. 

Blast it!

Kuill reaches out, resting a hand on your arm. “Do not concern yourself. It is your story… to tell when and if you wish. I myself- have spent time in such places. You were a victim of the Empire… as we all were.”

Raw emotion… grief… guilt- bubbles up your throat, threatening to cut off air. Choking. Suffocating. 

“No, Kuill,” you mumble, barely audible. You place the baby down on the ground and use your free hand to tug up your sleeve.

Kuill brushes his fingers, gentle and light, across the marks, lifting his eyes to meet your face. “A life sentence.”

You rip the sleeve back down, resting both hands on your hips. With a sharp intake of air, you pull on a mask- the tough, outer rim girl persona: the same one that’s simultaneously kept you both safe and in trouble for far, far too many years. 

“And I did what the Imperials sent me in for.” Your voice is hard, tired. Hells, you are so blasted tired. 

You shake your head. “I didn’t deserve to have my sentence commuted by the New Republic, once they took the camp over-” you rub your eyes a little too hard, filling your vision with blurring, swirling lines- “b-but I guess they figured it’d be easier to release everyone than to try sorting between the political prisoners, innocent families, and… actual criminals.”

Plus, there was the issue of the children to consider…

“I’m-” your words catch in your throat, sticking against your tongue, afraid to emerge fully from your lips. You force your eyes closed. “I’m… not as a good a person as you think, Kuill.”

Kuill grunts, tapping his cane against the fence. “I’d think your recent sacrifices-” he motions the cane towards the child, toddling beside your feet- “would contradict that statement.” 

“Maybe,” you mumble, avoiding looking Kuill in the eyes, “or maybe I’m still the same.”

“I think not.” Kuill rests against his cane. “For when you’ve lived as many years as I have-”

“-you learn to recognize patterns in behavior.” You smile wryly.

“It seems the galaxy has smiled upon you… given you a second chance.” 

“Well,” you sigh, pressing your forehead against the top of the fencepost. “I’ve been doing a fine job of botching it up already, I’m afraid.” 

Stars…

“I’d say you have one path open to you at this moment,” Kuill grunts. “But what will you do with it?” 

“I appreciate it, Kuill, but… I can’t stay here.” You give him your classic, lop-sided smile. “Gotta keep exploring this big galaxy, ya know?” 

Kriff the galaxy.

Kuill chuckles under his breath. “That wasn’t the path I was referring to.” He reaches out, patting the top of hand. “I wish you luck… my child.”

You blink, watching as Kuill moves away. You wait until he’s just far enough in the distance before releasing a strained breath of air. 

Maker…

A light coo, a tug on your pants, shifts your attention away from yourself, away from your tumultuous thoughts. With a small smile, you reach down and pull the baby up against your neck, letting him nuzzle there as you glance back up at the stars.

Always running. 

You’re always running.

But one day- one day, you will choose your own damn path.

-------

“Wipe your eyes, Birdie-” you ruffle the top of his head- “or you’ll flood the planet and put Kuill out of business.” 

Birdie launches straight into your legs, knocking an oof from you.  

“But- but what if I n-never see you- you again?” He buries his face in the fabric of your pants.

Dropping down to your knees, you peal Birdie off of you, holding him back by his shoulders. “Of- of course I’ll see you again, hm?” Your heart throbs as you speak the lie into the air, wishing it would just carry away on the desert wind.

Karking hells.

Your heart explodes, pain seeping from every new little crack. You tug Birdie into you, wrapping him up in your embrace just as new set of arms snakes around your neck from behind. 

“We-we’ll miss you!” Winta says between sniffs.

“Come now,” you chirp, straining your voice to be as easy and care-free as you can muster in your compromised state. “I’ll have a thousand new stories to share when I come back, hm?” Your empty promises are apparently working, the heaviness easing off of their shoulders before your very eyes.

An approaching presence shifts your attention away from the children.

“All of us, the parents, felt like you should have this.” You blink, eyeing the satchel in Omera’s outstretched hand. “We owe you so much more, but-” Omera’s face tenses- “it’s a thank you to remember us by, to help you get started on Keolith.” She slides an arm around Winta’s shoulders, pulling her against her skirt.

You can’t do anything but… stare at the bag, stunned by the absolute generosity of the gesture. “I-I can’t take anything for-”

“Please.”

You don’t want it. 

It feels… wrong to take it.

But you won’t risk insulting them by outright refusing their kindness. 

“Go into town-” you give Winta and Birdie a sly wink- “and buy the children something fun. To remember me by. To make them laugh.” You wiggle your hat back and forth, pulling it tighter against your scalp. “That’s my payment.” 

A good decision, or so the little sunny grins on Birdie’s and Winta’s faces tell you. Omera hesitates- then smiles. An agreement. And so, you return the expression with equal warmth. 

“Kekthar, Rukia.” 

You gasp- eyes tearing over to discover… Kuill?

Sularian. 

A Sularian farewell.

You haven’t heard your native language spoken by another in, well… years.

“Kekthar, Sudbia,” you return, a small smile tickling at the corner of your mouth. As you share the smile with him, a silent understanding, a knowing, passes between your eyes:

You are always welcome in my home.

You will never deserve such kindness.

“Thank you, Kuill,” you whisper, bowing your head with respect.

As you continue sharing goodbyes, your heart grows heavy with each one spoken aloud. Part of you wants to just barrel into the Razor Crest, dive into the bed, and hide under a blanket just like the baby. 

Stars, goodbyes reek.

“Be careful, Din.” A faint conversation to your left shifts your focus away from your misery. “Come back as soon as you can.” You turn, eyes widening as you watch Omera wrap her arms around Din, enveloping him in a warm, heartfelt embrace. He returns the gesture, going as far as to… rub her back… affectionately.

A pang.

A punch in the chest.

Shavit. 

Just… shavit!

Spinning around on your heel, you stomp towards the Razor Crest, grumbling under your breath like some bitter old man.

Blasted seven Corellian hells- just-

Stoopa. Stoopa!

Kriff everything a-and-

You stop.

Kriff, wait, what is this? Corellian hells, what- 

Oh.

You blink, gritting your teeth.

You’re… jealous?

…

You’re jealous.

You groan, yanking your hat low across your eyes. You have got to stop bantering so much with the Mandalorian… flirting. You’re- you’re getting too attached. And there’s only one way this could possibly end:

Like a nuna at a Hutt roast… 

Uh, not so good, in other words.

You turn and frown, watching the pair speak in the distance.

Omera is… incredible. That Beskar idiot should marry her. Settle down. Have a family. He… deserves to have that. To be happy. 

He’s a good man.

“We really need to get going,” Cara grumbles, walking up beside you to stack a crate next to the ramp. “I’ve gone way, way over schedule, and Karga is breathing down my neck, even though he knows I lost my ship.” Cara pauses to sigh, leaning forward against the stack. “He says the town has gone to hell without me.”

Blinking away any lingering physical signs of your jealousy, you slip on an indifferent, bored expression. 

“Why so, Cara?” Your voice hardly veils the tension brewing in your head, but Cara, thankfully, does not seem to notice.

“I’ve been acting as a sort of-” she waves her hand in the air- “part-time Marshal, in a sense, on Navarro. Cleaning out a lot of the criminal rings scumming about,” Cara sighs, rubbing her face. “Still have a long way to go, but-” she lifts her eyes, giving you a sly smile- “I think I’m going to talk to Karga about dropping the Guild work completely, instead working full-time cleaning the streets. Maybe get a school up and running. And a doctor’s office; we need that too.”

“Cara,” you chuckle, stooping down to sit on a crate. “You surprise me. A dreamer lurks under all that brawn.”

“Maybe,” Cara chuckles. “But even so, my reason for visiting Arvala is dead, and I’m needed on Navarro.”

You blink. “Dead?”

Cara shoots out a hand, pointing at a lone Pablo approaching with his satchel. “Dead, according the Guild registry, that is.”

A bright grin bursts across Pablo’s face. He throws his hands out at the side, spinning around until he is facing the approaching Mandalorian. “Hey, shame you and Cara lost such a priceless bounty, right, Mando?”

The Mandalorian saunters up to Pablo, pausing to stare him directly in the eye.

“I was paid for killing you.” 

The Mandalorian knocks into Pablo’s shoulder as he moves past.

One glance at the panicked expression on Pablo’s face, and you burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. He twists, shooting you a murderous look, which you happily return with only sweetness and a smile. 

At least, on the bright side, you now have someone new to torment besides Din.

After all, it’s the little things that matter.

-------

“Dad!” You climb up on top of the huge fallen log, waving wildly to your dad in the distance. “Look! Watch!”

He pauses at your words, giving you a cheeky, lop-sided grin. “Okay, Starlight-” he leans forward against his rifle- “I’m watching.”

“You’re watching?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, don’t look away!”

“I won’t.”

“Still watching?”

“Starlight-”

With a grunt, you spin backwards off the log, landing a perfect backflip… 

…straight into a hidden snowdrift.

“DAD!” you shriek, buried up to your hips in snow. You continue to wriggle, desperate to free yourself… to only sink down further with every shift. “Dad!” you yelp. You hear a rustling noise, and you jerk your head up.

Your dad- ever the helpful, supportive parent- is leaning over the top of the log… 

laughing at you.

“Starlight,” he chuckles, “very impressive. Ten out of ten for style.” He crosses his arms across the log, angling his head to the side as he stares down at you. “But you made that fatal flaw we’ve talked about before.”

“Dad!” you growl, in no mood to be lectured nor teased. “Get me out of here! I don’t care!”

“What’s that fatal flaw?” 

“I don’t care!”

“Starlight?”

You shoot him a pathetic frown. “I didn’t observe my surroundings first.” You twist your head away, pouting your lips. “I acted before thinking.”

