#we know the notion of “men are not supposed to cry” and we know it's harmful

[funkypeanutbear]

Me, talking to my best guy friend about any social topic ever:

oh my dude, we're both so fucked up, but in a different way ✨️💫

[minoment]

Top Male Reader X Gaz where Gaz is cock warming him while he's doing paperwork...

Thank you @guardkeywolf for the ask!! Gaz is the sweetest istg-

No Interruptions.

Pairing: Sub Gaz x Dom M!Reader

Type: NSFW drabble/ficlet thing (it was supposed to be, but not anymore thanks to my horny ass writers brain 🥲)

Warnings (kinda): ohhhh boy here we go, sub gaz, hard dom reader, dom male reader, anal fingering, naked teasing, handjobs, gaz has a 'sir kink and a 'master' kink, spit play/spit as lube, anal penetration, praise and degradation, sadistic reader, masochistic gaz, breath play, scent play, humiliation, begging, making out, VERY rough sex, slapping/impact play, masturbation, dacryphelia because i'm in love with making men cry yes i know i have issues, choking, feral reader because thats just me, and finally cum-play and exhibitionism if you squint... also me getting horny and sloppy with my writing as you go further in because unholy mother of god this gets wacky-

A/N: I'm slowly chugging through my ask box in the order of how much inspiration and research I have on each. This one came easy, I've been sitting on this ask for a day and I love Gaz so done deal. Again, my ask box is open, I write for most fandoms (especially the ones mentioned in my pinned post). Go wild, I will get to all of them eventually. If yours is taking longer than a week to get out there, shoot me a message and I'll either hurry up on it, or troubleshoot. Happy January 1st everyone!!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT! MINORS/FEMALE PRESENTING DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS POST!!

NOT COMPLETELY PROOFREAD!!

Gaz was a good boy, everyone knew that. He was a good soldier, an amazing teammate, and a sweet and caring friend. That's why you'd fallen for him so easily. His soft smile and chocolate brown eyes had made you feel things so primal you'd have to physically try and restrain yourself from pinning him against a nearby wall and making him cry out in pleasure.

Gaz was so good. So sweet.

The only thing that would contradict that notion was the fact he'd snuck into your office before you came back from a meeting. He hid in your connecting quarters, pulling out the lube from under your bed and slicking up his fingers.

His soft gasps and mewls filled the air as he stretched himself open, waiting for you to come back. After about 10 minutes, Gaz was desperate. His cock was throbbing and leaking and the tip an angry, blushing maroon. A click was heard in your office room and Gaz breathed a silent sigh of relief. He pulled out his fingers and cleaned them off on a towel nearby before throwing it into the laundry basket.

Gaz undressed, leaving his boxers on to barely conceal his twitching erection. He peeped through the semi-opaque glass into your office, seeing your larger silhouette clearly writing at your desk. The door handle squeaked as he opened the door, stepping into your office.

"You been waitin' for me?" You chuckled softly, your back turned to him and still working away.

"Yes sir-" Gaz mumbled, walking up behind you and dragging your chair a little further away from your desk so he could fit inbetween you and the sturdy wood.

"Gaz I swear... what do you w-" You paused as he reached down, unbuckling your belt and slipping his hands down your boxers. You grunted in surprise as he pulled out your softened length, still impressive in size.

"Just shut up for a minute yeah?" Gaz muttered, making you raise an eyebrow in surprise at his boldness. He slipped his fingers briefly into his mouth, coating them in saliva before wrapping them around your length. He moved his hands swiftly up and down your shaft, making you grumble in frustration at the interruption to your work. You didnt completely hate this little surprise however.

Soon you were fully hard, your breath quickening a little. Behind you, Gaz took off his boxers and moved forward to promptly sit on your lap. He moved swiftly, pushing your length inside his prepped hole before you could say anything in protest. You let out a soft groan and only then realized he was fully naked and stretched out for this.

"You were planning this all along... weren't you..?" You smirked, shifting him more comfortably on your dick. Gaz let out a breathy moan, right next to your ear as your girth stretched and fucked him out so beautifully.

He tried to move, pathetically attempting to fuck himself on your cock. You held his hips down firmly, clicking your tongue in disapproval.

"Not so fast, sweet thing." You coo tauntingly in his ear, your voice sending trembles down Gaz's spine. "You gotta earn my cock. Sit and keep me warm until I finish my case report. Then I'll think about fucking your lights out..."

Gaz whined, knowing how long and tiresome case reports could be. Nonetheless, he sat still and buried his head in your neck. Your cock was so deep inside him, he thought, nuzzling against your warm skin and breathing in your familiar scent of cologne and gunpowder residue. So, so deep...

Eventually it became all too tempting and he tried to subtly grind himself onto your length. He let out sweet little gasps and whines right into your ear. You pretended to ignore him although it sent shivers right down to your cock. God, this little bitch was just begging to be fucked dumb, you thought.

You kept your cool, calmly continuing to write until you saw Gaz reach his left hand down to touch himself in the corner of your eye. He leaned forward into you, stroking himself and whispering filthy sweet words into your ear as he began to move more desperately up and down your cock.

"Please sir... You feel so fuckin' good inside me. I need it sir please. I'll be your good boy... I'll do anything.. Please sir.. Please~"

You slapped down your pen, swiftly picking him up and moving into your room. Gaz let out a soft breath of relief as you pinned him to the bed. Your kisses were rough, punishing and desperate, making Gaz moan weakly into your mouth. He knew he was into a rough night.

The door was still open and your lights still off but you didn't care, you spread his legs further and held them up to his chest.

"Hold." You said calmly, and Gaz obeyed, locking his arms around his legs and keeping them open for you. He knew that tone of voice.

You thrust deeply into him, wrapping a firm hand around Gaz's nape and setting a brutal pace. Your hips slammed roughly into his plush ass as you ruined him, making his cock bounce against his toned stomach and rip pathetic cries of desperate ecstasy from his swollen lips.

Tears started to fall down his cheeks as he squirmed and moaned beneath you, making you grit your teeth and move faster, harder, anything to hear more of those slutty sinful noises.

"M'close... m'close... please- s-sir..." Gaz choked out, unable to stop his loud moans, cries, and whimpers from pouring out of his throat. "Please sir... master~ please let me cum master~" He knew what that title made you feel, especially when he said it, but he said it anyway.

You stopped, pulling out of him and delivering a swift slap to his ass, he mewled at the empty loss as he looked up at you surprised. God, those doe eyes, making you want to-

A growl ripped from your throat, flipping him over onto his hands and knees and slapping his ass a lot harder. Gaz moaned out, the sweet sound interrupted by a choked whimper as you wrapped your hand tightly around his throat and slammed balls-deep into him.

Gaz let out a broken cry, tears falling as you nailed him into the mattress. He gripped desperately at the sheets, drool escaping from the corners of his lips as you rearranged his guts.

You gritted your teeth, gripping the sides of his neck and fucking into his harder. Gaz cried out in pleasure, his eyes rolling back in his head as you pounded him deeper.

You were fucking feral at this point, ragged pants and low groans escaping your lips and quickly being drowned out by your boyfriends whorishly wounded, sobbing moans. Your hips snapped harshly into him, your cock twitched as his tightness drove you closer to home.

On the other hand, Gaz was lost, spewing incoherent strings of slurred curses and chants your your name and how good you made him feel. His moans and cries went up a pitch, gripping at the sheets so hard his knuckles went white.

"PLEASE~ oh fuck me... please master... please please please... i'm so close sir.." He cried out, his cock aching for release. "Please let me cum master... I'll be your good boy... I'll be your pretty little slut... I'll be whatever you want... Pleaseeee let me cum~..." he gasped out, his moans broken and raspy from all his pathetically adorable crying.

Gaz soon let out a loud cry, his jaw going slack and tear-filled eyes rolling back in his head as he reached his peak. High pitched mewls and sobs echoed through the room as he emptied himself all over his stomach and the sheets. Eventually he caught his breath and collapsed, his cock and body twitching through the waves of aftershock from his orgasm.

You came soon after, holding his hips up and burying yourself deep inside him as you coated his walls with your hot seed. You groaned lowly and pulled out of him, laying down in pure exhaustion and pulling him up against you.

The poor boy was in another dimension, his whole body tingling and twitching as he snuggled into you. All he knew was you were there with your familiar smell and he felt safe. Gaz snuggled up to you, swiftly falling asleep.

You sighed at the mess but pulled the blankets over you both and soon fell asleep as well, oblivious to the fact that you and Gaz both would get a chuckled talking-to by Price and Soap, who's rooms were on either side of yours.

_end._

A/N: SO.. THAT WAS A LITTLE MORE THAN A FICLET- I GOT CARRIED AWAY IM SORRY- 😭

[idkyetxoxo]

Twenty | Vagabond | The Last Kingdom

"Lighten up husband you know you're the only one I like touching me"

"Just you wait till we're out of here woman"

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

As we braced ourselves to depart from Eoferwich through sheer force, a silent plea escaped my lips, directed towards any god willing to listen. The last thing we needed was a spatter of bloodshed so early in our mission, especially if we aimed to conquer Bebbanburg and save Aelfwynn.

As the imposing gates parted, revealing Edward and his assembled army on the other side, I finally released the breath I had been holding. Uhtred allowed Edward his moment of triumph as the satisfaction of marshalling such forces washed over him, but I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the spectacle.

"To Bebbanburg" Finan's cry pierced the air, rallying the soldiers as cheers erupted around us. He shot me a knowing wink, to which I responded with a grin.

As we journeyed northward, our path was suddenly intercepted by Cynlaef, Aethelstan's closest companion. "What of Osferth?" I exclaimed, swiftly dismounting to warmly embrace him.

"Osferth is alive and well," he reassured me, his words washing over me like a soothing balm. With a sigh of relief, I turned back to Finan, nodding in gratitude. His smile mirrored my own, acknowledging the weight that would have burdened me had Osferth's fate been uncertain.

"I've been wandering" Cynlaef began, only to be abruptly cut off by Finan's terse interruption. "Now is not the time," he interjected, effectively silencing him.

Nevertheless, Cynlaef managed to relay the news of King Constantin's movements, his arrival at Bebbanburg by sea alongside his retinue while his main army marched overland. Despite doubts about Constantin's maritime voyage, we dismissed the notion, focusing instead on our pressing objective of rescuing Aelfwynn.

"We cannot besiege Bebbanburg while Aelfwynn remains captive," I asserted, finding agreement in Uhtred's proposed plan. He outlined a daring scheme wherein he and a select few men would infiltrate the fortress via a cliffside path to liberate Aelfwynn.

"When you say men I am going to assume you included me," I remarked, arms crossed, prompting Uhtred to exchange a glance with Finan "Don't look at him" I warned, steeling myself for the peril ahead. "It's going to be dangerous," he cautioned, to which I responded with an exasperated eye-roll.

"I am the one that swore the oath so I will not rest until that girl is safely in my arms, anyone with objections can handle them on their own," I declared resolutely, mounting my horse and riding ahead. 

Uhtred's plan hinged on Haestan, whose supposed reformation still left me wary. Haestan would feign shipwrecked traders to lure Wihtgar onto the beach, then signalling Edward to initiate the attack.

── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ──

Scaling the rocks to reach the fortress proved to be an arduous feat, pushing the limits of exhaustion to new heights. Yet, my smaller stature in comparison to the men granted me an unexpected advantage, allowing me to manoeuvre more easily among the jagged terrain.

"Ah," I muttered, my gaze fixed on the seemingly insurmountable rock face before me. "What's the matter?" Sihtric inquired, concern etched across his features as he peered up at me.

"There's no way forward," I replied, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "The path is gone."

"Is there another way around?" Finan's voice trembled with apprehension. "Can we go back on ourselves?" His anxiety, palpable in the air, mirrored my own, perhaps tinged with an added layer of concern for my safety.

"There's no time the tide will be turning and men will be leaving their posts" Sihtric interjected, his tone laced with urgency. I glanced back at Finan, who rested his head against the rock in resignation. "You always said you wanted to die at Bebbanburg" he grumbled, a hint of gallows humour threading through his words.

"No one is dying" I retorted firmly, quelling any hint of fatalism. "Less talking let's go" I commanded, forging ahead as we ascended, each step a precarious dance with gravity.

Silence enveloped us until Finan's hand slipped causing him to let out a scream, his fingers barely clinging to the unforgiving rock face as his body hung below.

"Finan!" I cried out, panic seizing me as my heart raced with dread. "Give me your hand!" Sihtric's voice rang out, urgency fueling his movements, while I scrambled down toward them. "If you let go of him Sihtric I'm pushing you next" I barked, my own fear translating into a fierce resolve.

With a herculean effort, Sihtric managed to haul Finan back up, the tension easing as relief flooded through me. Sihtric erupted into laughter, momentarily eclipsing the gravity of our situation.

I slapped the back of Sihtric's head a mix of irritation and gratitude swirling within me, before pulling Finan close, my voice trembling with emotion. "You're an idiot," I whispered, my eyes glistening with unshed tears, as he cupped my face tenderly.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," he quipped, his lips brushing against mine in a fleeting kiss.

"We're almost there," Uhtred's voice broke through the moment, "carefully" I cautioned Finan, casting a wary glance at the treacherous path ahead.

"This is a much better view than Sihtrics arse" Finan's irreverent remark echoed through the air, drawing an exasperated eye-roll from me.

At last, we reached the summit, relief washing over us like a gentle tide. I seized the opportunity to pull Finan into a kiss, savouring the fleeting moment "Maybe we should be doing that more often" he mused, his words tinged with playful warmth as I pulled away, shaking my head with a smile.

Sihtric skillfully hacked away at a weakened section of the wooden wall, creating an opening for us to slip through before discreetly covering our tracks. The moment we stepped into the fortress, distant voices pierced the air, sending us scrambling to hide.

With Uhtred donning a helmet as a disguise, we embarked on our mission to locate Aelfwynn. As we cautiously traversed the grounds, my thoughts raced with the dire consequences if any harm had befallen her. 

Spotting King Constantin in the courtyard, a surge of anger welled within me. "If he's so much as even touched her I'm gonna turn him into Sigefrid" I muttered under my breath, my words tinged with venom.

Before I could react, Uhtred ventured toward his cousin, "Uhtred" I said in a harsh whisper but he didn't stop walking, ignoring my warning with ease. "You, stay in the courtyard" a voice commanded, prompting me to swiftly retreat behind Finan.

"Why does Constantin place his men here?" Wihtgar's inquiry hung in the air, met with Finan's attempt at a Scottish accent, I almost laughed out loud after Sihtric's imitation and attempt at the word "aye."

It didn't take long for Wihtgar and Constantin to discern the ruse, their suspicions falling upon Finan, Sihtric, and eventually, me. "Are you also shipwrecked Danes?" Constantin's query sent a chill down my spine, though it offered a glimmer of hope that Hild and Haestan had successfully infiltrated the fortress.

"Torture them for answers, show them the fate of any sea raider," Wihtgar commanded, his words dripping with menace.

"Gently," I interjected a futile attempt to temper the impending brutality as a guard shoved my arms behind my back. "I can cooperate if you ask politely," I offered, earning a silent rebuke from Finan's glare conveying 'Shut up before you get us killed.'

As we were bound to posts, I exchanged a glance with Uhtred, the only one among us still free. Wihtgar's piercing gaze bore into us, and I feared he would recognise our true identities. Mercifully, he was called away, diverting his attention elsewhere.

Turning my focus to our captors, I summoned what charm I could muster. "Excuse me," I addressed one of the men, feigning vulnerability.  "What" he spoke gruffly and I forced a smile onto my face and then pouted "I think I injured my shoulder during the shipwreck," I said and he stood there looking at me like I was a foreign alien.

"Would you mind checking to see if there's a wound?" I inquired, attempting to infuse my voice with a hint of vulnerability. The guard's disinterest was palpable, but I pressed on, resorting to a flirtatious approach. "I could offer you a reward," I teased, my words laced with a promise that seemed to catch his attention.

"How's that?" he responded with a smirk, his demeanour suggestive of a man accustomed to such advances. Glancing at Finan and Sihtric, I noted their understanding of my ploy, though Finan did not look amused at all.

"Come closer, and I'll give you a clue," I murmured seductively, drawing him nearer with a subtle sway. As his fingers grazed the skin of my neck, a shiver ran down my spine, but I maintained my composure, knowing our freedom depended on this ruse.

