#anyway i’m leaving that partial lyric that really hit me here:

[polarsirens]

.

#this is extremely dumb but i cried today listening to a song #imagining a neverafter animatic of an ending #that is yet to happen and only imagined and probably wrong #also i ahve no idea how i’ll go about making that kind of animatic i’ve got in my head but #i’m in this bad habit right now of #associating every song i like with neverafter #and i just. i can’t quite imagine a “good” way of neverafter ending without some wild sacrifices #which means i’m associating every sad song with it #and imm making myself tear up for something that won’t ever happen #anyway i’m leaving that partial lyric that really hit me here: #“just as much as I mean something #everyone’s existence means something #and I want to hear it #I want to hear it #that voice reaching out towards tomorrow #so that someday when I’m reminded of today again your smile won’t fade #so that—before I disappear—my days with you won’t fade #I’ll leave this here”

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 16: Nostalgia

***

When Billy signed those discharge papers, piled into his dented Camaro and headed west towards the sunset despite the screaming redhead banging on the windows crying “please don’t go!”, with an aching chest both metaphorical and physical, he didn’t think for a second about looking back.

So how he ended up back in the same shithole he turned his back on ten years ago was entirely beyond him.

He had made a life for himself in California. He got his associates degree at the local community college and worked his way up from a nine to five teller position at the local bank all the way to branch manager, making an upper middle class salary. It was easy work. Boring work, unfulfilling work, but easy and worth every penny. He had a couple of friends, mostly coworkers, more so acquaintances than friends. He had a fancy apartment in the city, he went on dates, though they usually ended in one night stands where the other guy snuck out in the dark hours of the morning leaving Billy to sleep in a bed that was just too big for one person. But he was free from all of those forces in his life that always held him back and pinned him down, and each and every one of those forces just reeked of small town America.

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Hawkins since Max had given up on calling around eight years ago, or at least he hoped that she’d given up and something worse hadn’t happened to her. He regretted not answering those calls everyday. The guilt of leaving her behind like that weighed heavy like an anchor, but he did it anyway. Bad decision after bad decision he was surprised he made it to where he had today, and he just wished she’d call again.

But he also wasn’t sure enough of himself that anything would change if she did, and that phone would likely remain on the hook until the ringing stopped and she was left to the sound of his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Billy Hargrove. Leave a message.”

He wasn’t home the day she finally did call, which fortunately took that decision away from him. Her message was tossed in with a mix of telemarketers and employees calling in for days off, it could have easily been dismissed, passed over like every other piece of junk in the system if her voice hadn’t been exactly the same as it was the day he left her.

“Hey Billy, it’s Max. I know you probably don’t give a shit, but Neil died of a heart attack last night…” Billy stopped listening after the words ‘Neil died’ came over the speaker. He had to replay the message to hear the rest because by the time he’d gathered himself it had already ended. “...the funeral is next Saturday in Hawkins. Nobody expects you to come but I thought you should know anyway and that everyone would still like to see you. Call me back at…” Billy wrote the number on the back of a blockbuster receipt and set it flat on the counter quickly with a firm hand and a quick retraction, like it might burn him. Max’s name and a ten digit number below it in a blue ballpoint pen stared back at him and he just drummed his fingers on the counter and bit his lip trying to think everything over.

He looked at it for probably another thirty minutes while the rest of the voicemails cycled through in the background before he decided to make a call of his own. Slowly and shaking, he dialed the phone number and tried to even out his breathing while he waited for the sound of the pick up. He was partially hoping that it never came.

But it did. The click sound was followed by a voice that didn’t belong to Max, but one he still recognized.

“Hello?”

Billy took in a deep breath. “Hi. This is Billy.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you actually called.”

Billy huffed and if it had been ten years earlier he would have already hung up the phone by now.

“Who is this?”

“Lucas Sinclair. I take it you want to talk to Max?”

Billy tensed at the mention of her name, as if that hadn’t been the whole plan in the first place. “Yeah,” he said, a little bit of shakiness to his voice, “could you put her on?”

After a few short moments of silence and a little bit of movement in the background, he heard her.

“Hey Billy.” she sounded… glad… and it made Billy let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Hey Maxine.”

“It’s Max.” There was that tone, she hadn’t changed at all.

“Yeah, I know.” There was a pause, Billy twirled the phone cord around this index finger to the point it started going pink and then purple while he tried to get the question to leave the tip of his tongue. “So, he’s really dead?” he asked, blunt as ever.

“Yeah. I don’t expect you to want to come for the funeral, but I just thought you should know, and if you need a place to stay you can– hold on one second” Billy could hear muffled bickering and Max yelling ‘Lucas Sinclair’ through clenched teeth and it brought a smile to his face. It reminded him of all those times he’d eavesdrop on her phone calls with him just to piss her off, just to hear her yell at him through their shared wall before she’d chase him around the house. Those were good days. “As I was saying. You can stay here if you need. We have a spare room.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“I really hope you decide to come.”

“We’ll see.” He was just about to hang the phone back up, but he stopped himself, “Hey Max?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice hearing the sound of your voice again.”

Billy wound up taking the week off and driving that same old Camaro, restored back to its former glory, that did the distance twice before, back over to Indiana, to the place he said he’d never go back to, and he really couldn’t figure out the reason why he didn’t just go into work. There was nothing to drive him to go but the weird feeling in his gut that refused to go away until he called in, and a little bit of that pressure was released.

For each freeway exit he came across on the over thousand mile journey he contemplated turning around, getting back on that on-ramp going the other direction and save himself from whatever hell he’d be walking into.

Because that’s what Hawkins was to him. Hell. There were monsters like his father, and then there were real, legitimate monsters as well and Billy wasn’t safe from either of them, well he was safe from one now. He couldn’t imagine why Max decided to stay in the shithole and not get out like he did.

Maybe that’s what makes him the coward.

