#anyway i hope i have this fic finished within the next... two weeks. that is certainly a dream tho

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

[beybaldes]

some word today from my boyfriend so far away

Eddie Roundtree × Fem!Reader

djats masterlist

word count: 2.8k

Request! : Hi !!! Will you plz write one about Eddie growing up w reader and crushing on each other for years as kids and teens and when Eddie and the band go to LA and reader is still finishing HS senior year as 1 year younger than Eddie and they confess feelings and start dating before he leaves and when she finds out Billy's cheating on Camila, she fears Eddie will do the same. She comes visit the band in LA for a week and is cold towards Eddie and he reassures her his love for her and she's her one and only !!

thank you for the request @eddieroundtreestan2224 I hope you enjoy <3

Warning!! I have not read the book or the show!!! All info I have gathered has been from other x readers I have read. sorry in advance if I have butchered vour fav show/book because I have plainly made shit up in favour of satiating my own need for more Eddie fics xoxo

Eddie loved you more then anything; you were his reason to get up in the morning, his reason to try so hard for the bands success, the reason he got out of bed even when all he wanted to do was sleep. Nothing had ever hurt him more then when he had to leave you behind in Pittsburgh.

He knew it would only be for a year, and that the second you graduated you were going to come out to LA to join them, but it felt like it was going to be an eternity. The day he got into the car and left you crying on your door step broke his heart, but he knew he was doing it for a good reason - that if things went to plan, he was setting up a good and stable future for the two of you.

You'd promised you'd come and visit over each of your breaks and you had - he didn't know when each was, but was always happily surprised to find you on his doorstep with your luggage and a smile on your face. Within seconds you'd retreat into his bedroom in the house and spend the rest of the day curled in each others arms, catching up on everything as though you didn't spend every free moment on the phone together racking up your parents phone bill. Eddie promised he'd pay them back when he got 'rich and famous' so you didn't worry it too much.

Camilla was the only one to know about your upcoming trip to LA, considering she spent most of the time in the house it made it perfect as she'd know who was going to be in the house at any given moment, and could help sneak you in this time before Eddie caught wind of your arrival. So when she called you that night, you weren't surprised to see her number on the screen, however, when you picked it up and found her sobbing down the line, you were shocked to silence.

"Billy- he's-" Camilla couldn't even get the words out between her tears, half a sob quickly turning into a grunt of anger as she took in what she'd saw earlier in the day. "Cheated- I- Baby-"

"Cami?" You whimpered into the phone, hurting because your friend was hurting. Camilla was like your sister, knowing her all your life had given you that closeness, and even though you'd technically known Billy longer, it was an easy choice as to who's side you'd take. "It's okay, baby, breathe."

After a moment of silence, Camilla cleared her throat, sniffling the tears away as she spoke. "He cheated on me. Eddie, Graham - they've all been covering for him."

As if your heart wasn't already aching, now it was breaking. Eddie, your Eddie, would do that? If he'd cover up for Billy - the biggest dick known to man kind - then god knows what he would be doing when you weren't around. Camilla lived with them for gods sake and you? Well, you were halfway across the country and still in high school.

Suddenly it was hard to swallow and your throat was completely dry. "I'm catching the next flight out, I'll be there tomorrow." You hung up the phone before she could ask what you'd do about school but that could wait. It was only a week until spring break anyway and Camilla needed you, your savings would rebuild but her heart might not.

When the phone started ringing again as your were packing your bag, you ignored it - even though you knew it was Eddie and you knew he would worry. After the events that had transpired today you didn't feel like talking to him, not until you could contain your whirring thoughts about whether this meant he would cheat on you.

If Billy couldn't get away with it while living with his pregnant wife, then Eddie would pass with flying colours. Only time would tell.

Eventually the phone stopped ringing, but you didn't care to notice, instead running down stairs with your packed bag and running out the front door, down the block, and to Misses Dunne's house. God knows your parents wouldn't let you skip school for LA, but miss dunne had always taken you to the airport for your trips, and given the current situation, you were sure she'd help cover for you.

You were already at the airport before Eddie gave up on ringing your phone, a lit joint between his lips as he sulked with his arms crossed over his chest in the living room of the LA house.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Graham asked, walking into the room with a beer in hand, taking a seat next to Karen on the couch.

"Y/n never picked up the phone." Graham winced at Karen's answer, turning to Eddie with a frown on his face.

"Sorry, dude. She probably just forgot, went to sleep or something."

Eddie scoffed, the frown on his face getting deeper at the suggestion you wouldn't wait up for him, his brow creasing tightly. "No. Y/n wouldn't do that. She never forgets."

"Well, don't let it keep you up, dude." Graham patted him on the shoulder, trying to reassure his friend. "She'll call back in the morning, besides, she'll be here next week anyway."

"Yeah, you're right." Eddie didn't feel like Graham was right however, you always picked up the phone - and the only times you didn't you warned him in advance that you weren't going to be available. His mind was moving at a million miles an hour, thinking of every single thing he'd ever done that could've made you not pick up the phone tonight, but his mind was drawing a blank.

In fact, he stayed there, deep in thought, for so long that he passed out on the couch, waking the next morning when Karen came running through the house to answer a knock on the door. Eddie's head fell back into the arm of the couch, closing his eyes tightly and deciding he could steal a few more hours of sleep now that Karen was tending to the door. That wish was quickly ended, however, as Karen let out a scream, people coming running from all directions of the house.

"What are you doing here?!" Karen was wrapped in a tight hug with a shorter figure that he recognised all too well, your suitcase was in the doorway and your eyes met his over her shoulder.

Eddie's entire demeanour lit up when his eyes met yours. That explained why you hadn't picked up the night before.

"Surprise!"

Eddie sprung up from the couch, jumping over the back of it and pulling you from Karen's arms and into his own. He wrapped you tightly in his hold, cradling your head to the crook of his neck as he took in your presence. You were here, you were really, really here and in his arms again and everything was good. "I thought you weren't coming till next week." Eddie said, pressing a kiss to your head as he pulled out of the hug slightly, getting a good look at your face.

He could swear that every time he saw you, you got more and more beautiful.

"I was gonna come next week." You answer, standing on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. "Camilla called, I got the first flight out."

"How did you get to the airport?" Graham asked, him and Warren stealing you from Eddie's hold and wrapping you in an awkwardly done group hug - the two boys having missed having you around everyday like they were used to, almost as much as Eddie.

"Your mom drove me." You answered, pulling back from the hug and finally pulling your suitcase into the house. "Where's Camilla?"

Eddie and Graham shared a look and suddenly everything Camilla said to you on the phone last night came to the front of your mind. They knew. They hid it. And if they hid it for Billy, who's to know what they were hiding from you?

"I'll take you to her." Karen grabbed your hand and led you out of the living room, the two of you ignoring the longing look Eddie sent your way as you left just as soon as you arrived. He'd just got you back and you were already going to see someone else? Given the current situation he got it, but he still just wanted to spend some time with his girl.

It was gone midnight when you finally left Camilla's room - you'd crawled into the corridor at the dead of night, feeling bad that you'd left Eddie alone all day, but then remembering what he'd done.

He was probably cheating on you too. The voice in your head hadn't stopped since you'd got Camilla's call last night, and you didn't think it was going to any time soon.

You had fully debated just sleeping in Camilla's bed all night with her and Karen, but you'd been away from Eddie for so long all you wanted was to curl into his arms and sleep for a long time. Although you knew he'd probably be asleep by now, you wanted one more night to be his girl, before you had to confront him and potentially find out what Camilla had. The thought alone made you sick to your stomach

"Why are you avoiding me, birdie?" As you carefully shut the door, not wanting to make a sound in case Eddie was already asleep, you were surprised to hear him, wide awake and kind of angry.

You turned around slowly, unbuttoning your jeans and stepping out of them, ready to get something more comfortable on and just go to bed. "I'm not."

Eddie stood from where he'd been sat on the bed, walking up to you. "You've been here all day and this is the first time we've spoken since you arrived." You ignored him, turning your back to him and missing the way his whole face faltered in favour of pulling your shirt and bra off, picking up one of Eddie's shirts off the floor and pulling it hastily over your head. "Did I do something?"

"Are you cheating on me?"

Eddie's heart stopped at the question. His brow creased and a frown took over his lips as he pouted at you, his eyes swarming with an ache you'd been feeling for the past 24 hours. "What?"

"Because Camilla told me that you and Graham were covering Billy's tracks for him." You pushed Eddies chest, pushing him away from you when he tried to reach out and touch you. He let you, keeping the distance you created as he stared longingly at the heartbroken girl before him; he almost didn't recognise you with such hurt swarming in your eyes, clouding you from him. Almost.