His touch lingered, tracing a delicate path down the curve of my neck, his fingers deftly pulling at the fabric to reveal the vulnerable expanse of my skin. His hand slipped into my shirt feeling around and groping with a curious and unnecessary intent, I nodded at Finan and Sihtric silently conveying our plan, before bringing my head down forcefully onto his, catching him off guard.

Staggering back, he became the unwitting target of Sihtric's swift retaliation. A shard from Finan's boot found its mark, freeing us from our bindings in a flurry of action. Sihtric deftly cut the ropes, liberating Finan and then myself from our constraints.

The other guards were skillfully and quietly taken care of.

"How was that?" I grinned, revelling in our triumph, though Finan's eye roll hinted at his lingering exasperation. Sihtric's thumbs-up offered reassurance, as I leaned into the banter, seeking to ease the tension. 

"Lighten up husband you know you're the only one I like touching me" I whispered as he passed me a weapon.

His smirk mirrored my own determination "Just you wait till we're out of here woman" he grinned. With resolve in our hearts, we dashed towards the stairs, fueled by the prospect that fate lay within our grasp.

─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

so close to the end making me sad iwl 🥹 also unread

Tag list - @jasontoddorjasongrace

[raointean]

Day 2 - Family

@ringsofpowervalentinesweek

Galadriel sighed as she ate a light breakfast of toast. The War of Wrath had finally ended, but she could not rest now. There were refugees to house, borders to be redrawn, and watches to be set. Galadriel had been offered a few weeks’ leave, of course; her company having only arrived back in Mithlond the previous afternoon; but she was hesitant to take it.

There was also the matter of their… guest. Elrond had become quite dear to her since he’d joined Galadriel’s regiment a few years before and when she had discovered he had nowhere to go but the inn, she was quick to offer her own home. Celeborn had returned some weeks before and secured it for them.

Elrond was grown, but only just, and he was in a land he did not know. It would be far too easy for him to become hopelessly lost in the winding streets of Mithlond. He too would wish to refuse leave in order to begin reparations, despite the fact that he needed rest more than most.

As Galadriel deliberated this, Celeborn entered the kitchen with Elrond not far behind. Celeborn sat next to his wife and plucked a piece of toast from her plate. She swatted at his hand playfully, but did not actually protest. Before them, Elrond shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

At last, he spoke. “Galadriel, Celeborn, could one of you perhaps point me to the nearest well?”

Celeborn’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I could, I suppose, though I cannot imagine what business you might have there.”

It was Elrond’s turn to be confused. “I mean to get water for the household… Unless you have someone to do that for you in so great a settlement as this?”

All of a sudden, it occurred to Galadriel. Elrond had never been to a city before! The Havens of Sirion, while filled with many elves and men, was only a rough refugee settlement. Even in its latest years, it was populated mostly by simple, wooden houses. No one had given a thought to the luxury of indoor plumbing.

After that, Elrond had told her that he moved from place to place with the Fëanorians in their encampments until he’d been sent to Gil-Galad. Galadriel knew from long and hard experience that war camps did not have running water. 

Elrond probably didn’t know! A spark of mischief entered her eyes. “Do you see that basin, cut into the countertop there?”

Elrond looked behind him. “Yes? What of it?”

Galadriel looked at Celeborn who was nearly as confused as Elrond. “There are two knobs above it. Turn one.”

Elrond eyed her suspiciously, but did as he was bid. He turned the right hand knob and sprang back with a cry. His eyes were wide as saucers as he watched the steady stream of water falling from the faucet. So awestruck was his face,  that Galadriel could no longer hold back her laughter. 

Celeborn, who now understood the joke, just rolled his eyes fondly. "Do you know what that is?" he asked Elrond. 

Elrond nodded without looking at him as he approached the tap. "Yes, I have heard tell of streams that run in the walls of a home, but I had thought those were fictional tales, told to children. Much like faeries or unicorns or floors that float up and down buildings!"

Celeborn laughed. Through their Bond, he said to Galadriel "We must take him to the center of the city and show him a lift."

Elrond continued to examine the faucet, turning the knobs this way and that, his analytical mind already hard at work reverse engineering the plumbing. "So I take it there is a pipe in the wall that brings the water from the river. Is the water drinkable? And how is it pressurized?"

Celeborn answered his questions to the best of his ability and, out of nowhere, a thought struck Galadriel. Was this what it would be like to have a child of their own? To watch wonder-filled eyes discover the most mundane of things for the first time? To be revered as the wisest of all people for remembering things learned long ago?

She and Celeborn had discussed the notion of a child a few times, many years ago. But given the heavy shadow of Morgoth and the constant fighting with only short reprieves, it had never been more than a distant fantasy. Now, Morgoth was gone. The world was tired of war and ready for new life.

For the first time in her life, she wanted a child. The desire grew in her heart until it threatened to consume her. She had been a daughter, a sister, a leader, a long-lost niece, a wife, a warrior, a commander, and now she wanted to be a mother.

Yes, she would take her leave, she thought. Children did not make themselves, after all.

[aronarchy]

https://twitter.com/AbolitionF_ists/status/1467939051613396995

[transcription:

ember ☭ @bimbomarxistt · Dec 5, 2021

imagine hearing a baby cry and your first thought is that they’re t[r]ying to manipulate you into spoiling them

Afrofuturist Abolitionists of the Americas · Dec 6, 2021

The ascription of malice to Children comes from white supremacy. Especially in the US case the logic was built into Puritan theology. The text “Performing Childhoods” goes into the ways this intersected with antiblackness especially during slavery and into the late 1800s

At some point white children were placed into a notion of child innocence especially as the developing bourgeois society needed, in places like the US, to frame them as blank slates to be trained in the school system to become workers. Black children never got that

Black children became the embodiment of childhood malice that needed to be controlled. This always had implications for Black parents bc it became common to paint the children as either dangerous or endangered by Black adults’ irresponsibility

These narratives still follow us: overpolicing blamed on kids having “no home training”; and lack of “home training” blamed on supposed Black Matriarchy (a la Moynihan ideology); or on poor Black cishet men not being proper breadwinners (Bootstraps ideology)

None of these ideas developed in a stable form. It developed over time. We specified the late 1800s bc around then the foundation of more well known “science” inquiries was being harnessed in a unique way, especially as class struggle are under way, in the way of abolitionisms...

... the early “intellectual projects” that would become eugenics in the 20th century, the scramblings for territory in Africa that definitely was a material undercurrent to these things... It is all connected. These things were interacting

Interested in hearing about how Colonial constructions of childhood developed and shifted outside the US context tho. If any folks [have] information on that let us know.

(As far as the Christian theology: original sin doctrines had a history of positioning children as in need of authoritarian parenting in order to punish the devil or temptation out of them. The same logic went into certain values of why abstinence and cisheterosexism was needed to control so-called human sexuality that often got coded as the quintessential expression of original sin.)

The reinforcement of childis[t] and cisheterosexist relations under Patriarchy has a class function. In the Colonial context it takes on a particular life because Black and Indigenous are coded as inherently devilish and heathen because of religious/ethnic supremacism. But also as a civilizational insistence to justify clearing away class/social relations that didn’t fit the mold necessary for the interests being mounted by Man, including relations of gender/sexual lines, as well as relations between children and adults/elders.

Authoritarian parental mastery and cis/allo-heterosexist control had to take on a particular kind of intensity and regulation for the “backward” peoples who are always already the embodiment of a Fallen Nature that the church and Western institutions must police on behalf of the ruling class’ material interests.

The mistreatment of Black children by the school, nuclear family, police + media narratives, church, and the implications this is having for how Black adults (especially QTGNC ones, bc this is connected to why the “Gay Agenda” idea is used to accuse us of forcing queerness/transness onto kids) get impacted by the State, the family misregulation (foster care/child protective) system, esp for mothers & birthing parents... there is alot to parse.

Again, it is all part of a system. We need to study, struggle, build solidarity, and a revolutionary spirit: and fight for our collective liberation. We can also talk about how rape culture is often upheld by the ascribing of adultlike malicion and sexual proclivities to Black children across genders. This is why the cishet boys aren’t seen as victims of CSA; and young girls and marginalized genders across the spectrum are always victim-blamed or painted as the real predators or deserving of it all.)

In all we gotta fight racial capitalism and cisheterosexism, patriarchy and ableist notions of biology, psychology, neurology, etc that are used to organize many of these institutions and relations: and part of that requires examining how the pathologization of children is used

/end transcription]

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Kit + 🔮 for the ask post!

A snippet from Chapter 11 of American Beasts:

Kit climbed the old wooden stairs of the church cautiously, having already passed through the wedding arch flocked in Bliss flowers. A murder of crows nailed around the doorway gave her enough warning of the danger that lay ahead. Opening the church door, she was met by the butt of a rifle, knocking her out cold. Her head hitting the red carpet with a heavy thud. She was dragged towards the pulpit unceremoniously. 

John swaggered towards her, he had finally gotten his chance to claim his prize - to mark her as he had promised to in the depths of his bunker. He knelt down beside her, his hands gripping at the collar of her shirt. The mad twinkle in his eye had the congregation he had amassed half believing he might finally try to kill her, but instead he tore the material of her shirt away from her, splitting it in two down her sternum. A church filled with Peggies and her allies alike all seemed to fall dead quiet at the soft gasp that escaped his mouth as she was laid bare to him. His bright blue eyes danced in the golden light that came through the windows, his hands shaking as he grabbed the needle.

Kit was still out cold on the floor, limp and lifeless, except for the soft rise and fall of her chest. He ran his hand over the smooth curve of her cleavage held tightly by her bra, the smattering of freckles that dotted her sun-kissed skin made for a perfect canvas. He brought the needle to her chest, the buzzing sound filling the church like the drone of a million locusts. The tip of his needle gently kissed her skin, vibrating into her flesh, a thousand tiny pin pricks tearing into her. 

He waved over one of his men, not sure when she might wake up and he didn't want to ruin his fine penmanship or to break his nose. She would be his greatest work to date. 

His subordinate pressed his foot to her shoulder, his weight holding her down to the old wood floor. Her eyelids fluttered and slowly opened, finding herself lying on the ground, a gun pointed at her face with John sitting on top of her, straddling her waist. She grabbed at his arm, her fight reflex taking over. 

"Hold still. It's supposed to say ‘WRATH’ not ‘RAT’." He pressed the needle to her once more and returned to his work.

“Get off me!” Her brow furrowed deeply as he ignored her and continued with his work. Her eyes flicked over to the man currently standing on top of her, staring into the barrel of the gun. She swallowed her pride and didn't make a sound, not a scream or a cry. She just watched him work. 

“Sin must be exposed so it may be absolved.” His hot breath fanning over her flesh, crystal clear blue eyes flicking up to gauge her reactions. A chance for him to remember her face and the way she looked as he marked her. “If we hide our sin, we hide ourselves…” He looked up with a smile, his voice growing quiet and gentle. “You will not hide any longer. Your true self will spill out on this floor for all to see.”

The smile he gave her stung worst of all. Speaking in riddles, secret messages only they could share. This monster and her were more alike than anyone else could know. All the faces they wore, the lies they told so others would see them the way they wanted. No one would ever believe the amount of masks she wore, except for him. 

“John, this doesn’t change a thing.”

His eyes narrowed but he stayed focused on his work, he wouldn’t lose his composure, not now. 

“I won’t say yes. I’m not joining the project.” She grabbed at his arm again, this time a little tighter, digging her thumb into him. “I’m not going to be yours.”

His jaw clenched, fighting so hard to ignore her. To maintain whatever version of this scenario he imagined would play out. He’d dressed the church up like some sort of a wedding, she could only believe that he had some fucked up fairy tale notion of her saying yes to him in more ways than one. Was he really that far in denial? That delusional as to believe she’d drop everything to come crawling to him like that after a kiss?

Still he kept right on carving into her, he would not, could not be dissuaded. Once the mark was done, he pursed his lips and blew cool air against her raw wounds to relieve the pain he caused her. With a wicked grin on his face he stood up and took a step back to admire his work. 

She raised herself up onto her elbows, she was exposed to everyone in there, a wound as sore as the one that pulsed freshly on her chest. Her embarrassment burned as hot as her nerves from where the needle had torn into her. 

He looked entirely pleased with himself, like a cat toying with its prey. “Perfect”

[laughinglynx]

Some ramblings on plays, because I can't share this with my professor but thought I might as well share it here.

The play I just read was about some young men in a boarding school who decide to kill one of their classmates by picking a name out of a hat. There is no punishment for the guilty. It is senseless violence for once character's enjoyment, and it is treated as nothing more than an interesting moral question. I have been asked to pick one moment in the play that really symbolizes the play as a whole.

I spent over an hour today in tears over this.

I don't understand what this play is supposed to make me feel, other than abject misery. This play does nothing other than hammer in the message that humanity is either evil to the core, or sheep who will play along with that evil. It says, "See? See? The world is awful! We are all irredeemable, and we should all just give up." It makes fun of us for having any remaining notion of goodness, and grinds that under its heel.

And yet I am so scared of what will happen when I go to class and discuss this with my classmates. I'm scared that they will focus on the moral question. I'm scared that they will say how interesting it is, how it connects back to the political or social climate when it was written, they will talk about the references to Oedipus and Creon. And I will sit there, left adrift, completely bewildered by how they aren't talking about the misery and hopelessness of this entire story, and unable to say anything without being brushed off with a laugh.

I am scared of this because it happens over and over again.

The first day of class, I mentioned that I'd seen the play we read. When the professor asked what I thought of it, I joked that I needed some fortifying ice cream after I saw it, and everyone chuckled at that. I didn't say that I felt like all of my emotions had been scraped out with a spoon, with only sadness and terror left over, and that I just barely told my mother I needed OUT before I started sobbing.

The second day of class, our play was about prison rape. They talked about the interesting portrayal of queer characters. I wanted to scream.

Last year, I tried to talk to a professor about why the plays we study are like this. She told me I was just misinterpreting the stories.

Every time I try to express this, I get brushed off.

Why are the stories we choose to put on stage all about hopelessness? Why is there no joy? Why do playwrights insist that humanity is all evil, and that the world is an awful place not worth saving? Why are all the characters awful, why are they all 'explorations on morality' or 'interesting depictions of queer characters' or 'the struggles of girlhood'?

I'm not even saying I don't enjoy dark stories. I watch mostly horror. I actively seek out stories that hurt, because they are interesting.

But those stories have hope in them. These plays do not.

Here is what I know: the world is beautiful. The smell of rain is beautiful. There are trees, and ferns, and moss, and so many wonderful, brilliant things to discover. People collect spiders in cups and escort them outside, because we don't want to kill them. People hug one another, and share stories, and laugh. When my mother and I were eating our ice cream after seeing that horrible, awful play, some very drunk young men wandered over to delightedly compliment her on her brightly colored hair.

People are good, and the world is good, and it makes me so sad and so angry that playwrights want to insist neither of those things are true.

That is my response to this play, and to this class so far. It made me miserable, and it made me cry until I was nauseous, and it made me terrified for theater if this is the sort of story we think is valuable.

But of course I can't send this to my professor, as much as I wish I could. Instead, I'll come up with some pretty, polished response to this fucking play about killing a kid. Maybe I'll write about Oedipus and Creon. Why not. Because no one here wants to hear that, to me, this play is just plain sick.

[bubukhwahish]

Silent Sufferers 👤

Whenever we listen to the word domestic violence or sexual abuse we make a crystal clear image in our mind of a woman being a victim and suffering through it. I totally agree that violence against women is a severe issue in our society but we should not neglect the fact that violence doesn't comprise to sexes. If women in our community are abused so are men the difference is that we don't term it as abuse. ( Being a feminist I respect all the genders). "you are a boy! boys don't cry!"," be a man and just do it", " boys are supposed to be like this"  and many more examples from daily life show a kind of abuse towards men.

🙊Do you know that 17% of reported domestic violence victims in Canada are men? It is even said that many more don't officially file cases. Did you laugh? Yeah, that is why more men don't tell others of the violence they are facing from their partners. It is reported that every 14.37 seconds a man gets brutally abused. 🙊

The image of a man being an abuser and not a victim is fit in our minds and the reason for this is that women are more victimized in our country and men do not get importance. Well it is fascinating to see that in our modern society even the abused and abuser has an assigned gender which we are not willing to change.

It is common for us to see a man beating a woman but when the situation is reversed we feel something is unusual. Why? 