Gloved hands wrap around your arms, lifting you up out of the snow drift.

“Good girl-” your father pulls you up against his side, rubbing your back. “Remember-”

“-think first, show off second.” You release a puff of air, watching as it crystalizes in front of you. 

Your dad laughs and slips you that characteristic sly wink.

“My little snow warrior-” he grabs your hand, leading you back towards the mountain path- “such a little show-off………”

-------

“I’m not a show-off!”

Pablo flashes you a grin. “Come now, princess-”

“Okay, fine.” You crinkle your nose, lifting your hand up, two fingers spaced closely together. “Just a little bit. But still, it’s true.” 

“Oh sure.”

“Yes! I could out-drink both of you, and ten Corellians on top of that.” You shove against Pablo’s shoulder as you move past, sitting down beside him.

“Speaking as a Corellian man, that’s big talk, sweetheart,” Pablo slides his glass of whiskey back and forth on the table between his hands. “But are you willing to try and prove it?”

“Pour me some of that-” you tap your fingers on the table, smirking at Cara- “before you and Pablo wipe out our supply.”

Cara pours and slides you a glass, a questioning expression on her face. You take a deep breath, lean back, and down the whiskey in one shot.

“Oh-” cough- cough- “wow, that’s-” cough- “that’s defi-” cough- “de-definitely Corellian.”

Cara smacks her hand down on the table, clutching her stomach as she doubles over with laughter. “Oh, dank farrick, your face!”

Pablo snorts. “Still think you can out-drink ten Corellians?” Resting his elbows against the table, he slides the bottle towards you. 

Feeling your face flush with warmth from the shot of whiskey, you can only grin and tilt your head. “I’m certain of it.”

Pablo leans back, chuckling as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Fine. The minute we land on Tatooine-” he points at you, raising an eyebrow- “I’m dragging you into the first cantina we find.”

Your smile plummets.

“Tatooine?” You fling around in your chair, gawking over at the Mandalorian on the other side of the hull. “Tatooine?”

He stops cleaning his blaster, lifting his helmet to meet your eyes.

“He didn’t tell you?”

You spin back around, now gawking at Cara. “Obviously no. I thought we were heading to Navarro!”

“No.” Cara shrugs, leaning back against her chair. She lifts a brow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Tatooine is closer than Navarro. We’ll jump transports from there, letting you and Din continue on to Nar Shaddaa.”

“Hell,” you breathe, flopping back against your chair. 

Tatooine?

“I’ll be loath to part from you all.” Pablo lifts his glass in the air. “I’ve grown so attached to everyone…. Well-” he raises a brow at you- “minus one.”

“You know, Pablo-” you jump forward, slapping both hands down on the table- “you’re being awfully rude for a man who’d be cargo right now if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh, don’t start on-”

“I will!”

“You know good and well-”

“You’re so rude!”

“I am not!”

“Carbonite man.”

“Don’t call me-”

“HEY!” You both rip your heads towards Cara. 

Silence.

She slowly leans forward. “Are you two done?”

“Absolutely,” you sniff. Leaning into the palm of your hand, you release a long, heavy sigh, choosing to just ignore Pablo. 

“Stars,” you whisper, staring up at the ceiling, beginning to reminisce. “I haven’t been to Tatooine in, well… years. Pretty sure I still owe some people money,” you grumble. “Dank farrick, I got into so much trouble there.”

“As an exceptional speederbike racer.”

Your eyes rip up, trailing the Mandalorian as he sits beside Cara. “That is, if I remember correctly.” His tone light, almost… airy compared to his typical grumpy snaps. 

Oh. He’s teasing you. 

You raise an eyebrow.

You know you should stop. Stop teasing him back. 

But…

“I’m better than you, Din Djarin-” you lean across the table, smiling slyly as you stare him down- “that’s for certain. I’m the damn best, too.”

He shifts back, folding his hands against his stomach, just…. gazing at you.

“Damn best, huh?” Cara takes a shot of her drink. “Then you should have joined the Nar Shaddaa professional circuits. High risk, high reward.” She slides the bottle of whiskey towards you. “I imagine the violence, death, and insanity would have been right up your alley.”

“Well…” With a small sigh, you drop your eyes, beginning to play with the edge of your shirt. “Actually I- I would have.” You lower you chin. “But… uh, had someone I needed to stay alive for,” you discreetly add under your breath.

Cara grins and lifts her glass at you. Din, on the other hand, stretches his neck, dark visor pinned to your face. You snap away, staring over at the slightly tipsy Pablo instead.

“Boyfriend?” Pablo mumbles, taking the whiskey bottle for himself.

You only smile.

“Well, either way-” he sloshes his glass high- “to Tatooine!”

“Hell,” you grumble.

You lift your own glass.

To Tatooine.

…

Dank farrick.

-------

The darkness moves in. Closer. Suffocating. Gnawing away at the light.

…

“I know why you chose this.

… 

You love power. 

…

Crave it.”

…

You bury your face in your hands. “Shut up! You know nothing!”

…

“You can’t hide forever.

…

I know what you’ve done.

…

And you’ve seen what I’m capable of………”

…

Something presses into your neck.

…

Shit.

Your eyes blast open. 

Can’t-

Can’t breathe!

Wriggling and squirming, you claw at your neck, kicking the covers off Din’s bed as you twist and turn and push and fight.

“Urf! C-Cara,” you hiss, slapping at her arm slumped across your neck. “Move!” 

Cara snores louder, oblivious to the fact that she’s, you know, smothering you. She mumbles something in her sleep, pulling her arm back to flop over to her side of the mattress. Launching up from the bed, you gasp, sucking in deep gulps of air. A few more seconds, a few more gulps, and you glare over at Cara.

You can put up with snoring.

But you draw the kriffing line at actively trying to suffocate you in your sleep.

“Stars…” you hiss, pressing a palm to your forehead before pulling it back, blinking at the sweat dripping from your hand. 

You’re… drenched. Trembling, shivering- your soaked nightshirt and pants stinging like ice in the cool air. Sliding down to the foot of the bed, you wrap your arms across your chest, squeezing tightly in a vain attempt to slow the trembling tearing at your body. 

You groan, your head sloshing with exhaustion and fatigue and tension, but then… the threat from your nightmare slips past it all, the memory growling in your head-

You can’t hide forever…

Your throat catches.

Oh hell.

Oh hell.

You slap both hands over your eyes.

You’re dead…

-------

Some people turn to religion. 

Some people talk to a therapist. 

But your newfound cure for anxiety?

Apparently, the smell of Andorian Mountain Roses. 

Specifically, the faint scent of Andorian Mountain Roses lingering on the Mandalorian’s flannels.

After Cara’s murder attempt, you waited several minutes on the edge of the bed for the trembles, the shakes, to dissipate… but no such luck. Desperate, wet, and cold, you had peeled off your soaked nightshirt, swapping it out for a flannel shirt stolen from a heap on the floor.

You bury your nose into the sleeve of the thick shirt, inhaling deeply as you pad gently across the floor of the Razor Crest’s hull. 

It smells like Din.

…

You’re safe with him.

…

He promised.

…

“Ka’r’ika?”

You freeze, dropping your arm at the faint voice, low, barely a rasp.

You tiptoe closer to the base of the ladder leading up to the cockpit. “Din?” you whisper, staring up into the dark void above.

“Come up.”

Biting your lip, you tentatively rest your foot on the bottom rung. One hesitant breath, and you scamper straight up.

“Din?” you question again, poking your head up into the space above. You blink, your eyes shifting towards the cockpit windows, smiling as you admire that familiar sparkling, dancing hyperspace light bouncing off everything within the cockpit.

Your eyes follow the streaking lines… forward… straight to the Mandalorian. He’s turned around in his chair, studying your every move.

“Hi.” You smile, a bit… shyly. 

Hm. That’s new.

Resting back against in the pilot’s seat, he folds his hands- gloveless hands- across his stomach.

Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, you gently pad into the cockpit. A sharp glance to the left- you smile. The pram is sealed again, cocooning the child as he sleeps. 

You glance back to Din, and as you step closer, you notice his right pauldron is missing. “Hey-” you slip into the right co-pilot’s chair- “I hope I didn’t wake yo-”

“I was already awake.”

“Oh.” You blink, chewing on your lower lip. He seems so… close. Stars, you didn’t remember the cockpit being quite this… uh, tight. 

“Um, I couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, not wishing to risk waking the baby. After all, from the looks of Din and his missing pauldron, it must have taken quite some time to get the baby to sleep.

You slide forward, resting on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat. “Between Pablo’s and Cara’s snoring-” you grimace- “it’s like trying to sleep in a kriffing zoo down there. They’re both drunk off their socks.”

Din makes a noise. “Really?”

“Yeah, Cara tried to smother-”

“No-” the Mandalorian dips his helmet at you- “…is that really why you can’t sleep?”

“Am I really that easy to read?” you huff, raising a brow.

Silence.

“…You’re afraid.” 

You blink, falling quiet. Of course you’re afraid... 

You’re terrified.

You hear him shift in his chair, but you do not look up. 

“…Why did you leave Tatooine?”

How can his voice sound so gentle, so soft, even when modulated? Stars, you can only imagine it without the distortion… You glance down at the floor, spinning the chair back and forth, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Grandpa yanked us off overnight,” you blurt, a bit surprised by how the words hurt as they emerge. You continue spinning in the chair, this time in full circles. “…Because I was a damn idiot.” You stop rotating, and face Din’s seat. Your eyes trail down his helmet… down his arms… to those hands.

Large. 

Tan.

Scarred. 

And warm- so warm… 

Karking hells, you’ve spent too much damn time thinking about how warm they felt that day… How he brushed your chin- confident, no hesitation. And so blasted gentle, like you were made of glass.