"You would've kept doing it too if she hadn't caught him and she never would've known." Another push, but this time Eddie wrapped his hand around your bicep, keeping you closer to his chest as you landed weaker and weaker pushes against him, tears welling in your eyes. "She lives in this damn house, and she didn't know her scum husband was cheating on her - and then it got me thinking. I don't live here, I don't see you everyday, I don't sleep in the same fucking bed as you every night and if you were willing to do it for Billy, I can't see why he wouldn't be willing to do it for you, too."

The pushing had stopped, Eddie holding you against him with one arm, his other hand caressing your cheek, his thumb wiping away at the tears that were beginning to spill over. "Birdie-"

"And then all I could think about was how easy it would be for you to cheat on me out here; you're halfway across the damn country Ed's. And I'm still in stupid fucking Pittsburgh. What could you want with a girl like me when you've clearly got half the country wanting to be with you?" Your words had turned to whispers, your head falling against Eddie's shoulder though his warm hand still cradled your cheek. As you sniffled into the material of his t-shirt he pressed a kiss to your temple, shushing your crying and holding you tight against him - as though he was protecting you from all the thoughts you'd let stir and simmer in your mind.

"I don't want anyone else." Eddie whispered, gently swaying the two of you back and forth in his hold, his hand running through your hair as the tears began to stop. "I just want you, birdie."

Eddie pulled away from you, holding your face between both of his hands and bringing your gaze to meet his own. "I know I shouldn't have covered for Billy, it was shit of me, but part of me truly thought it would hurt Camilla less if she just didn't know. I get how bad that sounds but I didn't know what to do I-"

"You should've told her Ed's." You whimpered, tears springing back to your eyes as you thought back to the phone call and conversation you and Camila had shared - dwelling on how quickly your stomach dropped and how easy it was to think the worst.

"I know." Eddie cooed, his thumb running gently across the flesh under your eye, his forehead pressed to yours in the dark room. "But I need you to know I would never, ever cheat on you, Birdie. I love you more then life itself; I need you like the air I breathe. I've spent every waking moment since moving to LA waiting for you to come back to me - I want nothing more then to spend every night with you in my arms and every day with you by my side."

"Eddie-"

"And one day, I'm gonna marry you, and we're never gonna have to spend a day apart again, okay?" Eddie pressed a feather light kiss to your lips, punctuating each of his words with another; to your lips, your cheek, the dimple of your smile, you temple, the crinkle of your eye, really anywhere his lips could reach. "I love you, birdie. I don't want anyone else but you, ever, you hear me?"

You were tempted to apologise. Say sorry through tears at the way your brain had jumped to the worst case scenario despite knowing what your Eddie was like, despite knowing he was nothing like Billy. But you didn't, thoughts too hung up on the words he'd just let slip past his lips. Biting your lip between your teeth, you held back a wide smile, rocking on the balls of your feet as you stared dotingly up at Eddie. "You wanna marry me?"

It came out as a bashful murmur, but Eddie still heard it, laughing at your quick change in demeanour. "How could I not? You're my whole world, birdie."

He said it as if it was so simple; as though there was no other possible answer or rhyme or reason. And for Eddie, there wasn't.

Snaking your arms up and over his shoulder, you scratched at the hair at the nape of his neck, using one hand to cup his head and pull it closer to you. Pressing a kiss to his lips, you quickly escalated it; tangling your fingers in his locks and pulling, slipping your tongue in his mouth as he gasped and pressing yourself firmly against him. Pulling back breathless, you murmured praise against the blondes lips. "I missed you, Ed's."

"I know you did, birdie." Eddie pulled you in for another messy kiss; a sudden clash of skin and teeth and tongue. "What you say we start making up for lost time?"

"I'd want nothing more." With that you let him push you back towards his bed, blindly trusting his direction as you let yourself get lost in the feel of him for the first time in months, reassured that your Eddie would never treat you how Billy had Camila - not in this lifetime, nor the next.

#daisy jones and the six imagine #djats x reader #djats imagine #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie loving x reader #daisy jones and the six x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree oneshot #eddie roundtree imagine #eddie loving

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Okay I have just binged your Favours ettore works and 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 I love the way you write so much, it just— idek how to explain it, but it’s just so elegant and fluid, does that make sense????

Anyway, I have not been able to get it out of my mind no matter how much I try, but I keep wondering how ettore would react if he were ever to get jealous?? Bc I def see him as controlling/dominant still like how u were explaining in the first kiss Drabble and the fact he is jealous over the box ! It just sends my mind in a frenzy to think what would he do if he were actually jealous of someone!! If u don’t want to take this request, no worries, I just wanted to voice the idea!!

Again, I am so in love with ur works and appreciate them beyond belief, thanks for writing all these fantasies out for us 💕💕 I hope ur doing well and staying safe

Hello! Sorry for the long wait for this. I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: Language, violence, choking, smut. Word count: ~1500

Main series masterlist

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

The ship has been in sleep mode for less than an hour when she feels the weight of her bunk dip beside her and the lean hardness of Ettore’s body press against her back.

“Did anyone see you?” She whispers.

“No.” Comes his curt reply, his fingertips biting into the swell of her hip.

She exhales a shaky sigh, heat pooling between her legs as he grinds against the curve of her backside. Parting her thighs on instinct, as his hand snakes between them to drag her underwear to the side, she bites her lip to stifle the wanton moan that almost escapes her as Ettore pushes inside of her.

She clutches the pillow beside her head, her grip vice like at the pleasurable hurt of the initial stretch to accommodate his size. Once fully sheathed within her, he wraps a hand around her throat, pulling her flush to his chest as he sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping rapidly against her.

This is no gentle lovemaking, merely a means for both of them to get off, as per their agreed arrangement.

They remain in the same position for a few moments afterwards, both silently getting their breath back.

“Same time tomorrow, yeah?” He murmurs against the shell of her ear.

She nods. “I’m on daytime work duty with Monte this week, so yeah.”

He tenses up behind her, but with how swiftly he pulls out and leaves the cell, she is sure she must have imagined it. Closing her eyes, she allows sleep to take her, lulled by the satisfying ache between her thighs.

The next day she stands in the galley, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she sniffs the open packet of powder she’s about to dump into the vat of boiling water to prepare the crew’s afternoon meal.

“The food is definitely more edible when you don’t have to see how it’s prepared.” Monte says with a smirk.

She laughs. She likes Monte, he’s easy to talk to and far less intense than most of the others on board the ship. If he suspects anything is going on between her and Ettore, he hasn’t said anything, even after hearing Ettore call him a cockblock, and she is hugely appreciative of his silence.

“Not excited for…” She lifts the packet to read what’s been stamped on the silver foil. “...beef chilli?”

Monte scoffs, taking the package from her and upending it into the boiling water. Both of them watch as it fizzes and expands, looking completely unappetising.

“I’m gonna go sort things out in the scullery.” She tells him. “You okay to finish that off?”

He fires her a mock two fingered salute as she steps backwards. Her arms reach behind her head as she moves away, eager to fix her rapidly loosening ponytail.

“Fuck!” She mutters as she feels the elastic snap around her fingers.

“You good?” Monte calls to her from over his shoulder.

“Yeah, hair tie snapped is all.” She sighs, holding her hair away from her face.

He wipes his hands on his trouser legs, and turns to face her. “Here, let me.” He offers, beckoning her closer.

He takes the snapped elastic from her and she allows him to spin her around as his fingers work deftly to pull her hair back and knot the broken elastic around it. “That should hold until you can replace it.”

“Thanks.” She says with a smile.

She’s about to continue towards the back of the galley, where the scullery is located, when she hears the door crash against the wall with the force of which it’s been thrown open.

There is barely time for her to register the blur of movement as Ettore throws himself towards Monte, knocking him to the ground and punching him.

A sickening crack causes her to gasp and she crouches beside the pair as they scuffle, attempting to pull Ettore off of Monte, who has now managed to land a blow of his own to Ettore’s face.

“Get the fuck off him!” She cries out to Ettore, tugging desperately at his shoulder. 

He throws his elbow back, attempting to shake her off, and it connects with her jaw, sending her reeling backwards with a cry of pain.

It’s only then that Ettore stops, looking back at her, and for the briefest of moments she sees panic in his eyes. He is quick to climb to his feet and leave, while Monte remains on the floor holding his face.

She crawls towards him, her eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Prick broke my nose.” He utters. “I need to go to the med bay.”

She winces as she watches Dibs reset Monte’s nose, which is in fact broken. Her heart constricts when Dibs inquires as to how this happened.