The welcome to Hawkins sign gave him chills. He remembered seeing that for the first time, following behind the rickety Uhaul pulled by their beat up truck when Billy decided not to follow them into their next turn, and instead got lost on the “scenic route” of Hawkins which really meant “trees, trees, and more trees” when he hit the Quarry’s dead end and nearly went off the cliff into the water below.

At the time he might’ve thought it would have been better if he had.

A lot of things had looked to have changed about the town since the last time he saw it. Places that he remembered being nothing but vast forests now had neighborhoods and restaurant chains and the place that once had a natural canopy was now completely deforested and exposed to the sun.

But the Quarry was exactly the same as he left it.

From the beer cans crushed and scattered, to the sounds of gravel pieces bouncing up and chipping the paint on his car.

The continuities continued to add up when he stepped foot out of the car, pulling on that same old denim jacket he hadn’t worn in years after trading it in for a suit and tie. His boot hit the gravel path just like it always had, with that same stomp that demanded attention, like each time he got out of that car he had to play into the dramatics, put on the mask and play the part he chose for himself. The breeze and the smell, it was all the same as before, as if the industrialization just several blocks north hadn’t had any effects on this little corner of the town where the birds still sang their songs in harmony and the smell of nature was pungent. It felt like no time had passed at all.

But it had been the sound of a rumbling BMW rolling down the crushing gravel that made him feel exactly like he was back in highschool again, the same rotten kid who used fists as forms for problem solving, the kid who as an adult had worked on his impulsivity, standing there, staring up the gentle slope with his fists clenched so tight his fingernails left marks on his palms. All that work, all that progress he thought he’d gone through, thrown straight out the window at just the mere sight of something from his past.

The BMW pulled up beside him, and the quarry apparently wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed. Steve still had the same big swooped back hair and that same exact look on his face when they made eye contact through the passenger window, the same exact look he had the day he told him he was leaving, and screamed at him to get out of his hospital room.

That was the last time they spoke.

Steve got out of the car without a word and just leaned against the door, looking him up and down, and Billy didn’t feel like he had any right to say the first word, considering he’d had the last one.

“It’s good to see you Billy.” Steve broke the silence, and it was almost startling, with both the sudden change of volume, and the sound of that voice he’d almost forgotten singing in his head like a song he didn’t remember learning the lyrics to.

“Is it?” Because it felt like it was all just a formality coming out of his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting an answer to that, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Steve changed the subject. It was oddly refreshing seeing Steve write the script this time, steering the conversation his way.

“Looks like we both kept our old wheels,” he said, slapping the top of his car twice, maybe a little too hard. The sound of a hand against metal echoed through the trees. “though there’s not as many dents from what I remember.”

“I had it restored.”

The majority of Steve’s body was hidden behind the car that separated the two of them, but he could see in the way that his shoulders moved that his hands had found his own hips, doing that same stance of a mother who just caught their kid in the act of something naughty. “Some good memories happened in that car.”

“Some bad ones too. Or do I need to remind you how the dents got there in the first place?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest, as if the thousand pound chunk of metal that served as a barrier wasn’t enough to protect him. Because it felt like Steve could see directly through him with the way his head tilted when Billy threw his words back at him. Because they both knew that it was horseshit. Memories of whatever happened between Steve and the Camaro existed only in the dents that remained and the neck pain that still lingered. He didn’t actually hold any grudge about that, and he never did.

Because Steve was right. There had been good memories in that car, some he didn’t remember until seeing him again, some that still played in his mind when he went to sleep at night. Maybe that was the reason he kept it around for so long, that one piece that contained all of those few good times, all of those times with Steve.

“You were always so good at that.”

“What?”

“Deflecting. Pushing people away.”

Billy opened his mouth to defend himself, but there was nothing that came out but his own breath, but Steve filled that silence anyway before Billy would have even had the opportunity to speak.

“You cut your hair.”

It was like he was being interrogated.

“Company policy, they practically had to strap me down and take the clippers to my head themselves.”

Steve actually laughed, and it seemed genuine at least. Billy pulled out the pack of red that he always kept on the seat like it was muscle memory. His hands would only ever stop shaking when he had that little stick between his fingers, and they were only shaking more since Steve got out of that car.

“You still smoke?”

Billy put the cigarette in between his lips and lit up, pausing for a nice drag before bothering to answer Steve. Just letting his eyes fall shut and experience just a short moment of relaxation.

“Some old habits never die”

Steve pursed his lips. Every single one of his mannerisms were exactly the same. This one meant that he wanted to say something that he didn’t know if he should.

“Was I just an old habit too?”

“Steve–”

Steve just kicked the side of his car with his knee, sure to leave a dent of his own. The sound was loud enough that the consistent stream of chirping birds transformed into a cascade of flapping wings as the birds on the trees flew away from the scene. He walked around to the front of his car and the physical object that once created separation was gone, and suddenly Steve was within reach and he couldn’t breathe.

“Glad to know it’s harder to quit nicotine than it was to quit me!”

Billy chucked his lit cigarette at the ground and scuffed it with his heel into the gravel. “Who told you it was easy?!” He had a finger pointed to Steve and had closed their distance a few feet more, less than an arms length apart from each other.

“You left!”

“Because I had to! You know I did!”

“You didn’t have to leave me!” Steve practically screamed that final word, his face was now just inches away from Billy’s and he was nearly foaming at the mouth and from an outsider's perspective, Steve looked about two seconds from either kissing him, or killing him.

He did neither. He took a step back and recollected himself with a dramatic clearing of his throat. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

“And you don’t think I regret that every fucking day of my life?” Billy’s voice broke, trembling throughout the sentence like he was containing a ticking time bomb. “Why are you even here?”

Steve just rolled his eyes at the steer. “Max sent me.”

“Of course she fucking did.”

“She cares about you y’know.” Billy scoffed, because how could she? After all he did to her? He could still hear those palms banging against those windows and her muffled screams for her to stay every time he got into that car. “Why are you here?”