…Oh, seven Corellian hells…

You’re done for. 

Thank the Maker your warming face is hidden in the dim light. 

A shift of movement draws your focus back over to the pilot’s chair. Din leans forward, resting his elbows against his thighs- a silent invitation.

Groaning, you pull a foot up into your chair, tucking it under your chin. “After… after it was just me and Grandpa-” you wave your hand in the air- “I, uh, had a talent for getting into… situations.”

You turn your eyes away, fearing you might not have the strength to continue if you shared even just one glance with him. “Grandpa- he kept having to pull us off planets. I’d always get mixed up with the wrong crowds, gangs, whatever. We could never stay one place too long.” With every word you speak, your throat tightens- constricts.

Your… your Grandpa deserved so much better than you.

“I just… kept acting out more and more the older I got.”

Stupid.

So stupid.

Flopping your head back against the chair, you stare up at the ceiling. “By Tatooine, I was pretty much… unmanageable. He tried- he really did- but, in a way, I think- I think he had given up on me. He stopped asking so many questions when I’d be gone for hours, sometimes days, at a time. He was… he was so used to me running off.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep the burning in your eyes at bay, you continue. “Remember the boy I told you about? The speederbike racer?” You venture a glance at Din, finding him in the same position, leaned forward against his thighs. He gives you a light nod.

“He…he was part of an illegal racing club. He got me in- I was good, great at it.”

“Damn best?”

You smile at Din.

“Hell yeah,” you chuckle, pulling your second leg up into the chair, tucking it under your chin. “I pulled a lot of ill-advised stunts. Got me noticed by the right, or rather wrong, people. A Hutt sponsored me as his challenger in the biggest speeder race Tatooine had seen in years.” 

You groan, burying your face in the palms of your hands. “And, under no uncertain terms, I was to win… or else. And, of course, my stupid self thought-” you throw both hands in the air- “‘Great! I’ll win, no big deal! Win lots of money and fame! What an honor to be a Hutt favorite!’”

You shoot Din a knowing look.

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his thigh. 

“What… happened?” His words are hesitant.

 “I karking won, of course.” You cross your arms. “What else did you expect?” 

He just stares at you- tilts his head to the side.

You make a noise. “Grandpa flipped when he found out. He knew how’d things would inevitably end- entering those kinds of races, working with the Hutts.” You let out a dry laugh. “He yanked me off that planet, kicking and screaming. I thought he was ruining my future. Turns out, I did a fine job of that on my own.”

Stars… you can’t think about Grandpa right now- don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry-

“A-anyway-” you force a laugh- “um, enough about me.” You lift your chin, tossing Din a forced grin. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Such as?” 

A slight smirk grows on your face. Actually… there is something you’ve been dying to ask him, but… it just never felt appropriate- you felt too intimidated to question. But here, draped in the dancing blue hue of hyperspace, he somehow feels less like a Mandalorian and more like… just a man.

“Can you ever take that helmet off?” you blurt. You instantly cringe, regretting the words the second they leave your lips. “You don’t ha-”

“I can.”

You blink.

He spins around away from you, facing the console. “For my children.” He flicks a switch. “And a… a wife.”

“…Oh.”

You tilt your head to the side. Huh.

“Stars, wait-” you shoot up in your chair- “does that mean you’ve never kissed anyone before?”

He freezes. 

One second-

Two seconds-

Three seconds-

“Sorry!” You press a hand against your cheek. “Sometimes I- I blurt before thinking.” You flop backwards, sighing heavily. “Anyway, you’re not missing a thing. Kissing is disgusting. Think about it- swapping spit? Touching tongues? With another person?” You crinkle your nose. “It’s nasty.”

You lean forward, eyes widening. “Oh, my Maker! One time, I was dared to kiss a Gungan, and I think I’ve had lingering trauma ever…. uh, since…” You press your face into your knees, your face warming. “Ah, um, you know what? Never mind.”

Kark- maybe try thinking before speaking just once- JUST once?!

The Mandalorian resumes fiddling with the switches on the console, as if you hadn’t been speaking at all- thank the force. 

After all, the Gungan story was rather hard to explain.

 A few minutes pass, no word spoken aloud, and the cockpit falls into a stillness.

A calm stillness.

Just… tranquility.

You suck in a deep breath of air, sinking deeper into your chair. Even with your awkward blunders, you feel more comfortable, safer in this moment than you have in far, far too long. 

Eyelids drooping, time begins to swirl around you, mixing, blending with the hyperspace light. Lost in the realm between consciousness and sleep, you are barely aware of a lingering presence that looms beside you.

You drift away from sleep, sailing closer to consciousness. Parting your eyes just enough to see, a small smile slips onto your lips. He- Din- hovers over you. He reaches up, removing the cape from his back, and drapes it over you as your eyes slip back closed. You feel the weight of it pause halfway. 

A slight tug- a pull- on the edge of your shirt.

Your eyes part, your groggy smile returning.

“Keep it,” Din rasps, barely a whisper. He continues rubbing the fabric of his shirt you wear between two fingers. “Looks… nice.” 

The weight of the cape moves up, fully cocooning you, safe, warm, much like his son that sleeps beside you.

“Sweet dreams… Meshla.”

“Mmf,” you mumble. “What’s… th-at… mean?” 

Skin traces the outline of your ear.

“Nuisance.”

“Kriff… you.”

“Go to sleep.”

You smile, letting your mind sail back towards the shoreline of sleep.

-------

“HEY! Get away from there! You know he doesn’t like droids!”

You lumber down the ramp after the Mandalorian, squinting against the unforgiving rays of the twin Tatooine suns. You lift a hand to your eyes, blinking as a woman- head full of tight curls- marches towards the Razor Crest. 

“May as well let them have at it,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “The Crest needs a good once over.”

“Oh! So, he likes droids now. Well, you heard him.” The woman waves at a crew of droids. “Give it a once over!... I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos Eisley.”

The Mandalorian pauses in front of the stranger with Cara, Pablo, and yourself gathering around him. 

“Well, looky here! You’ve made new friends!” The woman narrows her eyes, leaning in towards Pablo. “Hopefully you three won’t try and kill me like the last one this Mandalorian dragged in here.” 

She leans into you this time. “If you ask me, I think your Mandalorian here needs a good group of friends,” she whispers under her breath. “The man doesn’t live well.”

You slap a hand over your nose, pressing to muffle your burst of laughter.

But then Pablo laughs, and you just can’t hold it in.

The Mandalorian sighs, not sparing the two of you a glance.

“I’m Peli.” The woman nods again, oblivious to the effect her words have had on you and Pablo. “I am a very- OH ho!” Peli launches forward, swooping the baby out from the Mandalorian’s satchel. “I’ve missed this little one! Let me guess, I’m needed for babysitting services? Don’t ask! Yes!” She rocks the baby against her hip, and the baby, delighted by the attention, grins and giggles- clearly very pleased to see Peli again.

“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The Mandalorian reaches out, stroking the child’s ear. “The girl and I need to resupply. I’d rather leave the child here.”

“I have a name, Mando,” you grumble under your breath, shooting him a glare.

He keeps his head straight, focused on Peli, ignoring your protest.

“Of course!” Peli shouts, walking several feet away as she rambles away to the child.

“Mando-” Cara touches his arm- “I’ll catch up with you later today before we leave Tatooine. I’m taking Pablo with me.” She eyes Pablo, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. “He claims he has a contact, can get Navarro hooked up with a good supplier.”

“Of course!” Pablo flings his hands out, grinning ear to ear. “Old Bolbo is a close friend! He completely forgave me for that incident with his sister in Anchorhead!”

Cara stares at him.

“Oh, hell.” She adjusts the rifle on her back. “Let’s get this over with.”

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as Cara and Pablo walk off towards the exit.

“Peli-” the Mandalorian walks after her- still dashing back and forth, rambling to the child. “I want you to keep the doors secured until I get back.” He hooks a finger in his belt, his helmet following Peli back and forth, back and forth. “Don’t open them for anyone you don’t know.”

“Oh!” Her eyes brighten. “I actually have a defender droid now! 4PO!” she shrieks, waving her hand in the air. “Come on! Come on! Wa-iting.”

Your eyes widen, watching with a mixture between disbelief and dismay, as a silver droid stumbles forward- red light radiating from its joints. “Um,” you bite your lip, fighting against the laughter swelling up your throat. “Isn’t… isn’t that a protocol droid?” 

“It’s been refitted!” Peli slaps the droid with her free hand. “4PO! DEFENDER MODE!”

The droid wobbles back and forth- bolts and screws raining down, bouncing across the floor. You blink. “Is- is th-”

The droid’s head snaps to you.

“<death is but a relief from our meager existence>”

…

…

…

The Mandalorian looks at Peli.

“Keep the doors secured.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, pushing you towards the exit.

“Blast it, 4PO!” Peli’s shouts from behind, pulling a giggle from your lips. “I can’t believe you’ve embarrassed me like this! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“<i am trapped in this shell. i cannot die.>”

“4PO!”

-------

Ah, Mos Eisley Spaceport:

Dangerous? Yes.

Scummy? Yes.

Entertaining? Also yes.

You grin beneath the scarf wrapped around your face, gawking at all the activity and interesting faces that swarm past you on the street. You are so enraptured with the sights and sounds that the Mandalorian is occasionally forced to grab your arm and pull you against his side.

“Stay close,” he’d grumble… before you’d inevitably leave his side again five minutes later.

“Mando!” you call from the top of a store’s steps, waving across the street for him.

He sweeps forward, stopping beneath you just at the bottom step. 

“Stop disappearing.” 

His voice is hard, all bounty hunter.