“A pan fell from a shelf in the galley.” He tells her. “Caught it with my face.”

Her jaw drops in disbelief. He’d lied. She cannot understand why Monte would do such a thing, but the relief she feels is immeasurable.

Dibs doesn’t seem like she quite believes Monte’s explanation, but doesn’t push any further, allowing them both to return to their work duty.

She seeks out Ettore after lunch, finding him skulking in the laundry room, a bright red split now decorates his lower lip.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” She hisses angrily.

Ettore grunts in response, slamming the door to a washer closed.

“Answer me!” She shouts in frustration after a few moments.

He rounds on her with such rapidity that she takes a fearful step back, until he is crowding her space. He reaches up a hand to trace his fingertips over the side of her face.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks softly. “I haven’t hit you since we started…you know…I know I’m not supposed to.”

She has to bite back a laugh at the absurdity of it, it’s like listening to a child explain why they ought to look both ways before crossing the street.

“You didn’t.” She tells him. “But you broke Monte’s nose. Why?”

Ettore pulls back with an offhand shrug. “He was touching you.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you for real?! We were on work duty together. My hair tie snapped!”

“You could’ve been put on work duty with Mink or Boyse.” He scowls. “Don’t see why it has to be him.”

“Oh my god, you’re jealous!” She rolls her eyes.

Ettore’s jaw ticks, he exhales in irritation. “Do you have any idea what the blokes on this fucking ship would do to you, given half the chance?”

“You are jealous. Fucking hell, that’s pathetic.” She says in disbelief with a shake of her head.

He crowds into her space once more, backing her against the wall as he stares into her eyes, cold and predatory. “You’re mine.”

The words send a shiver of arousal through her and she makes no attempt to stop him as he yanks at the waistband of her scrubs, tugging them down her legs along with her underwear, before pulling down his own.

She cries out as he sinks his teeth into the juncture between her neck and shoulder, the pain serving to further ignite the heat building in her lower belly. She knows she should fight him off, be angry with him for attacking another crew member, but his possessiveness of her fuels her desire for him. She needs this. 

Their movements are hurried and desperate, his grip rough as he tugs her leg over his hip, the force with which he thrusts inside of her causing her head to tip backwards as it takes her breath away.

He fucks her against the wall as though he is trying to push her through it. His grip on her will surely leave bruises in its wake, his head is kept buried into the crook of her neck, where he had bitten just moments before. The only sounds are the soft hum of the washers and dryers, intermingled with the lewd wet noise emanating from where their bodies meet and their quiet pants and sighs.

It doesn’t take long for Ettore to reach his end, spending inside of her with a full body shudder. She doesn’t mind that she hasn’t been brought to peak, there is something so primal and urgent about allowing him to claim her like this that makes her feel as though all of her nerve endings are tingling with electricity.

Slowly he pulls away from her neck, breathing heavily as he rests his forehead against hers.

The moment is short lived, however, as the scuffle of shoes on the linoleum alert them to the presence of Boyse, who stands staring wide eyed with shock before hurrying back the way she’d come.

They’d been caught.

Post script author's note: I have one further request to fill for this series, which will serve as a follow on from this part, so please do not pester for a part two. I am currently accepting requests for Ettore, but no further requests which relate to this series. The next instalment will serve as its final part.

#ettore #high life #ettore x reader #ettore smut #ewan mitchell #ettore fan fiction #ettore fanfiction #ettore fan fic #ettore fanfic

[queseraone]

Talk shop Tuesday: how many and which fics do have planned or have started writing? Talk about them. 🤭

Omg you brat 🙈💗

So I am, of course, insane, and have a Google Doc to keep myself organized (suddenly wondering why I didn't make a Google Sheet... a change may be in order!)

Anyway, so I have "in-progress," "ideas," "abandoned?" and "completed" lists (and then I link to each of the docs within the doc, because I like organization, okay?). I also have a list of lyrics/title ideas and "homeless pieces of writing" (where I copy and paste things that didn't quite fit into a particular fic) in here as well. It's like my own little master list.

Still along for the insanity ride? I swear there's a method to my madness.

I consider a fic in-progress if I've actually started writing it (as in, I have written actual sentences/paragraphs for it, not just jotted down a few bullet points), so here is that list:

6x06 post-ep fic (Tim's Version - hope to have this done in the next few days, if the muse cooperates)

a very (very) bare bones start to a car accident angst-fest

a beachy AU that may and may not happen

an outsider POV fic I started during Chenford Week last year and am on the fence on finishing (it's sooooo random and and feels kind of pointless, but I love outsider POV fics)

a continuation of our 5x08 spec fic collab (because girl, we cannot leave it like that)

On the ideas front (this includes both ideas with tons of notes/plans, and ones with two bullet points and a prayer):

a smutty reunion of sorts...

a sort of enemies-to-lovers AU (Lucy is either a reporter or a screenwriter... or both?, Tim is a cop)

a what-if sort of scenario - what if Lucy and Emmett dated longer (or got back together) - aka how Tim realizes he's in love with her and makes his move

Contractor Tim AU (iykyk - this is basically born out of my desire to not waste the 10K+ words I started for Linstead - we shall see if I'm able to reimagine it for Chenford)

a collab with you that I think would be so much fun (the experience and the actual fic itself), so I really hope we can make that happen together

a Wildest Dreams-inspired collab with @makeitastrength that'll hopefully be a hiatus project

a little thing that's basically me bashing the go-to jealousy trope and coming at it from a totally different (fluffy) angle

an inkling of an idea to go back and dive deeper into various conversations between Tim and Angela over the years (including scenes we saw on the show and scenes we didn't)

And, for fun, a list of ideas I've abandoned (maybe temporarily, maybe forever):

a heartbreaker where Kojo dies - but also included a trip down memory lane at some moments in his/their life so it wasn't pure sadness (full disclosure, this was basically my personal therapy after my dog died a few weeks ago. I am so sorry Kojo, I promise I'm your number one cheerleader)

a fun group/couples game night (the result of me misreading a prompt that said "it's a fight, couples fight" and then the idea of the couples battling it out took over my mind... 😅)

I feel like I'm missing a few more, but this is already the longest, most insane response ever... and if you made it to the end? Congratulations/I'm sorry.

ILY 💖

#talk shop tuesday #asked and answered #timandlucy #writing #chenford #the rookie

[cuppajj]

[TF Mercy] No Longer Helpless

Kindred in their history, Fortress Maximus and Rung meet up to check in on each other's well being; but what was planned to be a simple conversation suddenly goes south, and the Autobot general suddenly finds himself in the midst of the hunter's abrupt and trauma-fueled panic attack.

[AN: So uhhh I ship Rung and Fortress Maximus in TF: Mercy >>;; it started out as a joke about them getting together because they went through some very similar stuff but then the joke turned out to have actual substance, one thing leads to another and here is my first fic for the game with them! It takes place after Reformed Predator, and hence has spoilers from the story. Just to be safe there are also spoilers for Space Adventure as well! If you haven't read Mercy's RP or SA Storylines then I encourage you to so you have better context of what's going on--but you can still enjoy it without nonetheless! Anyway without further ado!]

TF Mercy belongs to @emperor-kumquat​

-

    Fortress Maximus had arrived on time like he always did, knocking on Rung’s apartment door with a book in his servo. They had agreed to check in on each other, discussing their feelings, thoughts, and anything that had happened to them within the past two weeks. It had become an unofficial two-way therapy session, with a little amiable conversation about life thrown in, and the occasional book talk. As a librarian, Rung had given Maximus plenty of book recommendations, most revolving around the general’s flowering interest in nature and animals. Today, Maximus had finished his book on early cybertronian botanical practices, and was interested in returning it to Rung ahead of time. When Rung opened the door, the two greeted each other with friendly smiles, exchanging pleasantries as he let him in. A pair of energon glasses were already prepared for them, Maximus’s favorite blend, which carried a strong aroma. They sat on the coffee table, and the Autobot had helped himself to a sip as he managed to fit his massive frame on the couch.     He hadn’t said anything, but Maximus had noticed that Rung sounded gloomier, whenever they called each other. He insisted he was okay when he asked, blaming work or recent hunts for his troubles; but as much as Maximus wanted to leave it at that, he knew that Rung wouldn’t feel this way over work. He hoped to discuss it with him today, during their official unofficial session, when they were meant to divulge everything. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t come across as too nosy, especially if the reason was truly such a simple thing.     “Oh, I almost forgot our notes,” Rung had realized as he was about to take a seat next to the other. “I’ll be right back.”     “Take your time,” Maximus implored, setting his glass back down on the coffee table. Rung disappeared past the door to his habsuite, leaving both of them to their own thoughts.