“Did she not tell you the part where my dad died?”

“I know damn well you didn’t come all this way to pay your respects.”

Billy let himself drop to the ground and sit on the rough terrain with his back against his tire, unable to continue standing, his legs were ready to betray him.

“I have no idea why I’m here, okay? I just am.”

Steve nodded his head, and he didn’t say anything, no quip back in his face, he just followed Billy to the ground.

“Are you upset he’s gone?”

Billy let out a groan and tried to rub the growing migraine from his temples.

“I’m feeling a lot of things, but I don’t think ‘upset’ is one of them.” Neither of them said anything after that. They just sat there on the ground and enjoyed the silence together like they used to do. Looking up at the clouds and arguing over what shape they were. There’d be none of that today though, and it had nothing to do with the overcast skies. “You still keep a six pack in your trunk?”

Steve laughed and got up from where he was seated and popped the trunk. He was right. Some old habits never fucking die.

Steve tossed a can over to Billy and sat back down on the gravel, maybe a little closer than he had been before. Billy took a long swig and swallowed the bitter taste down. He hadn’t drank much since he was a teenager, he traded in his Coors for Cola and he doesn’t understand how he used to enjoy the taste of it before.

“Why did you stay in Hawkins?”

Steve dug his heel and pushed a pile of rocks forward, kicking a plume of dust into the air.

“Nobody ever gave me a reason to leave.”

Billy wanted to ask if he would have even come with him had he asked him to. But he opted against it, instead just taking another drink from the can and a genuine “I’m sorry.” passed his lips.

“You know I followed you?”

“What?”

“Yup. Made it all the way to St. Louis before I turned around.”

Billy was just staring at him at this point, unsure if he’d just heard him right. He just sat there with his mouth agape, catching flies and waiting for Steve to say more.

“I knew that you needed to go. I knew that you were hurting and it took me almost ten hours on the open road to realize that you needed time to heal.” Steve’s eyes looked glossy and his cheeks flushed but he kept his smile on. “So I came back home, and I waited here for you to come back. I wanted to make myself easy to find when you needed me.”

“You waited for me?”

Steve inched his hand over to where Billy’s was propping himself up and let his fingers gently trace the back of his hand. Steve’s touch was everything. It made his heart start racing and his palms start sweating and it felt just like 1985 all over again.

Billy took Steve’s hand in his own and entwined their fingers together and Billy let out a long exhale as they did.

“Billy,” Steve said softly, scooting his body just a little bit closer, less than a foot of separation now between the two of them, and he looked Billy in the eyes. Billy had almost gotten entirely lost in those pools of deep brown before Steve had the chance to speak again. But he heard it, loud and clear. “I’m still waiting for you.”

He waited.

Waited ten fucking years.

Billy wasn’t going to make him sit there and wait for a kiss too.

Billy closed the distance at the moment the penny dropped, sinking all of his weight into the kiss in a frantic and uneven pace just like they were eighteen again trying to squeeze both of their bodies into the backseat of the Camaro, refusing for even a second to separate themselves from the one point of contact that sealed them together like glue. The kiss felt just like their first. In the same spot, instead under the stars and the two of them both drunk off their asses, and that time Billy tasted of only blood and liquor.

But it was that same feeling. That desire to never pull away, that fear that it would end and that it would be the last time. He had that fear with everyone of Steve and his kisses, that each one might just be their last.

So he made a point to savor all of them.

They kissed until they physically couldn’t anymore. Out of breath with swollen lips and an inability stop the smiles that peeked through every couple of seconds. They sat there with their foreheads touching and their clasped hands still intact, relishing in the heat that was each other’s breath on their faces. Billy was crying, just streams of tears paired with a smile that Steve gently wiped away with his thumb, the brush of contact making him shiver.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

Steve cradled Billy’s head in his hands and peppered a few short kisses to his lips.

“I missed you too.”

“You think this is why Max invited me here?” Billy asked. “I can’t imagine she’d actually think I would want to come to this thing.”

Steve laughed. “No. She’s not an idiot. She figured you’d want to crash the funeral.”

Billy immediately got up from his place on the ground and held his other hand out for Steve to grab onto. “Well you wanna join me while I go piss on my old man’s grave?”

Steve took his hand without hesitation and let Billy pull him up off the ground.

“It would be my honor.”

Hawkins made a lot of bad memories for Billy, most of which he locked somewhere far away, but the good still remained. Right there in the look on Steve’s face with the way he looked back at him.

And he was happy to make a couple more.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #stranger things #steve harrington #mandi writes tresh #ficlet #harringroveapril #harringrove april

[asleepinawell]

Been having a lot of Thoughts about the nier series recently and the larger themes of both games and wanted to jot them down and toss them into the void of the internet.

Massive spoilers for nier automata follow, including for ending e. Do not read this if you ever intend to play nier automata. There are spoilers for nier replicant as well, though not for ending e.

One of the biggest themes both nier games tackle is the tragedy of an uncaring universe. Bad things happen to good people, people who think they're good and doing the right thing find out they were actually committing atrocities, the very idea that there's 'good' and 'bad' people is dissected and rejected. At the end of the day, the universe doesn't give a shit about any of us and none of it matters. Enjoy your existential despair!

In nier replicant, the main character starts off as an optimistic young boy who wants to save, not only his sister, but the entire world. After the time skip, nier is a young man whose optimism has (partially) been tarnished and whose goal has narrowed down to just saving his sister. As you move through each route you understand more and more how tragic the world is and how, despite your best intentions, you are only adding to the tragedy of the world. The original 4 endings of nier replicant are all tragic in some way. Ending D has a glimmer of hope in it in the form of nier being able to save kainé at the cost of his own existence, but it's a bittersweet ending and the world is ultimately doomed anyway.

Which brings us to nier automata. Even more so than replicant, automata hammers home the meaningless of everything, the uncaring universe, tragedy both avoidable and unavoidable. The main characters are locked in an endless loop of violence and despair. The worst that could happen, does, again and again. It thrives off the type of tragedy porn I usually hate.