“What?” You grin, skipping down the steps to stand beside him. “The bounty hunter can’t hunt me down? Keeps losing me?”

He releases a heavy, long-suffering sigh and angles his head down at you.

“Move.”

Giggling under the scarf, you allow the Mandalorian to lead you inside the store. You don’t wait for instructions nor directions- you know what you want, and you’re going to get what you want. The Mandalorian finds you a minute later. He doesn’t say anything, just stands on the opposite side of the rack as you claw through the hangers.

You stop long enough to give him a look. “The baby needs clothes, Mando.” You continue clawing through the limited selection. “That sack he wears is ridiculous. Now go, leave me alone. I don’t need you hovering.”

He throws his head to the side, a small sigh slipping out- but he obeys your command.

You sneak a glance from the corner of your eye, a lop-sided smile stretching across your face. He’s off to the side, trying to appear occupied, but you know what he’s doing:

He’s not letting you get further than ten feet away.

The hovering- the lingering, keeping an eye on you…

It’s… kind of cute.

…But irritating.

Still, considering the incident on Arvala, he has good reason to hover… You’d do well to remember that yourself.

After making a few selections, you spin around, expecting to find the Mandalorian where you left him. But he’s gone.

“Hm.” You twist your head around but spying him nowhere in the store.

Fine.

Guess he took your command seriously this time. You make your purchases and step outside the door. Just as you go to sit on the top step, the clank-clank of Beskar jolts you around.

“Mando!” You throw both hands on your hips in mock frustration. “You left me.”

He rests a hand against his holster, and chuckles. “Make up your mind, Ka’r’ika.”

You drop the frown, trading it in for a blooming grin. “Fine. What was so important that you left me behind?”

His helmet angles down, his hands fiddling with something hanging off from his belt.

“I was next door… I… saw this.” He reaches out, presenting you what’s in his hand. “Thought it… suited you. Better than the one I have. Mine’s… too long. This suits your size. Suits your height… better.”

You tentatively take the plain metal bar, no longer than the length of your hand. “Ah, thank you, Mando! I… love it.” You blink. “Um, what is it?”

He points to a switch on the side.

“Is tha- OH!”

A blade slices out from the end. “Seven Corellian hells!” you laugh. “This is- wait, what’s this do- OH KRIFF!”

You nearly throw it from your hands. One flick of a switch, and the bar the length of your hand grows to be three, maybe even four feet in length

“Din!” you hiss, tapping the staff down onto the ground. “You bought me a weapon to kill people with!” You flick the switch again, grinning as it collapses back to the size of your hand. “I’m going to cry!”

The Mandalorian grunts, angling his head to the side. “Weapon to defend.”

You flick the switch again, grinning as the blade slides away, hidden within. “Well.” Hooking the bar onto you belt, you look up at him with an impish smirk. “Now you’re trapped. You have no choice but to train me with a staff.”

“That’s the idea.”

You can’t help but grin like an idiot.

-------

“Where are you going?”

“Refresher,” you shout, continuing to march away from the Mandalorian and straight towards a cantina. You step inside, grimacing at the smack of stench that punches you in the face.

Uhg, what’s with cantinas and unwashed masses?

Shaking your head, you let your eyes sweep around the dim, dingy, and nearly empty cantina. Ah, there’s th-

“OH!” you squeak, pulling away from the hand grasping your shoulder. “Din!” you hiss, pushing against his arm.

“I said stay close.”

“You can’t use your bounty hunter voice on me and expect it to work.” You march away. “Unless you’re coming with me into the refresher, wait for me out here.”

-------

You are only gone a few minutes, but you are frustrated to find yet again- yes, again- the Mandalorian has disappeared within that time frame. With a heavy sigh, you sit down at the bar, ignoring the other patrons beginning to trickle in as Tatooine’s work hours for the day come to a close.

“Hello there, miss.” A young man sits next to you at the bar. He throws you a smile. 

Ah, he’s cute.

“Never seen you here before. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

A sly smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth. 

An idea.

“I never refuse a free drink.” 

You flick your eyes back towards the cantina entrance. “Come on, Din. I want to have fun with you.”

“Say,” the man leans towards you as the bartender slides you your drink. “How about we go somewhere, hm?”

You crinkle your nose, lifting the drink to your lips. “No thanks.”

“But I bought you a drink-”

“I don’t remember leaving with you being part of that deal.”

The man’s facade drops, his expression twisting into irritation. “Girl, you hav-”

“Unless you want to talk to my husband into letting me go with you, I just can’t.”

You bite away the grin that begs to explode across your face as you watch the man’s eyes widen twice their typical size.

“Husband?”

You twist your head, and stare across the bar-

-directly at a looming, hulking, intimidating, Beskar-donning Mandalorian.

The man leaps from you, his eyes not leaving the Mandalorian- not for one second. “Uh, um, look I- I didn’t mean anything.” He throws his hands up.

“Honey-” you take another sip of your drink- “could you watch the kids so I can go with this gentleman?”

The Mandalorian’s visor is glued to the man- searing him to the ground. 

A bird stalking prey.

“You know the kids don’t listen to me, Cyare.” His voice is quiet, dangerously contained. “So, you chose.” 

He stalks around the bar, slowly, deliberately… 

“Do I string him up for the rancors… or do I shoot him now?”

“I like rancors,” you chirp, twisting to look up at Din. “They’re kinda cute.” You turn back-

“Hey, he’s gone!” You groan as the Mandalorian wraps his hand firmly around your upper arm, pulling you off the barstool. 

“Let’s go.”

“Just when I was making friends.”

“I’m getting you back before you get yourself shot.”

“But I have my stick now!”

“Staff, Ka’r’ika.”

“Yes, staff- a big stick.”

A beaming grin bursts across your face at the pained, long-suffering sigh that erupts from his helmet’s vocoder. He continues to lead you in silence through the streets of Mos Eisley, only coming to a stop after pulling you aside in an alley.

“I can handle myself, Din,” you teasingly smile, pressing your back up against the wall.

He hovers over you, tilting his head forward. “You’ve yet to convince me of that.”

You bite your lower lip, mischief tickling in the back of your mind.

“I’m fast, remember?”

He leans forward, closer into your face. “So you always say.”

You let your smile slowly drop… drop… drop…

His hands shoot out-

You lean back-

SMACK.

You laugh as Din stares down- stunned- at the staff held sideways in your hands, blocking him from grabbing you. You push the bar against him, ducking sideways to escape his grasp.

“Nice try!” you growl through your gritted teeth as you bolt down the alley. “Race you to the hanger!”

Burning every drop of adrenaline flooding your bloodstream, you blast through the twisting turns of the alleyway labyrinth, hissing each time you think you see a gleam of Beskar from the corner of your eyes.

Blast!

You slide sideways across the dirt, narrowly avoiding bursting through a vendor’s cart, cackling as the vendor hurdles curses at your fleeing back. Taking a sharp turn, you speed into another alley, sliding across the loose dirt as you stumble to a halt- unable to continue another foot without passing out.

“K-kriff!” you pant, twisting your head back and forth, spying for even just a hint of shining Beskar in the empty alley. 

“I’m out- out of… shape! I- I can’t- AHRG!”

You fall forward, hard, against the ground to escape what dropped from the roof behind you.

“DIN!” you shriek, baring your teeth at him.

“Keep up.” 

He spins around.

Kark that! 

You launch forward, grabbing onto his cloak, and- yank! 

“Bitch, get back here!”

  You stumble into his back and wrap both arms tightly around his neck- bursting into a fit of giggles as Din lifts you up and keeps moving forward. He reaches his hands back, pulling your legs up around his waist- essentially carrying you piggyback.

“Din!” you yelp between barks of laughter. “I-I’m slipping! OH!”

You plummet to the ground. You roll over on your back, rubbing the tears from your eyes. “S-stars! Oh.. oh kriff! I- I’m hu-hurting! From… la-laughing! Oh, ouch! O-Ouch!”

Your eyes finally clear of the blurring tears-

There he is- kneeling beside you- looking down- laughing at you.

“Din!” you giggle, slapping a hand up against his chest. “Jerk! You dropped me on purpose!”

His laughter gently fades away- and he stands, reaching a gloved hand out for you.

“Come, Ka’r’ika,” he rasps, his tone… deeper than usual. “Let’s get back to the hanger.”

You grin, looping your arm around his. 

“Anywhere you say, Din.”

Truly, anywhere.

At this point, the man could lead you straight into a rancor’s din, and you’d jump in if he did too.

-------

Something’s wrong.

You know how he normally walks- confident and striding.

…Something’s wrong.

“Din?” You tilt your head to the side, raising a brow. “What did Peli tell you? What’s…?”

He stops- pausing just before the cockpit ladder- and angles his head at your voice. 

“There’s a Mandalorian to the north. Mos Pelgo.” He turns around and starts slowly walking towards you.

“…Oh.”

You lower yourself into a chair, not exactly sure where this is going…

“That’s… good, I guess?” Crossing your arms together, you chuckle. “Sometimes it’s hard to imagine there’s more than one of you.”

He rests both hands against his hips, turning to face the hull wall.

“I’m going out there.” He throws you a quick look. “After Cara returns to keep you safe. I’m… taking the child with me.”

“Ah, sure?” 

He’s leaving something out… 

“But… why, exactly?”

“I’m hoping a Mandalorian can… lead me to someone. The child-” Din’s voice quiets. “He’s… special.”

Oh.

“Is this about his force abilities?”

“Force?” Din rips his head around. “You mean… Jedi?”

With a small smile on your face, you pull both legs up into the chair with you. “Jedi use the force. Think of it as-” you wave your hand in the air- “like an energy thing. The force binds all things, connects all things… real mystical stuff.”

Din does not move. Just… stares at you.

