#would I beat the living daylights out of him if he ever talked to me? yes

[cerise-on-top]

Hello! Are you still writing hcs?

Graves with a spouse(writing this as a husband for him myself 🥰) who loves sewing and knitting, or some something amongst 'cozy hobbies' like embroidery, reading, poetry or baking. Just wondering How a relationship would be between them or how Graves would act.

Your writing is very lovely btw! I fell in love with it, very beautiful!

Hello! I am still writing HCs, it'll probably be a little bit longer until I take a proper break! That was a really cute request, I liked that one! Domestic and sweet stuff like that is always the best, so thank you for bestowing a request like that upon me! (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡

Graves with a Spouse with Cozy Hobbies

As mentioned already, Graves loves feeling like the big, strong, useful man in the relationship, so he’d absolutely love you even more if you have “soft and cozy” hobbies like the ones you mentioned. While he is very much a talker, something like knitting can be done while holding a conversation, so he’ll definitely talk to you as you work on your next project. He thinks it’s really awesome, the way your hands move so quickly to create something like a sweater, a scarf, or even a plushie. You don’t really look at him, way too absorbed in your project and not wanting to make even a single mistake, but you still spend time with him. It’s ideal, he can tell you the newest, juiciest gossip among his Shadows while you make him the coziest sweater he’s ever seen. Lets you measure him, if you need and want to, because he really wants that sweater. You wanna put a cute little motif, like a cup of coffee on it as well? He’ll fall in love even more than before.

But even when he’s tired, he wants to spend his time with you. Instead of talking, he’ll lean against you and watch you crochet a bit before nodding off ever so slowly. It’s nice, it’s repetitive, for the most part, and it’s also quiet. By the time he wakes up he gets to see more of your beautiful creation, so that’s a big plus. And when he isn’t dozing off against you, he’s more than happy to hold your yarn and make it a bit longer when you need it. There’s something magical about watching you crochet. He had to crochet in elementary school, but, since he didn’t want to sit down for something like that, he wasn’t very good at it. His strengths always lied elsewhere, so it’s fascinating to him that you can sit in the same position for hours on end, barely moving, and still having fun. The only time he has to do that is when he’s filing reports, and afterwards he needs something to take his mind off of those.

Graves, every time he’s about to go out without you, will always ask you if you need anything from the arts and crafts stores, willing to buy you the loveliest fleece for felting if you ask him for it. Hell, if you want to sell your plushies, or your creations in general, he’s probably the best man to have on your side. Especially when it comes to plushies. Some of his Shadows have families with children, so he knows some of them would love your creations. Might sometimes ask you if you could knit or crochet a baby wooly hat for one of them, if you have the time, since his Shadows know you can be trusted with a task like that. You will always be reimbursed, either by his Shadows or by Graves himself. Sometimes he does like to gift his Shadows something you made and pretend they bought it. You’ll always get your money, but it might sometimes be out of Graves’ pocket.

He definitely likes the domesticity of it. He can go about his day, certain you won’t get hurt, unless you’re sewing or embroidering. But he’d never stop you from pursuing a craft like that. In fact, he’ll actively encourage you, always asking about your projects and wanting to know if he can help you in any way. He wants to see your embroidery, your crocheting, your sewing, as well, so he might gently pick it up from time to time, view it from every angle and give you feedback a la Graves, praising you like only he could.

When you’re a baker you can be sure he’ll taste test your stuff every single time. He has a bit of a sweet tooth, not too much, but he loves you, so he’s willing to eat everything you make. If you’re up making cookies, then he’ll help you by either buying you the best, most reliable hand mixer he can find, or by stirring the dough himself so your arms won’t get too tired. This he does under the condition that he gets to be the first person to try your cookies, your cake, your cobbler. He may not be the worst baker, but he can still learn a lot from you. That he does with all the love in the world, looking at you with an adoring expression as you put the baked goods in the oven, waiting for them to finish. Always has a big smile on his face when he watches you be this content with your life. While you wait for it to properly bake, he’d sometimes ask you to play card games with him. Always lets you win on purpose during those times since you always look so happy when you win. Afterwards he rewards you with a kiss.

While he may be everything but a fan of poetry, he can respect you being one. Will listen to everything you have to say about them, from your analyses to you reading one out loud. If you have a few poets you like especially well then Graves will bend his back trying to find beautiful anthologies of their works. Maybe some books with a few gold engravings that would look well on a shelf. He wants you to know that, despite him not being interested, he still supports you. While you’re reading a book, he might sneak up on you, startle you and then take you into his arms, trying to get you comfortable so you can continue to read. Might glance at your book from time to time to get a feeling for what you’re reading. If it’s something especially cheesy he might chuckle a bit and call you out on being a hopeless romantic, giving you a kiss to your nose afterwards.

Overall, he likes it. It’s nice, not having to worry about you going god knows where and ending up injured. Besides, he always has something nice to come home to, whether that be some beautiful embroidery of violets or a Sachertorte you made from scratch. Will always praise you for doing well, will always make sure you have the means to keep creating, baking and reading. Does his best to keep it that way as well, you’re his precious little darlin’ and you deserve the world and so much more in his eyes.

[hotchsofficialwifey]

okay hear me out... mike schmidt with goth!fem!reader (be warned: i'm not goth so this might not be very accurate lol)

he met you while he was working at the mall, eyed you from across hot topic. despite your intimidating black clothes, chains, and eye makeup, you had one of the sweetest smiles he'd ever seen, instantly drawing him to you. you said good morning to the worker with one of those perfect smiles and he immediately felt butterflies in his stomach.

he started hanging out at the hot topic more frequently. he began to pick up on your schedule, too. you'd usually come on Saturday's between 12-3pm, circle through the food court and your favorite stores (one time he even caught you at Victoria's Secret, but didn't go in, for obvious reasons). he felt a little creepy, but it wasn't like he was stalking you, just keeping you safe (this was his bullshit excuse). some part of you was simply magnetic, pulling him in like a siren, wrapping him around your finger so tightly he never wanted to be let go.

after a few weeks or so of this same routine, he got fired for beating up a man in broad daylight, and had to get a shitty job at Fazbear's Pizzeria. the only part of that job he missed was you, but his yearning would soon come to an end. he went on various apps, websites, whatever he could to find a babysitter for abby while he was at work, when he found your profile on one of the apps. you were around his age, lived in the same town, and were looking for a job as a babysitter. perfect! he got in contact with you shortly after, and you were fast to reply. you set up a day, time and location, and the next night you were there, knocking on his door.

it was as if the closer he got to you, the prettier you were. pink lips overlined with black liner, flared black jeans paired with a Siouxsie and The Banshees t-shirt, eyeliner so sharp it could probably poke him and black converse covered in doodles. you were more casual than usual, obviously, but god, you were beautiful. you hit him with one of your dazzling smiles, introduced yourself to him and abby (abby instantly liked you), and he went off to work, the scent of your sandalwood perfume on his mind.

you got closer over the months you babysat abby. he came home early in the morning, but you always made breakfast (not only were you beautiful, but amazingly sweet). he didn't pay you as consistently as you originally hoped he would, but you were begin to grow a crush on him, so you didn't really mind. it got to the point where you two even exchanged numbers, using work as an excuse, but you mostly talked and sent memes to each other. but what he admired most about you is how good you were with abby. you guys drew together, watched cartoons together, laughed together, you even did tarot readings for her. abby would fill him in on every little detail of your night together, start to finish. she adored you, and you adored her, which only made him fall harder for you.

the love confession was unexpected, but really sweet. he had invited you over for dinner before he went to work, which he often did, but after you put abby to bed and sat down on the couch with him...

"thanks for everything you do for us." he blurted suddenly. your face suddenly felt very warm, and you bashfully replied.

"it's no big deal, really. i like spending time with abby..." fuck it, you thought. "and with you." you stared at each other for a moment, tension in the air, before he kissed you. slowly, softly, easing you into it. it got heated quickly, and one thing left to another, and he was forty minutes late for work (but it was so worth it).

a/n: okay, this wasn't as focused on the goth part as I wanted it to be, but wtvr. i'll be doing headcannons for goth!reader later!! for now, here's some backstory lol

[angelatmidnight1]

can i request reader w/ revenant? maybe reader annoys him to no end and revenant tickles the reader in retaliation >:-D

A/N: Sorry this is so late; I wanted to get this out when the Revenant Reborn season started but I got caught up with some stuff. The only warning, if any, that I'd say for this story is that it's a bit dark I guess, but it's Revenant. He doesn't hurt the reader, though. Just tickles the heck out of them. I hope you like it 😅

Hunted

You ticked Revenant off by stealing his kills in a match, and now, he’s hunting you. With a new body that’s faster, stronger, and deadlier, the cat and mouse game that he plays with you doesn’t last long. But instead of killing you, he tickles the living daylights outta you. 

Crunch, crunch, crunch. 

Your feet pounded the ground below as you sprinted through Storm Point. Gaea was the current stop for the Apex Games. But, you’d run so far away from the arena, you couldn’t place an exact pinpoint on your location. Your comms died a while ago. But, you had to keep running. 

Otherwise, Revenant would catch you. 

You and the simulacrum had an odd relationship. Less than friends, but not quite enemies. But it wasn’t always like that. When you were first on his team, he was rude, demanding, and threatened you more than your enemies. But, you always had a little fire in you. It’s one of the many reasons you thrived in a bloodsport. 

You didn’t shy away from dangerous situations or, in this case, people. Revenant was being especially rude during one match and, eventually, you got tired of hearing him talk. So, when he said he needed more shotgun ammo, you angrily threw some at him. 

“Ugh. Here, asshole.” You snapped. Revenant had his back to you, looting, so the ammo stack hit him square in the back. He growled and whirled around to you, and you went on. “You’d think you’d know how much ammo you need because you’re a literal murderbot.”

Before you could blink, Revenant suddenly towered over you. The sudden invasion of space startled you, so you backed up into the wall. The simulacrum followed and put his bladed hand against your throat. 

“Say that again, skinbag.” Revenant growled. His gold optics threateningly bore down into your eyes. You glared back at him and pressed your lips together, making him smirk. “Don’t be shy now. Say it.”

“You can’t kill me,” you countered. “We’re on the same team, in case you forgot.”

Revenant laughed. “You think this pen will stop me? Just wait until we’re alone.” he said, easing the blade off of you. “Gonna be hard to talk after I slice your throat.”

You grimaced at the gruesome image, but you held strong. He pushed all of the other Legends around. You weren't gonna be one of them. “So far, you’ve done more talking than killing…”

There was a beat, and then Revenant chuckled darkly. Then, with his free hand, he suddenly hoisted you up into the air. You yelped and grabbed at his wrist, but he was much stronger than you. He brought you just inches away from his face. You swore you saw a twinkle in his eye. 

“Oh, I’m gonna enjoy breaking you…” Revenant purred. His eyes searched yours for a moment and then, still holding you, he walked out of the building. He roughly dropped you. “Get moving, skinbag. With any luck, we can catch up to this ‘Champion’ and I can rip out his insides.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why did you ask me for ammo if you were just gonna—”

He grabbed your flank and pushed you forward. You bit back another yelp and squirmed out of his touch. 

“Shut up and move.”

After that game, and many other games in between, Revenant’s attitude towards you changed. Not by much, but there was a noticeable difference. If you were ever downed in a match, Revenant hunted that particular Legend down before he went after the rest of the squad. 

“You’re mine to kill, (Y/N). Remember that.” He said as he pulled you to your feet. Now, he called you by your name more often than ‘skin bag’. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, taking out your Phoenix Kit to heal.  “Yeah? That almost sounds like you’re saying you like me.”

Revenant grunted. “Don’t push your luck. Or I’ll skin you after this match.”

You grinned, but otherwise complied. That is, until you started taking his kills. 

For the match, you used a Sentinel as your primary weapon. Revenant opted for a shotgun and a C.A.R. Since his upgrade, he’s been opting for more up close and personal kills. So, when he rushed in to attack, you stayed back a few paces to snipe. The simulacrum pounced onto an unsuspecting squad of Bangalore and Newcastle. He made quick work of the heroic defender. Then, he turned his attention to the sergeant. 

“Heh, tough luck, sarge.” He chuckled, stepping over the downed hero. “Always rough to have a family reunion and a funeral on the same day..”

But, instead of him finishing her off, you did. You trained your sniper optic over Bangalore’s head and fired. Anita went down, leaving behind a very angry simulacrum. 

“Are you blind?! That kill was mine!” Revenant roared as you approached him. You initially jumped, and then scoffed. 

“Sheesh, I was just trying to help! You were taking forever, and you’re grouchy when you’re downed.” You answered. This only made Revenant angrier. 

“I don’t need help from a pathetic sack of meat like you. You steal my kill again, and I’ll make you regret it.” He threatened. This was one of the many threats Revenant threw your way and by now, you were used to it. Little did you know, he’d make good on this one. 

You stole the next few kills again by grazing the Legend you shot at, getting the final bit of damage and the credit for the kill. Then, when you were named the Kill Leader, the simulacrum finally snapped. 

“That’s it.”

Revenant lunged at you with an angry roar. You barely had time to get out of the way.

“Whoa, wait! It was an accident! I—” You snickered at first, stopping short when you saw that murderous glint in his eyes. This wasn’t one of those grumpy, irritable looks he gave you. This time, you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. His next words chilled you to your core, and prompted you to run. 

“I’m going to tear you apart.”

Your lungs burned with exertion, and your muscles ached, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Especially when you heard Revenant’s deep, gravelly voice somewhere behind you. 

“Running won’t save you, skin bag. It just makes it more fun for me.”

You yelped loudly and spun around to defend yourself. But, he wasn’t there. Revenant’s chuckle echoed through the forest. 

“Aw, are you scared?”

You put your hands on your knees, gasping for air. “R-Rev, come on…I was just messing around. We won the match anyway!” You yelled in between your panting. Revenant scowled. 

“Championships mean nothing to me,” Revenant spat. “But death, fear? Nothing in the world comes close to that…and the fear on your face is delicious.”

A cold rush of fear rushed up your spine. You were all alone here, with no one to help you. The simulacrum’s next words came out in a purr. 

“I’d love a closer look…” 

There was a rustling sound to the left of you, and you jolted in the opposite direction. But, still, nothing was there. Revenant laughed a menacing laugh. 

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet,” Revenant smirked. He’d climbed up into a tree high above you and blended into the shadows. Even if you looked up, it’d be impossible to see him. “But you’re going to wish I did.”

Another rustle. Your head snapped towards the sound. Now, you could see his yellow optics in the darkness. You moved to run again, but it was too late. Revenant roared as he tackled you to the ground. You screamed as you went down. You defensively raised your hands to protect yourself, but he grabbed them and held them above your head in a cold metal hand. 

This was it. You tried to pull your hands free, but it was no use. Then, with his free hand, Revenant attacked. 

You screamed as his claws scritched against your side. But, it didn’t hurt. It tickled like hell. Your screams turned into panicked giggles. 

“Wahahaha—Rehehehehev, stahahaha!” You snorted as he clawed from one side to the other. His hand moved at an inhuman speed and overwhelmed you with ticklish sensations. You writhed in his hold, squealing again as he pinched your side. “AHahaha! Stohohohp! REHEhehev!”

“Ticklish, are we?” Revenant hummed, this time squeezing just above your hip bone. You barked out a laugh and arched your back. “You skin bags have so many weaknesses. So many ways to break you apart…”

You could barely hear him over your laughter. You uselessly tossed to and fro, but his hand remained latched onto your skin. Then, all of a sudden, Revenant stopped and tilted your chin up. His touch was like ice and you shivered, unable to look away from his burning gaze. 

“And you think you can get away with taking what’s mine?”

Revenant’s voice distorted a little bit, and it made you freeze in fear. The simulacrum released your chin and wasted no time in spidering his claws over your exposed underarm. You sputtered and giggled, twisting around in his strong grip. 

“Bahahahaha! Ihihiht wahahahas juhuhust a gahahahahame! COHOHOHOME OHOHOHON!” 