Spousal abuse is not something that is faced by only one gender. The general presumption or preconceived notions that have been in our society since bygone is that men are supposed to be strong, and mighty and they are generally supposed to bottle up their emotions. If they show or expose their vulnerabilities then they are labeled as being sissy, effeminate, and many other derogatory terms 

So we are living in a modern society where a particular gender needs to fight for acceptance as victims or survivors. Be it male or be it female abuse is abuse without any excuse and should be punished

There are many reasons why men often do not reveal the violence they face by their spouses or by their intimate partners.

👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥

General Stereotypes against males– Men often feel discriminated against or feel uneasy in opening up about the violence that they face because they feel ashamed that they will be judged and will be labeled as wimpy and effeminate. They think their struggle against violence will go in vain because of gender-specific laws and provisions that are given in the Indian Constitution. They feel that they have failed the role of protector in nurturing their families.

Fear of fake cases– Men often feel that revealing the violence can cause unnecessary nuisance and they do not want to face the legal consequences because of the gender-biased or gender-specific laws in our Constitution. They feel that they have to leave their families and they don’t want to lose custody of their children which is often a cumbersome process.

Societal and family pressure– Most Indians continue to live with their families even after their marriage. Because of this factor, men feel ashamed of opening up about the violence. Society also plays a crucial role in nurturing gender-biased laws and stereotypes against a particular gender. 

Denial– Most people feel that domestic violence can only happen to a woman. And they live in denial when they get to know that man can also be a victim of domestic violence. So, basically, people never really want to talk about it.

👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥👥

Gender-neutral laws are the need of the hour. Human rights and gender equality belong to both men and women. In today’s times where men are falsely accused of rapes, domestic violence, and sexual assault, gender-neutral laws are needed for the hour. Domestic violence, this term nowhere indicates that only women can be the victim of domestic violence, men can also be the victim and not the only perpetrator. Domestic violence should be considered as spousal violence as it is not only restricted to women.

Sexism is the foundation where all tyranny is built. Every social form of hierarchy and abuse is built on a male over female domination only when it comes to being abusers it is vice versa for victims. Society views men as physically stronger sexes and females as physically weaker ones, therefore men are initially assumed as perpetrators in response to domestic violence "pseudo feminists typically argue that intimate partner violence is committed only by men against women. Will society's view on crime, abuse, and domestic violence has an impact on the number of times the cases are reported?  

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After the infamous case of Jhonny Depp, people are being aware of the crimes of women against men. This man highlighted the issue of male abuse and fought for it till the very end, after all, receiving justice. He took the standing world will never forget. Yet till now, there is no law in India protecting men against domestic violence or sexual abuse.

In recent times due to modernization and westernization, societal values, culture, and norms have changed a lot. Earlier men were seen as protectors of their families but nowadays both men and women are equally working, raising, and managing their homes with equal contributions to their incomes. Men have now opened up about the domestic violence that they face and now they have started sharing their pain, agony, and their struggles openly. Men are no longer stronger than women.

violence needs to be stopped be it male or female, be the abuser male or female needs to be punished and the victim male or female needs to get justice. If its a crime to beat a woman it is also a crime to beat a man.

👤👤👤👤👤👤👤👤👤👤👤

[rusty25]

During my endeavours to learn about masculinity I try to include older and outdated notions so that I can understand it better.

I re-encountered "boys don't cry" aka "showing emotion is a sign of weakness".

And I thought, where does this come from? what exactly is showing emotion a weakness against?

and then it clicked.

[Against the enemy. Against the people trying to hurt me and those I care about. Against those who don't share my beliefs, it is a weakness to let them know what I think, how I feel, what emotional state I'm in. Because they will use this knowledge about me and my mind to their advantage.

And so they might provoke me. They are looking for the crack on my armor of stoicism to sink their nails into and pry it open to expose my vulnerable, soft flesh. And in that moment there is no mercy. I have failed to protect myself and my nearest and dearest, and thus I would rather die than live stripped away of my exoskeleton of pride and strength.]

Men associate vulnerability with defeat. They are constantly on guard, expecting an attack from all sides, but they must assume an air of ease and comfort or else the enemy will get to them before they know it. Today this is more metaphoric than actual as instead of the blood-soaked wastelands men feel the need to defend themselves on the battlefield of love, friendship and social connections as a whole. But what they don't understand is that the survival instinct in their genes is misguided - although quite useful until very recently I suppose. We enjoy a uniquely long period of relative peace on this planet today and the generations upon generations of traumatized men (because let's be honest, they are) have not had the time yet to adapt, or even begin to consider how to start adapting to this climate of calm.

A trauma response is what they do when they shut down or never even are anything but taciturn. The emotional unavailability most of them pursue as a sport, even when they become fathers, is a survival mechanism kicking in, seeing the enemy in their own wives and children.

Soldiers come to mind, veterans, returning home and trying to reintegrate to society. We hear a lot of stories how for them the battlefront meant comfort and how everything there is simple. How they act like they have never left from there, according to their friends and family.

And the quote comes to mind that started my whole thought process. A quote from Frank Castle, Marvel's The Punisher, as he's tapping the side of his head: "There is never peace... up here. There's only war."

Men don't know peace because they have never known peace.

[lizardbytheriver]

"The Goode Family" Observations Part 4

I have very little to comment on the Episode where the Prisoners who are Nazis are helping the Goode Family clean-up the Highway. Though, interestingly enough, the Nazis becoming less bigoted because its bad for their (drug) business, does offer a parallel to Capitalism. Which will chase inclusivity and diversity once discrimination and bigotry is less profitable. "You always treat me with respect and equality. You know, like a sissy." Yeah no, the very bad attitudes about race are very upfront. You have to go to the later episodes to get the "women don't want to be equals" and "women be crazy" stuff. Being "manly" is dressing like Dale Gribble, apparently. Okay. The characters are super-okay with appropriating Indigenous Customs. Which... You would think these characters would be against. But okay.

For as sh*t as the show is, allowing the resolution for the final episode to be "its okay for Men to cry" is a pretty good message. And the show does not really mock or belittle that point. Well. Watched the whole show. It sucked. But I did not hate all of the characters. The mother is the worst example of a performative activist. The father is written like he is from a different planet. But I actually think the Son and the Daughter are neat characters. The Son is adopted, but completely absorbs the environmentalism and desire to better the World into his life. Unlike the father, he does not become a complete stereotype. They allow him to be a good mechanic and football player, which is appreciated. The Daughter is materialistic, catty, and rebellious. But she still clearly follows the principals set forth from her parents (such as the veganism). Overall. I get why the show is forgotten. It is interesting that as the show went on, they really do drop any pretext that this family is supposed to be politically Leftwing. And it just goes full-force into them being individualist, hyper-environmentalist, vegans. Efforts to organize (Protesting, Petitions, etc.) are met with mockery even by the family themselves. There are no talks about Labour Organizing (the show backs child labour and the father is fine being exploited in his job). Systemic Change is met with disgust. In fairness. The Nazi Episode is the only one with actual organizing that had an impact, though it expanded an illegal drug trade. And there are pictures of the family working in Soup Kitchens and Needle Exchanges, but we never see them actually do that that in the show (only through the pictures that are over a decade old in universe). The Goode Family likes Che Guevara (despite hating violence and hating "toppling existing power structures"), Ghandi, and Al Gore. That's about everyone on the "Left" who gets mentioned. No mentions of Marx, Engels, Kropotkin, etc. Though half-way through the writers must have opened a dictionary cause they did use words like "bourgeoisie" and "reactionary" (only once for both). But that was still there. But again, I do not think the Characters are on the "Left" in terms of economically, in terms of labor, and they barely skate by in terms of culturally. Despite calling Indigenous Groups "backwards", almost saying the N-Word, the father being pro-abstinence, them not wanting people to "leach off the system", the father being Anti-Graffiti, etc. They do not hate Gay People and I think they pretend to like People of Colour (but this manifests in cultural appropriation, whether it be the decorations in their house or the drum circle seminar). They are on the Left solely due to the Environmentalist aspect. They recycle, they compost, they are concerned about climate change, etc. But again, individualist notion of activism, we buy from the organic chain store and we believe the carbon footprint BS. In essence "its not the big corporations' fault, its the individual's fault", that kind of stuff. This was interesting. Again seeing Conservatives (probably Moderate Conservatives) writing what they think a Far Left Family would be. It was interesting experiment. I think the over focus on the environmentalist aspect tho (not saying it disappeared on the Left, its just not the only issue), is very much of the time (2009).

[kthynes]

the caller you have reached (chris evans x reader)

pairing: chris evans x fem!reader

summary: chris was trying to drunkenly call the woman he loved and wanted to get back with but instead he reaches you, a shrink.

warning: swearing (sailor level), brief mentions of mental health

**IMPORTANT disclaimer: I won't be dabbling into the hard hitting topics of mental health in this short only because I'm not a certified health professional and so I can't be providing a written, unbiased, often characterized diagnosis towards any sort of mental health disorder because really, those types of sensitivities need proper care and output. With that being said, I do want to emphasize the notions of seeking help and not being afraid to seek help when needed. It's hard, but we all fight a battle and no battle is big or small or better or worse.

If my followers or readers do feel the need to privately chat with me, I'm here and I can you lend you an ear. Otherwise let's be kind and uplift another while we can. No harm in doing good and being better, that's for sure!

-end rant-

This short is dedicated to the following lovelies:

@princess-evans-addict

@mrs-djokovic

@slut-for-chris-evans

@saltyflowermakertaco

@bitchyslut99

@patzammit

@itskikiyooo

@maximeevansblog

Being a working adult is dreadful but the work you do is the most fulfilling kind of anarchy. You are a therapist, you work to heal and you work together with people who willingly reach out to you and your facility of care. There is that balance, the altering nuances in between that allows you to do what you do best. You advocate for good prosperity of mental health and accolade of teachable moments that fosters a safe space for your clients, not patients, but the people who deserve to be heard and not be medically categorized.

Your salubrious passion keeps you grounded. In your lifetime, you've seen the imperial impacts of poor mental health and it has been a detrimental drive in how you retreat and give back to a small found community.

"Okay." You exhale to yourself while leafing through another client chart. You're working off the clock, stuck in the renaissance of your homey office space while the outside world turns pitch black.

In the appropriate fields you jot down important takeaways from your last sit in session with heavy concertation and reasoning, you try to congregate a treatment plan all before you cellphone cries for you in venturous fashion.

"Hello?" You answer without checking the caller ID, tucking the device between your ear and shoulder so that way you could work and talk.

"Jenny!" The man boisterously shouts. "Jenny baby please talk to me! Let me make it up to you, let's just do this right, please. I'm fucked up here."

"I'm sorry but you have the wrong number." You infringe sounding like the posh, automated answering machine lady.

"Oh what the fuck Jenny — oh cah'mon don't do that, don't be like that baby." You re-verify a local number and it doesn't belong to anyone you know of. So you wonder who this man is but choose not to press further instead you tell him what is right from the knowing wrong.

"I'm not Jenny."

"Seriously?" He yells, forcing you to hold the phone away from your ear. "That can't be... This is—" He recites the number that is similar to yours but the last two digits are off.

"You got 42, not 53." It's an easy mistake to recall, a swipe of a drunken thumb could've mixed that up, so this time around, you're forgiving. Not that it happens often.

"Oh no. That's—" The mystery man trails, something about his voice discerns you, it's familiar but in a hindbrain way that you can't put a finger on. "Fuuuuuuuck."

"Wait hold on, hold up, is this Jenny's assistant, Nina?" You exhale sharply sometimes it takes more than one try and a side of convincing to get your point across and your passiveness was certainly to blame.

"No I'm not her assistant either."

"Then who the hell are you?" He exasperates. You make the snide mistake of telling him your name and he buffers for a bit.

"Oh. So you really aren't anyone of my concern then?"

"No." You mildly retort. "I wouldn't want to be anyways."

"Okay well I'm not sorry then because I'm here trying to reach my girlfriend and I can't get to her because I have you on the line being a smartass." With that accent of his you can tell he's a patriotic Bostonian. One of your own kind and that furloughs your need to engage in this mindless drivel, it wouldn't get you or him anywhere. At least that's what you tell yourself before shutting him down.

"Well then maybe you should learn to listen first, how about that?" You snap, dropping your pen before you note down angry nonsense into your actual work.

"Hey nowwww!" He yells as if he's trying to be Hank Kinsley.

"It's clear that you're drunk."

He brushes you off on the other end, enigmatic in what he wants you to know. "This is Chris Evans, you're talking to Chris-motherfucking-Evans, you hear?"

"I do now." You say tersely.

"Good." He huffs. "Good... Cause you know I'm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and this is what I get. This is what I seemingly deserve, god you women I swear..."

Your face changes. You don't agree to be a lending ear but somehow Chris forces you to hear him out.

"I told her Y/N. I TOLD her that I wasn't ready to take the next step but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be with her. And now she throws it back in my face by getting with some other guy she once dated back in high school. And somehow, I'm supposed to be ok with it and move on, as she tells me. How the hell am I supposed to do that, huh?"

"I, um, I don't know what to tell you." You sigh somberly.

"Of course you don't!" His Boston twang begins to nerve you as there some remitting frequency of it. Hearing him obnoxiously go off, reminds you of all your shrewd New England exes who were his exact counterpart when soused. A ludicrous memory that you relive again with time and perfect harmony.

"Listen lady all I'm saying is that I fucked up. I know I did alright? I mean it doesn't take much denominational math and the plot of Lost in Translation to get that. I get it!"

Jesus. You whisper the lords name in vain as you lean your forehead against the palm of your hand while your elbow rested on top of the desk.

"So, let me get this straight, you think yelling at a random woman will help get further?" You question a little acutely for his liking.

"I don't know but it sure as hell takes off the heat, sweetheart." Something about a man calling you sweetheart grinds your gears and now your molars.

"Okay, alright, let's talk." You begin, sitting up a bit and tearing out a blank page from your memo pad; you were doing a late night consultation, a small hash out.

"Schuwaaaaa." Chris enunciates the word sure and to much of his mayhem, he’s sprawled out on the curbside, somewhere in the nowhere land of L.A. He contented but also upset and you were simply crashing his little pity party.

"What is it that you want from Jenny?" You professionally prod. "How about we start there."

"Wooooah, what is that we're doing here?” Chris gets mildly defensive with you. “I dunno you like that. If we're gonna talk then you'll have to get through my publicist first because right now I plead the fifth.”

You exhale a deep and fulsome breath. No one troubles you like him. It's sanctimoniously unnerving.

"I'm a shrink, my job isn’t meant to incriminate my clients well-being, or anyone else’s for that matter.” You address calmly. “So, if you do require some solicited advice then we can keep this call under strict confidence. You have my word, Mr. Evans and the paperwork that will follow shortly after this call.”

Silence. There is some shocking silence which is brief before you're catapulted with disbelief and more cackles. "Holy mother fucking shit. You're kidding me?"

"I can run you by my credentials if you’d like?” You mention stiffly.

"God I’ve reached a cuckoo hotline!" Wrong. That's a horrible thing to say and you'd think a man like him would've been more sensitive about his choice of words, inebriated or not.

"Far from it."

"Tell me something, alright? How many grown, adult men come crying to you?" Chris is edging with curiosity even though his eyes are betrayingly reddened after crying into a bottle of Dewars 18. He doesn't make that known to you and you never cared to ask.

"Enough to know that they cry." You simply state.

"Huh. So this is just another Tuesday for you then.” Chris scoff, the bottle making it to his lips and then swishing back down again.

"Comes with the territory except I don't tolerate drunkenness." You motely add. "Can you keep the bottle aside for the time being? Just until we're done here."

"That's understandable and oh yeah sure, sure, I won't touch it." You can hear the glass bottle 'clink' when coming into contact with the pavement.

"Now tell me about Jenny." You softly inquire.

"What do you wanna know? How we fuck or how we met?" Chris giggles like a naughty school yard boy.

"How did you two meet?" You slam the words urgently, nearly spelling out the cause.

"Oh! Oh. We met on the job." Chris chuckles punitively.

"Okay and did you guys connect instantly or was there a slow build up?" You involuntarily took notes for any PR rep of his that wanted solid evidence that would preside this call, cover your bases and your poor ass along with it.

"Instantly. Our chemistry read was off the charts." He explains with a slight hiccup. "Sorry."