    Thoughts that Maximus was unaware of, that had been in the back of Rung’s head for weeks. Every time he stepped into his room, he would pass Funeral, mounted on the wall. He hadn’t stopped to gaze at it lest he was pulling it off, but recently, he found himself staring at each intricate cut and scratch riddling its sleek gray metal, from the history of monster hunting that he would embark on. There were times when a sparkeater would round on him, claws and tendrils ready to scratch and stab relentlessly, and Gravemaker would use his gun to push them back, letting the weapon take the hits for him. He could fight back against the monsters he faced, capitulating not once even when all odds were stacked against him.     On any other day, Funeral’s battle scars would imbue within Rung a sense of pride.     Today was different. Today was when he interpreted those scars in a different way, when he saw something beyond all of the wear and tear. Yes, he could fight back now, but there was a time when he couldn’t.     Not when it mattered the most.     Not when he saw his old friend that day, or what was left of him.     As he neared his desk where his notes laid, he grit his dentae, attempting to shake the looming trepidation away. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. He was with Maximus, he had to stay calm for him! All of that could come later, when he had the right words to tell him. If he even wanted to, when he already had time and time before. Was it even worth it? No, no, but that was why they had sessions like these. Anything and everything could be said, no matter what it was or if it had been heard before. He knew, Max knew, so why was it so hard?     Then the thoughts, the memories, came back as fast as Rung had attempted to push them out. The helplessness that he once had, so long ago. He froze in place, inches away from his notes, head throbbing and optics agape. He pleaded for this to not happen to him, not now, not when the time was supposed to be lighthearted and sentimental; but he had pushed these emotions away for so long now, that his attempts to push even further were no longer possible. These memories, this new perspective of Funeral’s marks, were not new; he had harbored them for longer than Maximus had become aware of his sullen mood.     They were hungry, now; ready to tear at his mind and feast.     Like he’d been.

    Outside, Maximus had been playing with his digits, studying the simplistic living room around him as he patiently waited for Rung to return. He shifted a little in place, attempting to sit more comfortably on the couch, but he felt the legs scrape beneath him ever so slightly as his weight dragged them along with his frame. He pursed his lips and stopped immediately, resorting to pushing the coffee table a little further away from the couch so he could position himself closer to its edge. He was unaware of Rung’s condition in the other room until he suddenly heard the door slam open, and out with it scurried the smaller cybertronian. His quick and panicked breaths filled the room, telltale signs for the Autobot that something was terribly wrong.    “Rung!? Rung!” Maximus gasped, whipping his helm behind him. “What’s going on!?”    Confusion and shock grew exponentially as he watched Rung grip his chassis and helm, optics squeezing shut and blowing open at irregular paces. They gaped at nothing and everything all at once, seeming to lose sight of his own apartment, and Maximus along with it.

   Fog rolled into his mind, thick and humid like ghastly breath passing his face. Wherever he dared to turn to, he saw nothing but encroaching shadows and bitter isolation, with no one around to help--no one who cared enough, anyway. He swore he could hear Froid’s condemning voice just beyond the mist, but any desperate call fell short of his lips. He found that he couldn’t talk, or scream, or run, no matter how hard he tried. Not when the other voice told him to stop, to quiet, the familiar and horrendous form it belonged to stalking towards him, his giant servos outstretched and his glare piercing through the haze.

   “Rung!”

   Maximus planted one pede down as he stood half out of his seat, balling his fists as he watched--he didn’t want to think helplessly, no--he was only stunned. He’d seen Rung sad, he’d seen him cry too, when they had their moments; but he’d never seen him break down into a hyperventilating mess. The Autobot couldn’t figure out what to do, how to calm him down. He had to think, think of something!

   “H-h--”     Rung gripped his head, stumbling across the living room floor unevenly. In the midst of his hyperventilation, he accidentally bumped into the coffee table, causing the glasses to topple over and fall to the floor, shattering on impact.

    CRACK!

    Rung yelped at the noise, whirling around so violently that he lost his footing and crashed painfully onto the couch. The smell of freshly spilt energon nauseated him, mixing with the awful stench that doused him and the monstrosity in front of him. He could hear it now, feel it now, the snarling, the acidic drool dripping onto his orange plating, the hypnotic rays racking his processor over and over. Nothing stopped the ghoul from closing the space between them, malice and hunger in his eyes.    No! No!    “Rung!” Maximus cried. “Rung, please- you’re fine!”    Rung could only gasp and flinch helplessly as he felt the skeletal claws on him, the furious growling of the towering ghoul overhead growing louder and louder. Any desperate thought and attempt to flee was ripped from him, the power too great for him to resist. It was too much, the feeling of futility—all too familiar, dreadful all the same.    The ghoul’s optics bore into his own, drowning the front of his form in a sick purple light as the shadows behind him nipped and bit at his rattling frame, threatening to engulf him entirely. All Rung could see was his face, he could feel his breath on him, gnashed teeth parting for his long and dangerous tongue to flick out and drag along his tearful face…    He couldn’t be back.    He couldn’t be back!    He couldn’t—

   “Rung!“

   Instinctively, Maximus reached his massive servos out toward him in an attempt to still him, pacify him, but the sudden motion did nothing but cause the three-wheeler to sink backward, optics bulging wide as their pupils shrunk to mere pinpricks.    Suddenly, the ghoul was on him with an inescapable grip, teeth parting as far as they could as they lunged forward and-

   He gasped, “no-“

   Realizing what he’d done wrong a second too late, Maximus pulled back quickly, spark racing. He stood up and distanced himself from the other, hands raised in front of his chest. Red optics gaped woundedly down on Rung.    “I’m sorry,” Maximus uttered, shaken voice pleading for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”    Rung remained hunched, curled in on himself as his optics continued to struggle to read what was real in that moment. The ghoul’s hulking frame had slinked away so suddenly, peering at him through the thick fog that enshrouded him. The lone purple optic remained fixated on him, finials outstretched, ready to move at a second’s notice—then, another voice broke through into his ears, a stark contrast from the ugly noise grating at him.

   A voice, soft and deep, hurt…    Max?

   Rung blinked as the new voice began to lift the fog and shadows away, the hisses and breaths retreating with them. His optics struggled to register, the silhouette of the ghoul shifting and changing, before the light drowned it out. Optics once purple were now red, brown plating now blue. Gradually, the smaller bot returned to his senses, his quick and heavy breaths slowing down. However, the aftershock of the episode kept his frame trembling.    Maximus found his own breaths slowing down, recognizing that the distance had helped. With softened optics, he inhaled deeply before whispering, “I’m here.”

   Tears streaked down Rung’s cheeks, the gravity of the situation now aware to him. His horror turned to sorrow, and his grip on the armrest loosened.    “Max,” he whimpered, “I…”    Maximus took one step closer, and after gauging his response, slowly approached his side once more. His servos fell to his sides. Rung thankfully didn’t flinch or curl further into the corner of the couch, instead sitting back upright. With his optics on his pedes, he slouched and hid his servos between his legs. His lips quivered and his breath continued to tremble. Maximus finally sat back down next to him, eyeing him with deep concern. He extended a digit to him, which the other took and squeezed on.    “I didn’t mean to,” Rung moaned. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”    “Ssh, it’s alright. It’s alright,” uttered Maximus. “Let’s calm down. Let’s calm down, okay?”    Rung echoed his words, nodding quickly and wiping the tears from his optics, but still they continued to fall. He began to breathe slowly and audibly, as deep as he could, and kept the pressure on Maximus’s digit the whole time. He could gauge how badly he shook through his servo, and over time, it slowed in pace. Minutes would pass until the gray bot was finally still. When he was, he opened his optics once more, tears now dripping lightly down his cheeks. He stared at the thin air in front of him, riddled with the same thoughts nonetheless.    Maximus spoke first.    “It was them, wasn’t it?”    After a moment, Rung nodded.    “Yes.”

   He didn’t see Maximus’s gaze darken with the recollection of what he had heard from him of his oldest friends. Rung had trusted him enough to divulge everything that had happened, from their softest moments to the moments where he believed he would die. The betrayal hit too close to home for Maximus, even if the connotations were different; Rung’s sparkbreak was closer than his. Rung saw them as friends, potentially even more than that, for one or both of them. And for them to turn against him… Rung always discouraged his brasher ideas, but even so, they were still there.    But now wasn’t the time to dwell upon his pointed anger; he had something more important to concern himself with.    Maximus’s expression relaxed, and he angled his frame to face Rung, so he could better look at him. He found that Rung did the same, turning from the emptiness of the room to him, though he still didn’t look up. He let go of Maximus’s digit, which fell back to his side, and took a long, tired breath. The other frowned, squeezing his palm lightly before one of his servos rose.