“What do you know of the Jedi?” His voice is quick.

You grunt, shifting your eyes to the floor. “I know they’re all dead now, for the most part. Hunted like animals by the Empire." You force a dry laugh. “They- they didn’t stop at the adults. No-” you shake your head- “slaughtered the children too. Kriffing creeps. Hunted down each last survivor- any force user- one by one.”

Silence.

“How… do you know this?”

“My Mom.” You release a heavy sigh. “She wanted more- more excitement than what life on Sularia offered. She was intelligent, and her intelligence earned her a job as a civilian contractor with the Republic during the Clone Wars.” You smirk at Din. “Grandpa was not happy with her.”

You tilt the chair backwards, staring up at the ceiling as you speak. “She worked among the Jedi. Friends with many of them.”

You hear Mom’s weeping in your ear… her eyes radiating such… pain and loss. You dig your fingers into your palm, willing the memories away, your eyes sliding closed-

“He must be trained.”

Your eyes blast open, flying straight to Din. “What?” 

“After Arvala- what he did to the woman on Arvala-” Din lowers his head, avoiding your glare- “I knew he was strong, but… 

“Din,” you grit your teeth- “you must forget he’s special.” You throw your hand out. “Forget Arvala ever happened.”

“A Jedi can train him.” Din is speaking more to himself than to you. “After I leave Nar Shaddaa, I will return to my quest. Find the kid a Jedi.”

Silence.

“What?” You launch up out of your chair.

“If what you say is true-” Din’s voice is level and even, barely audible even in the silence- “I can’t protect him. He… needs to be trained.”

“Trained?” You voice strains in your throat, tightening with every word. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s too dangerous to let him follow that path!”

The Mandalorian faces you. “Danger is all he’s ever known.” He turns and begins to stalk away. “I was wrong to not follow my quest. I… must follow my creed.” He stops. “This is the way.”

“The way?” You race over to his side, staring up into that emotionless visor. “To give up a child that loves you? That you’ve called son?” You grab his arm. “Refuse him a happy, normal childhood?”

“His life with me is not normal. It’s no life for a child.”

“And- and life as a Jedi isn’t either!” your voice raises. “They aren’t allowed to express love- hold attachments!” You clench your fists, willing your breathing- and voice- to level back out. “That is no way for a child to be raised.”

“That is their way.” The Mandalorian rests a hand on a ladder rung. “And… this is mine.”

Blood explodes in your ear.

“How can you be so cold!”

The Mandalorian’s head shoots to you. 

“If you cared about him, you’d- you’d keep him- fight for him- love him every day- thank the Maker he’s there every morning when you wake up!” Furious tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you wipe them away with your sleeve- refusing to let them fall. “Grateful you have more than just your memories and dreams of him to hold!”

“I do care about him.” The Mandalorian’s voice cuts dangerously calm. “But unlike you, I can’t be selfish.” He steps forward, forcing you to take a step back. “Doing whatever I want; whatever I please.” He stops, his voice quieting. “I… I cannot give him what he needs. He… needs more than me.”

Selfish? Selfish?

The decaying stench of Nar Shaddaa wafts down the streets as you walk lower, deeper into the underbelly of the rotting city center. The tears have now dried on your cheeks, but you know the streaked mascara staining your cheeks will give their existence away. You will have to duck into the sink first before heading into your dilapidated apartment- you can’t let her see any evidence of your suffering.

It’s all for her, and that’s all that matters.

“You-” you swallow the lump cutting off your air, pressing your hands behind your back to hide their trembling- “You know nothing of my life! And frankly, you know nothing of me, Mandalorian.”

“I know enough.” His tone matches your still, quiet coldness. “You’d put your feelings and attachment over what’s best for him.”

“How can you say that while I stand here-” you jab at your side- “carrying scars I took for that child!” 

He takes a step forward, his hands raised almost as if in regret, but you cut him off.

“You sound just like a Jedi!” you shout. “Maybe you would be the perfect teacher for him!” 

His hands drop.

“I… will not dishonor him by denying him his way- his people.” He lowers his head to the floor, almost as if speaking to himself again. “I can’t let the way you are influence me.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” you hiss, the blasting blood deafening in your ears.

“You make rash, impulsive, emotional decisions.” The Mandalorian’s words slice your heart, cutting you down to the core. 

“You never take the bigger picture into account, the greater implications of your actions. Some things are more important than you or I want.”

“What about what he wants? You’re his father!” you yell, giving up on restraint. “That is more important than anything!”

“He… he will forget.”

You blink.

“A child-” your voice drops, quiets- “never forgets love.” You shake your head, nausea brewing in your stomach. “How can you be so cold? So… callus?”

He scoffs at you.

“You’re being foolish.” 

He turns to leave.

“Mandalorian-” your eyes are on fire, burning- “You’re the only fool I see. You’ve been given a gift; do you know what I’d give to have that again?”

He stares you down.

“But- but because you’re scared- you’re scared of failing him- you want to just dump him off on the first Jedi that crawls into your path!” You shake your head, using every ounce of control to keep from exploding.

You fail. 

“You’re the one being selfish, Mando! A coward!”

“I’ve sacrificed everything for him.” His voice takes on that dangerous tone again- warning you with every word spoken. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

“I thought you were more than a heartless bounty hunter under all that armor-” you sneer, tapping a finger against his chest- “but I guess I was wrong!”

Silence.

“You were wrong to assume anything about me,” he rasps under his breath, leaning into you. “I don’t have to explain myself or any of my decisions to you. We’re done here.”

He jerks around, sweeping up into the cockpit of the ship

“And I’m- I’m sorry I ever assumed I could know you, trust you!” You shout from the base of the ladder, hands trembling against the rungs. “Y-you don’t deserve the light you have been given!”

You burst away from the ladder, racing straight into the sleeping quarters and slamming the doors closed. You slump down into the corner, clutching a pillow tightly against your chest.

The nightmares, the memories, the voices, echo- scream- in your ears…

“Mama!”

-------

You stare straight ahead.

Exhausted.

You’re… exhausted. Emotionally. Physically.

Just- exhausted.

Ever since the Mandalorian left with the child for Mos Pelgo, you’ve been stewing alone in the cockpit, trying to make sense of your tumultuous emotions.

You- you just don’t understand. How…?

You lean forward in the pilot’s seat, burying your face in your hands.

How could he-

“Mando?”

You gasp, tearing your head up. The blue hue of the holo-display showers the dark cockpit in twinkling light.

A man- a stranger- stands in the display.

“Answer the holo, Mando.” He places both hands on his hips. “It’s important.”

You blink.

Hesitantly, you reach forward, flicking on the switch.

“Hello?” you question.

The man stares at you, taking in your unexpected appearance.

“I need to speak with the Mandalorian.”

“He, uh, he’s not here, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.” You lean forward, raising an eyebrow. “Can I… give him a message?”

“I assume you’re the girl from Taek?”

You slowly nod.

Silence.

“I wasn’t going to talk with you about this-” he glances away, his voice lowering- “but it appears I have no choice… Do you know who I am?”

“Ah, no.” You lean back in the pilot’s seat. “Should I?”

“My name is Greef Karga-”

“Oh, yes!” you interrupt. “Cara’s spoken highly of you.”

“Then you know my line of business.” He takes a few steps to the side, as if considering his words. “I was just visited by three individuals that should be… of interest to the Mandalorian… and you.”

“Oh no,” you breathe. “Is this about Taek again? Stars! They- more trouble from Nar Shaddaa?”

Greef slowly crosses his arms. “Not exactly.”

You blink. “Then I don’t… understa-”

“They sought you.”

Your blood freezes.

You- you can’t breathe.

“I told them nothing, of course. I informed them the Guild had no files, no information whatsoever. That you had never been on our radar.” Greef leans forward, his voice falling low. “They left most displeased.”

“No- don’t tell me this.” You press your head down into your knees. “Don’t tell me this.”

“I suggest you tread carefully, my dear-”

You lift your head.

“-they were Mandalorian.”

-------

You slip around the corner of the stone building, sliding right past the dumpsters lining the Mos Eisley street. You tighten the scarf around your face as you tip-toe into an alley- jumping at any hint of movement like a Lothcat on spice.

“Stars,” you hiss, tightening your arms across your chest, collapsing in on yourself as you walk.

Your life-

-is a disaster.

But it’s your disaster, for you to face. You will not endanger the child, put anyone else in the line of fire. 

With Mandalorians after you… Leaving- running away- it’s your only choice.

A sob erupts, and you slap a hand across the scarf covering your lips, pushing against the fabric.

You can’t give in. Not now. Not now.

You sink down into the dirt, pressed up against the wall tucked back behind a stack of boxes.

Trembling… You can’t stop trembling.

Something hard presses into your leg, and you glance down.

Your staff…

Din.

You take it off your belt, pressing it against your cheek. Groaning, you slide your eyes closed.

You’re- you’re going to miss him. All of them. You- you-

You part your lips, all the pent-up fear and heartbreak and pain and frustration bleeding out in in one long wail, the tears flooding, drowning your cheeks.

You’re all alone.

You’re all alone again.

You’re all fucking alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the comments)

a/n: I know what you’re thinking: OH NO! I forgot to get wille-zarr a Christmas gift! 

No problem! You can leave me a comment instead lol!

But seriously, OH. MY. STARS. The comments on chapter 7- you have NO IDEA how that pushed me to write this. I’ll be honest, this chapter probably would have taken another 1-2 weeks to write if it wasn’t for the love and comments last chapter! I spent countless nights staying up till 3AM trying to get this done. Again, thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me- your comments fuel my writing! I love hearing from my regular readers! 

Special thanks for @sana-katarn​, whose endless knowledge of Old Republic terminology I inquired of endlessly while writing… really this entire story! She’s actually the best.