"Great. So it was more so a work relationship that later grew into something more correct?"

"Pretty much."

"So when did you start developing feelings for her?"

"Um I'd say..." Chris tucks his chin, burps and then excuses himself before continuing. "Just before we wrapped up filming. But then I think somewhere in between all that I realized that she was my kind of girl, my... better half."

"And what made you come to that realization?"

"Well for one she has this infectious laugh that would have you laughing with her, there's that sound of beauty and pureness to it. And then with that, there were all the little things she'd do for me that made me think, like damn she's the one, she's it for me and that for better or for worse, I'd need her more than she'd ever need me."

Chris gets sad and you feel for him. Your pen stops moving when you were about to prescribe him some mind memory exercises. He was human. Humans hurt. Humans make mistakes. Humans stray but they also love. That's all Chris did. He loved with all of his heart to not expect the same love in return.

"You know Chris, we don't always get the love we deserve and sometimes its sucks. Sometimes you wanna kick it back with a bottle of Dewars 18 and shake your fists in the air." Chris quietly perks up at your choice of alcohol that you didn't know he was forcefully downing. He fashions a small half smile that you don't see but hear faintly. "But there's also a time and a place and things happen, people come apart, people get together, people do people and there's that fine line of letting life run its uneven course."

"I mean you sometimes have to not be okay to be okay again and I know that from my many years of helpful healing. It gets okay, never fully better and I think that's just how it is. You acknowledge your pain, your trauma and then you go on while being mindful of that transition."

"Wow."

"Hey, um, look, I actually have to get going. But if you can, just down the rest of that bottle and get yourself home."

"Are you sure?" Chris gawks.

"I mean you were already halfway through and it's not like I can physically stop you, right? And besides this is what I'm prescribing to you. I want you to acknowledge your pain, drink away your sorrows and then smash that bottle so you can be relieved from that trauma and hurt. After that you need to fix up and start new, have a mature conversation with her, if you can and then have your feet hitting the ground again. Don't fall into the routine of heartbreak even if it becomes too hard, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good." You sniff and start to put things away. "I know you're a good guy Chris, from how you are on TV and in interviews, I'm amazed by how articulate you are. You have the right mindset so I have no doubts that you'll fall back in any way. But if you do, please don't hesitate to reach out, I might have to hand you off to another cohort but nonetheless it can be worked out even if it does feel like you might be sparring on your own. You'll get the help you need."

"Great, thanks." Chris responds in his conscious state of thought. He feels pathetic with himself and that doesn't have you galling over the fact, instead you let him be.

"Do you need me to order you an Uber? Cab? Call a friend for ya?" You laugh easily and Chris hears it clearly, smiling in return.

"An Uber would be nice. I'll try to share you my location."

"Sure, on me and that'd be great."

"Thanks."

"No problem... And your ride should be here in two minutes, just look out for Raul in black Elantra." You inform him after checking your phone.

"Nice."

"You have a goodnight now Chris."

"You too." The line cuts and you're given a piece of your life back. You gather your belongings, flip off the light switch and make your way home. There's some truth and some brokenness in every situation. You knew Chris was going to be OK even if he didn't consult you afterwards. For you, there was no need. He's a smart man and he proves this over a prolonged period of time when he finally finds himself back on the market and then eventually in a relationship with a faceless and very loving woman from his own hometown.

He was finally happy, making you serendipitously glad that you were the caller he had reached.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 66: Bond

There was a certain bond that formed between two people when all of your friends were paired off and dating someone. When the two of you were the only single people so you got paired off to share food, and be partners in games, and all other manner of things.

Harry supposed that tonight would be just one more of those nights as he arrived at Ginny and Luna's. And he wasn't complaining (not anymore, at least) it had taken a couple of years but he and Draco had warmed up to each other. They had compatible styles for partner games, Draco always gave Harry any treats with nuts and Harry gave him any treats with mint, and Harry genuinely enjoyed his dry sense of humor.

If he was being honest, he'd started looking forward to all of the time that he got to spend with Draco on Friday nights.

But things felt different the moment he entered the house, even though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He spotted Ginny first, standing against the counter, pouring a couple glasses of wine, "Hey," he called.

She looked up and bit her lip.

"What?" he asked with no small amount of dread. He knew that look; it was the look she'd given him right before she'd told him she might be gay and in love with Luna, a look that said she was afraid of breaking his heart.

Ginny opened her mouth but no words came out.

"Ginny, what?" he said, taking several steps toward her.

"I don't know how to say thi-"

"Oh, good," he heard Draco say from behind him, "You're here."

His mouth stretched into a grin even before he turned around "He-" he broke off when he saw that Draco was standing with his arm around some bloke who Harry had never met before. "Hey," he finished.

"This is Matt," Draco offered.

And frankly, Harry would rather die (again) than shake his hand but before he could have any say in the matter Matt had stepped forward into his space and was gripping his hand. Hard. "The Harry Potter," he drawled. "My, my."

(Read more below the cut)

Harry glanced over at Draco who looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"Draco has told me so much about you. I could hardly believe that he was telling the truth." He leaned toward Harry conspiratorially, "He's known for embellishing the truth, you know?"

Harry wrenched his hand from Matt's grip, "Actually, I've found Draco to be honest to a fault. Hardly anyone else will tell me when my outfit doesn't match or I've got something stuck in my teeth."

Matt's eyes flashed and Harry's proverbial hackles stood on end he didn't like that look, "I-" Matt started

"Hey," Draco said, taking Matt's hand and drawing his attention, "Let me introduce you to everyone else."

"Nice meeting you, Mark," Harry called.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, "Matt," he corrected, before mouthing, 'behave' at Harry.

"My mistake," Harry said, maintaining eye contact with the other man until he turned away and followed Draco into the other room.

"Okay," Ginny said, drawing his attention away from them, "First. Men are disgusting; I can't believe I thought I was attracted to them for so long."

"What?" he asked, slumping over to the counter and sliding onto a stool across from where Ginny was still mixing up drinks. He was feeling a little nauseous, fire rushing under his skin.

"That," she said, gesturing to where Harry had been standing talking to Matt and Draco, "The little pissing match to decide who's dominant."

"What?" Harry asked, "that guy is just an asshole."

She rolled her eyes, "Second, you're still an idiot."

"Wow. I'm just going to go home," he said. "Between you and the dude who was trying to break my fingers, I don't think it's going to be a great night."

Ginny leaned across the counter and instinctively Harry leaned toward her, "How long are you going to continue denying you have feelings for Draco?"

His brow furrowed, "I don't. We're just mates," he added.

"I rest my case. You're still an idiot," she said as she leaned back and started mixing drinks again.

Harry slouched on his stool turning that thought over in his mind, "That actually would make sense," he admitted.

"Harry, I love you, you know I do," she said. "But honestly, I can't believe you're just figuring this out. The rest of us have known for ages. We were all shocked when he walked through the door with Matt; he told us he was bringing someone but we thought the two of you were just making a joke."

"Well now what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Why couldn't anyone have said something sooner?"

"Because we thought it was obvious," she hissed.

"Let's just get through the night," he sighed. "Then we'll deal with the rest. We'll need to come up with a plan."

-----------

He spent the rest of the night calling Matt the wrong name (Miles, Maurice, Mike, Max, Moses, Mitch, Mason) to the point that Ron either caught on and decided to help or got confused enough that he started calling him the wrong name, too. Harry also couldn't help but rub it in Matt's face how much better he knew Draco; telling inside jokes, asking Draco specific questions about his work and his parents, and reminiscing about fond memories.

Draco seemed a bit exasperated by it but Harry couldn't help himself. Once he started, he just couldn't seem to stop.

Eventually as everyone was getting ready to leave and Luna was saying good bye to Matt, Draco cornered him, "Do not move a fucking muscle," he hissed, "I am not done with you."

"Dra-"

"I mean it, Potter. Stay right here," he said, jabbing him in the chest with his finger before he turned and made his way over to his date.

"Hey," Matt said, smiling at him much the way Harry imagined an alligator might smile at his prey.

"Hi," Draco replied softly. "I'll floo you tomorrow, yeah? There are a few things I need to take care of."

Matt frowned, "I thought we were going back to my place."

"No," Draco replied steadily. "I have a five date rule." He stepped back, "I'll floo you," he repeated.

And Matt looked pretty pissed about it, but he seemed to take the hint and disapparated on the spot without so much as a goodbye to anyone.

"You're all the literal worst," Draco fumed. "Except you, Luna," he added. "You're a goddess."

Luna gave a little curtsy.

"Seriously," Draco said, glaring at the room even though none of them looked especially repentant. "And you," he spat, spinning to glare at Harry, "You're the worst of all."

"Does that make me special?" Harry quipped, arms folded across his chest.

Draco groaned, "Bloody fucking Griffyndors. I hope you're all happy," he grabbed Harry's arm. "Come on we are going back to mine to have a chat."

"I thought you had a five date rule," Ginny called.

Draco flipped her the two finger salute before apparating them to his house.

Harry always liked being in Draco's house; it was small and cozy, and it always smelled vaguely like chamomile. Just being here made his soul feel lighter, calmer.

"Alright," Draco growled, "Spill. What the hell was that?"

"What?" Harry asked innocently.

"Potter," he warned.

Harry sighed, "He's an asshole."

"And you know that how? You didn't even give him a chance".

"Draco his handshake was like a vice!"

Draco stared at him, "You've got to be kidding me. Are you that much of a child? He hurt your hand so you thought you should bully him?"

"I didn't bully him!" Harry exclaimed.

"No?" Draco asked. "You didn't use his given name even once." Harry winced, maybe that was overkill. "You spent the entire night trying to make him feel stupid and inferior to you. Which, let's face it, everyone does anyway because you're Harry fucking Potter!" Draco exploded.

"That's not fair," Harry said, betrayal slicing hot through his gut. Draco knew that he hated being famous, hated the preconceived notions attached to his name.

"Yeah well, neither was what you did."

"Draco, I-"

"No," he said, holding out a hand, "That was such bullshit, Harry."

"But he's awful."

"You didn't even give him a cha-"

"I didn't have to!" he exploded. "The first words he said to me were to disrespect you. He's an asshole and I will chase a million of them away from you."

"That's not your job."

Harry threw his hands up in the air, "I'm your best friend! Whose job is it, if it's not mine?"

"You don't just get to decide things for me!" Draco cried.

"Fine," Harry spat. "You want to date that wanker, go ahead. But I have seen his type before. Don't come crying to me when he's beaten you to a bloody pulp for looking at someone the wrong way." He pushed past Draco and made his way to the door, walking out and slamming it behind him.

He started down the sidewalk, debating trying to figure out where Matt lived and have a chat or maybe go over to Ron and Hermione's to get some advice and regroup.

But the further he walked, the more the anger faded from his veins, and the guilt settled in.

There was no choice really, he turned around and headed back to Draco's house once more. When he arrived he knocked on the door even though he normally would have just let himself in.

"Go away!" Draco shouted.

He knocked again, "Draco, please."

"No! Go away. You're the worst."

"I know," he called back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Please."

After a few seconds, during which fear settled heaving in Harry's gut, the door opened and Harry slipped inside, Draco was curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest.

Seeing him looking so small and sad made Harry ache. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Which part?" Draco asked bitterly.

He sighed and came over to sit on the couch beside Draco, "I'm not sorry for chasing him away. But I will always be here for you, no matter what. You can always come to me."

Draco leaned over and put his head on Harry's shoulder, "I know," he whispered.

"Forgive me?"

He nodded and they sat together in silence for a few minutes, both trying to collect their thoughts. Eventually Harry said, "I really wish you wouldn't date him."

Draco sat up, "Harry look at me."

Harry turned on the couch to look at him and raised his eyebrows.

"I won't ever floo call him, we'll never go on another date, and I'll never see him again." Something eased in Harry's chest. "But it's not because of what you said or did. It's because I, too, have had shitty relationships. I have also lived through trauma and I have had to learn from it just like you."

Harry looked down at his hands.

"And if you have concerns about someone, there is a better way to tell me than what you did tonight."

He nodded, suitably chastised, "You're right."

"I appreciate your concern, though," he added and Harry looked up to see that Draco's mouth was quirked up, he really must be forgiven, apparently. "And I genuinely forgot how petty you can be."

He shook his head and reached out for Draco's hand, "Draco, I want you to be so, so happy," he said. Then he added, "I'm an idiot."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"And everyone knows it, you included, so you can't really hold it against me," he said.

"I'm pretty sure I can."

He huffed, "Just hear me out. I'm an idiot and I didn't realize until tonight that I'm a little bit in love with you. And it's fine if you don't feel the same but you are my best friend and I had high standards for you even before I knew I had feelings for you. It hurt me to see you with someone who treated you so poorly."

"Sorry," Draco said, "I need you to repeat that."

"I said, I'm an idiot," Harry started.

"Not that part."

"It hurt me to see you with someone who treated y-"

"Not that part either," Draco said.

Harry swallowed, "It's fine if you don't fee-"

"Harry," he grumbled. "Say the other part."

He rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm in love with you," he whispered.

Draco blinked at him, a smile blooming at the corner of his mouth, "Say it again."

A grin tipped up the corners of his mouth as well, "I'm in love with you."

Draco launched himself into Harry's arms and covered Harry's lips with his own, "say it again," he mumbled into the kiss.

"I love you," Harry repeated, murmuring the words into Draco's mouth.

Draco pulled back slightly, "I love you, too."

"I hoped that was the case," Harry replied.

After he kissed him again, Draco said, "Alright, fine. Now you get a say in who I date."

Harry grinned, "Is that so?"

He nodded.

"Will you date me, Draco Malfoy?" he asked, brushing his nose along Draco's.

"Yes," he whispered. Then with a smirk he added, "But we'll have to get my best friend's approval and rumor has it that he has very high standards."

---------------

Day 65: Question | Day 67: Soulmate (Take 1)- Your traditional soulmate trope or Day 67: Soulmate (Take 2)- just using the word 'soulmate' as a prompt, not the trope.

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

[marshmallowprotection]

Birthday Title Screen

Saeran’s title screen underneath the cut alongside my thoughts and feelings on the matter. Under the cut simply because if you don’t want to see it, you can go and wait until it’s officially released by Cheritz in your time zone. Anyways, we know why we’re here.

It’s that time again and boy, aren’t we happy to be able to talk about it? Now, this title was advertised as Unknown so I expected Unknown. I didn’t expect my boy Suit Saeran to be on the title. The game tends to imply that Unknown is the just Suit Saeran, and vice versa, but I don’t agree with that notion but I’ve explained that one many times before but the game never confirms outright one way or the other so, you know how that goes. 

I’ll spare you that, I’ve got plenty of posts talking about that opinion for you to find if you want, lol. 

Either way, this is the first time that Suit Saeran’s gotten the pointed limelight like this. He’s usually meant to surprise the player because they may not see him in their minds as their trying to uncover the mystery and everything. But, we’ve got to say, Cheritz has thrown all spoiler fears out of the window. I mean, they just plastered Seven’s true name on a boat. 

I laughed about that but I digress, you’re here for the photo and you want to see me shriek like a banshee.

So, yeah, let’s just our obligatory scream out of the way presently. When I saw this one, I could think was: Oh my God, it’s BE2. The only reason my brain just decided BE2 was because of the framing of all the presents. In that ending, he gives you gifts, he gives you food, but “you’re not good enough to open them or touch them, toy.” He’ll give you all kinds of things but you know, you get what he wants when he decides. 

And crumbs, if you’re lucky on a good day, you know? 

That being said, it doesn’t have to be framed as BE2, but the presents and gifts just lead me to believe that this is the theme or the idea that it’s taking from to show the audience because what else am I going to be thinking when you’ve gone and thrust that idea into my face like that? Mmm, and I’ve been talking about that ending a lot lately. 

Here’s that post if you want to read more about BE2. It’s a tragic ending that is bad for both Saeran and MC. He’s trying to get you back like Humpty Dumpty but he can’t put you back together again. He realized too little, too late, that he liked you the way that Ray did, that he genuinely liked you for you. He can’t say that aloud, so he... tries cruel ways to bring you back, but it will never work and he’s doomed to despair. 

No hope for Suit Saeran if the kindness heart can be destroyed in hell. It means it’s only natural that he lose everything. 

I appreciate that he’s sticking to his goth theme, though, that party hat is just red and black.