He suddenly dug his thumb into your underarm, pulling another laugh out of you. He let go of your arms to attack both underarms at once, scritching deep into the muscle. Your laughter drastically increased and volume and, even though you slammed your arms down, he was still able to tickle.

“I don’t care. I’m still gonna teach you a lesson.”

Revenant pulled his hands free from your underarms and clawed at your rib cage. You squealed and tried to flip over, but he pushed you back onto your back. He kneaded at the spaces between your ribs with his thumbs, and he used his claws to pinch and swipe at the bones randomly. Each scrape of his claws made you squeal and laugh loudly. Your heart beat a mile a minute; out of everything possible, how on Earth was a simulacrum good at tickling?

“Lookie here,” Revenant, noticing how sensitive your ribs were, honed in on them with both hands. You arched your back again, laughing harder and fighting with his hands. He snatched your hands again and placed them under him, pinning them with just enough weight to keep them there, but not to hurt you. Then, he resumed his tickling, pinching at the sides of your ribs and drumming his fingers up the bones. The panic surged through you as you shook your head and writhed with laughter. Revenant chuckled. “So sensitive. Heh, just as I figured. You’re not so tough.”

“NOHOHOHO!” You screamed and kicked your legs against the ground. You twisted your torso from side to side, but he just followed your movements, his hands stopping just short of your underarms. Your laughter died down to high pitched giggles. “Stohohohop! Rehehehev, plehehase—”

Revenant’s optics sparkled at your pleading. “Begging already? That was easy,” he laughed. But then, his tone darkened, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Hell, it was almost too easy. Where’s that fighting spirit, Legend? You can do better than that…”

With that, the simulacrum jumped back down to your ribs, pinching and scritching along the length of your rib cage. You screamed again and bucked your hips. Of course, Revenant’s taunting touched a nerve, but you were too overcome with laughter to snap back. Still, you tried anyway. 

“AHAHAHA! I’M GOHOHOHOHNA—”

You gasped when Revenant prodded at your centermost ribs. Those ribs were especially sensitive and, judging from how he cocked his head to the side, he picked up on it too. 

“You’re gonna what?” he echoed. He slowed the tickling down to where he just traced patterns on those sensitive ribs. “Laugh? Beg?” His optics twinkled again. “Go ahead, beg some more. It won’t help, but go on...”

You didn’t wanna beg again, especially if it encouraged Revenant to keep going. But, if he kept tapping against your ribs, you weren’t sure how much longer you were going to last. 

Then, Revenant did something you weren’t expecting. Instead of continuing to torment your ribs, he suddenly hiked your shirt up, exposing your bare torso. Then, his hands scampered back up your sides, his thumbs digging into your skin. The cold feeling of metal digits made you squeal, and you involuntarily snorted as his claws skittered across your stomach. 

“C’mon, skin bag. Beg.” Revenant demanded. He inched his way back towards your ribs and you tensed up. What started out as snickering turned into desperate giggles as he got closer and closer to the spot. Your stubbornness weakened, and your breath hitched as his fingertips swiped against your skin.

“Nonono! Okay! Plehehease, Rev. Dohohn’t tickle me,” You pleaded. The words tasted like poison in your mouth but, if it got him to stop, that’s all you wanted. “Plehehease stohohop..”

Revenant, however, wasn’t moved. “That’s it?” he scoffed, suddenly spidering his claws up and down your centermost ribs. “You don’t sound pathetic enough.”

A shriek ripped out of you as you spasmed against the floor, laughing hysterically. He didn’t let up and raked his claws over every inch of your ribs. And then, when you arched your back, he pinched at the back of those ribs. You laughed harder and moved to slam your back down on the floor, but he held you in place, continuing to prod and pinch at the spots. 

“AHAHAHAHA! REHEHEV, STAHAHAHA!” You yelled, your eyes pinching shut from the force of your laughter. “PLEHEHEHASE!”

Revenant ignored your pleading and continued tickling. By now, your ribs were hypersensitive from all of the previous tickling, so it took no time for your laughter to deepen. You writhed in his iron hold and threw your head back in hysterics. You didn’t think it could get any worse for you, but it could. And it did. 

The simulacrum was kneading his fingertips into the backs of your ribs when, all of a sudden, he stopped. You breathed heavily and hiccuped in between residual laughter. Your eyes were still closed, so you couldn’t see what he had in his hands. 

Revenant was holding the headscarf from his previous model. Just looking at it made him angry; it reminded him of what he’s lost, and what he’s become. But, it’d work perfectly for what he had in store for you. 

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of something ripping. Revenant tore off a long piece of the head scarf, binding your wrists with it. A fresh wave of panic coursed through you, and you struggled with a renewed vigor. 

“NO! Rev, please! I’m sorry!” You shrieked. Now, since he didn’t need to hold your arms down, he eased off so that he straddled your waist. “I won’t take your kills again! Please, let me go!”

“This isn’t about kills anymore, skin bag.” Revenant scoffed. He dragged his claws up your sides, making you shudder and giggle. “You’d be dead by now if that’s what I wanted. No…now, I want to hear you scream.”

Revenant slowly scratched back down your sides. You bucked your hips uselessly, giggling harder. As ticklish as your ribs were, there were a few more spots that were far more sensitive, and the simulacrum was heading right for them.

“Nohohoho! No! Rehehehehv, wAHAHAHAHAHAIT!” You went rigid as he walked his claws just above your hip bones. Revenant cocked his head to the side again, and you could hear his gears hum in response. He flicked his digits against your hip bones, and your laughter fueled scream told him everything he wanted to know. 

“Oh, you’re in trouble now…”

There was a sinister, teasing lilt in his tone as he suddenly descended into your hips. His metallic knuckles rolled over each bone and, when he wasn’t doing that, he squeezed them with just enough pressure to tickle. Each prod and squeeze sent ticklish jolts up your spine, and your loud laughter echoed throughout the forest. 

“NAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHAHAHA, STOHOHOHOHOP!” You yelled and frantically struggled with the ties on your wrists. They were tight, not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to keep your hands out of the way. The simulacrum dug a little bit more into your hips, using his fingertips to scritch back at the spot just above them. You threw your head back and your legs kicked out under you as you laughed and laughed. 

Revenant chuckled. He kept one hand on your hip and snaked the other back up your side. He hovered over your ribs and poked them. You yelped out a protest, but it was lost in your wild laughter. You curled in on yourself as much as physically possible, but it didn’t help. 

“I should’ve done this sooner,” he mused aloud. He tweaked your upper ribs and you hiccuped. “Doesn’t beat killing you skin bags, but it’s pretty damn close. And I’ve got nothing but time…”

You shook your head back and forth, your laughter now barely audible. Your stomach hurt from how hard you were laughing. You mouthed ‘please’ and ‘stop’ over and over, but it didn’t change anything. In fact, it just urged Revenant to keep going. After a couple more pokes to your rib cage, the simulacrum moved back down your torso, his hands finding your waist again. Instead of digging in, he traced the indent of your hips, enjoying how you gasped and snickered. 

“Plehehehease,” You pleaded again, your torso shaking from the lingering ticklish sensations. “Nohoho more. I cahahahn’t tahake it..”

Revenant mockingly cooed at you. “Doesn’t sound like my problem. And I’m not finished with you yet.”

He hooked his hands around your waist and squeezed your hips. You bucked and yelped, trying to reason with the unreasonable, and he responded by squeezing again. You snorted and brought your tied hands down, trying to cover your hips, but you were just out of reach. Rev mixed in quick scribbles across your waist, adding a new ticklish sensation to the mix, and you jerked in the opposite direction. 

Your legs kicked out more furiously under you as a response, and he reached behind with one hand to still them. His claws brushed against the underside of your knee, sending you into a deeper fit of laughter. 

“RAHAHAHA!” You cried out and flattened your leg against the ground. Revenant held on and skittered his fingertips underneath your knees, making you arch your back. “SAHAHAHAHA!”

“That doesn’t sound like begging to me,” Revenant taunted. He squeezed both of your knees before returning to your waist. He dug his thumbs into your hips, sending you back into a deep pit of laughter. 

“PLEHEHEASE! Please!” You yelled before giving into the laughter that overtook you. Revenant climbed up higher on your waist, so it was harder for you to buck away from him, and continued his tickle attack. It took no time for your laughter to fall silent again, and your eyes finally teared up. After another five long minutes of nonstop tickling, he finally eased up so that you didn’t pass out. 

“Aw, don’t cry, (Y/N). We’re just beginning to bond,” Revenant snickered. He released your hips and took your chin into his hand, so you couldn’t pull away from him wiping the tears away. Then, all of a sudden, he sat back and cut the bonds off of your wrists, climbing off of you. 

You curled up on the ground, breathing heavily. Your hips, legs, and ribs were all still plagued by the ticklish sensations, so you patted at them to soothe them. But, while you were soothing your nerves, the simulacrum loomed over you. You flinched as he approached and looked up at him. Revenant chuckled. 

“The hell are you starin’ at?” He huffed before lowering himself into a catlike stance, as if ready to pounce. “Start. Running.”

Your eyes widened and, as tired as you were, you forced yourself to get up and hurry away from him. Revenant’s optics glimmered; he always loved a good chase. 

[vephyrus]

Shadow Clone possibilities (rating on probability)

1. Tech. This is the most popular theory, considering Tech’s death included no body proof. In episode 7, after the Shadow Clone was crushed by the boulders, he walked away limping on his right leg; the same leg that Tech fractured after being crushed by 150kg. The Shadow Clone has those familiar grunts (unlike the regs) when pushing heavy objects. The accent of the mysterious clone is different than the regs; yet it sounds as if the Empire tried covering it up, layering it with another accent. Above all, the Shadow Clone disobeys orders from Wolffe. And what were Tech’s last words? “When have we ever followed orders.” In my opinion, this is the most probable.

2. Commander Cody. This is the next most probable choice. In season 2, Cody goes awol, after he starts waking up and questioning his choices with the Empire. After Admiral Rampart (who is a cruel official who I doubt would ever just let a clone walk free) informed Crosshair of Cody’s disappearance, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Admiral knew more. Not to mention, we need to see what finally breaks Rex. Based off of Rex’s PTSD flare-ups in Rebels, including him crying out Cody’s name, I wouldn’t be surprised if we see Cody for the last time in The Bad Batch season 3.

3. Dogma. This theory honestly caught me off guard because I didn’t expect it whatsoever. Dogma was a clone in the Clone Wars who blindly followed orders given by the sith disguised as a jedi, General Krell. Dogma always held to a dogmatic loyalty, hence his name. I think that the main reason people theorize Dogma as the Shadow Clone, is that they want to see him disobey orders, and have that character development. In a way, this will highlight how the Empire stripped away everything that made him Dogma. But in the long run with the episodes we have, I find this theory unlikely.

4. Crosshair clone. To me, this theory is the most improbable. But I can understand where fans are coming from, especially with the scenes where the Shadow Clone is beating the living daylight out of Crosshair; as a symbolism of him against himself. Talking among fellow fans, I see what the Empire would benefit from cloning Crosshair; getting inside information on the Bad Batch and Omega’s whereabouts. So in this theory, Shadow Clone would be our Crosshair. The Crosshair that is currently with the Bad Batch would be a clone. But again, unfortunately I find this one to be the least likely.

[heaven4lostgirls]

Part two to your general kirigan x grisha!fem!reader please 🙏🏼

Act like you love me

General Kirigan x reader

a/n: hii!! This is a lot longer than I thought it would be however I’m not mad at it!! I hope you enjoy<3

General Kirigan needed to find a way to get you back, but having you understand his plan for power was near the bottom of his list as he needed to gain the trust of Alina Starkov and put his year long plan in motion. His anger was palpable as he saw you helping Alina’s tracker friend through the castle, he was jealous that even if you were just being polite that Mal was able to hear your voice whilst all you ever gave him was a firm nod.

As you passed by General Kirigan you nodded your head and watched as he clenched his jaw, some part of you felt some sick satisfaction that he hated seeing you with anyone else as much as you hated seeing him with Alina.

Talking to Mal didn’t pain you as much as you thought it would, you had both realised that you had both lived at the same orphanage that Alina and him came from only a few years older than him. You two spoke of Keramzin and how odd it was at the Little Palace since you both were never used to such royalty.

Kirigan watched as a smile spread across your face in the middle of an animated conversation with Mal as you both waited for Alina to finish changing in order for him to speak with her.

Jealousy flooded his body as he felt his eyes sharpen into a glare, almost as if you felt his stare you turned around to look at him in an almost doll like confused manner.

His eyebrows furrow as he glares at Mal and suddenly it clicks with you that he’s jealous of the tracker. You almost giggle at how comical that a thousand year old dark heretic is jealous over a mundane tracker.

You realize you could have fun with this and make your way to the ballroom where everyone is conversing and introduce Mal to the important people and make sure to mention that he is ‘important’, to you or to destroying the fold? you never explain and They don’t question you.

Kirigan is slowly losing his patience as he watches you parade Mal around as if you two are together, he resists the urge to have his shadows choke the living daylights out of Mal’s innocent expression.

You’re fighting to smirk everytime you see Kirgans shadows wrap around his clenched fists and Mal seems to notice somethings up before he has to leave to meet Alina, he glances between you and a currently glaring Kirigan and makes the cheeky move to kiss your cheek and scurry away as he watches Kirigan stomp over, abandoning his conversation with someone probably important.

“Y/N” his voice sounds as soft and gentle as the times he murmured it in your ear as he held you face.

“Kirigan” you nod at him before you make a move to walk away from him. His heart broke hearing his last name leave your mouth, it was always Aleksander with him, never Kirigan.

“Don’t- don’t do that y/n, call me Aleksander again, please. Let me be yours again please my love” his voice is calm and collected but only you could hear the underlying desperation under it.

“You chose Alina General, I cannot fault you for that but in doing so you have to know that I will never be second choice to-“

“Stop. You’re never second choose y/n, you are my first, last and everything inbetween. Alina is a means to and end please do not mistake our alliance for anything more than it is, an alliance”

You scoff as you hear the words leave his mouth.

“An alliance Kirigan? Is that what you told Zoya was happening when you would summon me to your chambers at all hours of the night, like a little lapdog waiting at your beck and call, is that what I am to you? An alliance?” You hiss at him, pure venom dripping off your tongue.

“Listen to me y/n, I will love heaven and earth for you, my heart beats for you. Don’t let this be the end of us, you know that I care for you y/n. God dammit I love you!” His voice raises the slightest bit in frustration and it’s enough to have a few guests turn around to see what’s happening but he waves them off with a cool smirk and nod before he turns his dark eyes back to you.

“Love? Kirigan I-“

“Tell me you don’t love me and I will leave you alone”

“I-“

“Tell me your heart does not beat for me as mine does for you, tell me you care not of whether I die trying to tear down the fold. Tell me now”

“I can’t” it’s whispered, soft spoken.

“I love you Aleksander” and suddenly you are being pulled by your arm to the map room where he places you on a table to press his lips to yours.

“You are the reason my blood continues to flow through my veins” he mutters as his forehead leans against yours.

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E

Warnings/tags: mentions of past arranged/forced marriage, past emotional/physical abuse, nightmares, wound/injury description (not in detail), negative self-talk/self-image, panic attacks, PTSD, religious trauma, religion disillusionment

Chapter length: 10k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist/Info | Full Masterlist

notes: so the rating hasn't technically gone up yet, but i've decided to just label it as E from now on rather than E (eventually), just 'cause it's easier :)

long chapter today, so grab a drink, settle in, and enjoy!

i wounded the good and i trusted the wicked; clearing the air, i breathed in the smoke

Grogu doesn’t settle again until he’s made sure that both of you are alright, and that you’re not still mad at each other. He sees the bandage on your shoulder, reaches out to it like he’s going to try and heal it. But you assure him that you’re going to live, that Mando has patched you up real good.

“Your dad’s taken care of me, kiddo. Just get some rest, I promise it’s alright,” you tell him. 

Then, Mando sits with him, gently rocking his hammock back and forth, telling him everything is okay. You watch from the doorway, heart warming at the sight. 

You wish you could say that your focus is entirely on that, though. 

But it’s not. 