Except....

Except it doesn't. If endings a and b are the opening statement, endings c and d are the facts and body of the essay, but then there's ending e, the concluding paragraph which takes everything we've been told and gives you the chance to draw your own conclusion from it.

Route e starts after you've gotten both ending c and d and is no longer about the characters in the game at all. Route e is about you, the player, and what you believe. It says "we've given you a story of complete despair, we've shown you the universe is unfair and doesn't give a fuck about you, we've shown you things that end in tragedy. despite all of this, do you still believe it's worth fighting for the hope of something better?"

And then it asks you to prove it.

Route e is the ending every fan has asked for when they've said "I'll fight the creators to give my favs a happy ending." Today is your lucky day!

Route e is the ending credits of the game, except that the ending credits have turned into a bullet hell mini game. In fighting the actual credits themselves, you are fighting the game devs. You are saying fuck you I don't believe that everything is pointless. Fighting for better is always worth it. The meaning that we imbue in life is important to us and that matters.

The bullet hell of the end credits starts out fairly simple and gets harder and harder as you go, lasting something like 15 minutes total, which is a brutally long time to be playing something that requires split second timing and 100% of your focus. It's meant to feel insurmountable, just like the challenges the characters in the game faced (the larger plot challenges, not the combat). You will likely die a lot and check points are few and far between.

But there's more to it than that. The first time you die, a prompt comes up:

And then when you die again:

Except now, there’s a message on the screen. A message that appears to be from another player, somewhere in the world.

And again:

(this one really fucked me up, but that’s for a different post).

And then finally:

(thank you user MR-YE-1996)

When you accept the rescue offer, you go back to the bullet hell again, but now you have a wall of other players around your weak little avatar, shielding you from harm. The music, which has been a single vocal track up until now, gains an entire chorus of voices to represent the army of actual players who’ve shown up to save you (and there’s a lot I could say about the use of the (exquisitely good) music in the nier games, and especially about the difference in lyrical themes between ashes of dreams and weight of the world). Every time a bullet hits one of the players surrounding you, there’s a message saying that user’s data has been lost. Users from all over the world are sacrificing themselves to help you. It’s a very nice, heart-warming moment that you still don’t understand the full impact of quite yet.

After you beat the credits, you’re rewarded by a final cutscene. The android protagonists have been reconstructed and will receive a second chance at life. The narration at this point talks about how life exists within the spiral of life and death we are all trapped in. One of the two pods talking points out that even though the androids are being given a second chance at life, there’s a possibility that things will go just as poorly once again. And the other pod agrees, but adds: “However, the possibility of a different future also exists.”

And then the scene ends with this quote: “A future is not given to you. It is something you must take for yourself.”

And this is really the final conclusion of the game. There is no inherent meaning in the universe, so the meaning we give our lives is the most meaningful thing. (And the ‘you’ here isn’t necessarily an individual either. It can be, or it can be humanity as a whole, or even one group). And you, the player, thought that it was worth fighting to give these characters a second chance, and other players out there in the world thought it was worth helping you to do so.

It’s such a wonderfully beautiful piece of meta interpretation posing as a game ending, and also a departure from the final conclusion of previous Yoko Taro games. It feels like a much more mature and nuanced interpretation of the world than the ending of replicant was (I won’t comment on the new ending e of replicant just yet since it didn’t come out that long ago). (Also, for the record, I love nier replicant and the characters in it with my entire heart. This post is not bashing it).

But the game has one more surprise in store for you. After the cutscene ends, you’re given one last choice. The game asks if you have any interest in helping other players the way you were helped. And if you say yes, you’re told that the only way you can do this is to sacrifice all your save data.

I think that sacrifice hits differently for different people. Some people genuinely won’t mind that at all. As someone who probably still has save data from games I played 20 years ago, it felt like a gut punch. To me, save data represents all the time and emotion and energy I’ve put into a game. Games are so deeply important to me in so many ways and have been since my childhood when they were one of the few ways I could escape from a lot of terrible shit going on in my life. (There’s a reason my blog title is what it is). I could talk a lot more about that point, but I’ll leave it by saying that when I saw what the game was asking of me it felt like someone had knocked my legs out from under me.

For more practical players, it also is locking you out of chapter select, the best way to go back and get all the things you missed and grab the achievements/trophies you still need.

The game will point out that you’ll get nothing in return for this (not a lie, there’s no secret reward), that you will likely never know if or who you helped, that you won’t be thanked, that the person you help could be someone you intensely dislike, etc. And with all of this comes the realization that all those people who came to help you in the credits had already done this. Those people whose data was sacrificed to help you get to the final cutscene had already sacrificed their save data to help you.

We’ve now gone from a world where everything is meaningless, to a world where other real actual human beings out there have sacrificed something that represented hours of their time and a varying amount of emotional investment without any hope of reward to help a stranger see a message of hope.

When I was younger, I was more drawn to dark, hopeless stories. Stories about how dark and meaningless the world was. The world was a terrible place then too. 9/11 happened when I was in highschool (an incident that influenced yoko taro’s creation of nier replicant and had a huge impact on me at the time), the pointless wars that happened after and the recession and a million other things seemed to infuse everything with hopelessness. In that world, stories about everything being meaningless and hopeless felt correct. They felt validating. Yes, everything really does suck that much!

That sort of story lost its appeal for me later on. Pointless and horrible things continued to happen, and still continue to happen. The world events of the last few years have been an unnerving reliving of those earlier years, except even worse. The cycles of tragedy are still there with no end in sight. I’m exhausted from all of it. It really does feel hopeless a lot.

But stories that stop at that point no longer appeal to me. Stories like nier automata--stories that say yes, things are terrible, but there’s always hope, you can create your own meaning, it is always worth it to fight for better even if you fail, your life is worthwhile simply for existing--those stories are the ones I think we all need more than anything.