Suit Saeran’s very... minimalist in the sense that he just picks things that are truly intense and sharp. That’s why he wears a suit. That’s because it’s the thing that he knows that can radiate power. Business men are supposed to be strong and forthcoming with their ability, that’s why he leans that way. 

His father is like that, the idea of what power and monster is feeds into how he chooses to dress himself. 

That’s why he just says, “Suit time.” If anyone was curious about that, anyway, I never seen people talk about that. Ray was given his clothes by Rika, he never got a say in how he dressed. The boys always pick something dark because it’s going to match their mood... their mood is how they pick colors and clothes if given the ability. 

That’s why GE Saeran is bright and cottagecore. It reflects the positive shift in his thoughts and perspective on the world. But, with Suit Saeran, he’s trying to emulate what he’s scared of and what he thinks that power is and this is the only way he knows how and it hurts to think about when you frame it that way, I do know that. 

Is that meant to be a stamp and playbook? Did Suit Saeran really make a whole illustrated guide for his puppet show? Is he really making acts and stories for all of this? He had to make those puppets himself. We know that Saeran is creative and can make anything, but those things are clearly handmade, hand-painted, I have a strong feeling that he made those clothes himself, too... 

You know, I like to imagine him drawing his emojis before he comes to you because he wants to make a good impression, but he’s a very specific artist and he gets angry when he can’t get things right, so I’m really thinking about him being out here in his workroom, painting fine details with a determined look in his eyes like—

“This’ll show that toy. This’ll show them how powerful I am.” 

Suit Saeran, honey, this is a gift within itself, you are a dork and I love you so much, oh my God.

TLDR; Suit Saeran makes puppets and makes their own playbook like this is going to a musical or the opera. 

He actually brought you the exact outfit. This means that he either made you that outfit, or he got himself, and then he made a smaller version. 

I like to think he’s crafty with sewing so I pretend he does things like this, but honestly, if you’ve made it this far, are you also thinking about the fact that he made a doll versions of the both of you to show you something? 

Because I can’t stop thinking about that. He really said, “Look at this, I made us, toy!” Like, I wrote a whole imagine once where MC and GE Saeran made each other plush dolls of the other person to sleep with. He just went out here and made puppets simply because he wanted to put on a show. He made y’all and I’m gonna cry what a fucking dork.

This is canon.

My God, I’m canon. 

Once again, I’m out here living my best life and nobody’s going to stop me on that front. Saeran wants to impress you and astound you so badly that he does not even realize that the handmade things that he’s making actually would be something that flatter someone. 

Like, he could use those to patronize me and berate me for control, but—

I’d really be sitting there compliment his fine eye and craftsmanship. It’s just that great. 

“Wow, Saeran. You did this all by yourself? These details are so realistic and finely tuned. This must have taken you hours... no, days, it must have taken you days to paint everything and stitch all of this together, even the little fine details are perfect. You’re amazing! When did you have the time to learn all of this?” 

He would scoff, “Of course, I am, you blubbering toy! Don’t suck up to me and think that you’re going to be treated nicely. I won’t tell you anything about me. You don’t deserve that. I didn’t do this to impress you, I did this to show you what I want from you. Now, be a good little toy, sit there, and do as I ask. I won’t repeat myself.” 

I find it interesting that he framed himself in the Savior’s seat here. Is that just a tie back to BE3, or is it simply his power play? I think it’s a comment on the fact that he struggles to know how much power that he truly has in his hands. That is to say, he says he’s the strongest, but the reality is, Rika is stronger then him and he bows his head to her. 

Even in his fantasy, she holds all of the cards and he has no choice but to bend.

But, with MC, he is trying to use them to control his idea of power... because it’s a fragile thing. It could break at any second. He screams and shouts all that he wants but he knows, deep down, he may be strong, but he’s not the strongest in this place. How could he be? That’s why Rika even says to you during those late hours—

“Mmm, you noticed? He’s using you to stabilize himself because otherwise, he would crumble. Thanks for your sacrifice to helping me win my goals. It wasn’t a pleasure knowing someone as bright as you, getting in my way and trying to turn them against me.” 

He only feels strong when something placates the idea in his chest. It hurts, even in his numb and confused heart, he’s hurting and he can’t figure out a way to get out of the dark labyrinth. Did he make the Mint Eye playhouse? Did he? I am saying he did. None of you are going to stop me. Saeran is a creative artist and I will not be contained any longer.

Cheritz confirmed. 

You’re a doll on a string in this for him. He wants to say that he bends and controls you to his whims, but... he’s also there. This isn’t just you being a toy, it’s Saeran realizing that he’s a toy, too. Why else would he make a doll of his person, then? This is about him not entirely getting it, though. He would make himself but not realize what he’s implying to know deep down, underneath all of his yelling.

When I saw him in the chair, I thought... this is him in relation to being the marionette king. That’s why they’re doing this, oh my God. It makes sense to frame the MC as a puppet or toy, they’re always “his eyes” and “his toy” and more and more and more. But, he’s also being played for a toy by Rika to get what she wants.

Who is really the puppet here?

Who is really on the strings? 

Look at that cocky bastard. Look at him. Look at him forever and deal with me screaming about him, oh my God. In conclusion, I’m having a lot of feelings at the moment presently and I think I’m going to go and lay back down because I am going to need a minute to unpack everything that I’m feeling and dealing with because Suit Saeran.

SUIT SAERAN!

[firstofficerwiggles]

Chapter 9: Not Without My Cyar’ika

Link to Chpt. 8, Link to Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: Canonical violence, death, SMUT, explicit description of unprotected sex (be safe in the real world please), mentions of the possibility of sexual assault (but NO sexual assault takes place in this fic)

Word count: ~10K

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took such a long time to write, but I was at the end of my academic year and it was a tough one. You’ll see in this chapter there is a mention of cloaking technology, which I completely stole from Star Trek. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“And so he has her now… I- I feel like I failed her, but I’m going to get her back,” Din has been conveying the unfortunate events of the last few hours to the Armorer over a holocall.

“You should return home to the tribe,” she replies, her voice even and calm, “You need the assistance of your aliit.” The soft blue glow of her image in the holo is somehow comforting to him. He knows she is correct; he needs the support.

“You’re right, I do,” Din acquiesces. He says goodbye to the Armorer with a promise to see her in a few hours. Even if it puts the Covert in danger again, he can’t rescue you alone, not against the forces that Kerrick has at his disposal. A soft coo sounds from the co-pilot’s seat and he looks over at his foundling. The little guy is looking at him with an almost hopeful smile, and Din reaches over to let the child sit in his lap cuddling him close. He tells himself that it’s for the child’s benefit, but deep down he knows he needs the comfort too.

As he makes his way back to the Covert, Din is greeted at the mouth of the cave by Paz and another warrior. Both nod to him gravely, clearly having been briefed by the Armorer of the situation.

“We will stand with you, vod,” Paz states, and the other Mandalorian punctuates this with more nodding, “We should have insisted on mounting an attack on this Commander Hoven from the start.” Paz says Kerrick’s name as though the taste of it is foul in his mouth.

“I appreciate your willingness, and I’m ready to accept your help,” Din admits. His reluctance to take advantage of his tribe’s assistance and his feelings of guilt over Nevarro have evaporated in the face of his need to save you.

“The Armorer said your woman willingly sacrificed her freedom to save you and the child; that shows real bravery,” the other Mandalorian speaks about you with respect. He has black armor and Din recalls that he is called Throm. He continues on to say, “My riduur, Mirmim, became close to her while she was here and it would be my honor to help you with the rescue. Also, Mirmim has offered to care for your foundling while we carry out the mission.”

“Thank you,” Din says appreciatively, “That means a lot.”

Din follows Paz and Throm into the main area of the cavern where almost all of the other tribe members are gathered. Everyone grows quiet as they enter.

“Din Djarin, we are sorry to see you again under these circumstances. We have discussed the need to rescue your woman, and we have decided to send our best warriors with you,” the Armorer greets him in her calming yet authoritative voice, “I will also be accompanying you.”

“Thank you all, I am honored and humbled by your support,” Din replies sincerely.

“The warriors will meet now to formulate our best plan of attack,” the Armorer states.

A woman in pink armor comes up to Din first, before he can join the others. He recognizes her as your friend and as she greets Throm too, it’s clear that she is his riduur. “I can take care of your foundling while you attend the meeting,” she says with her arms outstretched for the little guy.

“You must be Mirmim; Throm said you were willing to care for him while we’re away… while we get her back,” Din says, his voice catching a little. His emotions are so close to the surface right now as he tries not to think about what could be happening to you. He hands Mirmim the child and gives the little one a small pat on the head as he settles into her arms.

“You must have faith. You will rescue her and your tribe, our tribe, will help you succeed. This is the way,” Mirmim reassures him.

“This is the way,” Din tries to sound confident but still he knows that Kerrick has a powerful and well-protected ship and many troopers. They’re going to need a very solid plan.

This is the first point he raises in the warriors’ discussion, “Hoven has a light cruiser with turret-mounted twin light turbolasers, port and starboard quad laser cannons, missile launchers and likely concussion missiles. Not to mention he has at least a squadron of 30 storm troopers aboard, possibly more, not to mention other officers who are likely under his command.”

“We have 16 warriors, and we all know that storm troopers can’t aim for shit, so I’m sure we can take ‘em,” a man in orange armor says confidently. He’s a younger man from the other tribe and Din knows he means well, but he needs more than cocky bravado right now.

“Din Djarin, has an excellent point though that we do not know the total number of fighters,” the Armorer says, quieting the boastfulness of the warrior, “We would be better to find additional warriors.”

“I have an idea about that,” Din says, “I want to ask the Mistresses from Angel One. I’ve seen their warriors in action and I believe they would be willing to help, although their old leader was in league with Hoven, the others were not. Plus I know we made quite the impression there… she made quite the impression there.”

“You should contact them at once,” the Armorer nods her approval.

“I also have another person I need to contact; someone who I think can get us into Hoven’s ship undetected.”

“You don’t think we can take them on in a true battle?” Someone asks.

“No, I don’t. We don’t have enough ships to take on that kind of firepower in a ship-to-ship fight,” Din explains, “I believe our best option is a sneak attack. If we can be aboard another ship that docks with Hoven’s cruiser, we can do maximum damage from inside the ship.”

“Yes, but how do we convince Hoven to let this other ship dock with him?” Paz raises an important question.

“We need to offer him something he wants, something that could make him more powerful,” Din answers, “Hence, why I need to reach out to my other contact.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking out into space from the comfort of your bed on Kerrick’s cruiser, you sigh and wipe at your teary eyes. It’s only been a day since you were forced to part from Din and the child, but you feel like you’ve spent an eternity crying wretchedly into your blankets. Fortunately so far you’ve managed to put Kerrick off from wanting to be with you and mostly you’ve been left to your own miserable devices. You think back to yesterday and give yourself a small pat on the back for accomplishing this small victory.

As Kerrick dragged you onto his ship, you felt yourself becoming increasingly worried for Din and the child, as you knew they wouldn’t have been able to get away without a fight. You repeated to yourself that Din was more than capable of getting out of a jam, but it didn’t stop you from worrying. You were feeling positively nauseated at the negative ideas running through your head. Not to mention, every time Kerrick leered at you over his shoulder, you felt your stomach flip in an unpleasant manner. It worked out to your favor, however, because once you were at the entrance to Kerrick’s personal quarters, you managed to vomit spectacularly all over his floor and boots. He was instantly repulsed and it put a stop to any romantic notions he had cooked up for your reunion. With a look of disgust, he had a storm trooper haul you away to your own quarters for the night. Since then you’ve been left almost completely alone, except when another trooper came by to bring you some soup. You’re grateful to have had the time to think, as well as cry, because at least now you’ve come up with a plan to keep Kerrick at arm’s length at least for a little while.

A crisp knock sounds at your door, but apparently it was only perfunctory as the door swishes open to reveal Kerrick, who clearly doesn’t think he needs to be invited in to your space.

“So, my doll, I hope you’re feeling better today,” Kerrick looks you over as you sit up on the bed. He takes in your disheveled appearance and tear-stained face. You’ve done absolutely nothing to make yourself look pulled together in any way and you can see by his expression that you must look rather awful. He grimaces at you before saying condescendingly, “I see that you must still be sick, or else living with that Mandalorian has caused you to forget all about personal grooming?”

“I’m still not feeling well,” you sigh and clutch your stomach dramatically, “I’ve started my period and the cramps hurt so bad. It’s making me feel so bloated and nauseous.” This is a lie, but you remember that Kerrick is one of those asshole men who thinks everything about menstrual cycles is disgusting. He never wanted to touch you at that time of the month back when you were dating and you’re praying the same is true now.

“Ick, did you have to tell me that?” He recoils from you in horror and you almost laugh out loud at his reaction. “You know I don’t need to hear details about any of that. Ever.” He backs up towards your door looking as though he can’t wait to be gone from your presence.

“I’ll have someone send in some new clothes for you at least,” he says with a frown, “I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

“It might be as long as a week,” you say trying to sound as pathetic as possible, but any extra time you can gain will be helpful so you can figure out an escape plan. Or maybe it will give Din time to rescue me? Your thoughts are hopeful that Din will come after you but at the same time you try not to get too excited about the possibility because how in the galaxy is he supposed to find you? And how will he fight his way on to this heavily protected ship? No, it’s best that he doesn’t put himself in danger like that; you will just need to keep working on a plan to get yourself out of this mess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din waits as the holocall works to connect to Eira on Angel One. He’s hoping the friendship you were able to build with her will be strong enough to garner her assistance in his mission to rescue you. When Eira’s blueish image appears, he’s bolstered by the smile and warm greeting she gives him.

“Mistress Eira, I wish I were contacting you under better circumstances,” Din explains, “Your warning was helpful, but ultimately we were unlucky. Hoven has her, he caught us in a trap.” He has to pause here to collect his thoughts because his anger and shame at begin tricked by Kerrick is still so raw. Before he can continue though, Eira is speaking.

“We will help you rescue the princess,” Eira pledges solemnly. “That man would never have known how to find her if it weren’t for the treachery of Mistress Sigrid. You must allow us to send warriors to assist you so that we can repay our debt to her and to you.”

“I’m so grateful to hear you say that, Mistress,” Din responds, “It’s why I was contacting you, I was hopeful you’d be willing to help me… to help us.”

“I know you were only here for a few days, but the princess left a lasting impression on many of us,” Eira tells him, “Both of you have helped us see that perhaps our society could be more open to outsiders.”

“Mistress Eira, I do need to tell you one thing, she… she isn’t really a princess, we only said that to make us seem more important so we would be welcome on Angel One,” Din feels sheepish admitting the lie and hopes she won’t rescind her offer. He continues to explain, “It’s just… we were trying to protect our foundling; he’s very special and we needed a safe place to stay for a few days.”

“You lied to protect the child?” Eira clarifies.

“Yes, and I’m sorry we had to deceive you like that,” Din apologizes.

“It was for a noble cause, I understand your reasons,” Eira sounds satisfied, “Now let’s discuss how we’re going to help you get your princess back.”

“She isn’t a princess,” Din repeats.

“She always will be to me,” Eira says with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re quietly making your way through the corridors of Kerrick’s cruiser trying to find your way to Engineering. Your plan has been working wonderfully and Kerrick has stayed far away from you. The first few times you ventured out of your room, no one said anything to you and they seemed to pretty much think it was normal to see you walking around. As you seemed to be granted free access to the ship, it occurred to you that perhaps you could find small ways to weaken the ship as a way to assist you in a possible escape. The first thing you did was check to see if your old access codes would still work at one of the workstations. Fortunately, they did. Same old lazy Empire, they never thought to delete anyone from their system because it would be too much work to keep those types of records. You knew you couldn’t make your sabotage too obvious or you’d be caught right away, but if you could do small things that could be brushed off as typical problems you would be able to create a whole host of annoyances.

You started with changing the lighting cycles in the barracks. The lights were designed to automatically turn off and on at certain hours for sleeping, but you managed to get in and change it up so that lights would randomly turn off and on at all hours of the day and night ensuring that none of the storm troopers could get more than a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep. Of course you locked your new lighting program with an extremely secure password so you knew it would be hard to fix.

Next you made your way to the officers’ mess hall, and while no one was around, you dismantled the caf machine and dumped several of the parts into the trash compactor. You remembered how strong the caffeine additions always were amongst the officers and now they’d need to go to the troopers’ mess if they wanted caf. In many cases this would mean they’d have to be far from their posts and stations would be left unmanned, opening up more opportunities for your little acts of defiance.