All you can think about is what Mando said. What he’s called you on several different occasions now, since the first day you came aboard with him weeks ago. 

Sweetheart.

You’re still trying to rationalise it, not willing to believe that he means it in the way that you think. Maybe Mandalorians call all their friends that. Although, you think, he didn’t want Karga to call you it, back on Nevarro. And…you’ve never heard him say it about anyone else. Not even to the kid. And if anyone’s going to get called a non-romantic, affectionate Mandalorian nickname, it’s him. 

But so far, it’s just been you. 

You’re just debating whether or not to bring it up when Mando peers over the edge of Grogu’s hammock, then says softly, “He’s asleep again.” He gets up, and you move out of the way so he can climb out of the bed chamber and close the door behind him. 

And then you’re just standing in front of each other, barely two feet apart. He’s looking at you through the visor, and something about him seems hesitant, unsure. 

“Look,” he says eventually, “I’m really sorry.” 

“You already said that. And it’s alright, we’re both wired after what happened…” 

“Not just about the fight,” he cuts you off softly, holding up his hand for a moment. He pauses. You’d fold your arms over your chest if you could; you feel exposed beneath his gaze, like he can see so much more of you than anyone ever could before.

“Then what are you apologising for?”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You frown. “By…doing what?” 

“Calling you Cyar’ika. Sweetheart,” he corrects, and his left shoulder twitches just a little, almost self-consciously. “I…hope I didn’t overstep. I won’t call you it again.” 

“No,” you say, probably too quickly, and find yourself taking a short step closer to him. He doesn’t move away, but he tenses, visor following your movement. “No, you…” you’re not sure how to say, Actually, Mando, I’d quite like to be the person you call ‘sweetheart’, so instead, “You didn’t overstep.” 

A beat. “Oh.”

“I mean, maybe it would’ve been nice to know what you’ve been calling me all this time…” 

“When I called you it for the first time, it just…slipped out. And again just now. I was worried it would scare you if you knew what it meant. If you’d think it was…weird.” 

A smile twitches at your lips as warmth blooms in your chest, and you’re itching to step closer, to put your hands on his helmet like you’d hold his face. “It’s not,” you say. “But…” 

“…But?” 

Softly, you sigh. For a moment you glance away, rubbing the back of your neck. “Mando, I…I never wanted to intrude on your life. I honestly thought you’d get sick of me by now,” you say, and he tries to stop you with a gentle slip of your name, but you hold out your hand to carry on, “But you haven’t. And, honestly, I guess I’m wondering what…that word means. Not literally, but…to you. To us.” 

A breath comes through his helmet. You see it release from his chest. He looks at you, as if considering. Then, tentative, he takes a step closer, and reaches down to take your good hand in his. 

A sharp, quiet breath pulls into your throat. You wait for him to speak, unsure you could form words right now. 

“Cyar’ika…” he says, and now that you know what it means, it makes a shiver run down your spine. “This is…all very new. To me. To my life.”

You look down. “I know. Like I said, I didn’t want to intrude…”

His other hand surprises you by lifting to prop his pointer finger under your chin. Gently, so gently, he coaxes your head up, lifting your eyes to meet him again. “You’re not,” he says, “that’s not what I’m saying.” 

You gulp heavily. “Then…what are you saying?” 

He keeps his finger there for another long, lingering moment. Your skin is still sparking even when he pulls away, hand dropping back to his side. “I’m saying that I feel…something between us. If you do.… I mean, do you?” 

It’s endearing, this new hesitancy about him. It’s almost enough to distract you from the fact he just said that. You manage to nod, stammer out a, “Yes.” 

“But…this is new. I’ve not had something like this before, and I…I never expected it. I never expected…you.” 

“Likewise,” you agree, a soft smile tilting the corner of your lips. 

“I care a lot about you. Which is why I don’t want to kriff this up by—by not being able to give you what you need, what you deserve.” He sighs, soft, his hands clenching nervously at his sides. “I’ve got a lot of things that I need to work out. From…from my past.”

You swallow down a lump of emotion, and nod understandingly. “Me, too.” 

He nods, like he already knew. “And I don’t really know where I’m going, what I believe anymore. But what I do know is that whatever has happened that led us here, I don’t…I don’t want it to end. With you, with the kid. I promised I’d take you travelling, and I also promised I’d take you back if you ever wanted or needed to; I intend to keep those promises.” He shakes his head. You watch him, waiting for him to continue. Then his tone shifts to something softer, something less certain. “I don’t know what I can give to you, but if you’re okay with waiting for me to work it out, can we…find a way forward together?” 

Kriff.

Your heart leaps. Both with excitement and nerves. It’s quite a thrilling mix, actually, one you’ve never felt before. At least, not quite like this.

You’ve never actually been with anyone before. Not willingly, not out of real and true feelings. The man you were betrothed to was never someone that you had chosen. Never someone you would have chosen, in any version of reality. 

And, despite the thrill of hearing Mando say he feels the same, you’re not really sure how you’re going to handle anything more than what They tried to force upon you. They went to a lot of effort to make sure you weren’t desirable to anyone else. Mando doesn’t know what lies under your clothes, or beneath the rubble of the past you tried so hard to leave in a wreckage behind you. 

Doubt begins to creep in around your happiness. It’s sour, foul on the edges of your consciousness. 

As soon as he sees all that…mess, he’s going to run. You know this. They made sure that it would never be any other way. 

“Cyar’ika,” Mando’s voice breaks you from the thoughts heading down a dark path. “If you don’t feel comfortable…” 

“No, it’s not that,” you’re quick to say, voice shaking a little. “I just…this is new to me, too.” 

He nods. Squeezes your hand, soft, reassuring.

Maybe, for now, you can pretend that it will be everything you could dream. You can have this, both of you, even if just for a time.  

“We can take it slow,” Mando promises you, so soft that it hurts, brings a painful yearning to your chest. 

You nod. Some kind of instinct draws your eyes down to where his lips are behind the beskar, even though you can’t see them, can’t kiss them like you want to. Can he kiss? Is that a thing that you’ll ever have together, if he can’t take his helmet off? 

“There’s a lot that I don’t know,” you whisper, a confession and a question. 

He lifts up his other hand. Out of the corner of your eye, you see it gently coming towards your face, and as it goes out of sight you feel the backs of his fingers trace lightly down your cheek. “Whatever you want to know,” he says, “I’ll try my best to answer.”

A shaky breath escapes your lips, your eyelids fluttering at his touch. You wish it was his bare skin, wish you could turn your head and kiss the very warmth of his palm. There are a lot of questions, many of which you’re sure you haven’t even thought of yet. He probably has them for you, too, and you wish you could offer him the same promise of answers in return. 

It should be terrifying. This development, whatever exactly it is, should make you want to run back to that planet and never see anyone again. The trust and attachment blooming in your chest are exactly what you stayed alone to try and avoid; let alone being off of the safe planet and in the middle of space where anyone could find you. 

But, just like everything else with Mando that should have scared you off, it doesn’t. 

“You should rest,” Mando says quietly, his hand falling from your cheek. “How does your shoulder feel?”

“Hurts,” you say with a sad smile. “But I’ll be okay.”

He nods. Pauses. “I really am sorry,” he says. “And I’m thankful. I couldn’t have done the mission without you. I’m sorry for getting angry, but I’m mostly sorry that you got hurt.” 

“It’s alright. I went in knowing what could happen. Honestly, Mando, it could’ve been worse.” 

“It could have been. But I won’t let it happen again.” 

A small smirk twists your lips, “You saying you’re going to invite me along to another mission? Because I’m down.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe. If we need to.” 

“Well, you’ve got my number,” you joke. Your body is starting to feel heavy with exhaustion, muscles getting stiff from the exertion. 

Mando sees it. He reaches his hand out again, this time settling it carefully on the back of your neck. Then he leans in, almost like he’s going to kiss you, but you know he’s not (though you wish he could). Instead as your eyes fall closed, you feel the gentle press of cool beskar against your forehead as he rests his there. 

“Rest, Mesh’la,” he says, maysh-lah, and smoothes his thumb over your neck. 

You exhale, shaky. “What’s that one mean?” 

Briefly, he pushes against you so gently, the front of his visor brushing against your nose like a Mandalorian kiss. Then he pulls away, lets you go. “Beautiful,” he translates. 

Your heart clenches.

The last time you heard that word directed at you, it was your mother, telling you that no one would find you beautiful again. That your only hope was your betrothed. 

Shoving the memory away, you give Mando a shaky smile, and squeeze his hand before letting him go. “You going to sleep, too?” 

“Once we’re in hyperspace,” he says. “I need to eat first. Are you hungry?” 

“Actually, yeah.” 

“I’ll make us something quick. Then you can sleep.” 

“Yes, sir,” you offer a playful salute, earning a humorous shake of his head. 

He gestures to the ladder, following you when you turn towards it. Just before you start to climb, you feel the slightest brush of his palm against the small of your back. 

You shiver, partly because it feels nice, partly because of what lays beneath your clothes. 

You force yourself not to pay it any mind. Not now. 

Not yet. 

-

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the pain in your shoulder. 

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, grimacing as you roll onto your back, winded with the effort of it. The pain is shooting like the knife is still in there. At the feeling, the dream you just left comes back to your mind: you dreamt that you were lying in your bed at your hut with a knife in your shoulder, and no one could get it out. Mando was there in the corner of the room, just watching while dozens of people tried to remove it, the pain increasing with every tug, every tear. 

Then, Mando had stepped closer, and everyone around you disappeared. He reached for you, for the knife’s handle. It was going to be okay, he was going to help you, until your shirt tore and revealed your stomach and he saw your skin, what you look like, and the memories from everything you escaped were playing on a screen on the wall for him to see—he backed away, disgusted—

And then you woke up.

Now here you are, still feeling the after-effects. So much so that when you look to the door and realise it’s open, you almost expect to see Mando there, backing up, turning away and not looking back. As if you were never there in the first place.

You hate bad dreams. 

Mando and Grogu are in the cockpit when you emerge. You’d avoided your reflection in the ’fresher mirror, and hope that you don’t look as hideous as you feel when the flashing lights of hyperspace come into view. 

You sit down in your seat. Grogu turns to you and gives you a happy smile. 

“Morning, kiddo,” you smile tiredly, reaching out with a wince to rub your hand over his head. Pain shoots down your shoulder, strains all the surrounding muscles. “Oh, kriff.” 

Mando’s helmet turns to look at you. “You okay?” 

“Just hurts, is all. Sleeping kinda made it worse.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

“Well, thank you.”

“Where are we headed?” 

“I know we only left Coruscant not that long ago, but I thought we could head back.” 

“I’m okay with that. You did promise to take me to a restaurant,” you say, giving him a sly smirk. 

He chuckles, his shoulders shaking just a little. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Just try not to get into any trouble that gets you stabbed, this time.” 

“Can’t make any promises. And anyway, you’re one to talk.” 

“Oof. I see how it is. Are we going there for a mission?” 

“No. The ship’s heater has been showing warning lights, I thought I should get it checked out. And I thought…” he hesitates, although it might just be a lapse in concentration as he flips a few switches above him, “I thought we could get you some new clothes.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “You saying my wardrobe is tired, Mando? Rich, coming from you.” 

“No,” he laughs a little, “I like your wardrobe.” 

“Are you a fashion expert? Secretly keeping track of all the style trends on different planets? Personally, I think you’d really suit a poncho.” 

He sighs, not tired but amused. “Alright, alright. I just meant that you still have to sleep in your day clothes. It can’t be comfortable, and after your injury, you should be comfortable.” 

Your heart warms. “That’s sweet,” you say softly, wishing your sore muscles would let you reach out and run your hand over his shoulder. Then, turning teasing again, “What do you sleep in, Mando?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he quips, low and suggestive. 

Something stabs through your gut. Something…not unpleasant. “That’s why I asked. Do you sleep in the armour?” 

He’s quiet for a second, either avoiding the question or just concentrating on something. “I sleep in my flight suit. With the helmet on, since taking the kid on.” 

“Is it comfortable?” 

He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m used to it.” 

Your mind wanders to a place where you might see him when he sleeps. Where maybe, he’d let you lie beside him. Maybe even touch him, hold his hand. Feel his heartbeat in his chest. 

“We’re coming up on Coruscant,” he announces, and the ship whips out of hyperspace, the planet appearing before you, stars coming to a standstill. 

“Maker,” you curse, “it is pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Better from far away,” he says, wry. “Too busy on the surface.” 

He’s right. It’s really fucking busy. 

You knew this, of course. But last time you came to Coruscant, you stayed on the ship, and you remember being distinctly grateful that you were safely inside the walls and not out amongst the chaos. 

The only thing that stops your racing heart from deteriorating into full-blown panic is Mando beside you, sticking close to make sure you’re not separated by any quick-footed pedestrians. The kid is in his satchel, not enough space on the streets for his pram. 

Mando’s hand brushes against the small of your back every now and again, sometimes guiding you through a quieter section, and sometimes, you think, because he’s offering or seeking comfort. He’s not big on crowds, either.

It’s loud and a little disorienting, but Mando keeps his head as always, knowing where he’s taking you: to a little clothing store on a street corner, lit with bright neon lights in the windows. Grogu is fascinated by all the clothes, the different fabric textures and designs. He reaches out and touches everything he can, and Mando only sometimes tells him to stop, though it’s entirely half-hearted. The kid is distracting, so it takes you far too long to pick out some comfy pyjamas, while Mando waits with an admirable patience. 

“Hey, these would suit you,” you say to him, holding up a pair of black pyjamas with gold embroidered trimmings and patterns. You give him a teasing grin, holding it up to his body to try it. “That’s a good look on you, Mando. I’m into it.” 

He shakes his head, amused. 

You make sure to choose long-sleeved clothes to hide your skin as always. The pyjamas you go for are soft, probably the softest fabric you’ve ever felt, a dark blue colour with white stars patterned on the shoulders and the hem of the pants. The long sleeves are wide and flared, the pants pleated. They’re warm and comfortable and you can’t remember the last time you slept in something like this; if you ever have at all.

“Thank you,” you say as the three of you exit the shop. “You didn’t have to get those for me.” 

His gloved hand brushes against yours as you squeeze yourselves past a particularly dense group of people. “You’re welcome,” he says. “You deserve to be comfortable.” 

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest again. “So, dinner?” You suggest. 

“I know just where to go.”

The diner is small but busy, a restaurant tucked on the fifth floor of a tall, beige building that glitters with lights in each window and hanging down the corners of the walls.

It’s divided throughout the restaurant with curved walls, creating little areas tucked away and some more in the open. There’s a bar in the middle of the room where people are perched on barstools, drinking alone or flirting with another. A live band plays in the corner opposite yours, generic music floating through the air as a backdrop to the hustle and bustle. It is small compared to other places in the city, but clearly a popular place to come. 

You sit in a booth in the corner beside one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the perfect place to watch the busy crowds moving through both in and out of the restaurant, some people arriving, some still eating, and some on their way out. The city below you is alive with lights and movement, above you with speeders in traffic lanes. 

“Did you pick this spot because you know I like watching people?” You ask Mando after a waiter has taken your order. 

“You and the kid, yes,” he says. 

You give him a smile. He’s sitting opposite you with the kid at his side, in a little kid’s booster chair on the booth bench. “You been here before?” 

“I got a bounty here once. It seemed nice.” He’s got a drink in his hand, the waiter having brought both of you one after you ordered. He’s not drinking it, just swilling it around as if he’s nursing it.

“Of course you did.” 

“It was before I met you. Before I met the kid, actually.” 

You take a sip of your drink, the liquor warming your throat. “How long ago was that?” 

“That I met the kid, or that I came here?” 

“Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head, thinking. “I’ve had the kid a little over a year,” he says. “So, maybe two years ago.” 

You want to ask more, ask him where he and the kid met, how they were brought together and why they stayed together. Maybe Mando knew his parents, and promised to look after him. Maybe it was just an unlikely meeting, and Mando couldn’t resist the kid’s charm. You could totally get that. 