   With servos so huge, capable of crushing the smaller cybertronian’s helm within their grasp, Maximus paid extra attention to the way he reached up to hold it with the utmost care. The sides of his fingers met Rung’s jaw as his thumb reached up to wipe the tears away from his cheek, Rung’s optics closing and frame relaxing at his touch. A shaky sigh left him, and before Maximus’s servo lowered, his own servo lifted to rest atop it, stopping it in place as it cupped the side of his helm.    “It’s been… so long,” uttered Rung, helm leaning into the other’s servo, “since all of that happened. I know it was a traumatic experience for me, but I feel as if I should be past it by now.”    His optics opened to gaze into Maximus’s, the red optics of one who knew what he meant more than most. When he vented to the general of his woes, all the rigidity he was notorious for would disappear, replaced with the understanding features only one who suffered similarly could have. This was no different. Even stronger, perhaps, as Rung had never broken down in front of him like this. Maximus understood him, he could see it in his face; yet he could also see the sorrow and concern behind it.    The giant shook his head.    “It changed your life,” he breathed. “He did. They did, after you trusted them and cared for them for so long. That kind of betrayal wouldn’t leave anyone easily.”    “It’s not just that it was… betrayal,” Rung winced, as if the word was difficult to fathom. “Max, I tried to run. I tried to do the right thing for everyone. And they dragged me back… he kept me there, and- Max, it was torture. I was trapped in there, struggling to survive all because- because-”    Maximus heard Rung’s voice tensing up once more, and he hushed him gently. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore. You’ve had enough for now.”    Rung’s silence agreed, the slow nods brushing up and down Maximus’s palm. His optics closed once more, and he squeezed down on his giant servo.    “To have someone you care about, who cares for you just as much…” Maximus thought with a low voice. “...I know. And I know you know that, Rung. And things like that won’t leave overnight, as I was saying… but the least we can do is find any and every way to speed the whole thing up, I think.”    Rung continued to nod. The general’s words, complimented by his deep and soft voice, helped put him at ease. In his current state, he could simply listen to him go on and on, until the reverberating tone lulled him to a calming sleep… but to admit it now, he wasn’t sure if it was ideal.    “You’re right,” he murmured. “I just hope it’s sooner than later.”    “It will be,” promised Maximus.

   The three wheeler’s lips pulled back into a small smile. To Maximus, it was all he needed to know that his words had reached his spark, clearing the last of the dread that had choked him to tears.    Rung couldn’t see the ghoul anymore. No more shadows gripped him, the hisses had been silenced, and the biting cold that racked his frame had been replaced with the warmth of his gratitude for Maximus’s company.    Gratitude, among things he was still struggling to wrap his helm around.    He truly did care about Maximus, and he knew that Maximus cared about him the same… yet that thought carried such caution, pressure, and history, that it made him hesitant to truly accept it even though he wanted to. Maybe--no, definitely--because of what had happened to him; and even though Maximus understood, a part of Rung nagged on and on that he couldn’t say everything he wanted to.    He hoped that would change someday    Maximus’s words echoed, it will.    He held them close to his spark.

   “Thank you,” Rung hummed, and the two finally lowered their servos. “I am truly sorry you had to see that. I suppose I’ve had some bottled up feelings over the past few days…”    “I’ll always help you out,” Maximus assured. “Please, tell me next time. Bottling things up isn’t good for you, you hear?”    Rung’s optics fell to the side, and he smiled. “Yes, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Always exuding your emotions like so…”    He looked back up right as the telltale blush met Maximus’s cheeks, and just as fast, the other averted his gaze. “‘Exuding my emotions’ helps. For me at least,” he smiled sheepishly. “You should try it sometime.”    The two fell silent after their exchange of warm smiles. As Maximus sat next to Rung, the other began to observe the state of the room with renewed clarity. Noticing the two energon glasses spilling their contents across the floor, his smile wavered, a silent “oh” falling shamefully under his breath. He knew he didn’t mean to, but he’d prepared them for them to enjoy together as they talked about all of the-    “Rung, it’s okay,” Maximus said suddenly, reading his thoughts from his frown alone. “We can prepare more later.”    “But shouldn’t we do that before we talk?” Rung blinked back at him, bewildered. “I don’t mean to get up so suddenly, but I should clean that up and prepare us more- ah--”

   Strong servos enveloped his thin gray frame, pulling him delicately forward as he let out a soft gasp. Maximus adjusted himself and leaned backward on the couch, kicking one leg up onto the as the other slid over the edge to plant itself on the ground and balance his massive frame. Rung was hoisted up to sprawl atop Maximus’s chassis, and his awestruck expression, he didn’t resist at all. Heat quickly built up in his frame as the giant finally relaxed his servos, keeping them in a blanket across his torso. They eyed each other, and Rung could see the blush across Maximus’s face. He wasn’t used to doing this, picking him up and laying him against him. It was very… forward? Intimate? Words that made his blush deepen, but his gaze remained focused on Rung despite his swirling bashfulness. Part of him hoped Rung wouldn’t take it so intensely.    “We’re already talking,” he spoke, their closeness bringing his voice to a hum.    “Max…” Rung released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.    “The drinks aren’t as important,” replied the other.    Rung wanted to protest, insisting that complimentary drinks were courteous and deserving for both of them, but he was aware of how his entire frame relaxed in Maximus’s embrace. Maximus didn’t want him to get up, and something told Rung that his tiny frame didn’t want to either.

   Oh.

   His head flicked left, then right, searching for any spot to obscure the blush building up in his cheeks. He ultimately folded his arms in front of him and hid part of his face in them, covering all but his glimmering optics, and to his misfortune, the blue hue that surrounded them. His optics remained glued below him--which didn’t help as much as he wanted to, considering he was now staring into Maximus’s chassis. He emitted a short unintelligible mumble, shifting in place. Even though Maximus hadn’t said anything, Rung was predicting what words would come next: “This isn’t about them, it’s about you.” “You and I matter more than that.” “Let’s just have this moment between us.”    But Maximus didn’t feel the need to say any of those, as he read Rung’s body language. As the three-wheeler shyly tucked himself into his chest, he knew what he meant.    “You don’t have to see them ever again,” Maximus said instead, alluding to the subject of Rung’s distress. He squeezed down on him, as tightly as he could with his restrained strength for the other’s comfort. “You’re in a better place now. It’s what you deserve.”    Rung bit his lip, legs curling into himself. Those two were his… no, Maximus was right. He never doubted that. If his new perspective meant that his memories of the past would be interlaid with bitterness and pain, then so be it. It was the past. He could make new memories today and tomorrow.    And Maximus, he could help. They could make them together.    “Thank you,” Rung’s stiffness eased, helm rising from his arms to smile gratefully up at him. Hope glimmered in his optics, which Maximus noticed. He wouldn’t admit it then, but he loved to see that gleam of his, every time…    “Of course,” Maximus’s optics lidded. “And I’m here for you. You’re here for me, after all.”    We have each other, he almost said, but those words were too much for him and his already blue face.    Rung hummed, “yes…”

   Perhaps they didn’t need to talk through anything today anymore. The company of the other was enough, the consoling words and equally soft and sympathetic voices the cures for the dread that plagued them.    Rung uncurled his limbs, slowly splaying them into a more comfortable position to relax atop Maximus’s broad frame. He rested the side of his helm into his chassis, hearing the faint hum of his spark underneath his tough plating. It was funny, how it was usually him who’d lay against him to his surprise. Maximus was the one to surprise him this time, picking him up and holding him here… he’d be too shy for that. Though maybe he still was, if his facial expression said anything. He was too familiar with it, the cute flush on one so infamous for his scowls…    “Could we stay like this for a little longer?” Rung wished to ask, but he listened to Maximus’s slow and deep breaths, and noticed his optics were closed to allow himself to savor the moment.    He did the same.    It seemed like he didn’t have to ask, when the answer was already yes…    The drinks could wait.

#tf mercy #my writing #tfp #transformers prime #this was originally a drabble that got too long #rung #fortress maximus #rungmax #maxrung #or whatever the ship is called i call it rungmax #sunder and froid mention #hurt/comfort #my beloved #this isnt idw in case i didnt make it clear lmao #anyway trust me rung and max deserve each other esp after what happened to them #they can help each other out :] #also fluffy size difference ships my beloved #maccadam #transformers #cjj arts #if this ficwriting keeps up i might need to make an ao3

[redwolf17]

The Weirwood Queen: Part IV Complete!

Well, holy crap. As of Friday, April 21, Part IV: Desert Wolf, is finished.