The destruction of the caf machine was why you were headed to Engineering right now. You had overheard the head Engineer and his assistant talking about working on the caf machine today because they were sick of having to go to the troopers’ mess. So you figured there was a chance you could do a little bit of damage in Engineering while they were away from their posts. You’ve just poked your head into the Engineering bay to have a look around when a lieutenant commander spots you. Damn!

“Hello, what are you doing down here? I thought you’d be in your room resting,” He speaks to you pleasantly and you realize you know him; he’s a former student of yours from the Sy Bisti class.

“Lieutenant Commander Roth, I didn’t know you were here. It’s so nice to see you again,” you force a polite smile onto your face.

He chuckles warmly, “Please, call me Sergio, and I’m sure it isn’t all that great to see me, but I’m enjoying seeing your pretty face again.”

“No, it really is good to see you, Sergio,” you tell him, sounding a bit more truthful this time. Honestly, he was one student you didn’t mind so much. You remembered him as a cheerful and handsome scoundrel, who was always kind to you. He never seemed too overly indoctrinated like the rest of the officers and although he had morally ambiguous air about him, he didn’t seem as truly evil as the rest of the officers you had known. Although he’s a little older now, he still has that attractive rascal look about him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sergio smirks at you, “What are you doing down here?”

“I’m lost,” you say trying to think of where you could say you intended to go.

“No, you’re not,” Sergio smiles as he sees right through your lie, “I think you’re right where you want to be.”

“Why would you think that?” You give him your best wide-eyed innocent look and blink up at him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs, “I know you’re much too smart to be anywhere but where you planned to be. That idiot Kerrick doesn’t give you enough credit.” There’s no malice in his laughter and he seems genuinely amused by your lie.

“Maybe I was looking for you?” You venture.

“Ha, that’s rich, you didn’t know I was here,” Sergio is very amused, “It’s ok, I think what you’re doing is brilliant and maybe I’d like to help you.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t know what to think, so playing dumb seems like the best option.

“There’s only one person I know who could have locked that lighting pattern with such a great password that no one else can figure it out.” Sergio looks at you pointedly, “After all, isn’t a password just a mini code?”

“Oh” You look down at your shoes, not sure what to say to that.

“Don’t look so disappointed! I’m not going to say anything,” he tells you sincerely, “I’d rather help you.”

“Are you serious, Sergio?” Could it be that you have a friend here somehow?

“Look, I know I’ve made shitty decisions with my life. I should have left the Empire years ago, it was a mistake to get involved in the first place,” Sergio sighs, “But I just sort of fell into this and the next thing I knew I had a little bit of power and I liked it. It’s a terrible excuse and I should have turned myself in to the New Republic years ago. But I’ve never been good at handling the consequences. I’m way too pretty for jail.” He says this last part with a small wink and a self-depreciating chuckle.

“You really won’t say anything to Kerrick?” You ask him.

“No, that weirdo doesn’t deserve you,” he says, “And I don’t know, maybe if I help you, I can redeem a part of myself in some small way.”

“Do you think you could help me escape? Could you fly one of the Tie Fighters?” You know it’s a lot to ask but you have to try.

“I’m sorry, but I think we’d just get caught right away, it’s too risky,” he responds, but there’s a sincerity to his voice so you feel that he’s being honest with you.

“Ok, so maybe we could mess up something here? I was thinking maybe the tractor beam?” If Din does manage to mount a rescue you’ll still be able to get away if the tractor beam is out of service.

“Sounds like fun.” He gives you a cocky little smirk and leads you over to the right workstation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din leads a group of his fellow Mandalorians into an office building on Canto Bight with a shining plaque that reads “DeWitt Systems”. A receptionist stands up immediately when she sees the intimidating group enter the foyer and with a shaky smile she greets them.

“Welcome, Mr. Mando and um, guests,” she tries to be as polite as possible but doesn’t seem to know how to address anyone. Paz snickers a little at Mr. Mando but Din quickly shushes him. He thinks to himself that it’s a good thing half the group decided to stay behind on the Crest. She attempts to smile at everyone, as she gestures down a hallway, “Mr. DeWitt is waiting for you in the conference room; let me show you the way.”

“Mando, I’d say it’s good to see you again, but that isn’t the case under these circumstances,” Eugene is there looking sharp in a new suit. He moves forward to shake Din’s hand.

“Eugene,” Din returns the handshake and gives him a nod in greeting, “Thank you again for agreeing to be part of this rescue.”

“I’m happy to help in any way that I can, Mando,” Eugene says earnestly, “After my evening with your charming companion and you my business has skyrocketed, so I’ll do anything I can do to help her.”

Din nods again. When he spoke to Eugene earlier, he was worried that the man might not want to get involved in this type of risky undertaking, but blessedly you had made quite a lasting impression on him and he agreed to lend a hand almost at once.

“Have you finalized the idea to entice Hoven and get us aboard his ship?” Din asks.

“I think I’ve got something brilliant, not to brag, but I think it will definitely get us a meeting with Hoven,” Eugene is confident and he brings up a holoscreen. “I’ve come up with a mock-up of a cloaking device for a starship. The idea is that it can make a ship become virtually undetectable to scanners of all types.” Eugene shows a brief demonstration on the holoscreen of this technology. It shows a complicated series of mathematical symbols and equations and a diagram of a ship that vanishes when Eugene clicks a few buttons.

“That’s incredible, does it really work?” Paz wants to know.

“Not really, I can make it look like it works for about 5 minutes, but that’s all,” Eugene says, “However, it sounds really realistic and my tech mock-up is convincing enough that I think Hoven’ll be interested. If we get an invitation to meet his ship, I’ll be able to make us look ‘cloaked’ for just long enough for him to think the tech is real, but it’ll just be a ruse.”

“We’re getting that invite; Hoven won’t be able to resist tech like this,” Din states, “This is really great work, Eugene.”

“I have even more great news for you,” Eugene smiles looking rather proud of himself, “Do you remember the casino owner, Mr. Belvers? He’s going to lend us a ship. He was so impressed with the two of you from the party, you especially, Mando, and I happened to see him right after our call. When I told him about the trouble you were in, he was eager to be able to help out too.”

“Eugene, you’re more resourceful than I realized, thank you again,” Din is humbled and very grateful for the assistance. He remembers how jealous he felt over Eugene back when you all first met and he thinks about how much it bugged him that Eugene was so enthralled by you. Now that jealousy seems rather ridiculous and petty, and Din’s thankful that Eugene isn’t holding any of that against him.

After some additional discussion, they decide to leave the Razor Crest on Canto Bight and take Belvers’ ship which turns out to be a luxury cruiser. It’s smaller than Kerrick’s but large enough that it can easily transport the Mandalorians and the Angel One warriors. It’s flashy enough to be impressive but it’s not going to be seen as a threat in any fashion by Kerrick. Plus, without the Razor Crest, there’s no way for Kerrick to have any inkling that Din is coming for you.

“Alright, we’re ready for you to make the call to Hoven,” Din instructs Eugene.

“Let’s try and sell a cloaking device,” Eugene says enthusiastically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve managed to keep Kerrick away from you for three days, but when a new dress showed up at your door with your breakfast this morning, you figured your reprieve from him was about to end. Reluctantly you pull on the dress, and try to prepare yourself for a difficult day. Sure enough, shortly after you’ve given yourself a little pep talk to psych yourself up for having to deal with Kerrick, you hear your door swish open. Not even bothering to knock anymore.

“Baby doll? Did you get the new dress?” Kerrick’s head pops into the fresher where you are fixing your hair.

“I did, thank you, Kerrick,” you give him a bland smile.

“Excellent! I know you’re still, ahem, untouchable, for a few days,” Kerrick says with a slight look of disgust, “But you can keep me company on the bridge for at least a few hours, surely?” He gives you a creepy smile that turns your stomach, but you know you need to do this to keep him calm.

“Of course, Kerrick, that sounds nice. I’d like to see you while you work.” You do your best to bat your lashes at him and then say, “I always thought you were a natural leader.” To make it through this, you figure your best option is to just compliment him as much as possible.

“Oh, yes, I think you’ll see I was born to be in charge,” Kerrick replies smugly and holds out his arm pointedly for you. You gently loop your own arm through his and let him lead you out into the corridor. When he reaches over to pat your hand you try not to flinch away, but he notices your discomfort.

“Don’t worry, my doll, you don’t need to be nervous, everyone will like you,” he lets out a small laugh as he says, “And if they don’t, well, they’re all expendable.”

You let out a nervous laugh at that comment, and hope to Maker that he is making a joke, but something tells you that he might actually mean it and you pray that you can stay as inconspicuous as possible. Even though these people have given their allegiance to a terrible organization, you don’t want anyone to get hurt, or worse, because of you.

Kerrick leads you to the bridge and then proceeds to give you an extended tour of the area, being sure to tell you how crucial and important he is at every opportunity. He’s such a braggart, you don’t know how his crew put up with it, frankly, and you’re surprised no one has attempted a mutiny yet. Then Kerrick begins telling you of some of his greatest accomplishments with the Empire. Each story is horrific and you feel sickened again by what he has become. He’s finishing up a tale of how he used his superior language skills to successfully trick a village chieftain on the planet Morak into giving up a major portion of his tribe’s land to the Empire so they could mine rhydonium and you can’t hold your tongue any longer.

“Kerrick, weren’t you ever worried that your actions could have serious consequences? I mean, look at what you just told me. Rhydonium is incredibly unstable and I’m sure that mining it must have put all of those people at serious risk.” You want to say so much more, but you try to reign yourself in so that you don’t anger him.

“Why do you care about a bunch of smelly villagers on Morak? They’re so beneath us, baby doll.” Kerrick sneers and then laughs, “You have such a soft heart, but that’s ok, you can use it to worry about me. I’m the only one you should care about. Why don’t you give me a little kiss? Show me how much you care.”

He grips your chin and you know you can’t avoid it, so you lean in and kiss him, but thankfully you’re spared from too much because the sound of a holocall is dinging loudly. Kerrick lets out an exasperated sigh, before answering with a slightly disgruntled greeting.

“Good morning, Commander Hoven, I am Eugene DeWitt of DeWitt Systems. Please excuse my directness in calling you without an introduction, but I believe I have an excellent opportunity for you. One of my other clients, a Commander Pershing, recommended I speak with you.” You hold in a gasp when you see the blue glow of Eugene’s face displayed and you know that this can’t be a coincidence. You carefully move closer to Kerrick so that the holo will be able to pick up your image too.

“Oh? What is this opportunity, Mr. DeWitt?” Kerrick seems rather bored but the mention of Commander Pershing is enough to have him a little curious.

“Oh, I’m certain you will be interested in ship cloaking technology,” Eugene says with a small flourish, “You see I run a technology firm that specializes in cutting-edge innovations. With my program, your ship can become undetectable to scanners of all kinds, especially those used by the New Republic.” Eugene gives a small nod and then seems to make eye contact with you for just a moment. Your heart fills with hope that Din must be involved in this call. Your attention snaps back to Kerrick though as he answers Eugene.

“Well, now I am intrigued, Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick’s eyes grow wide at the prospect of this new technology and you can almost see the evil gears grinding in his head thinking of how useful a tool it would be. “But how do I know if it really works? Are you willing to offer a display of some type?”

“Yes, absolutely, Commander Hoven, I am prepared to come to you as soon as possible to demonstrate the immense capability of this unique technology.” Eugene gives Kerrick his best salesman smile as he launches into a description of the tech and displays several fancy charts and equations. Before you know it, Kerrick is sharing his ship’s coordinates with Kerrick and setting a time for a meeting tomorrow. You keep a placid look on your face but inside you are bursting with excitement. This has to be Din, he must be coming for you. If Din has gone back to enlist Eugene’s help, he must have formulated a rescue plan. Now it’s up to you to figure out what you can do here to make the rescue successful.

Kerrick finishes making plans to meet with Eugene and then he turns to you and grabs your hand pulling you in closer to him as he says, “You see my doll, I’m an important man now, one that other men respect. While all those fools think the Empire is dead, I’m here in the heart of it all making us stronger than ever. Just think, we’ll be able to traverse this galaxy virtually invisible to the New Republic scum!” Kerrick’s eyes light up as he gives you this speech and you can see that no shred of the man you once knew remains. The young man who shared your love of languages and the world of academia, the man who was once funny and charming, the man to whom you once gave your heart freely is completely gone as surely as if he died or rather was killed by this new Commander Hoven. You can’t help but let this sad realization show on your face.

“Oh, don’t be sad, I won’t forget about you, my beautiful doll. You’ll be right there with me, supporting me,” Kerrick says with an indulgent grin, “A strong, powerful man needs to have a pretty woman behind him, or rather, underneath him.” He laughs at his own bawdy joke and you manage a weak giggle that seems to placate him. It’s about all you can manage as his misogyny is making you want to punch him, but that won’t help your situation.

“I’m afraid all this excitement of being with you has me feeling a bit lightheaded,” you tell Kerrick, “I think perhaps I should return to my room to rest for a bit.” You’re not sure if he’ll buy this, but he sees you as weak anyway and you clutch your brow dramatically for effect.

“So soon? But we’re having such a nice time, and I prefer to have you here with me,” Kerrick says pouting.

“Commander, we need your approval over here,” another officer is requesting Kerrick’s presence.

“You have so much important work to do,” you simper at him, “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” Kerrick says considering you, “I’ll see you in a few hours and we can have lunch together.” You nod to him and move to pull your hand out of his grasp, but instead he yanks you back to him hard and forces you into a kiss. You remind yourself not to struggle and just hope it will be over soon. “There you go, have a nice nap, baby doll.”

You hurry out of the bridge area as soon as he releases you and when you’re certain you’re alone you wipe your mouth in disgust. Oh, Din, please be with Eugene when he comes tomorrow. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to hold off Kerrick and his amorous advances. In hopes that tomorrow really will bring a rescue, you wonder if you can rearrange the storm trooper work shifts somehow. Since you heard all the details of the meeting, you know precisely when Eugene’s ship is scheduled to arrive and wouldn’t it be convenient if somehow there were a lot fewer troopers on duty then?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din looks out at hyperspace from the pilot’s seat of the luxury cruiser. After a quick stop on Angel One, the rescue party is now complete and the atmosphere aboard the ship is rather jovial despite the danger of the upcoming mission. The Mandalorians and Angel One warriors have bonded quickly as they speak about the chance at a good fight with each group eager to show off their skills. Eugene is also in high spirits having perfected the way to temporarily mask their ship from Kerrick’s scanners when they arrive at the designated coordinates. It will only last for a few minutes, but it will give off the impression that the cloaking technology really works. If all goes well, Din plans to see if Eugene can rig up something similar in the Crest since it could come in handy at times. Who knows, maybe Eugene really will invent starship cloaking someday.

Din tries not to look at the time and count the minutes until he reaches you. Once the first phase of the plan was complete, he’s been impatient to get to this next step. When Eugene told him that he saw you in the holocall, and that you looked safe, he was filled with relief but also worry knowing that it meant that Kerrick was keeping you close to him. Din knows that you are smart and will do whatever you can to keep yourself safe, but at the same time he knows what Kerrick wants from you. He can’t let himself think about that right now though or the anger will consume him.  

As if sensing that Din needs someone to speak to, the Armorer joins Din in the cockpit. “You have amassed a good team; I believe we will be formidable against the enemy,” she tells him sagely.

“Thank you for agreeing to be part of it,” Din replies; he’s still honored that she has chosen to accompany him on this rescue.

“You are right to be worried for her, she is surrounded by dangerous men,” the Armorer says, “But, remember, she was amongst such dangerous men before and she survived.”

“I know she did, but this time she may have to… he might force her…” Din can’t bring himself to say it aloud, and just the thoughts that swirl in his head are enough to fill his stomach with a deep, burning ire.

“You must not let your thoughts dwell on what might happen,” the Armorer advises him, “Your woman is intelligent and resourceful, and we do not know what she will or will not need to do.”

“I know you are right, but in my head I keep replaying the moment I saw him force her into a kiss and then I think the worst,” Din’s voice is dark and angry now.

“I understand, but you must channel your anger into your strength, focus it as a weapon to use against this man,” the Armorer instructs him, “Do not let it overwhelm you and cause you to be foolhardy in your attack.”