But before you can ask, the waiter comes around with a hot tray of food, plates steaming atop it. The kid has a little bowl of soup with something sticking out from the bowl, something that was once alive, with tentacles. He looks very excited by the idea of it. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you, sir?” The waiter asks Mando. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

He nods, gives a respectful half-bow, and leaves you alone again. 

The soup you chose smells amazing, and as much as Grogu seems thrilled with his tentacle-ridden dish, you’re glad you went for one that came without a creature you don’t know the name of sticking out. Instead, yours is bright green, a broth of vegetables and regular meat, herbs sprinkled on top, served with a huge hunk of fresh bread. 

It smells amazing, and tastes even better.

Grogu sucks the creature out of his bowl in one move, and gulps it down. 

“Very impressive, Grogu,” you say, blowing on a spoonful of your own soup. “Was it good?” 

The kid nods and coos before lifting up the bowl. He looks at you, watches you blow to cool it down, and then mirrors you, pursing his little lips to blow air onto his hot soup.

“Good job, kid,” Mando praises, and you can hear the smile in his voice. 

As you eat, your foot brushes against Mando’s boot under the table. On instinct you pull it back immediately, but after a second, you feel the boot there again, gently tapping against your own. Mando is looking down at his drink, so it could have been an accident. 

Either way, you slide your foot so it’s pressed right up against his, and leave it there. 

“If you’re not going to drink that,” you say once your bowl and plate are empty, stomach full and satisfied, “can I?” 

He pushes the glass across the table towards you. “Go ahead. Is it good?” 

“It’s beautiful,” you take a sip and smile. It’s sweet, with the common bitter undertone of alcohol, syrupy as it glides down your throat and warms you from the inside out. “Strong, but good.” 

He sits forward in his seat, leaning across the table just a little, forearms resting on it. The backs of his gloved fingers brush against yours where you hold your glass. “Do you want anything else?” He asks, his little finger hooking over yours, smoothing across your knuckle. 

You swallow, looking into his visor. You can think of a million other things you want, but none of them involve something the restaurant can give you. They all involve Mando. Mando and his hands, his arms, his body. And, in your wildest fantasies, his mouth. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him with a smile, feeling your cheeks start to heat up at your thoughts. “You sure you don’t want to bring any food for the road?” He shakes his head in answer, so you nod, and reluctantly pull your hands away from his. “I’m gonna go to the ’fresher. Be right back.” 

“I’ll be here.”

As you walk away, a smile tugs at your lips, warmth blooming in your chest. You know he’ll be there; you know he’ll wait for you. And that’s something you’ve never been sure of with anyone. 

The contentment in your bones is interrupted, though, when you suddenly walk into something very broad and hard. You weren’t looking where you were going, too distracted by the memory of Mando’s finger wrapped around yours, and you’ve only gone and walked into a Trandoshan who’s standing in the middle of the restaurant walkway. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you look up, finding a lizard-like face turning towards you with an unimpressed glare. They narrow their eyes and fold their arms over their chest, tongue darting out for a second. 

“Ssseems like it,” they hiss. “You almosssst made me ssspill my drink, girl.” 

You feel small underneath them. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” You step back, just wanting to get away from their unrelenting glare, but as you turn around without looking first you walk into someone else, and this time it’s accompanied by the smash of a glass, the slosh of liquid spilling on the floor and down your front.

You’ve walked into a Rodian, and spilled their large drink all down their clothes and their feet. Your cheeks are red for a different reason now, embarrassed down to your core, heart racing now that you’ve got two very angry-looking people on either side of you.

“I’m sorry!” You yelp. “It was my mistake, I wasn’t—”

“You jusssst can’t sssstop causing trouble, can you?” The Trandoshan says from behind you. A cold, scaly hand clamps down on your shoulder, right over where it hurts, where there’s still a bandage beneath your sweater. 

You cry out in pain, unable to resist the pull of their hand when they spin you around again, their slitted eyes glaring down at you.

“Buy thisss fine Rodian a new drink, and a round for my entire table, and we can forget thisss ever happened,” they hiss. 

Wide-eyed, you stare up at them. The Rodian is still behind you; you can feel it, they’re standing so close. You’re trapped between them, and are just about to try and run in one of the directions that they’re not boxing you in, when suddenly you feel the muzzle of a blaster being pressed discreetly to your ribs. You gasp, feeling like your heart just stopped.

“I ssssaid,” the Trandoshan says, “buy us drinks, girl, or else I’ll walk you out of here and make you disssappear.” 

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing through your ears. You can feel the drink that you spilled on your shirt where a large splash of it had reached you. It’s cold against your stomach. Your shoulder is agony, the Trandoshan’s hand still clamped on it. It’s like they know you’re injured there. They’re using it, pushing pain into your nerves that would make it near-impossible to move even without the blaster pointed against your ribcage. 

“Please, I…I don’t have any credits. It was a mistake, I can help clear it up…” 

The muzzle pushes further into you, the hand squeezing your shoulder so hard that it brings a whimper from your throat, tears to your eyes. Your heart drops when you hear the click of the safety on the blaster. Breaths start coming faster than they should, your lungs rising and falling, pushing against the blaster barrel every time your chest expands.

And then, another click. 

This time from your left side, the side where the rest of the restaurant curves around into the divided space. 

Without moving a muscle, you look towards the sound. There’s another blaster. Except this one isn’t pointed at you, and it’s being held in familiar, gloved hands. 

“Let her go,” Mando says lowly, calmly, “let her go, now. She’s with me.” 

The Rodian immediately scuttles for cover, running around the corner into the safety of the lounge area. Mando cocks his head as if urging the Trandoshan to follow the very smart Rodian and move the fuck away. 

They don’t, though. Instead, they just move their blaster into Mando’s view, pressing it against your stomach now. You grit your teeth against the pain in your shoulder, feeling tears wobbling on the edges of your eyes. 

This is all your fault. You’ve fucked up. You were too distracted, not paying enough attention to your surroundings. Mando is going to be furious, he’s probably never going to want you back on the ship again—

“Last chance,” Mando tells the Trandoshan. 

Just as a toothy grin splits its green face, there’s the sound of a blaster firing. You gasp, expecting to feel pain burning in your middle. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to the fact that it’s Mando’s blaster that’s gone off; he’s shot the guy in the shoulder, getting him to release yours.

Stumbling backwards, you grab your wound, trying to catch your balance through the blinding rush of relief at the pressure being released. 

The guy is still alive, just stunned, and he’s about to lunge for Mando when Mando just punches him right in the throat, then in the face, rendering him unconscious and falling to the ground with a mighty thud. 

Mando is next to you in an instant, taking a gentle hold of your good shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright, I got you. Are you hurt?” 

Your mind is racing, reeling after what just happened, blaming yourself relentlessly until you absurdly start to think that the two guys were innocent, you made this happen, it was all you, you can’t get anything right—

“Hey, Cyar’ika,” Mando says, dipping his head to try and catch your eyes. “Are you alright? Look at me.” 

You can’t. Your eyes won’t focus, either from tears or the fact you feel separate from your body. 

Distantly, you feel him push gently at you, one hand coming to the small of your back to guide you towards the refresher. He doesn’t say anything, just leads you to the door at the end of the corridor, quietly takes you both inside and locks the door behind you. It’s all one room with a toilet and sink, an armchair in the corner, silver trim over every accessory and towel in the room. There are plants on shelves, in pots on the floor. You’d admire how fancy it was if panic wasn’t tightening your chest, if you could even blink.

He sits you down on the armchair, then crouches down in front of you. “I need you to answer me,” he says softly, “are you hurt?” 

You somehow manage to shake your head. It’s not true, not really; your shoulder has just been squeezed with the strength of a Trandoshan, and you could swear you felt a few stitches popping while it was happening, the wound now feeling sticky and strange beneath the bandage. Your chest is hurting, tightening as your breaths get faster and come quicker. 

Then, you look at Mando, and fear strikes in your gut. 

He’s going to be furious with you.

You were having such a nice evening, a quiet dinner just the three of you, probably the most normal and mundane thing you’ve done since you met. It was so nice, so calm. And now you’ve gone and fucked it up by being too damn clumsy, too fucking mindless to focus enough to watch where you’re going—

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, “I’m sorry, Mando, I know I fucked up—” You’re waiting for him to yell, to explode, to tell you what an idiot you are. Or, worse, not acknowledge your existence for weeks until you’re so lonely that you’d rather die than exist another second of being invisible—

“It’s alright,” he says softly. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.” 

“You should be angry with me,” you tell him, not enough room in your mind to wonder why you’re telling him that, why you want him to be angry at you—it’s all you’ve ever known—“I understand if you can’t forgive me…” 

No one has ever forgiven you. Not without consequence. Not without trial. People around you don’t understand mistakes; they just demand retribution, even for things you never even did, let alone things that you did.

“I do, Cyar’ika, it’s okay,” he reaches up a hand to touch your face, but in your panic you push him away, your brain telling you he’s going to hurt you even though you know he won’t, know he would never. But in your eyes right now, he’s not the Mando that you know. He’s not someone you know at all. He’s Them, thinking of the best way they can punish you. 

Maybe this is how. Maybe They’re saying they’re going to forgive you, lure you into a false sense of security, a trick to make you feel like you’re safe, only for Them to bring it up again in the future, hold it over you like a cloud…

“Please, just get it out of the way,” you beg him, feeling tears pouring down your cheeks. “If you’re mad, just tell me, don’t use it against me…” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, in Basic this time, his voice soft and laced with concern. “Sweetheart, look at me. Here, look right at me.” 

Unable to do anything else as your entire body trembles, you look to his helmet, wondering how angry he looks under there. 

Except his voice is soft, so soft, concern under every single breath that comes through his modulator, “Hey, Cyar’ika, it’s alright. I promise I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just me, okay? Just us, we’re here for you.” 

It’s then that you look at his lap, where his knee is propped up and Grogu is sitting in his satchel, staring at you with curious, concerned eyes. 

The sight of him releases a breath from your lungs, the first good one you’ve been able to let out in minutes. You keep your eyes on him, lift your trembling hand so he can hold it when he outstretches his own. He squeezes, soft, reassuring. 

And then, it’s like he’s flooded comfort through your bones. Like the place where his skin touches yours is made of a golden light, peaceful, familiar. Gentle. 

You close your eyes, clutching the kid’s hand. He doesn’t try to pull away. Just lets you hold him, lets you feel the overwhelming sense of peace that he is somehow giving to you. It’s like it was when he healed your poisoned wound, except this time, the poison is in your mind. 

“Just breathe,” Mando’s voice comes through the quiet.

You nod, doing what he says. Taking shallow breaths, forcing yourself to stop hyperventilating, to bring yourself back to the moment. Your hand that isn’t holding the kid moves up so you can grasp at Mando’s shoulder, the soft part above his pouldron and beside the curve of his neck. You hold on tight, feeling his warmth. Feeling him. 

It’s alright. It’s just Mando. 

It’s not Them. 

“Sorry,” you say again, this time apologising for the panic attack.

He lifts his hand and places it over yours on his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he assures you, soft. “It’s alright. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” 

You shake your head, but say, “He squeezed my shoulder. I think—I think my stitches might have popped.” 

“Dank farrik,” he curses. Panic stirs again at his tone, but then he follows it up with, “I should’ve killed him for that.” and it settles again.

Letting yourself fall forward, you press your forehead into his neck, close your eyes again. Your hand is still holding on to the kid, his peace still reassuring you like nothing ever has before. Mando’s hand finds its way to the back of your neck, grounding you. “Can we get out of here?” You ask in a voice thick with tears. 

“Of course,” he says. “I had another surprise for you after this, if you’re feeling up to it. I promise it won’t be hard work.” 

“A surprise?” 

“Sort of.” 

A smile twitches at your tear-soaked lips. You push against him just a little harder, then pull away, wiping at your cheeks. 

When you leave the restaurant, he doesn’t take you in the direction of the ship. Instead, he leads you down a street that’s just a tiny bit quieter than the others, lit with all kinds of lights, from lamps in windows to street lights to decorative neon signs above stores. 

Then, he takes you to a hotel. 

Oh.

Not just a hotel room. A suite. With two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living area. You’ve never seen anything like it. Everything is plush and white, edged or decorated with golden thread. The carpets are thick, soft, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Each wall is either black, white, or gold, decorated with a marble-like pattern that shines in the speeder lights coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

“Mando…” you breathe, disbelieving, as he closes the door behind you. 

He shrugs his backpack from his shoulders and places it by the door. You feel his hand gently touch the small of your back, his helmet leaning close to your ear when he asks, “You like it?” 

“I…yes,” you laugh. Turn to him, giving him a smile, probably a teary one. Happy tears, this time. You’ve never stayed at a hotel; never been somewhere so comfortable. And no one has ever done something like this for you before. “I…this must have cost a lot of money. Are you sure it’s okay?” 

“Karga gave me an advance for those guys who were after the kid,” Mando says, hauling Grogu out of the satchel and in to his arms. “You helped with one of them, I figured this could be your payment. Unless you want actual credits, of course…” 

You shake your head. Your throat is tight with tears at the sight of him, standing here in the soft light of the hotel living room, his baby in his arms, his armour shining like he’s something ethereal. “I don’t need credits,” you manage to say past the tears. 

He steps closer, reaches out a gentle hand to push some pieces of hair back from your face. For a minute he just lingers there, the very tips of his fingers brushing at the apple of your cheek. You could just close your eyes into the touch, revel in the way it makes you feel, all the thoughts that flood your mind of other places you want his hands to hold you. 

“I’m going to put the kid to bed,” he says, dropping his hand. “Then can we talk?” 

There’s that shot of panic again, mind going places you don’t want it to—

“A good talk,” he clarifies, probably noticing the sudden wideness of your eyes. “And only if you’re up to it.” 

You centre yourself, swallow your nerves. Giving him a reassuring smile, you nod. ��Okay. Night, kiddo. Thanks for today.” You give his hand a little appreciative stroke, and he smiles at you, like he knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

It takes Mando twenty minutes to get the kid to sleep. His bed is a regular, human-sized cot with soft, white sheets and big, fluffy pillows. It’s a far cry from the hammock in the ship; although, he does seem to like the hammock, and he definitely doesn’t have any concept of fancy things, because he gets Mando to get rid of all of the pillows before he’ll even consider settling down. 

The second bedroom is bigger, a huge, four-posted double bed in the centre of it, pressed against a marble wall. A fluffy carpet is spread across the empty space between the foot of the bed and the sofa by the window. Paintings of Coruscant line the walls, and there are twinkling lights on the ceiling. 

It’s so beautiful that you don’t think, at first, about the fact that there is now only one bed.

Your heart beats louder at the realisation, thrumming in your ears. Does Mando want you to share it? Are you going to take turns, or maybe one of you will take the sofa? 

He breaks you out of your thoughts when you hear the soft click of Grogu’s bedroom door closing, the gentle padding of Mando’s footsteps. When he steps into the bedroom, he finds you standing in the middle of it, staring out at the beautiful view of the city below you.

“Kid’s asleep,” Mando says. He comes to stand beside you, his arm brushing yours. 

“He’s probably exhausted after a long day,” you say. “It’s been really fun today. Thank you.” 

“I’m just glad it made you happy, Mesh’la.” 

Your heart clenches at the word, its meaning. Beautiful. If only he knew. 

“Can I take a look at those stitches?” 

You nod, and the two of you head out into the living room. Mando fetches a med kit from the bathroom cabinet, then comes to sit beside you on the long, plush sofa. It’s all very square and rectangular, with sharp angles and thin metal legs. But the cushions are fluffy, soft, comfortable. It’s been so long since you felt something like this. 

“How much does it hurt?” He asks, setting the medpack on the glass coffee table in front of you.

“Just a little more than usual. That Trandoshan squeezed the fuck out of it the entire time.” 

“Asshole,” Mando mutters. You smile a little at that, at the disdain in his voice. You can relate. “Do you mind if I lower your shirt just a little?” 

Instinctively, you close in on yourself. 

It’s stupid. He’s seen your shoulder before; he patched it up yesterday like he didn’t even notice the bare skin around it. And you know he’s not asking to see you fully naked, or anything. It’s just what he has to do to help you.