#nier automata #nier automata spoilers #nier spoilers #nier #nier replicant #niermp #mp #sitting around having existential thoughts on a sunday afternoon #as one does #nier meta

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

Carry Me Home (A Din Djarin/Reader Fic)

Summary: Din and Reader find themselves on a jungle planet hunting a bounty, but nothing goes as planned, and secrets are shared.

***Based off this line from a previous fic in this series: "Then the mysterious bounty hunter told you his name one day when you were trying to hold his femoral artery together with nothing but bacta gel and hope."

No spoilers. Set in Season 1 between Episode 6 (The Prisoner) & Episode 7 (The Reckoning)

Pairings: Din Djarin/Reader; Din Djarin/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, gore, & violence. Brief mentions of past slavery. 

A/N: In true Star Wars fashion, I'm just writing shit out of order lol. But the idea for this fic kept bugging me, so i just had to get it out on the page. 

You don't need to read the previous fics to understand this one, though (since the others are set in s2.) I have some more ideas for out of order stories, too, so I'll most likely be continuing this series.But let me know if you'd be interested in a fic from Din's POV! I think that could be fun, but if y'all are digging Reader POV, I'll stick to that.

And in case anyone cares, the title is taken from the lyrics of Arcade by Duncan Lawrence, which I was listening to on repeat as I wrote this. 

As always, I’ve posted this piece on Ao3, but I’ll paste the text below. 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763814

I’ll also include the links to the other two fics here: 

The Sea Like Glass Ch 1: Here

The Sea Like Glass Ch 2 (includes smut): Here

“Dank farrik!” you hissed as the wire in front of you sparked and sent a jolt of electricity through your already singed fingers. Not for the first time, you wished you could wear your gloves, but some of the pieces that needed repairing were too small to feel through the bulky material, so you could do nothing more than sacrifice your flesh for the cause.

Didn’t make it hurt less, though. You sucked the smarting tips into your mouth, glaring at the trashed circuit board in front of you, but the ruined hardware only crackled in response.

If you were back in Hanger 3-5 in Mos Eisley, you would have probably trashed the whole part and dug through Peli’s stock for a replacement, or gone down to the market and haggled for something newer, but you weren’t on Tatooine. You were smack dab in the middle of a jungle planetoid you couldn’t remember the name of, and it was up to you to get the Razor Crest running again on what you had available.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot.

You sighed as you sat back on your haunches, using the back of your wrist to swipe at the sweat trailing down your temple. The pre-Empire ship towered over you as you dug into her innards, having pried off one of the semi-melted lower side panels to access the appropriate circuits. Your thin tank top was already drenched, and the hair sticking to the back of your neck kept giving you phantom itches. You wanted nothing more than to tie it up completely, but you always felt naked when your nape was exposed. You weren’t necessarily ashamed of the scar there, or the past connected to it, since it wasn’t your fault you were born into shackles, but… still. It was a… personal story to tell, and you weren’t sure you were ready to share it with your new boss.

Well, “new” was relative. You’d been employed on the Razor Crest for several months now, but you didn’t know much more about the Mandalorian than you did when you’d first set foot onto his ship. You knew he was a bounty hunter, from a race of legendary warriors. You knew he had a partially sordid, and dangerous, past if your encounter with Ran and his crew of mercenaries was any indication. You knew the green baby was his ward, or foundling as he called it, and Mando was tasked with returning the little guy to his people. And you knew his Creed forbid him from removing his helmet.

That was about it. The Mandalorian didn’t talk much, but it didn’t particularly bother you. You’d always been a quieter person, and after years of Peli’s constant chattering, you were kind of relieved for the silence.

Most of the time, anyway.

“How’s it looking?”

You gasped in alarm, jolting yourself off balance and falling back onto your ass in the dirt.

“Maker, Mando,” you panted as you craned your neck back to stare up at the bounty hunter. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me when I’m working on electrics?”

The impervious mask of the Mandalorian stared down at you silently, blotting out the sweltering sun and providing you a modicum of relief. A moment passed, then two, and you shifted uneasily under his unblinking gaze.

“I thought you heard me approach,” he said finally, his modulated voice flat and unaffected, but he didn’t move from where he was looming over you.

“Well, I didn’t,” you grumbled as you flopped your head forward and popped your neck, stretching your legs out in the dirt.

The tight leggings you wore ended not too far past your knees, so your shins were streaked with the red soil of this planetoid. The dirt didn’t bother you, but the heat sure did. It was different than Tatooine’s dry desert. This heat was oppressive, stifling, almost cloying, and every time you took a deep breath, a small part of your brain panicked, images of drowning flashing through your mind even though you knew it was irrational. You were just grateful your clothes didn’t look a fraction as hot as the Mandalorian’s all black get-up and what had to be twenty-five kilos of armor.

“So,” the bounty hunter said after a few more moments of silence, interrupted only by the call of exotic birds in the canopy, “how are things looking?”

“Honestly?” you sighed as you pushed yourself off the ground, dusting the red dirt off your hands but not even bothering with your pants. “Not good. The bounty’s guns must have grazed us when we were still outside orbit, and entering the atmosphere certainly didn’t help matters. Some of the side paneling has been melted beyond repair, and a lot of the wiring is fried, too.”

“Can you get it flying?” Mando asked, crossing his arms over his chest and making his silhouette all the more imposing. The sun glinted off his silver beskar, and you squinted in the glare.

“Maybe.” You pursed your lips and averted your gaze, turning back to stare at the charred panels and sparking wires. Sweat trickled down your neck, and you reached back to cup your nape, feeling the bounty hunter’s eyes on you.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes.”

“You’re not paying me at all if you can’t even catch that quarry,” you snorted before your brain could catch up to your mouth.

You froze when the words finally registered, nails digging into the back of your neck. Stupid. Your mouth always did get the better of you. You used to mouth-off to your former owner until he backhanded you into silence, and now you’re starting shit with a bounty hunter you’d seen kill half a dozen men in just as many seconds.