Din nods in agreement, “You are correct, as always.”

The Armorer pats his pauldron in response. It’s a small gesture but one that is full of meaning. He thinks again about how grateful he is to have her support and the support of everyone on board. He also knows that she is right, he must maintain his focus.

An alarm dings from the ship’s console alerting Din and the Armorer that they are closing in on Kerrick’s ship. Eugene hurries in to activate his tech virtually hiding them for the few minutes before they reach the meeting spot.

“Tell everyone this is it,” Din tells the Armorer, “We’re getting her back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re certain the shift changes worked?” you whisper your question to Sergio as you’re standing on the docking platform. Kerrick has arranged a welcome party to greet his guest and you’ve been able to have a few minutes to speak to Sergio while there. There are still several storm troopers here and you’re concerned that Din won’t be able to handle so many.

“Yes, I went by the barracks just before arriving here and there are way more troopers off duty than there should be,” he tells you in a low voice.

“Good.” Yesterday while you were supposed to be napping, Sergio helped you mess up the storm troopers’ shifts so that only a skeleton crew would be at work now.

“I also decided that neither the main guns nor any of the missiles needed to be online today,” Sergio shrugs like this is no big deal while you look at him with surprise.

“Thank you,” you say, grateful for his help.

“Just remember this if I ever need you to testify at my trial,” he chuckles.

“What are you laughing about, Roth?” Kerrick has taken notice of you both and he looks annoyed.

“Lieutenant Commander Roth was reminding me about my language lessons and some of the funny pronunciation exercises I made the class do,” you lie smoothly.

“Yes, she had us doing these silly sound drills that made us all sound like a bunch of hissing serpents,” Sergio laughs again.

“Well, if you’re done with your trip down memory lane, perhaps you could tell me if you see Mr. DeWitt’s ship on our scanners?” Kerrick gives the command with a frown.

“There is nothing reading on our scanners,” Sergio responds promptly.

“Well, either his tech really does work, or he’s late,” Kerrick states.

“Commander Hoven, sir, there is a holocall for you,” an ensign brings over a holopad with Eugene’s image.

“Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick says in greeting.

“Do your sensors detect us, Commander Hoven?” Eugene asks with a smile.

“No, are you sure you are in range?” Kerrick asks.

“How about now?” Eugene smirks.

“Sir, there is a ship just off our port side, it appeared out of nowhere,” Sergio sounds surprised and bit impressed.

“Well done, Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick seems pleased, “Let’s proceed with docking and then you can come aboard to show me more about this incredible new tech you’ve created.”

You’re watching the docking mechanism intently, looking for any sign that this is more than just a strange coincidence. Suddenly a plasma bolt fires down the docking tunnel taking out a storm trooper. For a moment there is merely stunned silence around you until more bolts come hurtling in the direction of the troopers.

“What the fuck!” Kerrick exclaims as a total melee ensues.

You dive for cover while silently cheering inside. You take a peek and see the gleam of beskar helmets. Din is here and he’s brought plenty of help with him! Another quick glance shows you Mandalorian and Angel One warriors working together, fighting against the Imps. Although your first instinct is to run straight for Din, you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so you force yourself to stay where you are. Your hiding place isn’t very secure though and abruptly Kerrick is there grabbing at you and forcing you to your feet.

“Get up, you bitch,” he snaps at you, “This is all your fault.”

“Let go of me!” you yell back, but he’s too strong for you and he yanks you after him. You scream as loud as you can and try to kick and break free of his hold.

Din hears you scream and it immediately draws his attention across the fighting in time to see Kerrick drag you out of the area and down a corridor. He quickly moves to pursue you, kicking a trooper in the stomach and shooting another in the neck as he follows after you. Both Eira and the Armorer hear your scream too and quickly trail after Din, shooting a path to do so.

Neither you nor Kerrick are anywhere to be seen in the corridor, but this is no problem for Din as he brings up a tracking program on his vambrace.

“What’s that?” Eira asks

“I put tracking devices in her shoes,” Din responds, leading the three of them forward as he follows the signal.

“A smart idea,” the Armorer replies as Eira looks mildly shocked.

They continue down the corridor, weapons at the ready. As they encounter a few troopers, the trio easily dispatches them. They pass a sign indicating the location of escape pods and Din breaks out into a sprint; there’s no way he’s letting Kerrick get you off this ship.

Kerrick is pulling on your arm so hard you’re afraid he’s going to dislocate your shoulder. He’s got you at the escape pods now in a desperate attempt to get away with you. As soon as he starts to force you into one, you start fighting harder. You remember the fighting techniques from Din’s training and you manage to land a sharp kick to Kerrick’s shin.

“What the kriffing hell is the matter with you?” He yells at you in pain. You try to kick him again, but he slaps you hard across the face. The shock and the sting of the blow makes you stumble. But then you’re struggling against him again, hitting him in the side with your free fist and then whacking him hard in the face.

“Oof! Fuck! Stop it!” He slaps you again, harder this time and you feel your face throbbing.

“That is enough! Don’t you ever do something stupid like that again or you’ll regret it,” Kerrick threatens you and then brandishes a blaster in your face. The fact that he might actually shoot you makes you stop struggling.

“Please, Kerrick, please, you don’t have to do that,” you say your voice trembling.

“I won’t have to hurt you unless you keep acting so fucking stupid,” he snaps back. He still has the blaster pointed at your face and you’re afraid to even move now.

“I’ll do what you want, you can lower the blaster,” you try to make your voice soft and sweet in an attempt to calm him. His eyes are wild and he looks unhinged.

“That’s right you’re going to do what I want,” Kerrick says menacingly, “Because you’re mine, he doesn’t get to have you, and you’re going to keep doing what I want for the rest--”

But Kerrick never gets to finish that threat. Instead you watch as a bolt hits him square in the temple and he collapses dead at your feet. You jump back in horror and shock as it happens, but then you turn and see Din with his blaster still aimed from where he shot Kerrick. You feel nothing but utter relief and before you can think, you are running at him and launching yourself into his arms.

Din catches you and embraces you tightly, never wanting to let you go again. He feels like his heart is going to burst from the joy of holding you again.

“You came for me, I knew you would, I knew when Eugene called it had to be you, I just knew it,” You’re babbling you’re so happy that he’s here, that he’s really here holding you. “Oh, but I’m so sorry for the awful things I had to say, I didn’t mean any of them, you have to know that, I didn’t mean it at all, I love you, only you, Din.”

“I love you too and I’m so sorry, cyar’ika, so sorry that I couldn’t protect you better, I can’t believe I fell for his trap, I won’t ever let that happen again,” Din is babbling too in his elation at rescuing you. He pulls back a little to look at you and raises a hand to cup your injured face. “I’m so sorry he hurt you, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Din,” you tell him, “You protected me now, and you rescued me.”

“Well, technically we’re still in the middle of rescuing you, so maybe you two lovebirds can save the happy reunion until we’re out of here,” Eira pipes up.

“Oh, right,” you reply sheepishly.

“Come, we should return to the ship before more Imperials arrive,” the Armorer motions to you both.

Your group hurries back in the direction of the docking platform and you meet up with more of Din’s group. It’s a mix of Mandalorians that you met from the Covert and warrior women from Angel One. You’re so humbled that they came to fight for you.

“I can’t believe we haven’t seen more troopers than this,” Paz speaks up.

“I made sure a lot of them would be off duty now,” you say with a grin.

“You did?” Din sounds impressed.

“Yeah, I tried to do a little sabotage here and there where I could,” you tell him, “By the way, the tractor beam, main guns, and missiles are disengaged right now too.”

“You’re so smart.” You can hear the admiration in his voice as he praises you.

“I was lucky to have some help,” you demure wondering what has happened to Sergio.

When you are back at the docking platform you can see the resounding defeat of Kerrick’s troops. You glance around looking for Sergio; despite his allegiance to the Empire, you hope he isn’t hurt or worse. You don’t see him and so you hope he got away. You don’t have time to dwell on his fate however and you quickly head for the docking tunnel with Din and the others. When you reach the other ship, you see Eugene’s relieved face and you cheerfully hug him in greeting.

“Eugene! Thank you, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence when you called,” you tell him excitedly.

“I had to help, as soon as Mando told me you were in trouble,” he replies.

You feel the ship jolt and know that someone has put you into hyperspace and you breathe a huge sigh of relief and joy. Then suddenly you are surrounded by well-wishers as everyone tries to hug you or shake your hand in celebration of a successful rescue. Eira even picks you up as she hugs you tight. Someone brings you some bacta cream for your face and you wonder if you need it more to help relieve the bruises left by Kerrick or to soothe your aching muscles from all the smiling. Finally, when it seems as if you have been congratulated by everyone, Din is there taking your hand and leading you away from the celebrating crowd. He takes you into some sleeping quarters on the ship. It’s a beautiful room, but you don’t spend time looking around because all you want to see is him.

“Cyar’ika, I’m so sorry,” Din apologizes again, still feeling guilty over not being able to protect you from Kerrick.

“Oh Din, no, you don’t have to apologize,” you tell him, “I’m the one who needs to apologize to you. I said those hateful things--”

Din interrupts, “No, cyar’ika, I know you didn’t mean them, you- you just did what you had to do.”

“Yes, I only said those awful things to save you and the child. Oh my goodness, the child! Is he alright? Where is he?” You realize that you didn’t see him with everyone.

“He’s safe, he’s at the Covert being looked after by your friend with the pink armor,” Din reassures you.

“Thank the Maker! I was so worried for you both when I was forced to leave with Kerrick,” you say.

Din looks away for a moment when you say that, when he looks back at you, he says your name softly, almost like he’s trying to ask you a question but can’t find the words.

“Din?” You say his name prompting him to speak to you, to tell you his thoughts.

“Did he force you to… did he force himself on you?” Din asks and you can hear the horror in his voice at this possibility.

“No, no Din, he didn’t,” you assure him, “I was forced to kiss him a few times, but that was it. I lied and told him I was having my period and that was enough to keep him away from me. He always was disgusted by menstrual cycles.”

Din lets out a huge sigh of relief and pulls you close to him, as he tells you, “I’m so thankful to hear that, the thoughts I’ve had about what he wanted from you, about what he might have made you do… it was making me sick and I just, I--”

“I understand, my darling, but you don’t have to worry any more, I’m fine and we never have to worry about him again. You made sure of that for me.” Your voice cracks as you speak and you reach up to pull his helmet down to you to meet your forehead in a Keldabe kiss. Tears stream down your cheeks as you hold him to you. Din pulls off his gloves so he can reach up with his bare hands to cradle your face. You listen to his breathing and you can’t be fully certain, but you think he may be crying a little too.

“I love you so much, cyar’ika, I never want to let you go,” Din’s voice is thick with emotion.

“I love you too, Din, and I want to be with you, I want to go wherever you go,” you tell him.

“That’s all I want too, my love,” Din responds, “And I want to show you how much I want that.” He brings his hands up to cup yours, holding them to his helmet, and then he lifts his head away from yours. Gently he starts to lift your hands up, tugging his helmet with them. You gasp and try to let go of his helmet, but his hands are keeping yours in place.

“Din, wait, what are you doing?” you ask breathlessly. His hands stop moving at your question.

“Please, cyar’ika, please, I want you to see me, all of me,” he implores you.

“But your creed?” You’re so worried he might regret this that it’s overshadowing your desire to see his face.

“I believe it will still be intact, I trust you,” Din says steadily and although you don’t entirely understand what he means by that, his calm and certain tone make you trust him. You nod to him and he begins lifting his hands once again, and this time you help him.

Slowly you see his face being revealed to you starting with a dark stubbly beard, then full lips and a mustache followed by a stately nose and high cheekbones, next, warm brown eyes slightly wet with tears and framed by thick eyebrows, and then finally, a forehead somewhat obscured by wayward dark brown curls. Din is the most handsome and beautiful man you have ever seen. You’re afraid to blink or breathe because it feels as if a spell may be broken and he’ll disappear if you dare to move. It isn’t until you hear him saying your name, repeating it in fact, that you remember how to speak again.

“You have the most wonderful face, my love,” you tell him, your voice filled with awe.

Din smiles at you, a little upturn of the corners of his mouth before he tells you, “That’s impossible; I’m looking at the most wonderful face right now.”

And then he can’t wait any longer, he leans forward to kiss you. Din kisses you like you’ve been apart for decades, putting everything that he is, everything that he feels for you into his kisses. His arms wrap around you and hold you against his chest so firmly that he swears he can feel your heart beating against him. He feels a wetness on his cheeks and he thinks for a moment that you must be crying and then he realizes the tears he feels are his own. He breaks the kiss only because he knows he needs to tell you again that he loves you. As you repeat his words back to him, you reach up to kiss away the tears on his cheeks and Din thinks he’s never felt anything so tender and so pure in his entire life.

“Cyar’ika, before we get carried away, there’s something else I want to say to you,” Din says, stilling your actions.

“You can tell me anything, Din,” you reply, smiling softly at him.

“What you said earlier about wanting to go wherever I go, that is exactly what I want, for you to be by my side for the rest of my life, to share that life with me… cyar’ika, will you be my wife?” Din’s voice is emotional as he asks you to marry him and the look of love on his face is the most beautiful vision you’ve ever seen.

“Yes, Din, yes, I will,” you reply and you pull him close so you can kiss him again. He holds you as if you are the most precious creature in the entire galaxy, and when he breaks your kiss, it’s only so he can tell you how much he loves you.

“Also, that means you can have this,” he tells you as he places a soft pouch in your hands. It’s like the pouch that held your heart pendant and when you open it you see a new beskar pendant, in the shape of a mudhorn, the symbol of Din’s clan.

You unhook your necklace so that you can add this new pendant to it. Din helps you as both of your hands are shaking with emotion and excitement. When the mudhorn is resting right next to the heart pendant it looks so exactly right, a perfect combination. Din rehooks the clasp of the chain around your neck and you can see his eyes shining as he takes in the sight of the symbols of his love, his clan, and his creed on you. Before you know it, he’s kissing you again, and you can feel the power of his love in each kiss. You return his heated kisses passionately, wanting to show him how much you love him and how eager you are to be his wife.

“I love you, Din, with all my heart, and I can’t wait to become your wife,” you tell him as he moves from your lips to kiss your neck, “And for you to be my husband.”

Din nips at your neck when you say the word husband. He tells you, “Mmmm, yes, say that again.”

“I’m going to be your wife, and you’ll be my husband, my riduur,” you repeat in a husky voice.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Din says before he sucks a mark onto your neck and then returns to your lips to kiss you hard, making you throb between your legs. When he pulls away finally, you feel almost lightheaded from the force of his kisses.

Din continues to trail kisses down your neck and chest as he tugs at the fastenings of the dress you’re wearing, eventually pulling it open so he can shove it down your shoulders. He barely gets the top of the dress down around your waist before he’s yanking your bra out of the way so he can kiss and caress your breasts. His hands grope down your body as he buries his head into your chest and when he shoves his hand under your skirt and works his fingers into your panties, he���s relieved to feel how hot and wet you already are for him. He tries to slow his movements, but he feels frantic for you, overwhelmed with need. His fingers circle your clit quickly causing you to moan out his name.

“Din, I can’t take too much teasing, please, I need you too much… I need you now,” you plead with him sounding desperate. You mewl as he pumps two fingers deep into you, pitching your desire into overdrive. It’s been too long since you’ve been together and your yearning for him is staggering. You manage to kick off your shoes and start yanking at your dress in an attempt to get it off your body.

“I need you too, cyare, so badly,” Din sounds equally as desperate.

He quickly helps you finish removing your clothing before opening his trousers and pulling out his weeping cock. You can see how much he wants you as his cock is rock hard and his tip is flushed dark. He’s still wearing the rest of his clothing and armor, but neither of you can bear to wait for him to take the time to remove it. He sits on the bed and pulls you to sit on his lap, straddling him. You start to sink down on his steely length but Din is too eager to wait and he meets your downward motion with a swift and powerful thrust upward, pushing into you all at once.

“DIN! Yes!” You cry out at the exquisite sensation of instantly being filled by him. You grapple at the hard, unforgiving beskar of his cuirass as you rise and fall against him. One of Din’s large hands is at your back, supporting you and holding you to him as he fucks up into you, while the other toys with your clit roughly. You are both moving fast, too caught up in each other to take your time.

“Din, you feel… so good… I missed you… soooo much,” you tell him, panting with the effort.