So you force yourself to relax, sliding the shoulder of your shirt down your arm, releasing one of the buttons to allow him better access. Like this, all he can see is the fresh wound. No scars. 

“Dank farrik. They have popped,” he confirms. “I’m gonna have to stitch it up again. I’m sorry.” 

Resigned, you sigh. “Okay.” 

As he readies the sutures, he glances at you. The quiet lingers for a moment, your shoulder still exposed to the warm air of the suite. “Can I ask you something?” He questions. 

You stare at the side of his head. A nervous nod, “Yes.” 

Threading the needle, he says, “Did you think I was going to punish you for what happened back there?” 

Your eyes fall closed, forehead wrinkling as tears sting at the backs of your eyes, rising impressively fast from nothing. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Mando assures you, turning back to face you with the sutures ready to go.

“I want to,” you say, finding that you mean it. “Yes, I did think that.” 

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” He sounds so concerned, so desperate to get you to hear him. “I need you to know that. I’ll never punish you, I’ll never hurt you. I promise.” 

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth in a futile attempt to control the tears wanting to fall, you nod, your eyes still clamped shut. 

“I’m going to start now,” he says quietly, resting one of his gloved hands on your shoulder. “Are you ready?” 

You nod again. “Yes.” 

The first stab hurts more than you’d expected. A sharp hiss goes through your gritted teeth. It ebbs a little as he keeps going, your body getting used to it.

“I know you’ll never hurt me,” you whisper into his patient silence, “I know that. But in that moment, it’s like…I forgot where I was. Who I was with. I…” a trembling breath comes from your mouth, shaking from your very core. Memories flood your mind as you try to find the words to explain how you became the way you are. Wondering if you even should tell him; if it’s too soon. “Some people in my past treated me like that. Any tiny mistake I made, they’d punish me in some cruel way.” 

Mando remains steady and quiet, pulling the thread through your wound with precision, concentration. But you know he’s listening. He’s always listened to you.

And now that you’re saying it out loud, now that the words are forming and falling out into the intimate, private space between you, it feels like something has released. Like a dam breaking, a blockage being pushed through. “I—it was my family. Sometimes, the punishment would come later, not right away. They did it like that just to be cruel. It wasn’t physical—not always, anyway—but, honestly, it felt just as bad.” 

He ties the sutures. When he’s done, he keeps his hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing softly over the uninjured skin.

You take a shaky breath, and continue, “I’m just so used to messing up. To everything I do being a fucking mistake, something that has to be corrected. Nothing was ever off limits for them. They would reach into every area of my life, everything I cared about, everything that made me me.”  

You feel his other hand taking yours, threading your fingers together. Your eyes open, falling to your lap to look at your joined hands. “Sometimes, it’s like I’m still there. Like I never escaped.” 

“You’re safe now,” he says softly, trailing the hand on your shoulder up to gently cradle the side of your neck. 

You nod. “I know. I know that really. But sometimes I just…revert back to who I was in that time in my life.”

“That’s understandable,” he assures you. “Was it always like that? Even when you were a child?”

“Like I said, nothing was off limits,” you laugh bitterly. A tear falls from your cheek; you lift your free hand to wipe it away. “They controlled every aspect of my life,” you think of your betrothed, the man they tried to force you to be with, all for the sake of their stupid religion, or whatever they called it. A shudder goes down your spine. Words don’t form, won’t; you can’t even imagine getting it out and telling Mando about Him, about how They did everything they could to make it so He was the only man who could ever want you.

You’re shaking before you realise it, Mando’s hand in yours the only thing keeping that hand still. The other is trembling in your lap, your shoulders shaking. 

“Sorry, I just—it’s hard. To talk about.” 

He leans in, presses his forehead so gently to your temple. Maker, you wish you could feel him. Feel his skin, his warmth, his lips against your skin. Something about the gesture makes you think he feels the same; wishes he could press a real kiss to the side of your head, could push his nose against you and say his words right against your skin with nothing between you.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me what you have. It means a lot to me that you trust me, after everything you’ve been through.” 

“I do trust you,” you squeeze his hand. 

He removes his hand from yours in favour of lifting it up to gently stroke at your cheek. Your eyes are still on your lap, his forehead still pressed to your temple. He holds your face in one gloved hand. It’s hard not to feel like this is only half a touch, when you can’t feel his heat.

But it’s enough. Kriff, is it enough. 

“You don’t ever have to worry about them again,” he promises firmly, his thumb rubbing circles over your cheekbone. “Even if one day you decide to go back to your planet, and you want to be alone, I’ll still protect you.” 

Your heart warms at the promise, and panics at the idea of ever being alone again. You reach up, take a hold of his wrist. Tilting your head, you press a kiss to the leather on his palm, nuzzling your nose against the curve of his fingers.

“Do you know,” he whispers, “how badly I want to kiss you right now?” 

Oh, kriff.

A shot of arousal, surprising in the midst of the nerves and warmth and tenderness, goes through your belly. You move back just a little so you can look at him, gaze right into his visor. “You do?” 

“Yes,” he replies. He’s still holding your face, his other hand moving to gently hold the back of your neck. Holy fuck, you can somehow feel his warmth even through all that armour, his softness despite the metal and the weapons that cover him. You want to be all over him like the armour, cover him, protect him from anything that would ever cause him harm. 

You bring up a hand and place it gently on his chest plate. “Is that something you can do?” You ask, looking right into the darkness of his visor.

The hand on your cheek ghosts down, his fingertips tracing the line of your jaw, down to the sensitive skin of your neck. You shiver, eyelids wanting to flutter closed at the sensation. 

“I’m not supposed to take my helmet off, ever,” he says. You start to nod, knowing that already, knowing that you will never ask him to do something against his Creed, but then—“But things are changing.” 

You pull back, your brow furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

He hesitates. His fingers still absently stroke your skin, almost like he’s trying to comfort himself as much as you. “The kid and I went on quite a journey. I discovered a lot about my people, about…the Creed I was raised in. Not all Mandalorians keep their helmets on.” 

This is something you already sort of knew. You have fuzzy memories of meeting Mandalorians when you were a child, and they wore no helmets. But you’d thought that maybe they’d abandoned the Creed, that maybe they were outcasts. 

“But you do,” you say, explorative. 

“I…always have. Except a few times, for the kid. When I had to save him; when he needed to see my face, before we were separated.” 

Your eyebrow raises. “You were separated?”

“For a time,” he says, nodding once. “The Mandalorians cast me out after that. Because I took my helmet off.” 

“But…you did it for your kid,” you frown. 

“Yes, I did. And for a long time I tried to atone for my failure. But…since then, I’ve become…disillusioned, with some of what I was raised to believe.” 

You try not to show your surprise too much on your face, let alone your hope. 

You never, ever planned on asking him to break his Creed. Despite your own rocky history with religion, you’d never even considered getting Mando to choose between his own and you.

“I’m not saying I can take my helmet off right away,” Mando says, sounding hesitant, like he’s maybe frowning under there. “Maybe I’ll never be comfortable enough for it. But it’s crossed my mind. Especially since you.” 

Something shoots into your chest, something like guilt. “Mando, I’m not asking you to change who you are for me,” you say, pressing both hands against his chest now, holding his armour to make a point. “If who you are comes with this helmet, with this beskar, that’s good enough for me.” 

He nods. “I know that,” he says, appreciative, putting his palm back on your cheek. “But, fuck, Mesh’la, there’s so much I want to give you.” 

“Mando…” 

“I’m not telling you this meaning that I’m going to change who I am for you. I’m just saying that I’m…different, to how I used to be. Everything is different with you, with the kid, and it’s opened up my eyes to something bigger.” 

You swallow heavily, feeling that your eyes are wide as you gaze up at him. Your shoulder is still exposed, not even bandaged up yet. You don’t care. You could sit like this forever, until the wound was healed and your skin was wrinkling from age. 

“So, if you’ll let me,” he says, “I’d like to kiss you.” 

Holy shit. Yes, yes, yes.

Trying your hardest to maintain some level of composure, some level of self-control, you nod a little. “I’d like that,” you say, nostrils flaring as you hold back the excitement and arousal that’s blooming in your chest. “How?”

He brings up his hand from your cheek. Gently, so gently, he touches your eyelid with his thumb, coaxes them shut. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you close your eyes, as the light shuts out and you can’t see anything else, just feel him, hear him, smell him. 

You feel his hand moving down your face, tracing over your jaw, rubbing circles into your chin with his thumb. He touches you for just a minute longer as you focus hard on keeping your eyes closed, then he pulls away. 

The next thing you hear is a soft, unfamiliar hiss. 

Then, breathing. Unmodulated breathing. His breath, brushing softly against your face with every exhale.

Oh, kriff. 

He reaches for your hands, lifts them from his chest. He guides them to his face and lets you feel that his helmet is still on, just tilted up so his jaw, lips, and the tip of his nose are exposed to the air. Then he lets your hands settle on his cheeks, and you feel the exhale before you hear it, a release of relief at your touch. 

“Cyar’ika,” he whispers. “Can you keep your eyes closed for me?” His voice. That’s his fucking voice. Holy, holy kriff. 

You nod without question. Yes, it’s hard to resist opening your eyes when you know that his lips are right there, when you know that you could open them and see half of his face for the first time. But, ultimately, the trust he has in you to let you do this is more important than any of your own desires. You need him to know that he can trust you, need to honour the faith he’s putting into the space between you right now. 

His voice is enough to keep you going, too. You’d keep your eyes shut forever if it meant you could hear him speak to you so intimately, nothing there to modulate him. 

Gently and carefully, you let your fingers spread out. There’s the hint of a beard on your palm, just a thin covering over his jaw but not his cheeks. A moustache is above his lips. You feel it tentatively, brush your thumb over the hair on his chin. 

“Mando,” you breathe, “it’s you.” 

He chuckles. You feel the vibration in his face and grab hold of him tighter, wanting to feel it again. “It’s me, Cyar’ika.” 

Hearing him say that in his unmodulated voice unravels you from the inside out. You release a shaky breath. Everything is trembling still, except now, it’s not because you’re scared or talking about something horrible. This time, it’s from the sheer effort of holding back from him, of keeping your eyes closed.

You hear a soft sound, two things hitting the ground in quick succession.

It only takes you a second to put the pieces together. When his hands find your face, and, kriff, it’s him. He’s removed his gloves, no leather separating his warmth from yours. Just his skin. Bare skin. 

“Mando…” you all but whimper, “you don’t have to…” 

“I want to,” he whispers, sounding more sure than you’ve ever heard him. “Can I?” 

“Yes,” you answer in an instant. “Yes, Mando. Whatever—whatever you want.” 

You feel his smile. His smile. His smile, his smile, his smile. 

And then, slowly, he guides your head forward. His head is tilted back a little, making a bit of an awkward angle for him. But it means that when he pulls you in, coaxes you to dip your head a little, tilt it to the side, he has you in just the right place for him to close the distance between you with ease.

And he does. 

His lips are so soft. So warm. Gods. Maker. Fuck.

It is, technically, a chaste kiss; top lip to top lip and bottom to bottom. 

But it sends a guttural need through your entire body. Because his mouth is on yours. Because he’s here. His moustache is brushing against your upper lip. 

He lingers on you for a long, delicious moment. Then only pulls away to open his mouth slightly, coaxing yours open too as he catches your top lip between both of his. You sigh into his mouth, into the soft, slow kiss he gives you. His breath is sweet, familiar and new all at once. His cheeks are so warm beneath your hands, so real.

The kiss is gentle, exploring. It can’t go any further, the two of you barely able to open your mouths much further without your forehead bumping the bottom of his helmet and knocking it off his head. 

But it’s perfect. 

When he pulls away, you can’t help the sigh that escapes your throat. Both a sigh of relief, and of desperation. It was perfect, it was more than enough. You need more.

“Kriff,” Mando curses softly, his thumb running over your bottom lip, pulling it down just a little. Like he’s memorising its curve. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I couldn’t tell.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. You could do it again, though, just to make sure.” 

He smiles. You feel it on your hands. Then he leans in again, quickly kisses you. 

“Mm. Yeah, I think you’re a natural.”

A soft chuckle brushes against your face. “I’m putting it back on now,” he tells you, but then leans back in again like he can’t help it, pecking one last kiss upon your lips, then on your nose. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

He takes his hands from your face. A second later, there’s the same hissing noise from before, and he taps at the corner of your eye. “You can open them.” 

You do. The visor is staring at you, his bare hands back on your face. “Thank you,” you whisper. “Mando, that was…I wasn’t expecting that. Ever.” 

“Me, neither,” he says truthfully. “Thank you. I never thought I’d trust someone enough to do that. You kept your eyes closed.”

You kiss his palm and close your eyes again for just a second, almost pointedly. “Of course,” you whisper. Then, smirking, “I like these bare hands.” 

“Oh, you do?” His voice lilts with a smirk. “They’re pretty skilled.” 

“Mm. I can imagine.” You slide your hand over his helmet, let it rest at the back of his head. “Think maybe one day you can show me what they can do?” 

He releases a shaky breath. His fingertips push past your hairline, carting through your locks with a soft ease that has a shiver running up your spine. “We’ll get there,” he whispers. “I promise.” 

And you believe him.

notes: so you might have noticed i've changed the upload schedule for this to just Thursdays. i know that sucks but life is super busy, and i just wanna make sure each chapter is as good as it can be, which means i need more time to edit ❤️ hope you don't mind! i might do the occasional surprise Monday update though :)

as always, reblogs help so much with engagement/reach/my motivation, and i'd love to hear your thoughts if you can ❤️

love you, take care of yourself!

taglist: @toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @kiruoris @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @brilliantopposite187 (this tag never works im so sorry) @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive @lordhavemurthy @booktvmoviefangirl

ps: reminder that my requests are open, info here ❤️

[java-lava]

Platonic! Kunikuzushi x Fem! Creator! Reader.

(So I know I said I wasn’t going to write anything for the next two weeks, but consider this a cheat post)

I’ve finally decided that when I start writing again (in two weeks) that along with the updates to my current series, and the requests I’ve gotten, that I’m going to turn my Sagau Drabble into a series! It will be called “Golden Constellations”. This one shot is not canon to my series, it’s kind of like an au to my series.

Platonic! Kunikuzushi x Fem! Creator! Reader.

“” means talking, **means thinking.

Also words in purple is Kunikuzushi talking and words in blue is (reader) talking.

Kunikuzushi didn’t know a lot yet (give him a break, he’s still a child) but he did know that the people of Teyvat, no matter which nation that they’re from, loved and admired the Creator. Everyone from the oldest adept and gods, to the children just learning to talk, sang praises of the creator of life in Teyvat. The Creator often roamed the world blessing people with her presence (and on occasion, these awesome things called visions). He had yet to meet her but if his friend’s thought she was amazing, then he did too! Even his own mother, who he knew first hand was hard to please, adored and respected the Creator.

After his friends turned him away, Kunikuzushi felt lost, he felt alone and completely unlovable. He didn’t understand why no one ever stayed with him, why everyone he loved eventually cast him aside.

Kunikuzushi POV;

*Is there something wrong with me? There must be, why else would everyone abandon me? What is it? Can I fix it? I don’t want to be alone forever!* Just when the thoughts were running through his head, he heard a voice singing, it sounded so heavenly that he followed it through the forest, to a water fall. Next to the waterfall was a beautiful lady, with majestic (h/t) (h/c) flowing behind her as she sang to a fox that was napping in her lap. He was stunned, he couldn’t look away. Suddenly the lady looked at him with enchanting (e/c) eyes and waved him to come closer. When he sat down next to her she smiled and started humming the song she had been singing. Overcome with curiosity, Kunikuzushi asked the woman her name, to which she giggled a little and said “(Reader), it’s nice too meet you Kunikuzushi!” He was stunned *how did she know my name?!?* after talking with her for a while he learned that she was the Creator, and she learned how lonely he was. “Come travel with me, be my traveling companion.” She suggested to the puppet, and he agreed.