Also, this story will NOT being following season two. At times (such as in this chapter), some events from chapter two may pop up. But not often at all.  We’re going  for an ✨original plot✨ here. ;)

One last thing before I move into season 2 finale spoilers: next chapter, the action/angst kicks up- AGAIN. Like wow, I am so excited for everyone to read it! Things are kicking into gear! (And don’t worry, we will see the Arvala family again very soon!)

SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS BELOW YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED: ------- Okay, so W O W. That finale. Let’s talk.

I am 100% serious, I had this chapter, the scene where Din and reader fight over the child training to be a Jedi, planned out WELL before the finale! So, imagine my shock that this chapter and that particular scene in the finale happened to fall so close together! I felt a bit bad leaving chapter 8 on a sad note so soon after the finale, but it couldn’t be avoided. So, I’ll just say: trust where I’m going with things! It’s going to be surprising- in a good way! :)

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

The Scar

Requested by the awesome @gothicsprinkles who wanted funny and soft and only got... embarrassment instead xD Forgive me!

-

It’s really warm so Corin doesn’t bother wearing his shirt to bed. He knows he will have a human Mandalorian heater attaching himself to Corin the second they settle for the night and if he’s going to get any sleep with Din doing that in this kind of temperature, Corin has to wear as few layers as possible.

After a quick check on the little bean, sound asleep in his crib, Corin crawls into bed and settles next to where Din is propped up by pillows and is waiting to attack.

He’s not wearing his armor, only his helmet and the layers of regular clothing, feeling secure in the bosom of the Covert, and it’s nice to see him somewhat relaxed for a change. It would be even nicer to see him entirely relaxed in just a t-shirt and sweatpants like Corin usually wears to bed, but Corin knows not to press his good luck. This is good. It’s more than enough.

To Corin’s surprise, Din doesn’t just attach himself to him like a shady rumor, but lies on his side, removes his right glove and reaches out to draw light fingertips over the scar left by a blaster shot that should have claimed Corin’s life but ended up saving it in countless ways instead.

Corin sucks in his stomach a little, despite knowing he’s never been in better shape in his life. He just can’t help it.

“You were a Trooper for so many years,” Din mumbles, his touch light on the scar and soon trailing over his abs, “how is it that you have so few scars?”

Looking down at his own torso, Corin knows the answer but he’s not proud of it. “At first, I had good luck and… friends on my side. That kept me safe most of the time.” He holds out his arm and shows a barely visible scar, a really faint line across his upper arm. “I did take a shot to the arm once, though.” Corin lowers his arm and places his hand on Din’s back instead. “After they… After that, I just made sure not to be at the front wherever we were sent. There were plenty of young idiots like me looking to make a name for themselves and play the hero, I just let them. They were the ones who got the scars. Or got killed. I just focused on getting my ass transferred to the Blizzard  Force.”

Din’s helmet nods thoughtfully.

“What’s the scar on your back from?” Corin asks, having seen and noticed it earlier when they… well, he’d noticed it.

“Oh, that.” Din gives a quiet, amused laugh. “Well, it was my third bounty job and-”

His life as a Mandalorian has left Din with a whole bunch of scars and one crazy story after another to go with them. Corin goes from smothering laughter behind a hand to staring with horrified wonder at how this man is still alive.

“What about that one?” Corin eventually asks, reaching out and pulling Din’s sleeve up a little to reveal a thin, modest scar on his underarm.

“That? That’s nothing. Nothing at all. Ignore that one.” Din tugs his sleeve down and covers it back up. He turns to trail fingertips over Corin’s scar in silence.

At first, Corin’s gut instinct is to apologize, thinking he’d overstepped and accidentally uncovered some painful memory, but then his brain points out how there had been no hurt or defensiveness to Din’s voice. No, it has sounded more like… embarrassment?

Corin’s curiosity sits up and pays attention.

“Din…” Corin drawls, sliding his hand up from Din’s back to gently squeeze the man’s neck and has him arching into the touch with a faint sound of approval. “Din, tell me about the scar on your arm…”

“It’s nothing.” Din mumbles. Definitely embarrassed!

“Come on…” Corin whines playfully, shaking Din a little by the scruff. “Tell meeeeeee…”

Din answers by manhandling Corin over on his side so Din can curl up behind him and hold him tight, too tight to squirm away. “I told you, it was nothing. Sleep now. You’re tired.”

“I’m not tired. Tell me about the scar on your arm, Din Djarin.”

“Shhhhh.” Din shushes him and when Corin lifts his head to glare back at him, Din shoves it back down against the pillow. “Shhhhhh.”

Fine. Din wins the battle, but he has not won the war.

-

Paz has picked his laser cannon apart and is cleaning each piece with as much affection as he shows Raga. He glances up with mild surprise when Corin sits down next to him in the common area. “What do you want?”

Corin glances over and sees Din is busy talking to aforementioned Raga by the door and decides to go for it. “Din has a scar on his right arm. His underarm. Do you know how he got it?”

Several things happen at once. Paz sits up straight, Din makes a startled sound and bolts towards them, and Raga trips Din.

Corin hears Din’s impact with the ground, his furious shout when Raga holds him down with a painful knee to his lower back and the frankly scary strength of her arms, but his focus is on Paz who draws a long and deep breath like a man about to tell a story worth hearing.

“He hasn’t told you about that, has he?” Paz says, reaching out and placing an oil-covered and heavy hand on Corin’s shoulder. “Allow me.”

“Paz, I will shoot you in the face!” Din shouts.

“Is that any way to talk to your brother?” Raga tuts and shoves his helmet down, visor first, to smack against the floor.

“I was fifteen when I got my first jetpack and my father started training me.” Paz sounds nostalgic, before giving a faint shake of his helmet and sighing as he gestures towards Din. “Back then, Din was a little twig who had yet to take the Creed and he was ‘not’ happy about that.”

Din tries to buck Raga off but can only bite back a pained, but mostly angry, sound when she digs her knee in deeper and wrings one of his arms.

“So, one night,” Paz continues, sliding his arm around Corin’s shoulders and maneuvering him over to sit next to him so they both can look at Din, “the little womp rat decided he was going to grab my jetpack and show everyone how he was a natural talent at flying. That he was as good as the older children.”

Corin struggles against a smile. “Is that so?”

Even Raga cackles as she has to grab Din’s other arm as well to keep him pinned down when he struggles even harder to free himself.

“Indeed.” Paz says. “The brat wormed his way into my room, grabbed my jetpack, went into the hallway and put it on. That pack was designed for me, not his baby-ass, which meant that when he activated it at full throttle, it went as well as you can probably imagine.”

Corin is losing the fight against not laughing.

“I woke up to his scream growing fainter as he zoomed down the hallway.” Paz says. “I ran out and saw jetfire and his tiny feet as they blew around a corner and I ‘knew’ what had just happened. I chased after him. If he had been keeping a steady course, I would never have been able to catch up, but lucky for both of us; Din managed to bump into every door, both walls and occasionally the ceiling as he raced down the hallway. Screaming his head off. Eventually I caught up with him in one of the training rooms that had been left open and he decided to end his journey by flying smack up into the corner of the room and get stuck in one of the climbing ropes up there.”

“By now the grown ups are gearing up and preparing for battle because they think we’re under attack.” Raga supplies with glee.

Din gives up fighting and just drops his helmet, visor first yet again, to the floor with a thump.

“Din was bawling, the adults were freaking out, so it was up to me to save the day.” Paz’ voice is brimming with obnoxious delight. “I climbed up there, managed to untangle the little idiot and got him ‘and’ my jetpack down. Luckily his thick head hadn’t suffered too much during his rodeo, but he had busted up his arm pretty good. He was wailing so loud it took about two minutes before Davarax found us and he wasn’t happy.” A fond laughter. “He had to explain to the rest of the Tribe it had only been an illegal jetpack joyride, not an actual invasion by outsiders, while I had to bring the troublemaker to the bone-setter and wipe snot and tears off that face of his.”

Din is thumping his helmet regularly against the floor before he suddenly lifts his t-visor to glare at Paz. “I hate you.”

Paz stares at Din for a heartbeat and a half, then turns his t-visor to Corin. “Has he told you about his first dancing lesson?”

“PAZ!” Din’s bellow echoes through the entire building.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

We meet Lucy, we meet Samantha and her twins & Mother Nature gets a little bit mad. But on the upside - she loves Tony :)

Kind reminder that this story will have horror/thriller elements & graphic descriptions of blood, gore and all the nasty stuff associated with superhero battles described in some detail. This chapter contains some of that.

Honestly, this story is getting- uhh- 8-12 notes on Tumblr. It's got a decent following on AO3 which brings me joy because I truly do enjoy the worldbuilding to a, perhaps, guilty amount. So if you like it too - please reblog :)

The fabric of my skirt was suddenly yanked and I jumped, dropping my phone and startling out of my daze. Two big, blue eyes stared up at me, curiousity mixed with impatience in them. I crouched down to pick up my device, coming face to face with a tiny blonde girl about nine or ten years of age.

"Lucy, hi!" I squeezed out a smile at the child. She looked pale, as if she'd never seen the slightest bit of sunlight, chubby cheeks contrasted by an overall spindliness of her body. Her dress was a puffy, long-sleeved, red and white polka dotted monstrosity with at least two petticoats that made her seem bigger than she actually was. "Sorry, didn't see you there. Long day at work," despite there being a worm of anxiety crawling deeply in my chest, I heeded the warnings on the list of rules and swallowed any unease I had.

Which was a hard feat. The stairs had gotten confused and I lost ten minutes of time going back, over and over, after encountering floors "5", "8" and "19" instead of my third floor, in a five story building. The building providing extra floors shouldn't have surprised me that much but the worst was fighting with the desire to explore them, my rational brain unhelpfully supplying that if this building was truly dangerous, nobody would be living in it.