“My cyar’ika… I missed you too… missed being inside you… like this,” Din gasps out between thrusts.

For the first time, you look into his eyes as you feel him moving inside you, and you feel more connected to him than ever before. You watch every small expression that he makes, simply delighted as you see his desire and love for you play over his face. Wanting to see more, to have the chance to keep looking at his face causes you to draw out your movements, slowing your pace slightly.

Din also loves being able to see your entire face uncovered with his own eyes. The look of absolute love in your eyes is incredible to him and he feels a sense of belonging that he has never felt before. It is not the same feeling of possessiveness that he’s had in the past, instead it is the feeling that he belongs with you, that you belong together.

“Please, cyar’ika, please say you’ll stay with me, always,” Din begs you, despite knowing that you will, he needs the reassurance now.

“I will, I promise, I will, Din, always,” you vow to him, but then you need your own guarantee, “Promise me you’ll never leave me, Din.”

“Oh mesh’la, my love, ner kar’ta,” terms of endearment spill from Din’s lips as he tries to tell you how he’s feeling, “I’ll always stay with you, I’ll never leave you, never.”

“Din, my love, my Din, I love you,” you manage to respond and you feel your inner muscles squeeze him tight as the sensations of love and pleasure swirl around you. Between the feel of him shredding up against pure bliss inside you at a relentless pace and the sheer ecstasy of his fingers on your clit, your climax is rushing towards you.

“Look at me, cyar’ika,” Din commands as your eyes had been fluttering shut. You snap them back open and look deep into his eyes. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

You cry out as you hear Din tell you he loves you in Mando’a and you careen over the edge, falling into his body as you are overcome with pleasure. He wraps his arms around you tightly as he manages to thrust up into you a few more times before exploding within you and shouting your name.

“I love you, Din, I promise I’ll love you forever,” you tell him as you pepper his face with kisses.

“I love you too, forever,” Din repeats back to you before he kisses you soundly. His arms encircle you as he holds you close. His heart swells with joy and Din knows he has found true happiness with you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!! Again, I appreciate your patience with me in getting this chapter out. I have decided there will be just one more chapter for this series, Chapter 10: The Mando Who Loved Me. 

Mando’a definitions:

aliit = family

vod = brother

riduur = spouse

mesh’la = beautiful

ner kar’ta = my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

Tag list: @niiight-dreamerrrr @grogusmum @idreamofboobear @theamuz @fangirlalexia @callmekane @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @theravenreads @nicotinebirds @boomtownboy @nova646 @wandering-storm-lost-shadow @becks-things @rexsjaigeyes @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative @punkdalek @pinkninja200 @s-unflowxr @beskarprincessjenny @peppywitch @haley7242 @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @hotsauceonabiscuit @asta-lily​ @onabouteverything​

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 14/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Sleep eludes him.  He’s up most of the night punching his pillows as though they’re to blame for his insomnia or he’s pacing around his room.  Several times he opens his door and stares at Katherine’s room, wondering if he should knock and apologize or burst in unannounced and demand an explanation.

It’s not quite dawn when he finally gets dressed and hitches a couple horses to the wagon, grabs an axe, and drives over to the wooded area along the creek.  He’s chopping away as the sun rises, already dripping sweat when he hears the faint cry of the rooster in the distance.  He can smell the smoke from the cookstove from where he is.

After two trees have fallen, he needs to take a break to drink some water and have a bit of the jerky and biscuits he’s brought with him for breakfast.  When he sees Melvin riding out towards him a bit later, he takes a final dipper of water from the bucket he filled before he left and picks up the axe again.

“Them trees aggravatin’ you this morning, or what?” Melvin asks, dismounting from Faithful Jenny and leading her over beside the wagon.

“We’ll need them for the new corral,” he answers, never taking a break in his swings.  “Thought I’d get a head start.”

“You want some help on it?”

“Nope.”

“You know I’m not aimin’ to get in the middle of things-”

“Then, don’t,” Mulder interrupts.  He stops chopping at the tree he’s on and gives it a firm kick.  The bottom tilts and cracks at a sharp angle, but doesn’t quite break.  He kicks it again, but it doesn’t budge this time.  So, he kicks it again.  And again.  And once more.

Mulder stops and drops the axe.  He bends over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard.  He takes one glove off and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket which he uses to wipe his brow.  It’s one that Katherine has monogrammed for him with her pretty little stitches.  She gave it to him only a few days after settling in, telling him it wasn’t much, but it was something she could do to express her gratitude.

“What’d she tell you?” Mulder asks.

“Katherine?  She didn’t tell me nothin’, though it’s not hard to tell she’s upset by something.  And with you here hackin’ away at them trees, it don’t make it less obvious.”

“I’ve seen to it that she doesn’t want for anything, you know.  I...I took her away from that godforesaken sod house, I gave her clothes and a room and a job to do and...and I’ve been kind, haven’t I?”

“Sure you have.”

“We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation on the porch last night and suddenly it just went all sideways and then she’s throwing around accusations like I think our marriage is a farce.”

“She said that?”

“Amongst other things, yes she did.”

“Well, I guess that is reason enough to come out here and take your frustrations out on them trees.”

“What else should I be doing?  Talking in circles with my fictitious bride so she can hurl more baseless accusations at me?”

“If they’re baseless, why are you in such a tizzy?”

“Because they’re obviously not baseless to her, otherwise why else would she say that?”

“Hm.”  Melvin strokes his beard into a point at his chin.  “Womenfolk sure are complicated, that’s for sure.”

“You can say that again.”

“Did you ask her how she come by that notion about the marriage, or did you forget how to articulate?”

“Of course I asked her and all I got was some vague implication that I was somehow disrespecting her by hiring a surveyor to come out and make plans on the expansion.  It’s not like she wasn’t aware that was the plan all along.  You’d have thought it was a total surprise, the way she reacted.”

“When I was gettin’ hitched to Eliza, my Mama told me that the best advice she could give anyone startin’ out was not to let the sun go down on your anger.”

Mulder picks up his axe again and shakes his head.  “Little late for that,” he says, choosing his next tree to fell.  “The sun was already down anyhow.”

“You know you can be a real horse’s behind sometimes.”

“I am aware.”  Mulder starts chopping again, swinging the axe at a cedar sapling.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be then.”  Melvin hoists himself up into the saddle on Faithful Jenny’s back and turns the horse to home.  He stops and turns back, passing the wagon so he’s closer to where Mulder is chopping, but still at a safe distance.  “If’n you aim to prove her wrong about your marriage, it may be best not to let her stay in her misery for too long.”

“She has nothing to be miserable about.  I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, apologies don’t have to mean you were wrong, they could just mean you’re sorry for the hurtin’.  You’re forgettin’ already what she’s been through.”

“I have not forgotten.”  Mulder shoulders his axe and glares at Melvin.  “Should I expect you’ll be taking her side of things from now on?”

“I’m not takin’ any sides.  Just remindin’ you that you’re the one brung her here.”

“And that means I need to shoulder the blame for every argument we have from here to kingdom come?”

“Tarnation you must have about the thickest skull in the entire state of Texas.  No, it doesn’t mean you’re to blame for everything, it just means that you’re the one that’s plum fool enough to marry a lady you don’t hardly know from Adam except she’s been dealt a sorry hand and then you want to go get all high and mighty about what you done like you deserve a dadgum medal of honor.  Either you wanted to help her because of the goodness in your heart or you wanted a nice pat on the back.  Which is it?”

“I wasn’t looking for any commendations.”

“Well, good, ‘cause folks might get an idea then of your marriage bein’ a farce or somethin’ like it.”

Melvin turns Faithful Jenny away from Mulder and clicks at her to ride away.  Mulder scowls at his back.  He doesn’t know why he’s being treated so harshly and unfairly all of a sudden.  He’s turned his conversation with Katherine over and over again in his mind and he can’t find the logic in her being so upset.  The only thing he knows is that he will clear this whole damned creek of trees before he apologizes for something when he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong.

↭

When Mulder doesn’t come to breakfast, Katherine feels almost sick about it.  She doesn’t eat, just serves the boys their meal and pretends she has too much to do to sit down that morning.  She’s sure they won’t notice anyhow, they’re always distracted with planning for the day most of the time.  They don’t even seem to be concerned that Mulder isn’t there.  Melvin is the only one that looks at her like he knows something isn’t quite right.

When Mulder doesn’t come to noon dinner, Katherine feels a bit exasperated.  She knows by then that he’s been by the creek all morning taking down trees.  While she once preferred her late husband’s habit of disappearing for long lengths of time after an argument, she can’t say it feels the same to have Mulder do the same.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that it takes her some time to realize that Melvin is washing up the dinner dishes.  She jumps up from the table, mortified to have let that happen.  Melvin waves her away.

“Go on, finish your dinner,” he says.  “You didn’t hardly eat your breakfast, if at all.  Let me do this.  You can dry if’n you want.”

“I guess I’m just not very hungry today,” she answers.

“Well, I suppose I don’t got much of an appetite either when I got things weighin’ on my mind.”

She worries the wedding ring on her finger.  It hasn’t escaped her that this has already become a nervous habit so quickly.  To make better use of her hands, she grabs a dishrag and starts drying what Melvin has washed.

“We argued last night,” she says.  “I suppose Mulder told you that?”

“He mentioned there was a disagreement of some kind.  You may have already figured this out for yourself, but he can be as stubborn as an old goat sometimes.”

“Does he always do this?  Avoid problems this way?”

“I haven’t known him to, but then again horse problems and lady problems aren’t really the same.”

“Should I bring dinner down to him, do you think?”

“I think he might appreciate that.  If’n you think he’s stewed long enough with his thoughts.”

“I don’t know about him, but I think I’ve stewed long enough with mine.”

“Then you go ahead and do what you think is right.”

“I’ll pack something up right now.”

“Leave that dishrag with me so’s I can finish up here.”

Katherine drapes the dishrag over Melvin’s shoulder and starts to pack up some dinner to take to Mulder.  She’s wrapping biscuits when there’s whistling and hollering outside.  Melvin looks up and peers out of the small, square window above the wash basin.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Lord almighty,” he mutters, flinging water and soap suds from his hands as he turns and rushes to the door.

“Another panther?” she asks, following at his heels.  “Should I get the gun?”

“Looks like there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?”

Katherine is out the door faster than Melvin, lifting her skirts as she runs across the ranch to where the men are shouting and the horses and wagon that Mulder had taken down to the creek are standing.

“What is it!?” she shouts.  “What happened!?”

“He come rolling up just now and keeled over,” Jimmy says.  “Felled right off the wagon.”

Katherine drops to her knees in the dirt where Mulder lays and immediately begins assessing his condition.  His face is sunburnt, his skin is dry, his pulse is racing.  She runs her hands over his head and finds a bit of a lump at the left side, but he’s not bleeding.  His left shoulder is twisted under him at an unnatural angle.  She looks up at the men standing over them.

“Should I run and fetch the doc?” Jimmy asks.

“His shoulder looks to be dislocated,” she says.  “Which I can set back into place.  And I believe he is suffering sunstroke.”  She makes some quick determinations in her head about who can help best in what areas.  “Melvin, go and fetch the doctor.  Trevor, I’d like you to go in and start pumping water into the washtub.  No need to light the furnace, we need it to be cool.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Trevor answers and runs off.

“Richard, can you find me some clean rags?  Tear up some of the bedding I just washed if you have to.”

The other men leave quickly and it’s just Jesse, squatting low at Mulder’s feet and Jimmy hovering over her.

“I need you two to help me turn him onto his back,” she says, getting to her feet and kneeling again at Mulder’s left side.  “Gently.”

Katherine holds onto Mulder’s shoulder and elbow to keep his arm in place as the men slowly roll Mulder onto his back.  He groans softly and coughs once.

“Jimmy, you go down by his feet and just hold his ankles steady.  I think he may already be in shock, but this still may hurt a bit and he might fight against the pain, but it’s best he be still.”

“What’re you gonna do to him?” Jesse asks.

“I’m going to be pulling the shoulder back into place, as gently as I can.  Will you please hold him steady with a hand on his chest and right shoulder?”

When Jesse and Jimmy have their hold on Mulder, Katherine takes a deep breath and then starts to slowly draw Mulder’s arm up in an arc away from his side.  As she pulls it up, she also pumps it softly until she’s reached a straight angle and she stops and looks from one brother to the other.

“Keep hold now,” she says.  They nod their reply.

Katherine raises Mulder’s arm up, making small circles as she lifts from his wrist.  Mulder groans again and he tries to kick his feet, but Jimmy holds steady.  

“You’re alright,” Katherine says to Mulder, still drawing his arm up.  “You’ll feel better in just a bit.”

Only moments later, Katherine feels the shoulder slide back into place and she lowers Mulder’s arm while cupping his elbow, bringing his forearm to rest across his belly.  She feels his pulse again at his neck and shakes her head.  It’s way too fast.  His lips are chapped and white.

“Will you two be able to carry him in if we get him on a sheet?”

“I reckon we sure could,” Jesse says.

“Don’t move him until I come back.”

Katherine races to the house.  She finds Richard at the linen cabinet in the dogtrot, ripping up pillow cases.  She grabs one of the sheets and runs back to Mulder.  When they have the sheet laid out the two men, under Katherine’s instruction, move Mulder onto it with as little jostling as possible.  They lift from the sides per her direction and move swiftly to the house.

The wash room is not a large room, certainly not large enough to hold five people comfortably, especially when one of them is incapacited.  She sends Trevor off to fetch her a glass of water with some salt in it and has Jesse and Jimmy lay out Mulder on the floor and then step away.

Quickly, and with nimble fingers, Katherine first unbuttons the suspenders on Mulder��s trousers.  She then opens up all the buttons on his trousers and moves down to pull his boots and socks off.  She pulls his trousers off and then calls out to Trevor to bring her the scissors from her sewing kit.  When she has the scissors, she cuts Mulder’s shirt in half up from belly to chest so she can pull his right arm free and not have to move the left too much.  With the remains of the shirt, she fashions a sling to hold his left arm.

She leaves his undershirt and drawers in place and then has Jesse and Jimmy lift him, sheet and all, into the washtub. The water doesn’t quite cover him so she pumps a bit more into the tub.  Richard brings her the rags and Trevor brings her the cup of water and the salt tin.

“I just put a pinch of salt in,” Trevor says.  “I don’t know if that was enough.”

“Thank you, that’s just fine.  Will you do me one more favor and get me a spoon and one of the ash buckets?  Just be sure it’s empty.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”  Trevor races out of the room.

Katherine kneels beside the tub and begins to dip the rags into the water and place them behind Mulder’s neck and on his forehead.  She dabs his cheeks and jaw.  Trevor returns with the spoon and the bucket.  Jesse brings her a stool to sit on so she doesn’t have to kneel.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asks.

“Not at the moment.  I’ll call for you when it’s time to get him out.”

“Alright, we’ll stay close by.”

“Thank you.”

Jesse closes the door behind him and she sits with Mulder, alternating soaking rags and patting his neck and face and spooning him salted water.  His eyes slide open after a bit and roll around.  His pupils are two different sizes, which worries her, and his gaze is a little disoriented.

“Mulder?”

“Where’m I?” he mumbles.

“You’re in the bathing tub.  I think you may have had sunstroke and you fell from the wagon.  Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”  She holds up three fingers and he blinks and stares at her hand.

“Three?”

“That’s good.  How do you feel?”

“Dizzy.  Cold.  My arm aches.”  He reaches up with his right hand to try to touch his shoulder, but she catches his hand and holds it.

“You dislocated your shoulder, but it’s fine now.  It’ll probably be sore for a few days.”

“I did?”

“I need you to drink a little water, can you do that?”

“Okay.”

Katherine lets go of Mulder’s hand and brings the cup to Mulder’s mouth.  She holds the back of his neck to help him sip, but won’t let him take much yet.

“I’m so thirsty,” he says, trying to bring his lips back to the cup.

“I know, you just need to drink slowly otherwise it might make you sick.”

He finishes the cup of water, slowly, with her help.  She puts the back of her hand to his cheek and then dabs at his face again with a soaked rag.  He lays passively for some time, almost like he’s dreaming, but then he starts to shift and seems to gain more awareness bit by bit.

“You know, if you wanted me in my underthings, all you had to do was ask,” he says suddenly, smiling a little and turning his head towards her.

“I think we can get you out of the tub now.”