Third person POV;

After the two became closer, Kunikuzushi revealed his backstory to her and she was LIVID. (Reader) was just about to go talk to (read beat the living daylights out of) the Raidan Shogun, but Kuni, as she now affectionately called him, begged her not to.

(Years later)

Kunikuzushi finally knew what it was like to be loved, he still couldn’t believe that the Creator herself had chose him to be her “son” as she calls him. His own creator, his first mother, abandoned him without care, but the creator of everything (including his first mother) loved him and called him hers. He couldn’t be happier! But just like all good things, this too must come to an end.

Kunikuzushi had noticed (Reader) getting tired more quickly, and she seemed to grow paler by the day. One day she asked him to take a walk with her, which wasn’t out of the ordinary so why did he have a sinking feeling in his stomach?…..

“Kuni, my son, my heart…. There is something I need to tell you…” she said solemnly

“What is it mother?”

“Well, there is good news, you are going to be a big brother! I’m pregnant!” She said with a weary smile

“Really?!? That’s amazing!” He said, even though he was slightly worried that if she had children of her own that she’d forget about him.

“But then, why do you seem sad?” He said, she knew her well enough to know that she was hiding something.

“Because having a child will take a large amount of my celestial energy, meaning I might lose my physical form until I can recharge my magic. Which means that I might have to leave for a little while.” She said

Kunikuzushi’s eyes widened, and it took all his strength to not start sobbing. He knew that there was something wrong with himself! Why else would she be leaving him?!? Kunikuzushi was on the verge of a panic attack, when (reader) rapped her hands around him and hugged him.

“I will always love you! And you will always be my son. I promise to find you again when I come back.” She said while rubbing circles on his back to calm him down.

“You promise?” He said through tears

“I promise.” She said

(Centuries later)

“Well, so we meet again….Mother…. .” he said, the sentence dripping with venom

“Hello my son. I’m here as promised” she said gently

That’s when her lunged at her.

A/n; Let me know if you want a part two for this!

[fizzing-imagines]

Hellfire After Hours GOOD END | Billy Hargrove x Plus Size! Alt! Reader

Notes: I loved writing this and am actually really proud of it. I hope y'all enjoy it just as much!

Warnings: Sexual Inuendos

Words: 300-ish

It's been eight years since Billy was miraculously saved at Starcourt Mall. And while it took him months to recover, multiple surgeries, weekly tips to the hospital and more sleepless nights in the ER than you ever wanted to experience, it was all worth it. As soon as he had his spine reconstructed the two of you moves to his hometown Los Angeles, got jobs there and bought a house near Huntington beach. Billy worked as a mechanic in a local carshop while you ended up working behind the counter at a bakery in the inner city. You found a new D&D party to join while Billy eventually got back into surfing once his doctor gave him the go. After three years together in LA, Billy proposed to you at Huntingdon Beach. Of course you said yes, how could you not when he went out of his way to find an engagement ring with an onyx instead of a diamond? Your high-school friends were invited to the wedding, and so was Billy's step-sister Max. He tried his best to fix their relationship, and while she kept a respectful distance they called each other from time to time. Neil wasn't invited. Neither you nor Billy wanted to ever see him again, and your now-husband despised him so much that he went against all traditions and took your last name. A year later, against all odds, you got pregnant. After weeks of talking, Billy and you decided to keep the child. Your daughter, Joanne (L/N), would be the only child the two of you have. Your husband was so scared of becoming a father throughout most of your pregnancy. Not because he didn't want this child but because he was terrified of becoming like his dad. You promised him to, quote, "Beat the living daylight out of him and break his spine again." if he ever becomes anything like Neil. But he was a wonderful father, Joanne was a total daddies girl and came after him. From her hair, eyes, and nose down to her love for surfing she was a carbon copy of Billy. Including getting into trouble.

Your husband and your daughter hid in her closet, giggling while eating the fresh cookies you made an hour ago. Since you said they should wait until after dinner, this was against your wishes. "William (L/N!)", you yelled upstairs while looking for Billy. Eventually, you got into your daughters room but when you heard Billy shush her laughter you couldn't be mad anymore and left the room. How could you be mad when you heard your little girl laugh? "Well, if my Billy and my Jojo are already full with cookies, I guess I can order a pizza just for myself.", you said loudly while leaving her room. The two in the closet looked at each other, quickly finished the rest of the cookies and followed after you. "Mommy, wait!", Jojo said while running after you. "I'm sooo hungry!" She followed you into the kitchen, Billy being shortly behind her. You were standing at the kitchen counter, phone in hand as you waited for the two of them. "Mommy!", Jojo said as she ran up to you and hugged your hip. "You can't let me go hungry." Of course you wouldn't do that, but it was so much fun to tease the two. "Yeah, mommy, you can't let me go hungry either.", your husband said to you with a suggestive smirk on his face. You playfully slapped him in the shoulder while handing him the pizza delivery pamphlet with ordering options on it.

Billy brought Joanne to bed while you got comfortable in your shared bed. He recently gifted you a new book on D&D, something you still enjoyed even while being a mother, and were skipping through the pages while waiting for your husband. It took him a good 30 minutes before he came into your master bedroom and got into bed next to you. He took the book out of your hands and while leaning over to your nightstand to put it down started kissing your neck.

"I'm still hungry.", he whispered into your ear before lightly biting down on your neck.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 8: Babel

In the gap between Is and Was, there exists the liminality of a thousand uninhabited years. It’s the fall to the Underworld that takes somewhere between ten minutes and seven days, depending on who you ask. Len Is, then Len Was. I Was, now I Am. Stuck between projector slides, trapped in an elevator with the doors half-open. With every shelf I dust, my uncle slips further from Is, and I settle slowly into Am. He’s in a deep, veiled past now. If he speaks, it will be in a tongue I’ve never heard; our tower is crumbling with each day that I work to erase his footprint from the home he gave me. This is the best way I’ve found to describe the feeling of living without him, in his shell: it’s less that he’s gone, and more that there’s an irreconcilable language barrier that now separates us.

Jasper’s been in the library more often than not, dusting shelves and trying to decipher the complex organizational system Len set up. When I suggested that we just alphabetize everything by last name, he recoiled as if I’d invoked Satan in mass. Apparently Len was very particular about the order of the books, which to the untrained eye appears to be roughly genre-based with subcategories I can’t even begin to comprehend. He’s in there again today, kicking up dust and surgically removing and replacing books in the exact order in which he found them while I shove furniture around to get at the rugs underneath. I’ve been trying to wash them, to give them new life since Len’s ancient vacuum cleaner doesn’t seem to be doing the job. Mostly though, I’ve been hanging them over the porch railings to beat the ever-loving daylights out of them with a broom. I’m not sure what exactly I’m accomplishing, but it feels good to use my arms for something other than making coffee.

With each strike, I can feel myself getting lighter. It’s a funny thing to be aware of, the cognitive weight of oneself. When Jasper kissed me the other day (a performance he has yet to repeat, which may have something to do with my abuse of the rugs), I thought I would feel lighter; I thought, when you finally kissed the one person you were always meant to be kissing, you’d walk on air. Instead, I felt completely and beautifully heavy. Not heavy, exactly—grounded, maybe. I settled entirely into myself, solidifying like sand into glass. I was there, fully, inside my body inside his arms inside the cracked dome of the Evergreen sky. He hasn’t kissed me again, and we haven’t talked about it. And I feel like I’m floating.

Strike. Strike. Strike.

“Andie!” Jasper calls from inside the house.

“Coming,” I reply, dropping my broom unceremoniously on the porch before heading in. I round the corner and enter the library to see him standing in the center of the room, holding a small white envelope.

“For you,” he says, holding it out. On the back, in Len’s distinct chicken scratch, is my name. It certainly is for me.

“Where’d you find it?” I ask, trying against instinct to keep the shudder from my voice as I take it from him.

“Top shelf, right-hand side. It was on top of the books, I never would have noticed it,” he says, shifting his weight. “Do you want to open it? I can leave, or—,”

“No, stay,” I say reflexively, “I’m sure it’s nothing heavy.”

Jasper nods. I’m not lying; the envelope is old, covered in dust. If it was anything important, he would have written it recently. That’s what I assume, anyway. It never was any good, trying to read Len.

To my beloved Andie,

I’m sorry, my dear. In lieu of me showing up for you, please accept these books as a peace offering—if you’re still the little girl I raised, I know you’ll love them.

PZ7.R1975 Wh 2017

PZ7.B1135 Tu

PR4567 .A1 1996

Love,

Your uncle Len.

I’m lost. I hand the note to Jasper with a quirked eyebrow, a silent “What do you think?” passing between us. The codes on the page mean nothing to me aside from the fact that they clearly correspond to books in some way.

Jasper’s expression mirrors mine as he takes the note, but morphs into something else entirely as he reads. “Library of Congress,” he murmurs.

“Catch me up,” I say, crossing to stand beside him. So I can look at the note, sure, but what if my shoulder presses against his just so—what then?

He doesn’t notice. “These are Library of Congress call numbers. The letters correspond to subjects and it narrows down from there, see? That must be how he’s organized the books…” he trails off, turning away from me to run a finger along a row of spines along the back wall. “Jesus, of course he would—I don’t even know where to start here.”

“Google, maybe?” I say, pressing a light hand to his back to alert him of my presence before I pluck the note from his hand. I whip my phone out of my pocket—the poor thing barely gets any use since I arrived here—and set to work translating the call numbers to usable titles.

“Let me know when you get a hit, I’ll pull it,” Jasper says. He’s in mission mode. It’s adorable; he should have inherited the library instead of me.

“Okay, the first is—,” I start, squinting at my phone in my stubbornness against wearing glasses, “Where the Red Fern Grows.”

“Got it,” he whirls around, scanning a shelf seemingly at random before pulling a small volume.

“Next one,” I say, furiously typing, “Tuck Everlasting.”

Jasper moves back a few volumes, tapping each one as he passes it. “Done,” he says.

“Okay, last one…Oliver Twist,” I say, sliding my phone back into my pocket triumphantly.

“And…got it!” Says Jasper, pulling a particularly dusty book from a shelf I don’t have a prayer of reaching on my own. He turns to me with a boyish grin, like he’s solved the great mystery of the world by virtue of random library knowledge. I make a mental note of his image, smiling to myself. He passes the stack of books to me, watching me closely for my reaction.

“Huh,” I murmur, examining their cracked spines as I turn them over in my hands, “Wonder what made him choose these.”

“Troublemakers,” he says, “they’re all about kids running around, getting into shit. Sound familiar?”

I laugh, genuinely, and maybe for the first time in a while. “Fair enough,” I grin. Len spoke through him, just now. In my language.

The library mystery solved, Jasper and I take up residence on the beat-down porch of the cabin. Len never bothered with patio furniture, preferring to sprawl out on the splintering wood, so that’s what we do. We’re unnecessarily close on the porch steps, but I won’t acknowledge it if he doesn’t. How juvenile of us both.

“I didn’t think I was going to kiss you the other day,” he says, breaching the uneasy silence, “just so you know. I didn’t know I was going to do it until it was happening.”

So he does want to talk about it. “Do you regret it?” I ask, before I can think better of it.

“No,” he breathes in a near-gasp, turning swiftly to look at me. “Not even for a second, no.”

“Neither do I,” I say, bumping his shoulder lightly with my own. He didn’t ask, but he needs to hear it. Maybe I need to hear it too. He exhales beside me, confirming my suspicion: he was testing the waters. Now it’s my turn. I press forward, just an inch or two—as subtle as to be negligible, unless he’s looking for it. Now, a hand on his knee—the one furthest from me, so that I’m crossing his body with my arm. He understands.

Jasper tilts my face up to his with a finger beneath my chin and kisses me, with the same blissful softness he used before. I don’t think I’ve ever met a gentler man, one whose basic instinct was less “conquer” and more “find out.” I can feel his smile against my lips in the moment before he pulls away, and I answer it with one of my own.

“I can’t believe my luck, honestly,” he says, briefly pressing his forehead to my own before turning back to the horizon.

“What do you mean?”

“Just this. All of it. The fact that you’re here, one of the three transplants we’ve had in five years, and you’re beautiful and smart and charming, and you just happen to be into me. What are the odds?”

I press a kiss to his shoulder. “Better than you might think. You’d be surprised, there’s a real market for bookish introverts like you in college towns. You wouldn’t last three weeks as a single man where I come from.”

“I would,” he insists, “as long as you’re somewhere out there, I don’t stand a chance.”

[amiharana]

Hi it's the Slate anon again um. I love your posts on botw modern AUs just imagining all the antics they would get into. You know they would all have a group chat together, Urbosa writes with proper punctuation and everything, every one of Zelda's messages is programmed to sign with "Her Royal Highness Zelda Bosphoramus Hyrule CCLXXVII" and Daruk writes every single thing in all caps. Link as quiet as he is means every time they see "Link is typing..." it's a national event (and it ends up being "ok" or "🫡")

Daruk would have a long distance game night every week for a "bonding session" but an hour each time is spent in him figuring out how to turn on the camera for the video call. Mipha invites Zelda, Revali and link to her animal crossing island and Zelda does nothing but fill the museum with animals while revali spends an embarrassing amount of time decorating the island. A Mario kart session nearly led to the murder of multiple champions

HI SLATE ANON 🥺🤍 IT'S NICE TO HAVE YOU BACK!! and i'm glad to hear you like the modern aus!! imagining what the champions w zelda and link would be like in a modern au brings me much joy

zelda's signature LMFAOOO i bet she started off with just "—Zelda" and then kept adding shit until it was ridiculously long and she just keeps adding stuff it to the point where if she just sends the word "hi" her signature is 99% of the message. daruk absolutely types in all caps and he tries to use slang words but it's a hit or miss he's very much the How Do You Do Fellow Kids? meme. i agree w link being quiet in the chat, but i'm torn between him being online often and just lurking silently + reacting to messages with emojis or him constantly having his phone on do not disturb, low brightness, and <10% battery all the time 😭😭 the gang buys him chargers but he always somehow breaks them ksjhdfjkd

the idea of the champions having a game night over like a discord call or something is so fuckign cute im cryingfhgjk it doesn't matter what the game is, revali is going to end up being ridiculously competitive and try to win every single time. link effortlessly beats him every time tho LMAOKDJFHDKJF zelda link and revali playing animal crossing together 🥺🥺🥺 link lowkey be tearing up zelda's island and steals all her fruit though LOL

this kinda made me think of a twitch streamers au 😄 i think zelda would be like a just talking/variety streamer like think pokimane or valkyrae; mipha would play games like animal crossing or stardew valley, but then randomly do a fortnite stream but the thing is she would fucking slay at it????? 😭 i feel like urbosa would play a lot of horror games like dead by daylight, resident evil etc. me personally i can't handle horror so props to urbosa bc it doesn't faze her at all whatsoever

i'm not sure what daruk would stream? would he even be able to get his setup together like he lowkey gives me the same vibes as the one time snoop dogg did a stream and forgot to log off so the live was just on for like 12 hours or something LMAO. now revali and link....... they are The Streamers Ever. i think they're both variety streamers but also like speedrunner rivals and also revali would speedrun elden ring and link would speedrun super mario odyssey

imagining the champions+zelda getting brought together by like . fuckin, idk someone doing love or host (hestu but he's the austinshow KJDHFDJKH) and the dynamic between them all is just so good they end up somehow becoming a stream team :] the champions+zelda playing jackbox or among us together :> revali losing his shit when he gets killed but also being the most efficient murderer and so is link so they kill everyone else in the game Quick Asf 😳 revalink have a "We are a good team" klance moment LOL......

imagine the champions having a minecraft server that they stream on and it's called the CSMP (Champions SMP). zelda has admin perms and revali is always asking for admin too claiming that he's the second most responsible person on the team, and to prove a point, zelda then gives admin to urbosa much to revali's chagrin. while this is all happening, daruk is still learning the wasd keys and trying to move and link is already in the nether #SpeedrunnerLife! mipha is 1000 blocks away swimming with dolphins and finds a sunken ship with treasure :> they eventually add the descendants to the SMP too, and impa and rhoam make special appearances on link and zelda's streams!

i highkey love this au 😭🤍

[kurisus]

Chapter 101-2 thoughts

A bit late with this since I've had plans the past few days! (In a shocking turn of events, I daylight as a functioning adult.) Let's get this show on the road~

I said last month no way was it going to be as simple as Take destroys the sorcerer's grave and ends it all, but my speculations as to how were wrong (? haven't ruled out a booby trap quite yet). Instead, it looks like he will live as long as the people on this island worship him, so Take and Ebisu will have to find another way. Rather than killing, perhaps they can cut his ties with these people. However, Yato is the only character we've seen to cut ties in the manga thus far (because he's the most skilled at it, idk if he's the only one who can). Plus, they're without their shinki.