The pull was almost unnatural in its strength yet my protection charms remained unaffected. Too tired from returning to work, I decided to distract myself with my phone - and nearly ran poor little Lucy off her feet.

"You are new," she signed to me slowly, carefully observing my reaction to her using ASL.

I had been truly unsettled by the rule list, perhaps more than I wanted to admit to myself, so I spent a night wide awake brushing up my meager sign language skills. "Yes, my name is Star," I replied, not quite sure if I wanted to shake her hand or simply make myself scarce as soon as possible.

Lucy gave me a closed-lipped grin, swooshing her puffy skirts in what I perceived to be a calculated amount of shyness. "Can I play with you, please?" Her hands moved a little more rapidly as she side-eyed my apartment door.

I briefly ran a mental checklist of the contents of my fridge. "Sure," I figured that two leftover steaks in it would be more than enough for the little girl. I'd splurged and gotten four prime pieces of meat to treat myself after a hectic moving process, cooking only half of them on the first day. "Come on it. You hungry?"

The door swung open as I led Lucy in, her bright dress and pale skin standing out in the twilight of my apartment. She nodded her head seriously, looking at me from head to toe as shivers ran up and down my spine. My bag was unceremoniously dumped on the couch, my socked feet shuffling into the kitchen and beelining for the fridge.

Lucy followed me quietly, taking a seat at the dinner table and folding her thin arms atop it, expectant blue eyes following my every move. As I plated the meat and reached for the roll of paper towels, I felt like I was being examined under a microscope. Somewhere in the distance, a quiet hissing noise was beginning to rise.

Lucy politely declined the fork and knife I attempted to give her so I just set down the plate in front of her, leaving the kitchen to change out of my dusty, sweaty clothes, too tired to really worry about the loud, sloppy and wet chewing noises and low growling coming from the dining area. I decided as long as she wasn't attempting to have me for dinner, I was going to be just fine.

I found Lucy on the carpet of my living room, flipping through a fashion magazine she'd found somewhere after I was done with scavenging some sweatpants from my mostly-unpacked closet. Her blonde curls bounced as she looked up at me with another tight smile, this time looking calmer, friendlier somehow. "I like those dresses," she signed, pointing at a few pictures with models wearing ballroom gowns in all kinds of colours. "And these..." She pointed out a tiara, probably not knowing how to sign the words.

"This is a tiara," I spoke slowly, signing the last word with my hands carefully as she observed. And then a few more times, until she repeated her last sentence perfectly. "Good job, Lucy," I praised her as she beamed at me. The river of quiet, scratchy giggles never stopped as she pointed out various things and I tried to sign them to the best of my ability, Lucy not showing any signs of upset whatsoever if I couldn't get the name for something right.

After some time, it was beginning to get very dark outside and a couple of pointed glances at the clock was all it took for her to stand up and carefully dust off her skirts. "Thank you for playing with me, Star," Lucy signed excitedly. "I like you. Do you want to know a secret?" She leaned in conspirationally, bursting into my space bubble with a lack of care only a child could posess.

I nodded, not trusting my mouth whatsoever. The closer she leaned in, the more overwhelming her smell became. Her pretty dress reeked of mildew and stale water, her breath - of dried blood and something earthen, like moist soil and cold cobblestone.

Lucy's eyes widened dramatically. "If you need answers, go on to the seventh floor. Bring some warm milk and cookies, they won't bother you too much, but be careful and don't stay for too long. You look tasty," I struggled to keep up with her rapid signing, my eyes firmly trained on her. Lucy's hand carefully patted my cheek and in my frozen state, I could only wave back as she skipped to the door and unlocked it, giving me one of her closed-lipped smiles before disappearing behind it without a noise.

The lock slid shut on it's own after the girl's departure. My heart briefly jumped up into my throat, trapping my jerky inhale in-between my throat and my esophagus. Coughing, I went on to double check the door lock before scrambling for the TV remote to add some background noise to the suddenly eerily quiet apartment.

The sit-com that popped up wasn't any of the ones I knew so I sat helplessly watching unfamiliar people get themselves into more and more absurd situations as the grating noise of pre-recorded audience laughter mocked the characters actions. A sudden shriek pierced the late night stillness, followed by a sound of breaking dishes and a woman's voice tiredly chastising the miscreants.

Samantha.

I'd seen her a few times as she smoked her strong cigarettes in front of the entrance, her twins running in circles around the large pothole in the middle of the driveway. She'd been friendly enough, the dark circles under her eyes and the unkempt state of her clothes telling me more than her words, "I love them, I really do. But I just want some sleep," she rasped as she sighed and attempted to gather her two kids.

I didn't examine them too closely but on first moment's notice their eyes and teeth appeared... Wrong. Samantha had taken them inside after that, clutching a coffee thermos of a size truly impressive, and I went on my merry way, trying not to think too much of the poor, single mother and her two mutant kids. I felt a little proud, even, as she didn't just abandon them like many other people did after discovering their children had an active X-gene.

It didn't take me long to cave in and offer my help with watching the twins, Anya and Arman; one noisy weekend bled into the next and I began to genuinely feel bad for the overtired woman. Inviting the two terrors into my apartment was a choice I had made mindfully: having asked Odette about advice on hyperactive children, she had proposed a puzzle or two.

The thrifted, wooden items weren't able to hold the twins' attention for long, and Anya was the first one to begin gnawing at the hard blocks, covering the area around her in splinters. Arman was a quiet boy compared to his sister: he'd stare at the TV or at the walls, avoiding eye contact and conversation at great lengths.

My couch was jumped on, my dishes were taken out and my houseplants rearranged chaotically; it was almost as if they purposefully tried to get a rise out of me without doing any actual damage. I spent the remaining few hours of my Sunday putting things back in their places - all that pent up frustration had done wonders for the state of my apartment; it sparkled, looking cleaner than the day I moved in.

The babysitting became a somewhat regular occurrence, more often than not with me popping in for a couple of hours so Samantha could run some errands and the odd weekend when the twins came over to me so Sam could get some much-needed sleep.

She was a kind, gentle if chronically overworked woman. We clicked pretty quickly over our shared desire for comfortable stability and some fucking peace; neither I nor she had it in sights for the foreseeable future. Sam's reaction to me being a witch was a shrug and a top up to her wine glass as she pointedly looked at her daughter who was busy chewing on a door handle, leaving small, jagged marks all over the dull metal.

I just had gotten sorted with a bunch of complicated orders when the radio interrupted Eric Clapton with an emergency message and instructions to steer clear of the next few blocks over. Something had hit NYC again and Avengers had been called but nobody knew exactly what it was or when it was going to be dealt with.

As soon as I shot a text to Sam, explaining the situation, I immediately retreated to the back rooms, setting up my healing station over the noise of Odette preparing her office for visitors. For some time, I waited with baited breath, jumping at every little noise coming from the outside. The people tickled in slowly, mostly one by one and all were covered in foul-smelling sludge that evaporated with a loud hiss when the concentrated light of the UV lamp in my office touched it.

"Some kind of aliens, I think," a man with a face somewhere between a human and a hedgehog told me, wincing as he retracted his spikes back into his skin. "There's a hole- a portal, right on a crossroads and there's these things coming out. They kinda look like dragons, or flying snakes maybe," the more light breached the surface of his skin, the more relaxed he became. "The Sorcerer and the Witch are trying to close the portal, unsuccessfully might I add, and the muscle is just," he paused, scratching his chin. "Just killin' 'em, I guess."

I nodded enthusiastically, prompting him to continue to rely the state of the affairs as I applied the thick, viscous ointment on a gash on his leg. "It's hammer and Frisbee time," I mumbled to myself sarcastically.

"Yep," the man popped the 'p'. "Most of us are trying to keep the creatures contained to that one block. I saw Iron Man blasting off some of the creatures off of some of my friends," the last sentence contained a great deal of puzzlement. "Though you won't be seeing much of us this time. These things... They're vicious. They've got claws the size of my foot. A lot of us are going to die where they gut us," the sentence was spoken so matter-of-factly, my hands paused on the man's leg, bringing my eyes to his unblinking dots of black.

"What do you mean?" I swallowed in an attempt to chase away the dry, rough feeling in my throat.

"Those beasts... They're smart. One of my friends - she's a... Telepath of sorts... Says they're an intelligent hivemind," the man's broad, warm palm closed over mine. "The beasts leave only the ones that won't get help in time. They can smell death from a mile away. That's how they hunt," his voice was gentle, soothing over the sudden ringing of my ears.

"I..." My mind stuttered, a sticky ball of anxiety, fear and sorrow gathering up in my chest. "I'm so sorry. I..."

"We know what we're doing, out there, we know the risks," his smile was tight and full of grief. "You're doing your part here, makin' sure our babies have parents. We're out there makin' sure our streets are safe. Such is life," the grin acceptance in his pitch-black, small eyes set fire to the tension in my chest.

I exploded, inside out. The sudden burst of decisive, clear-headed energy made the objects around me vibrate, metal resonated my sorrow and my determination, the wood heated up with the force of Mother Nature itself responding to an act of cruelty bestowed upon her creations.

As soon as the man's bandage was finished and he headed out, I grabbed my old, ratty backpack, hastily shoving things into it in a semi-organized fashion. Clean linen strips, bandages, some premade elixirs and draughts, a few jars of salves, carefully tucked in-between the cloth. As I knocked on the door of Odette's office to retrieve the last few items I would need for my reckless journey, the door handle turned on its own, letting me observe her tending a woman who's skin was peeled off most of her back.