Stupid.

You waited for Mando to say something, staring at the Razor Crest without even seeing it, and even if you didn’t really believe he’d hurt you for a simple off-handed comment, your body didn’t get the message. Muscle memory was a hard thing to forget, and every fiber in you braced for the blow.

The birds chittered in the towering blue-green canopy above your head as sweat poured from every single one of your pores, and you were just about to come out of your skin when the Mandalorian finally spoke.

“Well, to catch the quarry, I need my ship to fly,” he said, and when you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you discovered he’d somehow moved further away from you, like he took several steps back.

Was he… giving you space?

His tone was still flat, but after several months spent in close proximity with the bounty hunter, you were now able to parse out several different minor inflections in his modulated voice. You were by no means an expert, but you knew for a fact he didn’t sound angry in this moment. When he was angry, his voice took on a softer, menacing quality. The few times you’d heard it—thankfully never directed at you—every hair on your body stood on end, and the lizard part of your brain had screamed to run and not stop running until you were in a completely different star system.

This wasn’t anger. This was… something else. You almost wanted to say… amusement, but that would have been crazy.

Still, the tension bled out of your shoulders like sand through a sieve, and you dropped your arms as you turned to face the Mandalorian fully again.

“Alright, this is the best I can do,” you said. “I can get her flying again, I think I can even get her shielded enough to withstand leaving the atmosphere when we’re done here, but it’s gonna take some time.”

“How much time?” he asked.

You glanced over your shoulder again at the damage, did some calculations in your head, and added some padding to give yourself a margin for error. Then you turned back to the bounty hunter.

“At least two days,” you replied, confident in your abilities. “Anything less, and we risk blowing ourselves to the Inner Core and back when I go to start her up.”

“Hmm.” Mando stared at you for a moment and then shifted to gaze into the jungle. “The bounty will most likely be off planet by then.”

“I don’t think so,” you contradicted him, and your heart actually skipped a beat when the T of his visor turned to look at you. There was something nerve-wracking about staring into the dark, reflective glass, but then you noticed your red-streaked appearance, and you cringed self-consciously as you looked away.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because,” you started, stooping down to pick up the tablet beside your tool bag, “when I first came out here and saw the damage, I was afraid we’d end up in this situation. But then I remembered that the quarry’s ship took more damage than we did in our little space battle. I know for a fact we landed at least one solid hit, I saw it myself.”

“And?”

“Well,” you said as you tapped at the screen, “given the make and model of his vessel, and the location of where we struck the ship, I was able to deduce that we most likely damaged his engines. If his engines are damaged, then there is a maximum distance he could have gone before he would have been forced to land, or even crash landed. With all this information, plus the fact that I knew the general location of where we lost visual of him when we entered the atmosphere, I’ve estimated the quarry can’t be farther than five klicks from our current coordinates. And with his entry trajectory, he’s most likely in this triangulated area three and a half klicks to the west, which should be easily reachable on foot.”

You turned the map on the tablet to face the Mandalorian, and he stepped forward to take the device from you. His gloved fingers brushed across your singed ones, remnant electricity shooting through your veins, and you stifled a flinch as you dropped your arm.

Mando studied the map for a long moment, cocking his head and zooming in to get a better look. You shifted uneasily in the silence, scuffing the tip of your boot into the red soil, but then the bounty hunter finally looked back up at you.

“When did you have time to do this?” he asked, and he actually sounded… impressed. “You were out here for less than ten minutes after we landed.”

“It wasn’t that hard.” You shrugged as your cheeks flushed with heat, but you blamed the sweltering sun overhead and the soup-like air.

“I didn’t realize you were so good with numbers,” he said, his helmet staring directly at you.

“Numbers are easy,” you replied, shrugging again as you raised your hand to chew nervously on your nails, but you stopped yourself when you saw the crimson dirt still caked on your skin. “They don’t lie, once you understand the rules.”

“Did Peli teach you how to do this?” he inquired, and you were surprised by all these questions. Most of the time, the bounty hunter asked you one-or-two-word questions and expected one-or-two-word answers. You couldn’t figure out why this situation was any different, but you found yourself responding anyway.

“Partially,” you explained, and you wondered how you could phrase your answer to be vague but satisfactory. “She… taught me a lot of the specifics for bigger jobs like ships and larger machines, but I’ve always been good at numbers and tinkering.”

That seemed good enough. You didn’t think it was relevant that you first started tinkering because your former owner used to lock you in his shop’s basement with broken droids when you misbehaved, and putting the discarded machines back together kept you from going crazy when your punishments lasted days. You also didn’t think it relevant that when your former owner found out and realized he could profit off your skills, you fine-tuned your abilities to become indispensable. The bastard still hit you occasionally, and his other slaves weren’t treated any better, but you had to admit, him locking you in the basement all those years had saved your life. If you hadn’t cultivated the skills you had, Peli wouldn’t have bought you at auction when the bastard bit the sand, and she wouldn’t have dug out your transmitter chip and effectively freed you the moment you walked into Hanger 3-5. The tiny woman had said she needed an apprentice, not a slave, and so that was what you became. Now, you were a mechanic in your own right, and a damn good one if you did say so yourself. Mando just didn’t need to know how you’d gotten there.

The bounty hunter seemed to think the same thing, too, because he nodded once before he looked back at the tablet.

“This is good work,” he said, and something in your chest preened at his words before you squashed it down. “If these calculations are correct—”

“They are,” you interjected before you could stop yourself.

“Then I think I can set out on foot, find the quarry, and bring him back tomorrow just as you’re finishing the repairs,” Mando went on, and he glanced up at you again. “Does that time frame sound right to you?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “Should work for me, but it could take you a little longer. I’m unfamiliar with this terrain, and there are too many other variables, like jungle beasts or indigenous species, for me to be sure.”