There's also the matter of this island existing out of the normal realm of spacetime/whatever this is. If the humans forget what they're doing there, they're going to pretty quickly realize there's no way off--not without knowing the poem.

I'm not ready to talk about Hiyori quite yet but I do want to say I just really hope she and Yuka do hang out at Haru's grave sometime. But god. Another emotional scene at a cherry tree in this manga, huh?

Instead, I'm going to talk about how much I want to beat Father's ass. I really felt for Yato this chapter--not a whole lot happened, but you can see very clearly the fear and disgust in his face at trash dad's fake nice act, even before he thinks "I'm scared." In fact, his eyes on page 11 remind me a lot of his eyes when he first recognized Hagusa:

The face of "shit, dad, not AGAIN"

Trash dad being like "ohh my poor son :( how did we end up like this? :(" sir you lichrally set your ayakashi on him between chapters. What the hell are you talking about. Ah, the classic abusive parent dynamic of shifting the blame and pretending the problem is anything but yourself. This time with crocodile tears. I'll punch a hole in my laptop screen if it means I can end him idgaf.

Okay I guess I can't put it off any longer. Time to talk about Hiyori. There's been some strange panels with her recently, but I wasn't too concerned since she was staying in her body. Now, though...

Can we talk about how she so badly wanted Nora to see that her father is bad for her she put her life in danger? It harkens back to one of the first actions she takes in the whole manga--jumping in front of a bus to save a boy she doesn't know. Cinematic parallels. We gotta get this girl a self-preservation instinct.

It really doesn't make narrative sense to kill off Hiyori, as she's the POV character of the manga, and the only major human character as well. Rather, I'm worried (since we're in the final arc) something is going to happen where she's forced to cut ties with Yato, or lose her memories of him or something, before she reunites with him. So if they ever meet again, she wouldn't remember him. It's hard to explain my thought process, but I'm worried we're not going to get the trio reunion I was thinking was surely imminent for a couple pages there.

Rotating the thought of Yato's "We shall meet again" and they do meet, but the next time is after she's lost her memories of him. It's not a pleasant thought I don't know why I did this.

So for 102? I hope Nora decides to stay with Hiyori and look after her, and get her back in her body safely. But considering the last page depicting her body sprawled in front of the shrine, it's looking likely they're going to go back to the fight together, where Hiyori will be in even more danger with a ripped cord.

I really don't know what could happen, even though I figured Hiyori would leap out of her body at some point again. Gah, the way things come back up in this series is always so PAINFUL. I'm going to sleep now and think of this all night.

[gayforyourmum2]

Fandom: The Black Phone

Summary: After Vance had gone missing, no one had gotten into a fight, until today, but Finney was not happy about it.

Warnings: Angst (?)

Words: 777

Author Speaks: I am crap at writing so please do not judge my cringy ass writing.

-

Finney was walking to school like he does every day with his little sister Gwen. They were outside of the school when they heard screaming and chanting. Usually, it would be because there is a fight going on between Vance Hopper and some sad loser. There hadn’t been a fight since Vance was taken, so Finney was confused. Really confused. Gwen, being curious, walked to where the sound was originating from and saw that there were people huddled around someone. It was a fight.

"Finney! There's a fight going on." Gwen said, running away to the circle to see who was fighting. Finney walked over to Gwen to take her away from the fight when he quickly peered into the middle of the crowd and saw Robin on top of Moose. Finney had to do a double take and saw Robin Punching the crap out of Moose. It was clear that Robin was winning, but that didn’t stop Finneys from worrying.

"Robin!" Finney yelled to catch his boyfriend's attention. Robin looked up after hearing Finney's voice. He casually waved to him and went back to beating the living daylights out of Moose.

 "Oh my Lord," Finney said before pushing people out of the way to get to the middle of the circle so he could drag his boyfriend away before he was seriously injured even though he knew he wouldn’t.

"Hey what was that for?" Robin asked as he was being dragged away to the boy's bathroom that no one ever entered. Robin didn’t try to get away, he willingly let himself get dragged away from the fight. Finney didn't say anything and just kept pulling Robin. They had entered the boy's bathroom and as usual, there was no one in there.

"Sit," Finney said pointing to one of the toilet stalls. Robin sat down and was confused by what his boyfriend was doing. He was scared that he was going to receive the silent treatment or was going to get yelled at. Robin never knew Finney. Robin was staring at the muddy floor when he heard water pouring from the sink. He was confused because he didn’t hear anyone going to the toilet. He looked up and saw Finney wetting some paper towels. 

“What are you going to do with those?” Robin asked as Finney turned around and did not respond. Finney still had the wet paper towels in his hand and knelt in front of Robin.

"Hand," Finney said to Robin. Robin held out his bloody knuckles to Finney, and he started to clean the blood off of Robin's knuckles. After about two minutes Robin was fed up with the silence and not knowing if Finney hated him or not.

"Are you mad at me dude? 'Cause, you have only said two words since we got in this bathroom, and I am getting mixed signals from you here. You say nothing but then proceed to do something nice, and when you do say something it’s in an annoyed tone like you don’t want to be here. I never know what is going on in your head and it makes me go so insane so often" Robin said, taking his hand back from Finney's grasp.

"I just- I don't want you getting hurt. I worry for you. A lot" Finney said. Robin knew Finney was a big softy so he wasn’t surprised when he heard that, Finney tried to hide it but he was terrible at it. It’s why he was bullied so often. Also for being a nerd, but that was what Robin liked the most about Finney.  Robin stood up from the seat and gave Finney a giant bear hug, making sure that he couldn’t riggle away and not talk to him again.

"You know I can never get hurt. I am way too strong and talented for that. And if I do somehow manage to get hurt, I know that you will be here to clean up my cuts and help me, because you care about me too much." Finney laughed into Robin's shoulder.

"I know," Finney said looking up at Robin, they were just staring at each other until they heard the bell ring. The stupid bell ruining a perfect moment. They didn’t even get to kiss. They reluctantly let go of the hug. Robin put his hand out gesturing for Finney to take it.

"Let's head to class shall we?" Robin said leaving the bathroom, and with that, they went to class.

“Can I come over after school for maths homework again?” Robin asked.

“Of course, you can love,” Finney said walking into his science class, and Robin walked into History.

[ireallylovepuppies101]

Inky Mystery Audrey AU 5

Part Five!!!!

After the three siblings manage to get on the train to get back to Toon Town despite how Bendy and Boris having a wanted criminal status made that a bit, difficult, and after they realized the weird doll was a voodoo doll that turned into a little version of Bendy (if Audrey was at all tempted to mess with it before then she certainly isn’t now) they decide to head back to the casino where it was probably the best option to stay without getting arrested asap. While there Audrey notices a poster advertising Alice singing at the casino and tugs on Bendy’s arm to get his attention and point it out to him. “Bendy! The pretty lady that helped me is going to be singing!”

Bendy would be rather surprised to see the poster, and decide to take his two younger siblings to get a fizz-wizz while getting the chance to see Alice and ask her about it. Though with the two thugs at the bar pissing off Bendy and giving him hard core warning vibes, he’d tell Boris to take Audrey with him to go get his wallet from their hotel room. As she holds Boris’s hand and looks over her shoulder back at Bendy and the two other men, she’d look up at Boris and ask. “Bendy’s going to beat the snot out of those weirdos isn’t he?”

Boris sighs and picks up the pace to get Bendy’s wallet faster so they can get back to their brother. Thankfully they miss out on the two thugs lashing out at the bar, but Boris would quickly herd Audrey away when they see those idiots making a scene at the doors of the casino as they’re getting thrown out. While Bendy and Boris bicker over Bendy getting into fights with people at bars, Audrey notices Alice and smiles and waves while pulling out her note book. “Hi Ms. Alice! I drew a picture of you! You wanna see?”

Takes a minute for Alice to snap out of her shock over learning Boris is the other brother she heard Bendy and Audrey talk about before and that they’re all not blood related, she’d be very flattered seeing the cute drawing Audrey made of her and lets her keep it. After spending a few hours chatting with the three, Alice has to go to prepare for her singing performance. The three siblings come to watch and enjoy the show, Audrey thinking her voice is very pretty, and also being pleasantly surprised when Dot and Yakko show up.

She’s not pleasantly surprised when the two thugs from earlier come back with their mean buddies looking for her and her brothers because their boss wants to meet them. Bendy and Boris quickly take Audrey and get the hell out of there as Alice tries getting the men to leave before Dot and Yakko intervene and Alice can help the three siblings. Then someone tries taking the doll and they all have to deal with THAT situation on top of everything else. Audrey spends most of that event glued by Bendy’s side and holding his hand as he’s hurting from someone having the doll. The whole thing is rather scary, but she does her best to be brave just like when they were in New Orleans and whenever Bendy has an attack.

She had to be brave for her brothers.

Little hard to stay brave when she officially meets Black Hat for the first time. Clinging on tightly to Boris as Bendy stands protectively in front of them, feeling Hat’s angry energy scaring the ever living daylights out of her. Boris does his best to soothe her when he feels her shaking against him.

With them getting kicked out of the casino and Alice losing her job, Yakko and Dot take them to meet Xedo and Wiston at their place where they all spend the night and spend the next morning talking and explaining things to Xedo and Alice. When that’s done with, they head to Oddswell house, meet Avery, and get reunited with Granny. Audrey giggling happily as Granny hugs and fusses over them before bringing them inside and all of them catching up.

But then Audrey asks where Steven is, and Granny has to break the news. It breaks Alice’s heart watching Audrey openly cry as Boris pulls her into his lap and Bendy tries comforting the two of them. The three siblings decide to visit the cemetery to pay their respects to Steven, leaving flowers at the grave as Boris hugs Audrey and Bendy rests his hands on their shoulders. When they eventually leave, they get unpleasantly surprised by Cuphead and Mugman waiting for them. 

Bendy runs for it as Cuphead chases him, while Boris protectively holds Audrey as the two watch Mugman carefully, before he pulls out a pack of cards and asks if they want to play. Boris plays go fish with him while Audrey sits in Boris’s lap and looks deep in thought. Mugman notices that as they’re playing, as well as her eyes look all teary. “Hey Little Lady, I don’t think I’ve seen you cry once since we first met. What’s wrong?”

Audrey glances back at the cemetery as Boris gives her a comforting squeeze while she’s in his arms. “We were visiting a friend…”

Understanding, Mugman offers his condolences, before asking Audrey if she has a blank piece of paper he can see real quick. A bit confused, she pulls out her notebook and takes out a blank sheet of paper to give to Mugman. After a minute of watching him mess with it, he gives it back to her, and she curiously looks it over as he speaks. “I only know how to make paper airplanes. Hope you like it.”

Boris would be grateful when that gets Audrey to smile a little as she thanks Mugman.

Then Cuphead comes back with ink covered unconscious Bendy, looking pissed off when he finds the three of them playing cards. Boris would be scared enough seeing Bendy in Cuphead’s arms, but he nearly has a stroke when Audrey runs forward and starts kicking at Cuphead’s legs and yelling at him to let her big brother go. Cuphead being caught off guard and frankly getting even more pissed off that this freaking rugrat has the guts to kick him (which surprisingly hurts). So he grabs her by the back of her sweater, throws her and Bendy at Boris, and leaves while dragging Mugman by his handle. Audrey later gets one hell of a scolding once they’re back safely at Xedo’s and stay hiding there for a few days.

None of them expect Holly to come looking for them since she lost her job at the college because of them, but Audrey certainly wouldn’t be complaining once they get to know her and she helps them figure out what to do with the magic outdated map. Holly even complimented her on her art skills when Audrey showed her a drawing of what the map looks like to her and her brothers. By the time Holly leaves Audrey right away tells her brothers that she likes her. Getting some chuckles out of them and a pat on the head.

Few days later, Bendy asks Boris and Audrey if they want to go see the circus, laughing when both of his younger siblings look ready to explode with excitement before they leave to go see the show. Both Boris and Audrey have a blast as Audrey sits on Bendy’s shoulders to see better over the crowd, and the two get VERY excited when Bendy manages to get them to meet the mouse. Though while Boris is nervously trying to talk to Mickey, Audrey would be a bit more bashful and overwhelmed meeting THE Mickey Mouse. Mickey notices her clinging to Boris’s leg as he slowly kneels down and says hi. Audrey doesn’t say hi back, but she does reach into her bag and pull out her notebook, pulls out one of her more colorful pictures she made and gives it to him. Mickey thanking her very much and saying he’ll treasure it always, Audrey smiling so much more as her yellow eyes twinkle.

Unfortunately, Bendy has an ink attack. Mickey quickly takes charge of the situation and helps Boris with Bendy while telling Donald to take Audrey with as he gets Oswald and the kids out of there. Audrey would be rather spooked by the bad attack her brother is having, and also confused by the very tired looking rabbit man looking even more spooked then she is. She respectfully keeps her distance from Oswald and the bunny kids as she patiently, and tensely, waits for the attack to end. She’d be caught a little off guard when some of the bunny kids around her age approach her with a carrot muffin and introduce themselves, saying their Uncle Mickey said a treat might help cheer her up.

Audrey appreciates that and chats a little with them until Mickey Mouse comes to get her and tells her the attack is over. As he walks her back to Bendy and Boris he’d tell her she’s an amazing brave little girl, and that he’s sure her brothers appreciate how strong she is. Audrey thanking him for his nice words, and clinging to Bendy once she’s back by his side while Mickey pulls Boris aside to talk to him.

Things, unfortunately don’t get much better when they leave. Cuphead and Mugman find them again as they head out, the three trying to run for it, and dodging when Cuphead shoots at them. Causing him to shoot Mugman instead. Boris firmly holds Audrey as he covers her eyes before she sees any of the blood, and Boris carries her when they run for it when Cup clearly snaps.

Bendy does his best to calm Boris and Audrey down after that traumatic situation, but getting surprised by detective Ringtail and Featherworth at the apartment doesn’t really help. Alice would quickly grab Audrey as she screams at the detectives not to arrest her brothers, she’d get so worked up that her eyes would turn red like Bendy’s does when he gets mad. Bendy quickly asks the detectives to let him and Boris calm her down, and thankfully they allow it. Bendy instructs Audrey to take deep breaths until she’s calm enough, and gently explains that she’s going to stay with Xedo and Wiston for a little bit while Holly and Alice check up on her for them. Until they can come back to her, she has to promise to be on her best behavior and be brave for them. Audrey promises with teary eyes.

It absolutely kills Bendy and Boris as they get dragged off hearing their little sister crying.

And on that oh so happy note, it’s time for the funfacts!

-Alice does her best to not act distant towards Audrey and Bendy, or shudder when Audrey tugs her hand and she gets hit with the cold feeling demons give off. Honestly she finds Audrey very sweet and enjoyed spending time with her as they all stayed at Xedo’s. Which is why she didn’t hesitate to pick up Audrey and comfort her as her brothers were arrested. Ignoring the cold feeling chilling her to the bone as she spends a long time soothing the crying little girl and promising her things will be okay. She’d be a shivering mess though once Audrey eventually falls asleep and Alice finally puts her down.

- Audrey doesn’t like Black Hat. He’s big, mean, and freaking SCARY, way scarier than Lady Facilier was. She was GLAD they left and she told her brothers she did NOT want to go back to that casino. Bendy and Boris would not argue with that.