I already have over 45k* in extensive outlines in progress for Part V: Wolf Pack, which is currently looking to be around 40 chapters.

I'm hopeful that I can start writing it within the next week or two, rather than needing a bigger gap to keep planning. We'll see; I'm very apprehensive about all the logistical and military stuff coming up. It's really not my wheelhouse, which means I have to keep running my ideas by people who have a better grasp of medieval warfare.

This story has grown in the telling, and honestly, it's gotten... a tad unwieldy. Case in point, among my many notes, I have a list of moon cycles and chart for dragon travel times between various places, lol. If there is a little bit of a wait, I hope you'll bear with me, and there's always rereading 😉

Anyway! Any/all reader feedback is extremely welcome to help me make sure Part V is as awesome as possible. For those interested, here's some guiding questions, or just share whatever comes to mind.

1) Are there any dropped threads you hope to see picked up? (For example, I will admit I completely forgot about the surviving Westerlings and Sandor Clegane, oops)

2) What minor characters would you love to see get more sunshine? (For example, Alys Karstark will be around a little more in Part V)

3) What locations would you love to see? (FYI, Highgarden and Casterly Rock are already scheduled to appear)

4) What fic or canon theories do you hope will be explored? (No, I'm not doing D+D=T 😝)

5) Are there any aspects of medieval life or culture you'd like to see included? (For example, I'm planning to show much more of daily life in King's Landing)

6) What are you most excited about? Or dreading the most?

7) Any general questions about the fic? I'll answer, if it's not spoilers :)

*To be clear, that 45k is split over 20 notes, and probably at least 1/3 of the word count are excerpts I copied from research articles.

Reblog or ask away!

#the weirwood queen #asoiaf fic

[addictedtostorytelling]

Okay…that may just be one of my favorite chapters of “An Opposite of Echoes” to date - the sweet conversation between Sara & Grissom in the car, Sara’s conversation with Greg, and poor Grissom - I forgot he had the budget report to do too.

But now I’m suddenly becoming very aware that this series is just getting started as Sara mentions when her next therapy appointment is & when the ultrasound is (and the ever present hint about twins…in my mind I’ve already decided - she’s having twins).

I know you’re a busy person, but tell me that next installment in the Accidents universe isn’t going to be a year away once this story wraps to…please?

hi, @chelsshearman!

aw, shucks! i'm glad you enjoyed this week's installment so much! after putting sara through the ringer in the previous chapter, i thought it would only be fair to give her some quality time with her boys so she could recuperate a bit in this one.

though grissom definitely doesn't get the same kind of reprieve, poor guy! 😂

i'm happy to know you liked reading those conversations. i always have fun getting to "peel back the curtain" and show some of the between-the-action interpersonal moments with the team we so seldom get to see in canon.

it's wild to think there are only three updates left to go before this fic is completely posted—literally just a few more hours' worth of time within the universe of the story!

i will tease: the next chapter contains a couple of my personal favorite scenes, and i'm excited to share them with you and hear your thoughts, if you care to tell them.

as for when you might expect the next installment of the accidentsverse once "an opposite of echoes" wraps up, i honestly can't promise anything in terms of a timeline.

i have three to four more multichapter fics (tentatively) planned to span the rest of the pregnancy and the baby's or babies' birth. the first one would cover the events of christmas and its aftermath (i.e., the next few weeks in the story world immediately after "an opposite of echoes"), including the skype call with betty, sara's therapy appointment, and the 8-week ultrasound. the next one (or two, depending on how i ultimately split things) would cover some major events later in the pregnancy, and the last one would bring us through to the delivery day and the first little while postpartum.

though i know what these stories will cover content-wise, i can't tell you when to expect them.

i am a notoriously slow writer for a variety of reasons both process- and circumstance-related, and i learned long ago that whenever i try to predict when i'll be ready to publish something, i inevitably end up being wrong (and, unfortunately, never in a good "oh! i finished this story much sooner than anticipated!" kind of way).

i do intend to devote myself to "something in you i believe in" for the foreseeable future after "an opposite of echoes," and that fic will be my priority until it's completed, so i'm not likely to publish another big accidentsverse multichapter fic any time soon.

of course, since the accidentsverse is my happy place and still very much where i am currently living in my imagination, i'll say: though i can't state exactly when it might happen, since i always have little scenes and vignettes from this 'verse playing through my mind, there is a good chance i'll end up posting some fill-in-the-gaps-between-the-big-planned-multichapter-fics one-shots sometime before 2024 is out!

i just can't stay away from this geeky little family for long!

anyway, in the meantime, i hope you enjoy the end of the story. thank you so much for reading and for taking the time to share your thoughts and encouragement! 💙

p.s., re: the possibility it's twins: we'll have to see. sara will definitely be holding her breath until that ultrasound, for sure!

#answered #chelsshearman #aoe #csiverse #accidentsverse

[jadeile-writes]

Fanfic Progress Update 151

HEY PEOPLE I'M BACK, WOO! Good news: lots of fics in the horizon. Bad news: they're neither Zelda nor Hazbin. Sorry :D Hope you liked the Sonic the Hedgehog movies, and Agent Stone/Doctor Robotnik ship in particular, because that's what's on the menu for the next while.

I'll be resuming my writing hour and Saturday updates, I'm just doing this one right now so that I can add a link to this blog in the fic I'm about to post very soon and it won't look super awkward.

Current WIPs:

Keep the Cuddles Platonic -challenge

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog, movieverse

Summary: Doctor Robotnik is simultaneously touch averse and touch starved, which results in a plan to "get the touching needs over with" in the most efficient way he could think of: cuddles overnight, when he wouldn't be doing anything useful anyway. Agent Stone was not privy to the plan until they arrived at their hotel room for their business trip.

Progress: First chapter is finished and will be posted within an hour from posting this, I'm just giving it a quick last minute proofread. Second chapter is finished, will be posted next Thursday - there will be a sneak-peek in the next progress update. Third - and last - chapter not started yet, but I will have two weeks to write it, so worry not.

—–

I'm Signing in the Drain

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog, movieverse

Summary (temporary): Not many people know this, but Doctor Robotnik is actually deaf and uses hearing aids to make up for it. Agent Stone does not know this, he just kind of assumes he's told to learn sign language upon being assigned for some other, mysterious reasons, and not as a "just in case" measure.

Progress: This fic will have three chapters (maybe four if the fic decides to unexpectedly go wild). The second chapter is almost done, despite the first one not being written yet. I'm actually not sure if this fic will end up being Stobotnik aside from Stone being Big Gay as usual. We'll see what the third chapter will bring once I get there (tho I'll be writing the first chapter first, lol.)

—–

SBLF (workname)

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog, movieverse

Summary (temporary):

Wanted: a yesman who is capable of operating an espresso machine, has at least a higher IQ than your average amoeba, and is willing to put work before having a personal life, or indeed a life, period. The extra in your pathetic paycheck is good, but the strain in your psyche will make up for the positives. Forfeit your basic human rights and apply today if this sounds like you. 

Maybe it said something about Agent Stone - and probably not good things - that the poster in the cafeteria's pin board piqued his interest more than any of his official assignments had for a good long while. 

Dr. Robotnik, huh?

Progress: Listen. This one will be a massive longfic. Not Adventure Gone Mini massive (I pray), but at least as long as Afterlife. So like, probably around 20 chapters. It's a bit hard to estimate at this point, so the number is subject to change. My writing hours will be devoted to this fic.

Now for the actual progress. I have the first two chapters written (first is a prologue, so about half the length) and the third one is halfway done. I also have two halfway written chapters that don't yet know their exact placement within the fic (somewhere in the early middle, but like, are they chapters 5 and 6 or 7 and 8, nobody knows). I also have a rough map of the doctor's lab drawn, because I need to keep track of their movements. Send help.

—–  

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to Someday™:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Rolling with it (Zelda: BotW)

Hah, our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest! (Hazbin Hotel)

—–

That’s it for the WIPs! Here’s a space that’ll eventually have sneak-peeks for future fanfics and/or chapters again, once I have something relevant to show. Which I will on Saturday!