“The terrain won’t be a problem,” the Mandalorian said as he handed you the tablet back. “And neither will any beasts or natives.”

You cocked an eyebrow at the bounty hunter but didn’t contradict his confidence. “Alright. Then, yes, I should have the ship up and running by the time you get back. Are you leaving now?”

“Once I grab some supplies,” Mando replied before he paused and seemed to consider you. “Will you be… okay until I return?”

It was a familiar question, albeit still surprising. The Mandalorian was a stoic, usually silent warrior, literally a wall of beskar steel. You’d seen him kill men as easy as breathing, and he threw each bounty into carbonite without an ounce of remorse.

And yet, every time he had to leave the ship alone, he asked you if you would be alright until he got back. The question and concern would have made no sense… if you hadn’t seen the bounty hunter interact with his foundling. He tried to hide it, but he treated the little green baby so gently you knew there had to be a warm, beating heart beneath all that beskar. You just never expected any tenderness to be aimed at you, so it drew you up short every time.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I’ll be fine. Besides—”

You trailed off as you felt something touch your lower leg, and when you looked down, big brown eyes set in a little green face blinked back up at you. Then little green hands lifted in your direction, and you laughed as you swooped down, picked him up, and set him on your hip.

“Besides,” you continued, still chuckling as you booped the child on the nose and left a smudge of red dirt behind, “I’ll have this little guy to keep me company. Right, kid?”

The baby cooed and reached out, his three tiny fingers settling on the bridge of your nose as he tried to boop you back. When he withdrew his hand, though, his skin was dyed black.

“Huh?” You frowned at the slick ooze on his fingers, your eyes crossing as you tried to bring his hand into focus. “What’s on your hand there, bud?”

“It’s grease,” Mando supplied.

“What?” you asked as you turned your head to the bounty hunter.

“Grease,” he repeated, and he touched the intersection on the glass T of his visor, right over where the bridge of his nose would sit. “You’ve got some just there.”

“Oh.” You blushed, your hand flying up to cover your face. Not only were you covered in dirt and sweat, but grease now, too. Typical. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you knew,” the Mandalorian said, but there was that faint undercurrent in his voice that you were sure was amusement now. “Don’t you have any rags?”

“I did,” you muttered as you tried to rub at your face with your shoulder, “but I had to throw most of them out after that oil leak we had on the moon we left about a week ago. It’s fine. I’m already a mess anyhow, and I’m just going to get dirtier as I fix up the ship.”

Mando seemed to stare at you intensely for a moment, and you had the feeling he was taking in just how filthy your clothes were. You could read nothing from his body language, though, and since he wasn’t speaking, there was nothing to infer from his voice, either. Embarrassed heat crawled up your neck, and you suddenly felt naked in your tank top and leggings. You shifted the child in your arms a little to bring him more in front of you and block more of you from view, but the effort was useless because Mando was abruptly spinning on heel and marching toward the ship’s ramp.

“I’m going to gather supplies,” he said gruffly over his shoulder. “Don’t let the kid touch any of the wires.”

And then he was gone, his cape flapping behind him as he disappeared into the bowels of the Razor Crest.

“Okay, bye,” you muttered, and you frowned after him before looking down at the kid and lowering your voice. “Your dad’s a little weird, you know that?”

The child blinked up at you and then seemed to nod his head in solemn agreement.

You laughed and kissed the top of his head even though you knew you were toeing a dangerous line here. You knew you were just the ship mechanic, the hired help, but you and the foundling had spent a lot of time together when the Mandalorian was out hunting bounties, and you couldn’t help loving the adorable baby like he was your own. He was mischievous and always looking to put things in his mouth that he shouldn’t, but something about his presence was calming, soothing. Plus, those big brown eyes were to die for. You weren’t even that surprised the kid had managed to wiggle his way under Mando’s beskar. It had only been a few months, but you knew without a shadow of a doubt that if it came down to it, you would give your life to save this child.

Which was wildly inappropriate, but you chose to ignore that fact.

“It’s just gonna be the two of us again for a bit, little man,” you told the foundling, turning back to face the Razor Crest. “But we’re gonna have some fun, yeah? Do you want to help me fix up the ship?”

The child gurgled into your ear and patted your cheek, which you took as an affirmative.

“Alright,” you laughed as you set him on a large root right next to your tool bag. You dug around until you found a tool you would need eventually, and then you handed it to the kid. “Here, hold this until I need it, okay? But don’t put it in your mouth.”

The foundling seemed to pout at that last bit, but he dutifully wrapped his three little fingers around the tool and held it firmly.

“Thank you.” You smiled. Then you turned back to the ship, put your hands on your hips, and furrowed your brow. “Now, where to start?”

You spent the next ten minutes assessing what was completely ruined, what was salvageable, and what you had on hand that wasn’t necessary and could possibly be retrofitted to fix the damage. The skeletal beginnings of a plan were already forming in your mind by the time the Mandalorian was clomping down the ramp again. You set down the tablet you’d been tapping away at and picked up the child once more, and the foundling babbled as he waved around the tool he was still holding.

“Be careful with that,” you chuckled, and you craned your head back to avoid getting smacked in the temple. “I’ll need it soon, so keep holding onto it.”

The child cooed and then shifted to wave the tool at the bounty hunter as he approached.

“Putting the kid to work now?” Mando asked as he stopped a few feet away. The crescent-shaped hilt of his favored Amban rifle jutted out over his left shoulder, and a small bag was slung over his right, probably filled with spare ammo, cuffs for the bounty, and possibly some food. You’d never personally seen the Mandalorian eat, though, and a part of you was convinced he didn’t, even if you rationally knew that wasn’t possible.

“Nah, I’m just teaching him a thing or two,” you said as you settled the foundling more soundly on your hip. “You’re never too young to learn something new, and on the plus side, being my little helper keeps him out of trouble. For the most part, anyway.”