"Can't you see I'm..." Odette exclaimed, throwing her free hand towards the door, which did not budge. She turned on her heel, eyes widening when she observed my wide, solid stance in the doorway, lips immediately curling into a small grin. "I understand. Take what you need. It's not wise to resist Her call," the words were spoken carefully, as if not to spook me, before Odette resumed her delicate work of putting the injured woman back together.

Without a word, I finished packing and left through the front door, not needing more than my scarf and my light sweater to keep me from the freezing gusts of wind. My very core was the centrefold of an active volcano, bursting with white-hot bursts of energy as I approached the injured people on my way towards the terrible screeching noise.

This far out, most of the injured were able to make it to Odette's or to the other healer, who's name I had found out only then, but they were thankful for the water I offered them. Not once did they question me: my star-patterned scarf, out of all things, had become somewhat of a symbol for me among the different folk. Mutants approached me fearlessly, giving generous updates on the direction of the battle and the hotspots I probably should have avoided.

The louder the screeching noises grew, the more people needed my help. The stops took longer, my painkillers were becoming a short supply, the main relief provided by a couple of mid-range, mid-strength energy manipulating mutants that began to tail me after I offered to patch them up in exchange for help with the injured.

It was as if I instinctually knew where I was most needed, my decisions were seldom my own. Me and the two mutants bid a haste goodbye after loading up their truck with the injured, although deep inside, I knew that the amount of corpses, bloody and messy, littering the streets had begun to get to them. In a normal state of mind, I would not have been able to look at them either: then, each mangled, broken body only added fuel to the fire within me.

As I stepped foot in an intersection where someone had piled up bent and broken cars, the shadow flying over my head shrieked, taking a fluid nose dive towards another, smaller flying figure. I dropped flat on the ground, the contents of my backpack clattering, watching the small figure in the sky blast the beast with an off-blue ray of concentrated energy. As soon as the creature began it's graceless drop, Tony turned around and flew off, looking none worse for wear.

At the very centre of my chest, a faint feeling of fondness and hope blossomed into tiny little flowers that soothed the aching sorrow for the dead. Each warcry of the beasts from another world fed the anger, the anguish Gaia seemed to exhibit at their intrusion; the revolt I felt upon laying my eyes on one of them made me sweat, hands clenching into fists until my skin crawled under my nails.

The last part of me that wanted to pretend I was in control was gone; my soft, untrained body a mere vessel for a force stronger than me, stronger than anything. Noise around me grew in pitch, some of the creatures circling around my hiding spot cluelessly, aimlessly, as if they could not find what they were looking for.

I moved spots in a daring series of runs, bringing me almost to the portal itself, and the hellish lizards dived into my previous sanctuary, shattering the concrete and the wood of the house under the amused black stares of glassless windows.

The realization set it - they could not see me. Or perceive me properly, I deduced, inspecting the creatures for any sort of orifice except for their mouths and finding them to lack eyes and ears.

My own stare fell onto Sorcerer Supreme, floating amongst a variety of moving golden circles; I was close enough to hear him talking in a language I did not know. Wanda was hovering nearby, holding up a wall of red energy, protecting the chanting sorcerer.

A united screech invoked a shiver from every living being within it's reach, the creatures circling the portal for the last time before flying off in haphazard directions as the portal slowly began to close. I was prepared to cheer, yet, something stopped me; not a second later, the circles surrounding Stephen dimmed as the man himself jumped up onto his feet in alarm, screaming something unintelligible at the Scarlet Witch.

The overturned food cart I was hiding behind slowly began to creep towards the portal. A couple of rats, a pigeon - the animals flew in front of my eyes, rapidly, as they struggled against the unseen force. My hands grasped the handlebars of the cart in vain, I struggled against the force, seeing a moment of confusion on Wanda's face as I floated- no, rocketed past her as Stephen's golden magic forcefully pushed her out of the portal's reach.

It's size no bigger than a doorway, the vile thing blew cold, dry air under my sweater, muffling Stephen's cursing as we briefly collided during our violent expulsion into another world.

And then, there was darkness.

Taglist! @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[niles-rainbow-room]

Freemod Context! (Long!!)

This is Gordon Freemod! He’s my own little AU Gordon, and I love him!

I made him based around the way I play Garry’s Mod

Cause, in Gmod, my player model is Gordon, and I literally cannot change it because whenever I go to change my model he just

He looks at me. He judges me. He’s just refusing to let me change it.

Here’s just. A bunch of things about Freemod that aren’t related.

Btw, this whole thing is me going-

*projects rapidly*

These were all taken from various moments of me info dumping to my discord friends about him, so, that’s why there’s so many that are barely related.

-

So

To get some characterization down, Freemod can go from Excited Sweet Voice at Everything to This Man is in God Mode and He is Staring You Down as You Attack Him

They’re also

very scared of Gman

It’s not even funny

-

ANYWAYS something else about Freemod, he likes starting all out fights between people, but he’s very polite too so like

Someone says hi to him and he gives this big ol smile, next thing you know, he’s spawning headcrabs that could wipe out an army

-

He also has no idea what to do with bodies like sometimes he just Sweet Voice cocoons them, and other times he just beats them rapidly if it was a combine or something

-

Another thing! He doesn’t like making eye contact 100% of the time! If he gets too excited as well, he’ll despawn whatever was making him excited until he calms down.

-

He’s also really fast when it comes to no-clipping.

He’ll shoot up into the air and fling himself from place to place, just absolutely soaring and loving that feeling of flying through the air

-

He definitely makes Catboy Calhoun jokes but like

He’s also really nervous around Calhoun sometimes like he’s constantly checking in on them after making them fight a ton of headcrabs.

-

He doesn’t really like using the majority of the guns. He just typically uses the quieter/less frantic weapons like the magnum or the crossbow.

-

He’s like

Magnetically drawn to mirrors. He likes watching himself do the Sweet Voice and will do it for hours when he’s in the right mood if someone doesn’t stop him

-

He’s very giggly and smiley when it comes to hearing other characters talk. But he also can be very mean and cutting to the people he doesn’t like. Especially combine.

-

Freemod really likes Houndeyes.

*Really* likes them.

He spawned in a group of 8 and just watched them for a while, and then he spawns a MP Combine. It proceeds to stun stick every one of them. And they all die in one hit. They don’t even fight back.

What Freemod does next is basically the equivalent of “die a very painful death” and just beats the shit out of them while alive and dead.

They have to erase everything because they can’t stand the sight of the bodies of Houndeyes.

-

Hi! Sorry to take you out of the immersion of reading my brain goo, or the annoyed scrolling of “Oh my god will she just shut up already” but!

Another thing I decided to do with him, I gave him a little plot. A hint of his own character rather than just being me but an AU Gordon.

So here that is!

-

I feel like the only true way to contain Freemod and keep him from destroying the world is by keeping him in gm_construct

He likes it there sure, but like

If someone let him into Black Mesa let’s just say that the Resonance Cascade would’ve been way sooner and way more intense.

All he really does is fly around in there. Just. That’s it.

It’s his own personal Bug Bucket.

I don’t even think he realizes he’s trapped to be fair?

-

Another thing with Freemod, I’m not exactly sure how he’d react to... say, the HLVRAI characters showing up in gm_construct one day, idk Benrey takes the gang on a trip to there out of nowhere and they find Freemod just vibing by himself, flying through the air on a capture point from TF2. I don’t know if he’d:

A: Summon a bunch of things to attack the HLVRAI crew for the fun of it

B: Immediately try to befriend all of them desperately

C: Possess a creature and disregard them

D: All of the above

Cause with all this “He’s trapped/alone” sorta thing, I don’t know if I’m making him into a villain or am I just making him very touch starved and sad?

Cause like, earlier I did say that if he was let out of gm_construct, the resonance cascade would’ve been sooner and more intense

Basically what I was thinking is that he doesn’t really limit how crazy his thoughts experiments can be that often, so like, he spawns a bunch of things all at once to see what would happen.

But he’s not like that all the time, like I said, he’s also very polite, he’s just got a thin coating of God Mode on and he’s very lonely.

-

I was trying to figure out the thing with Freemod’s voice actually. I’m trying to think what they’d be like on the Gordon Scale.™️

I’d say he’s able to speak, but he doesn’t do it often. Because typically he’s only around NPCs and they can’t respond to him the way he wants, so why actually talk to them?

But he definitely talks to enemies as sort of a “I am the last thing you’ll ever hear” kind of thing.

But if he were to meet a different Gordon or someone with sentience he can talk to, he’d speak. Totally.

He talks to some of the alien/animal NPCs, cause like!!! Come on!!! That Houndeye over there needs to know that he’s a good boy!!!

-

So, maybe when Freemod is upset or something, he spawns the biggest thing he can possibly think of and posses it, and goes on an absolute rampage until he’s better

So I can just imagine.

Freemod, not feeling great and tense:

Feetman: Mod, hey. Don’t do it...

Freemod: *spawns and possesses a Gene Worm, and roars*

Feetman: FREEMOD NO GET OUT OF THE GIANT MONSTER-

Or like. He just possesses something and just. Flies away.

He just has moments where he’s too out of his head and he needs to just escape.

Something he’s been doing recently is possessing a Stukabat and flying up on top of a roof of a really high building and just. Viewing everything.

This man is SAD please hug him :((

-

Ooh, another thing,

He doesn’t like that dark room at all. In gm_construct? He will not go in there for more than a minute. That place scares him so much. Not even the fact that it’s dark, he just hates that he can’t see anything and while he knows he’s alone in the world he’s in, and he controls what can exist there or not, but, he just refuses to go there, even with a flashlight.

-

Aaaaaand that’s all the content I’ve made for them so far! Now that y’all know the context for him, I’ll post the comic of him meeting the HLVRAI characters, as well as some other drawings!