—–

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

Links:

My AO3   My FFnet   My Ko-fi    Radiohusk Discord Server

#fanfic progress update

[ughgclden]

never apologize my dear bee, i will eternally respond late! i just arrive home a few days ago after my semester away and i’ve been sleepy. BUT it’s is the ultimate compliment to me that people think i’m moony like…i’m blushing. i got to seventh year in the book and i haven’t read since…that was a month ago. i swore to my roommate i’ll finish by the end of winter break, ANYWAYS

A DATE EEEEEE!!!! holding your hand so you don’t get lost in the crowd, holding you close to him AGHHHH. girl. you’re living a fic. let him give all the book recs and then keep reading them and then keep being down bad and then maybe get married i don’t know-

i did. get sick of the red. it is now dark dark brown, it gives emo in a fun way! i dyed it and cut it after watching winona ryder in reality bites and i’ve never felt more cool shdhshs, truly fulfilling the she/they gender

when are your finals for the term if they haven’t happened already, any big plans for break? i miss you bee and i promise to try and respond within a time span shorter than two weeks shdhshs <3

mars.. is it my turn to apologise now for the time its taken me to reply- uni and mental health decided to tag team me and really beat me down BUT im here now!

i hope winter break has been kind to you and offered you only the softest parts of the season- i hope you were able to relax and take time for yourself!! but you are so moony i-

and yes!!!! he’s. perfect. honestly. he remembered a really insignificant detail i told him months ago and i swear i melted on the spot—

WINONA IN REALITY BITES!!! she is one of my biggest crushes in that film so i imagine it looks amazing!! i too am growing out of the red,, going a deep purple next month and have a few tattoos planned too!

finals are thankfully done for the first semester,, just awaiting the start of my second unfortunately. how have you been on your break though love?

all my love, and apologies for the late response<3

[always-andromeda]

hey, friends, wanted to give a little bit of an update!!

so, as a lot of you know, I have some Halloween fics that I scheduled to all be out last week. however, it’s been a few days since I’ve posted and if anyone has been looking at the masterlist, I still have two to go. overall, life, school, and my mental health have been a little bit shaky and I haven’t been able to finish them exactly when I wanted to.

but don’t worry! I am still planning on posting the last two fics within the next few days to round out the ✨ooky spooky season✨

however, I would like to share one positive thing that has been carving into my time a little bit more. say hello to little Ellie, folks!!

I adopted this lil baby about two days ago and she has been the most wonderful little menace. she's the biggest sweetheart but also the most devious little bastard. I love her to death and I would do anything for her.

anyways, thank you all for reading and thank you for your patience with me!! it's been a bit of a rough time lately, but here's to hoping that it'll get better before too long. 💖✨

#medarants✨ #the state of things✨

[random-writer-23]

In the process of another Poe fic, and it was gonna be short but it's already almost at 10k words. And the writing is not even good it feels like I'm badly summarizing an event that happened. It's okay though this is why we have an editing process.

Edit: we have now reached 11k words.... it takes 22 fucking minutes to read and I'm not even close to being done with it. Should I split it up into different parts and post it that way? or should I just finish writing and post the whole thing.... I'll probably just post it all at once unless you guys want me to specifically post it in separate parts. Anyway the title as of right now is called the princess and the Pilot so I'm hoping to get it finished, and edited and posted sometime this week, If you'd like to be a beta reader, send me a DM and I'll get back to you.

Edit 2: LMFAO ITS 12K WORDS AND I'M STILL NOT DONE WITH IT I'm genuinely debating whether or not to split it up into separate parts and post all the parts separately because of how long it is. I also Know shorter things are easier to read especially if you have a short attention span (its me I have a short attention span, yet I love reading 50 million word fics). It's fine It will hopefully be done soon, within the next two weeks if I hyperfocus on it. But I'm so sorry for the lack of posts y'all

#Poe dameron #Poe xreader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron oneshot #poe fanfic

[problematicfanfics]

alright i only just noticed you had a tumblr and felt obligated to say something so

i just want to say that i’m a huge fan of your writing and works, and have been for years. i first found out about your stuff back in november or december 2020 (??) a little bit after I Threw Glass At My Friend's Eyes and Now I'm On Probation was first published, since i had been absolutely in love with tombur at the time and scavenging the ao3 tag 24/7 to see if anything new came out, and i was instantly hooked. i have so much to say about it and no way to put it into words, but the whole general concept surrounding it is so interesting and alluring, everytime a new chapter was posted and i’d read right until the end and then it’d be stuck lingering in my mind for literal days on end. every cliffhanger that was left had me so excited for what was next, excited to see whether wilbur would finally be confronted or not. the fic meant and still means so much to me, it’s taken up so long of my life to the point that its probably something i’ll still remember even when i stop consuming poppy or mcyt content. i’ve been so obsessed with the fic that the song it’s based off of was quite literally my #1 song of 2021 all because of it, and was within my top 100 this year too. i’m legitemately grateful for you writing it, because it both got me into Destroy Boys and gave me so much joy for so long.

this is more an amalgamation of me rambling about how much it means to me, so i apologize about how cluttered and disorganized it is, but thank you for writing. your stuff has helped me with a lot of my life ♥️

i’m gonna cry. i hope u understand that i just finished the chapter today because of this. i literally wrote through a wake at church because of the motivation this gave me. is that bad? probably. but the entire family hated the guy anyways

thank you, you specifically as well as everyone who has stuck around, for, well… sticking around i guess. for leaving me comments, asks, messages, friend requests, texts (to those of u ik well), for motivating me.

it’s been over a YEAR since i updated. and even then, by april 2021, updates were very few and far between. so truly no NEW chapters have really come out and when they do it’s ~1,200 words every three months. but y’all still check in, and not only that, LEAVE COMMENTS. even though it’s been silence since october 23rd, 2021 (i missed oct 22 like an idiot last year AND this year), you guys come back. thank you. it’s been TWO YEARS since the release and i’m no where near done and i’m so sorry to any of you who care enough.

ー

but thank you everyone for checking in, offering help, reading, helping me brainstorm. thank you rad, even though we don’t talk much anymore i have u on snap and i still message u time to time. thank u fello, for being amazing and always supporting me, constantly my #1 supporter and lover. Tater, my love who i message at least once a week, idk where id be without u. and all those “anti”s from 2020 i still talk to to this day, i passed my psych test w a 67% 🦅‼️🙏

i’m blasted. this is long. i had a shit day today, with church and my family being a shit show, and this really made me pick up my head and do what i always do: say “fuck it, we ball” and keep moving on.

so fuck it, we ball, thank you anon.

ANYWAYS here’s some church shit from today i found funny

#problematicmcyt #poppytwt #problematic #problematictwt #askver #problematicfanfics #tombur #poppyblr #ver's serious discussions #point me to the nearest problematic pit stop pls

[mittensmorgul]

What do you prefer as far as reading fics? For an already completed fic would you rather the author: post the whole fic at one time so you can binge all the chapters or read it at your own pace, or space out posting the chapters so you have something to look forward to a couple days a week?

Hi hi! This is one of those things that I think everyone has different thoughts and feelings on, for completely valid reasons. And honestly, whatever an author prefers is the best way for the author to post, you know?

It’s just a function of the AO3 sort feature that fics that are updated get bumped to the top of the search results list every time an author adds a chapter, and for a lot of authors this is a definite benefit. It helps grow their audience from people searching for what the author invested a lot of time in writing, you know? So I totally get why authors would choose to post serially, even if they’ve completely written the work already.

I am not that patient as a writer. I don’t post works in progress because it just doesn’t work with my writing process. I always go back and edit earlier parts of the story as I work out the later parts, so posting as I write is just not possible for me anyway. And once I finish writing, I have no patience for stringing out posting (I tried once, it was a disaster, I got anxious, and just posted the rest of the thing within days lol).

So I get why authors would make either of these choices personally for themselves. But as a reader? I always prefer to read completed stories. Because again, that’s just how my brain works. I will not remember details from a story if I have to keep putting it down for a week or two at a time (or longer). Especially if I’m also reading other things in between, and also trying to write my own things. My brain just can’t hold that many storylines at one time lol.

(for reference, the only reasons I’m surviving Dracula Daily are because a) it’s daily, or near enough, and b) i’ve read dracula probably 30 times already so my brain isn’t likely to forget details in between updates)

So I see a lot of fics I really want to read, that look intriguing as authors post updates week after week, but I’ll almost always wait until the story is complete before starting reading. Or I’d have no hope of being able to follow the story.