-Xedo and Wiston are interesting. Audrey’s glad Xedo wants to help tell the truth about everything going on and clear her brothers’ names, but after watching Wiston try setting stuff on fire a few times, she decides she prefers not sitting next to him during meals and during quiet periods. She won’t hesitate to throw a cup of water at him if she has any reason to feel worried and she doubts Bendy and Boris would be mad if she did.

- She starts liking Mugman a bit more after he made her a paper airplane to cheer her up. She enjoys playing with it when she and her brothers are forced to hide at Xedo’s for a while. Bendy decides not to ask who made it for her.

- Cuphead at first gave Mugman a hard time over getting “beat up” by a little rugrat in New Orleans after he saw the bruise Audrey gave him when she kicked him. Mugman swears Audrey’s tougher than she looks, but Cuphead ignores that. Until Audrey kicks HIM when she tries defending Bendy from him. Cuphead would not look at Mugman who’s watching him trying to hide his limp with a smug look.

-Audrey laughing up a storm when Mickey hugged Boris and he BARKED because he was so overwhelmed. Though honestly she wasn’t much better when Mickey gives her a quick hug too before walking her back to her brothers after Bendy’s attack. She’d be BLUSHING from head to toe to the point that her white fur looks pink and she looks ready to just duck inside her sweater like a turtle hiding in its shell.

-She knows how Bendy feels over Cuphead and Mugman, so she’d try not to voice how upset she is over Mugman clearly being badly hurt because she started to like him (she may not have seen anything but everything she heard made a pretty clear picture) but it’s kinda hard to hide how shaken up she is even if Boris is being more open about how the whole thing upset him. Bendy takes Audrey into his arms as he does his best to sooth the two of them and carries her all the way back to Xedo’s apartment.

-After they officially meet and became friends with Holly, she helps out a lot with Audrey’s education whenever she has time. Bringing her books to read and teaching her some things that she learned while in school. Bendy and Boris appreciate her help since their education is a bit limited and they’ve been lacking in her lessons with the whole quest keeping them busy.

[jerek]

good lord this one's a beast. heimdall oc/canon 3

Nothing had come of the incident with the raven. Except that Heimdall didn’t sleep so easy. He’d thought he had sharp ears before, but now… now, he could hear a sparrow’s wing-beats in Midgard.

One question he’d been asked a few nights ago was still rattling around inside of him: do you read memories?

He didn’t think he could. The closest he came was piecing together what happened to someone based on who they were now: he’d never outright seen an event in someone’s past. Of course, she who’d asked this question was so nondescript as to render the answer irrelevant.

He fancied the idea of reaching further with his foresight, though. Beyond momentary attacks. Beyond intent or strategy, even. The All-Father had him there, he would admit.

No, he was not particularly upset that he didn’t know where Midha came from. If anything, he wondered where she was headed. A solid plan was out of the question. If any decision was made, it would be made for her.

Their latest meeting was at the far cliff, far from the Lodge. On a low outcrop, half-shrouded in mist, one could make out a silhouette.

“You,” he said, “are going to get yourself killed.” He offered a hand, which Midha watched for a moment before taking. “I hope you’re ready for that.”

She stood. She felt even lighter than the boy… hell, she looked lighter than the boy, with all the advantage of height she had.

He sighed. “Am I talking to myself? Exactly what are you doing in broad daylight– where the All-Father can see?”

“Has he seen me yet?”

Heimdall snickered. “You’re funny. Almost as funny in the tongue as you are in the skull.” He walked in a slow circle around Midha, once again taking stock. Wasn’t too often he got to compare Aesir with mortals… and visually, when she was standing still, there was nothing to suggest she couldn’t be immortal.

He liked being behind people. Just off to their side. From that position, he put a hand on her back and looked out into the sea of clouds.

And once again, he had to break the silence. He gave her a little smack on the tailbone: “Lighten up a little!” He paused and added, “No offense.”

For a second, it looked like she might truly be offended by that. And then she smiled.

It was better than being a God. He grit his teeth inside a closed mouth. She asked him: “I guess I’m alright, then?”

“Odin hasn’t mentioned you, no. He’s forgiven mischief far worse… but I’m his most reliable. The worst I’ve ever done is see his ideas through after he forgot he came up with them.”

She made a little noise of acknowledgement. She was… quite unbothered, and it didn’t make sense. No reaction, no anger– he barely knew when she was confused, and only because she wasn’t the type to pretend she wasn’t.

“How come,” he asked now, “you know so many specifics about me, and I only know the broad strokes about you?” He turned to face her, and squared her shoulders to make her face him. “Don’t you think I’d like to hear specifics?”

“I don’t know that you’d believe me.”

There was that cold again. “Judging is my job.” He let his own offense roll over him, almost tickle him, and he let out a single breath’s worth of laughter. “In Asgard, everyone has a role. Your role is to appear to me, to nobody else, and to tell me all the things you won’t tell anyone else! Now…”

He put a thumb to the padding of her lower lip. “Use this mouth of yours. Start with… I don’t know. What’s the last thing you killed?”

She sank deep into thought. Possibilities flashed in her eyes: spectacular tales, all of them recollections of real events. “I’m waiting,” he reminded her.

“A manifestation of N’zoth.”

“Ah. And what would N’zoth be?”

Again, she was thinking of how to explain it. Eventually, though, she settled on this: “One of the first gods on Azeroth. It was… corruption embodied. Parts of it would manifest, and I was sent to cut them down.”

“So she’s a mercenary.” He curled his finger and thumb under her chin. “A living weapon.”

“I’m the part of my employer that does what the rest of him can’t.”

“Who’s the employer?”

She blinked at him. He could tell she was pondering whether or not to tell him. The walls of Asgard repeated around the secret. Don’t tell him, he could–

“Wrathion.”

Heimdall grinned. “Who?”

“Wrathion. A dragon in human form. There isn’t enough time in the day for him to do all the things he needs to do.”

He stroked his own chin, too. He’d have to take better care of his stubble. “It’s a shame you have no will of your own. Poor, boring little wallflower. All the freedom you’ve felt and you waste it living other people’s lives for them.”

Whatever they ate back there, she still had a stash. He could smell it on her breath as he leaned in. Almost like apples… but not quite.

“What is it like? Back on Azeroth?”

Midha watched the cloud-sea ripple. She recalled aloud… “People die as fast as they’re born. They’re born as fast as they die. Every culture is built on the assumption that half or more of us are willing to fight for our living, and so… it enforces itself.”

“That doesn’t sound too unfamiliar,” he said.

“I guess not.”

He tilted his head. “You’re a random, mortal woman. You are… far beyond the reach of any eye or ear of your homeland. And you’re still thinking of doing someone else’s bidding. Why? Why not run away for good?”

A bird chirped somewhere in the distance. All the reasons were swimming around in her head again.

“You know: if you don’t answer me, I might…” He looked at his hand, and watched his fingers walk back up to her lip. “I might just reach in and get those answers myself.”

“To prove not everyone ends up like me.”

Heimdall blinked. “Very noble. It must be awful there, then, but I suppose someone has to get their hands dirty.” He almost turned away then and there: leave her with her thoughts, he surmised, so she might be as hungry for his voice as…

“But you could have been a little more descriptive.” His hand clenched around the sides of her mouth. Her lips splayed in a fishlike pout.

He lunged forward and thumped her head on the stone behind them. He shut his eyes to her, holding her wrists, even as they slid up and down on the rock. Fight, he urged her. Kick like a rabbit.

His mouth ached with how she pressed her teeth. He only let up enough to ask, still halfway down her throat: “What’s that on your breath?”

Some type of fruit, definitely. Rich and dark and dry, but sober. Mortal. Mortal women, at least this one, were decadent: like the cream the cat got.

He wedged his hand between their two faces and pinched her nose. His shoulder pinned her other arm. Their strange dance spun the both of them almost all the way around. It was difficult to dodge like this, when the object was to remain in physical contact, but they ended up roughly where they were before, her skull to the rock, his elbow jabbed into her own, their opposite hands holding above their heads.

She tried to speak. She couldn’t, of course. But somewhere in that muffled, strangled sound, one she had to repeat twice for him to get it, there were two syllables. Heimdall.

His laugh was almost involuntary. He let her breathe: he pulled out and furrowed his eyebrows at the spit-bridge between them.

“It would be so easy.” He wiped his mouth. “Tell Odin myself. Better yet, summon the armies of Asgard down on whatever rift you crawled out of. After all, Midha, I am the watchman. I… am the…”

Heimdall brought his hand to his cheek. There was a tremor in his hand. His cheek was burning. Down his chest, his heart was backflipping, and his gut was twisting. He could read his own intentions too, see himself for what he was.

“Watchman,” he concluded. He stared at her for a long while, but really he was looking backward. Inward. What for, he didn’t know, because whatever it was: he couldn’t find it. Eventually, he had to live in the moment again, and when he focused on her it was as if he’d never seen her before in his life.

Regardless, he crossed his arms and rested his forehead on hers. “Think I should quit while I’m ahead?”

No answer. No thoughts to read. She might as well be his right hand.

He sighed. “You really don’t care whether you live or die, do you?” With a little too much of a shove, he turned away and began to climb back up. “If you don’t hear from me, you’ll hear from the All-Father.”

He had to tell him. Today. Before he found a reason to put it off.

[megsmulti]

Chenford + you should break up with him

Thank you for the prompt anon!! This takes place after 4x17.

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Tim and Lucy were walking and talking in the hallway after parking the shop back in the garage of the district. It's been a couple of days since Chris sang the song that haunted Lucy forever at the DA's office. Tim wanted to know how that went since he wasn't there and he missed her, even though he wasn't going to admit that out loud, especially to Lucy.

"I was standing there with Tamara and the intern when out of nowhere, Chris just starts singing that stupid song and-" Lucy relayed as she was stating to Tim the exact details of the events that occurred.

Tim furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait. What stupid song?"

"That song I sang in the barrel on the day I got kidnapped." He widened his eyes. "Dream a Little Dream."

"What?" Tim asked, stopping their stroll momentarily. He could not believe what he was hearing. The DOD, as it was dubbed, traumatized Lucy, and when people exploit that in any kind of way, it pisses him off.

"Yeah. He claimed that he had it stuck in his head."

There was a brief bout of silence before Tim resumed the conversation. "Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Lucy replied. Even though she didn't need it, she will always listen to Tim. Sometimes, he had very insightful words that not even she thought of.

"You should break up with him." Lucy raised her eyebrows. Who does he think he is? she thought as she was still processing what he said.

"Excuse me?" Lucy fired back. "Since when do you tell me who I can and can't date?"

"Since he traumatized you even more by singing that god damn song!" Tim exclaimed, matching Lucy's tone. "He knew that that day was terrible for you, yet he still did it anyway!"

"You may be right, but it could've been a mistake." Lucy tiled her anger down a little bit. "He saw the footage too!"

"Maybe so, but you and I both know that he also might've had an ulterior motive."

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you have it out for Chris or something? You barely know him."

"No, I don't have it out for him." He may be jealous of him because he's dating Lucy, but he doesn't wish death upon the guy unless Chris takes things further, then Tim makes no promises. "I care about you, Lucy, more than you could ever know, and I hate it when people take advantage of that day or of you in general."

Tim wasn't usually one to bare his soul to anybody, but Lucy was the only exception. Well, maybe Angela in certain instances too. Point is that he doesn't do it often and when he does, he's saying everything with his entire chest.

"You do?" Lucy was dumbstruck by Tim's revelation. The feeling was mutual for her too, but hearing him say that for the first time melted her heart.

"Yeah. I thought you would've known that by now," Tim said, stating the obvious.

"Well, thank you for the advice. While what Chris did was wrong, I may not actually love him like I thought I did." Lucy spouted a truth of her own and if Tim was being honest, he wasn't surprised by that statement in the slightest.

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's kind of boring. I don't like that in a relationship."

Tim chuckled, which prompted Lucy to follow suit. Their radios interrupted them before either one of them had a chance to speak and that led to a collective groan.

Lucy was scared to tell Tim about her day at the DA's office at first because she knew damn well that he would march on in there and beat the living daylights out of Chris, even though he may have deserved it at the time. But, admitting that her feelings for her boyfriend have started diminishing to someone she really cares about felt good and she knew that Tim wouldn't judge her on anything she has to say whether he agrees with it or not.

[harold-has-style]

Harry's House: First Impressions

First LISTEN: Out Loud, Second: with headphones

Music For A Sushi Restaurant: A GROOVE. Scoob-a-doop-bo-bob. This man is the scatman. Lizzo needs to get on a remix of this ASAP! Or at least cover it. This will be so amazing live. 80's bop! Love the horns or whatever too!

Late Night Talking: MAN IS IN LOVE. YA BOY IS WHIPPED. Things haven't been quite the same. A lot of change happening metaphorically on this album.

Grapejuice: A crooner. YOUUUUUU. Shakespeare who??? This album seems like a chill one you listen to....around the house....eh? eh? I'll see myself out. NAH fr, I would definitely listen this to study, gives me low-fi vibes. (Liked it better the second time with headphones)

As It Was: In the album order it hits like woah. New chapter like Zane said. Feels surreal and cool to sing along. Like feels sped up but it's just cause the track before was so calming.

Daylight: This album is much more electronic than acoustic fine line. But the rock of this? FIRE! Very unexpected and I love it! Someone doing coke??? V bad harry. bad one. If I was a blue bird? So cute!!! Reminds me of old 2000s coldplay as well. I'm guessing this is the cocaine album.

Little Freak: Jezebel? mE! I'm a whore. Ya welcome. I expected it to be more risque but it's actually so romantic and kinda cute. Lana Del Rey could sing this and it would be cool too. Just thinking about youuuuuuuu. Love the guitar.

Matilda: Family never showed me love? Yeah no shit. That's why I'm listening to your album at 2am. Dead inside? *that's so raven voice* Yep that's me. I do want to do it on my own, thanks harry! KEY CHANGE KING! This song really made me smile. On second round, it feels like an intimate hug from Harry.

Cinema: This is so cute. I'm guessing it's about Olivia, which I find adorable. Do you think I'm cool??? Aw, little Harry has to prove himself. Good. Damn this nigga screaming in the background. You okay??? You pop when we get intimate? if this is his way of bragging about making a woman come then so be it. But okay....

Daydreaming: As soon as I heard it, I loved it. INTRO IS AMAZING! Like the groove is soooo sick. Love me like you paid me? Sugar daddy. Also gives me a little bit of Stevie Wonder vibes. Can't wait to hear this live!!!

Keep Driving: Very cute and cinematic way of singing. This album feels very indie. Hash brown egg yolk I will always love you? CUTE!!!! Like I can see this music video and the camera cutting rapidly between these things. I love it. Puff pass? Edibles? Cocaine? Say no to drug kids. This man loves a good drugs sex and love theme and I love that for him. Choke her with a sea view??? Yes please daddy. I told y'all this man wasn't vanilla. My fave on the second hearing, it was the first song I liked on Spotify.

Satellite: There are a lot of questions in this song and in the album in general. I like that the beginning sounds a bit space like. Like dreampop. idk why this songs feels SAPPHIC! This is gonna be the summer song of the album. IYKYK. When he said I'm here idk why I teared up. I think this song is going to be the best live.

Boyfriends: I'm gonna need some wine and ice cream for this one. Very true. If I ever slip and get my heart broken by a man this song is going on repeat for months. SAY IT WITH ME: MEN ARE TRASH. I think this was the song playing in the trailer????

Love of My Life: Nevermind it was this song playing in the trailer? Baby you are the love of my life???? Sheesh. This man gonna marry that woman. Second hearing update: looked up the lyrics and he talked about a past love. Damn. Sorry bout that. At least you got some good bops out of the heartbreak. Second hearing: Harry loves a bop beat with devastating lyrics. Damn song. Like the sunnier yet just as sad sibling of Falling.

Final thoughts: I feel like Fine Line was more 70's groove and this was more 80's bop. But tbh I think this album is very groovy indeed. I think this album had more similar sounding songs (in a good way) and was more of a mesh of emotions rather than Fine Line which were like, in my opinion, very significant different emotions. Harry delivers again. TBH while Fine Line (the song and album) will have such a special place in my heart but I do like this one. JOB WELL DONE.