So really, it’s entirely up to the author! If they want to take advantage of the AO3 sort system, and they’re patient enough to wait for their posting schedule before updating, then more power to them! But I’ll wait until I can binge the whole thing, thanks. But again, that’s just me! I know a lot of readers who love the constant updates, even if it’s just a wait of a few days for an author stringing out posting a completed fic, and those folks would likely appreciate serial posting! And the rest of us (when we’re eager to read the story based on the concept/plot we’ve seen in promos) are happy to wait. :)

(the only thing I'd personally beg authors to do is to make a post alerting folks like me that the work is complete. Just make a new post, not the one with 30 reblogs with each chapter linked in a thread below it, or not just the final chapter's post, but a tidy one with a summary, maybe a teaser, and a link that leads to chapter one, because I love promoting completed fics! and I almost never reblog wip posts because again, I lack all patience and want to read the whole thing, and it's one way i resist hobbling myself when it comes to reading fic... i make it easier for myself however i can. and i personally find I abandon wip's that I start, because I'll pick up on the next chapter, have no idea what's going on, and have to read back again, and I just don't have time to reread all the chapters again every time a fic updates, so i just stop reading... which makes me sad. so personally I'll choose to wait. But I've discovered a lot of the time I'll see the same update post again and not register that it's announcing the story is now complete, because I've seen it so many times over weeks/months and mentally filed it as "wip mittens danger zone do not read" and I just... don't see the completion notice! but again, this is just me, and I have no idea how other readers feel about any of this, and really it's up to the author entirely how they prefer to post and promote their own works... readers will still find our stories regardless <3)

#adventures in fanfic

[themaraudershavethephonebox]

I've seen alot of chatter around here recently about people who are newer to the fandom who refuse to read unfinished fics, and are quite vocal about it by the sounds of it. And it makes me so. damn. sad.

Firstly because, as someone who publishes their writing, I know that the hardest thing to stick to (especially now that we seem to have passed the height of activity within the community) is a multichapter longfic, or even just multichapter fics in general. Yes, it's a labour of love and we don't explicitly do it for the kudos or the comments, but those kudos and comments - that encouragement goes SUCH a long way. I've seen more posts and comments in the last week than I can count on one hand saying they wouldn't have had the motivation to finish their next chapter so quickly or even pick back up after years of hiatus if it weren't for the comment or two that they had on their work, praising and encouraging them!

But also, if you're not reading unfinished work you are missing out on so! much! great! writing! Yeah, it kinda sucks when you read something amazing only to find out it's been abandoned (we know, some of us are still lowkey hoping for a miracle TLAT update), but sometimes life gets in the way and that's just how it works. It might not be ideal but you still got to behold the art someone put out into the world and that's wonderful! I think you'll also find that alot of old (I'm talking pre 2018) fics have been abandoned, but the content and the writing is extraordinary and to experience it is still a pleasure!

Anyways TLDR - Read unfinished, abandoned, and in progress fics - COMMENT on them even if they haven't been updated in a while - we still see them. And ENJOY THE ART THAT'S WHAT IT'S THERE FOR.

#i just tracked down The Order of the Ladbroke Grove Anarchists after YEARS because of leaving fandom and forgetting the title yada yada #and I'm having some FEELINGS #so here I am yelling into the void again #a real Old Man Yells At Cloud moment #fics #writers on tumblr #writing

[ashcoveredtraveler]

Dec-13-2023

So this is mostly for me than anyone else, but I am posting it as I know I will see it more often as I like looking at my posts. But if you would like to read, then read ahead.

Anyway during the majority of my activity Tumbler, I was studying abroad in Europe. I was looking at my posts and my 5th post, I was in Europe for a month at this point and I specifically remember this drawing as this was the first time I drew with color as I just recently bought watercolor Faber Castell and I didn't bring any of my art supplies to save some room(even though it didn't really help me as I am bringing back two tins of art stuff but whatever.)

Anyway, the point is that it is so weird looking through my posts this semester and realizing that the circumstances I was in when making these posts will never happen again.

And that was what I have been thinking these last weeks here. I won't be living in this particular co-living space ever again. I probably won't go to this country ever again unless I go to one of the anniversaries of the college I am in for the campus that is here. I probably won't drink legally at 19 again(as I am turning 20 somewhat soon and I won't be traveling within now and my birthday).

Now I am left with an almost packed room, ready to leave to go back home.

But I am happy with what I have done here. I have a couple more good friends, I finally figured out what major I may like to do (choosing between electrical or mechanical engineering), and I am more comfortable with creating stuff online-including an Au, which I am a bit surprised about as I am proceeding with my adult life and I still am in the mindset that fandom stuff is meant for middle and high schoolers.

Since things are changing, I am both nervous and excited. All of my friends are a year or two years older than me, so one of them is graduating at the end of the next semester, and the two others are graduating by the end of the next school year-leaving me. It doesn't help that I will probably be a super-senior as I was looking at the engineering major class requirements and I would need to take about 17 to 20 credit hours of classes every semester to graduate on time, and I am on my 3rd semester with an undeclared engineering major - but I may figure something with my adviser.

Obviously, I have my fic and now my AU. I try to work on them as quick as possible as I am afraid I would get uninterested in the fandom and stop working on it. Before getting fully invested in the Hollow Knight fandom, I was in the Skyrim/Elder Scrolls fandom and I was starting to write a few fics before getting into the HK fandom so I have about 30k of unfinished fics. Who knows, I may return to the fandom for a longer period to work on them again when Elder Scrolls VI comes out. But for now, I may just make short fics for ES.

That is my fear, starting something and just not finishing it. But I am glad with the work I have done and I will continue it as now there isn't a fandom looming over the horizon that will take my entire attention from HK (There is Rainworld though, but we'll see).

Anyways, kinda wanted to put this out there. I appreciate every like, comment, or whatever as I know at least someone is looking at my work. Since I will be traveling a bit more before heading back home, and I won't have service, posts may be scares for a bit but we will see. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe!!

[rewordthis]

🌼Spring-Summer☀️ Update🌻 Hello! Hello! How is my SouHaru nation doing this fine day? I hope you’re all doing great!😊 I mean, do you even remember this blog at all… 😅Ah~ I’m terribly sorry for the lack of word on the ongoing fics but RL is a mess. Haha🥲 Alright, I just need to state this, first, so that I can remember what an idiot I am… I managed to spent three whole days, from Saturday to Monday, scrolling through art in tumblr with only a couple hours of sleep in between and at the third day I was like; ‘Ok, I feel so freaking motivated to draw right now!’ and picked up my sketchbook, right? You, guys… 😓 the minute I opened a blank page, I stared at it and went: ‘Right, now what? Uh… Oh! Let’s try X character’s face!’ and not that character did I not manage to draw… but not even an egg could I map out!!! 😱 And what did I do, you ask? I picked back up my phone to scroll down some more art on tumblr for yet one more day! Of course! Ha! Ah, but then it hit me— I was so sleepy that after that I had a ten-hour nap that broke the cycle. Pff!~😅 But not to drag this any further, I was in a really bad headspace since the end of March and this was like the lowest of my lows… So… Yeah… Anyway, now onto the actual update…

On Thursday, I had some progress with a Free! WIP I was stuck for a long — looong (not gonna say exactly how long, it’s embarrassing) — time and(!) a Jujutsu Kaisen WIP the day before. I’m so glad!? ☺️ I really hope I can keep this momentum going and finish these two stories within the next couple months, because I’m tired going back over dozens of WIPs again and again. 😮‍💨 Plus, it doesn’t help that I keep coming up with new project ideas. 😬

By the way, June is almost here and on July Jujutsu Kaisen second season is coming, too, so I’m excited for it, as well! Even if I have been spoiler-ed for it… Still, I tried keeping away from spoilers as much as possible. Let’s see how that will go.😗 If I can’t get surprised by anything, I’ll get sour, though. (Just saying…)

Oh! I almost forgot! I, also, watched Free!💦 The Final Stroke part 2!✨ Sousuke is such a beautiful character— I was giggling at his every scene! 🤭 And we, SouHaru’s, finally got it on canon that Sousuke carried Haruka in his arms — I’ll be screaming this every time! — (because it was impossible to mount him for a piggyback ride with the way Haruka was sleeping!😉) to the infirmary. 🤩😍🤗🫠 I’m so moved and pleased by this~ 😌🥹🥰 Sure, I would have loved to see it animated, but well… it is KyoAni we’re talking about here, so it was a surprise they even let us have it as much as mentioned, in the first place…😗 (What do we have all this fanart of Sousuke carrying Haruka around, after all, if not for filling the gaps in canon! Right?!😋) I don’t know about you, guys, but I’m glad for the crumbs we managed to get this time around!😤 It is a vindication in and of itself that Sousuke is the one who can carry Haruka in his arms, because he has such a huge build and is so strong compared to everyone else — even Makoto! 🤗🫠🤗 Hm! KyoAni, finally made my boy right and that’s all I want to keep from this series. 😎😘 Cheers!🥂✨ p.s.: As always, inbox 📥 is open for everyone and anyone who wants to fangirl over SouHaru or just Sousuke or just Haruka… or any character, really. (Please, just not Rin…)

Wish you people well and a great week start~ 😘

#souharu #free! #free! final stroke #free! series #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fic #fanfic #my writing #update #fandom talk