“Thank you for watching him,” the bounty hunter said, tilting his visor down minutely to stare at the child, who grinned a gummy grin and waved the silver tool again. “I know it isn’t exactly what I hired you for—”

“I don’t mind,” you cut him off, and you glanced down to smile at the kid. “He’s pretty good company, and some of Peli’s droids have given me more trouble than he does. It’s really no problem.”

“Well, regardless,” Mando replied as his visor returned to studying you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded, flushing again under his scrutiny. Then you cleared your throat and gestured at the bag on his back. “All ready?”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter said. “Days are longer here, but the sun will set eventually, and I want to try and find the quarry before moonrise. If all goes well, I should be back tomorrow before sunset.”

“Good luck, then,” you told him, and you lifted your chin with confidence. “I should have the ship ready when you return.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his helmet.

The baby suddenly burst out babbling something, and you glanced down to see him reaching out with his free hand toward the Mandalorian. His three little fingers made grabby motions, and the bounty hunter sighed.

“Listen to her while I’m gone, okay?” Mando murmured as he stepped closer into your personal bubble and held out his finger for the foundling to latch on to.

The child cooed, swinging the Mandalorian’s finger from side to side, and the breath stilled in your lungs as the bounty hunter’s glove brushed the edge of your mouth. You smelled something like leather and smoke, probably blaster residue, but then Mando was stepping back again, and the baby was forced to drop his finger.

“Keep alert,” he addressed you as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder. “We’re pretty far from any civilization out here, so I don’t think you should encounter anyone, but don’t assume you’re safe. And get inside the ship once the sun sets. The jungle will be more dangerous at night. I’ll have my comlink on me, but it’s affected by proximity, so you most likely won’t be able to contact me until I’m on my way back.”

“Don’t worry, Mando,” you said, and you patted the blaster he’d given you that was almost permanently attached to your hip. “I can defend myself if need be, and I have no desire to be caught outside after dark. We’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied, but you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. Either way, he seemed to compose himself because he nodded once. “I’ll be back soon.”

“We’ll keep a weather eye on the horizon.” You smiled. “Try not to die of heat stroke.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said dryly, but after one more moment of staring at you and the foundling, he turned on heel and marched off into the jungle without another word. The multi-colored trees swallowed him almost instantly, and suddenly you were alone.

The child cooed sadly as he stared after the Mandalorian, and he turned his big brown eyes on you as if to say, Where’d he go?

“Don’t worry, bud,” you said, turning back to the ship. “He’ll be fine and back before you know it. Now, let’s take a look at those power converters, shall we?”

You set the foundling down beside your tool bag again, but you couldn’t help glancing over your shoulder in the direction the bounty hunter had disappeared in.

He’ll be fine and back before you know it, you repeated silently to yourself.

~~~~~

Two days later, you were starting to doubt the validity of your statements.

The sun had set and risen twice, and there was still no sign of Mando. Now, the celestial orb was steadily making its way across the horizon for the third time, and you sat on the ramp of the ship and glared up at the chattering canopy.

The child was down for a nap in the hammock the Mandalorian had set up in his own bunk, and your eyes burned with a similar exhaustion, but the anxiety slowly mounting in you made it impossible to sleep. The past two days had passed uneventfully. You’d spent every hour of sunlight you had at your disposal patching together the ship, and since days were longer on this planetoid, you estimated you’d spent over seventy-two hours getting the Razor Crest in working order again.

And you’d done it. It wasn’t perfect, but the ship could fly, and you were ninety-eight percent certain it would withstand leaving the atmosphere.

Now, all that was missing was the Mandalorian and his bounty.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you grumbled under your breath as you dragged your singed, cut-up, and bandaged fingers through your hair. “Where the Maker are you?”

The chittering birds and critters in the underbrush didn’t have an answer for you, and you huffed out an aggravated breath as another bead of sweat dripped into your eyes.

By your estimate, there were about six hours left before the sun set again. Part of you, the illogical, irrational part, wanted to charge into the jungle in search of the Mandalorian. You had a general direction and location he should be in. Maybe you could find him.

But the rational side of your brain thankfully pointed out all the problems with that plan. For one, leaving the ship unattended was dangerous. You hadn’t seen anyone in the past two days, but that didn’t mean you were alone in the jungle, and now that the ship could fly again, someone could potentially walk right in and steal the vessel if you weren’t here to stop them.

Then there was the issue of the foundling. Sometimes, Mando took you and the kid along with him when he was hunting a bounty in a more populated area, but he was always there to protect the two of you if something went wrong. What happened if you brought the child with you into the jungle and you couldn’t protect him? And you couldn’t exactly leave him behind. Someone could steal both the child and the Razor Crest in that scenario.

The most compelling reason to stay with the ship, though, was Mando himself. Before he left, he’d confidently declared that neither the jungle itself nor the beasts or peoples therein would pose any problem for him. If he was wrong, and these things had posed a problem for the bounty hunter, what luck did you have of doing something he could not?

Anddddd that’s where the irrational side of you chimed in again with, Well, if he did run into an issue, he could need your help, so you should go look for him.

It was a vicious cycle, and your head was pounding with how fast it was running in circles.

You groaned as you dropped your face into your hands, digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets.

“Fine,” you sighed into the darkness. “I’ll give him until morning.”

If the Mandalorian hadn’t returned by then, you’d start up the ship and fly over the area you’d triangulated for him. If you couldn’t find him from the air… well, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

~~~~~

You huffed in irritation as you tossed and turned in Mando’s bunk that night. You turned one way, rolled another, but then you found yourself with your nose buried in his pillow, and you instantly flipped back over, face hot with embarrassment even though it was dark and you were practically alone. You weren’t sure if he slept with his helmet on when he was alone in the closed confines of the bunk, but either way, the small space smelled of him intensely. You tried not to put words to his scent, told yourself it was inappropriate and he was your boss, a Mandalorian to boot, and you had no room or right to think of him in any way other than strictly professional… but that apparently didn’t work because you knew he smelled like the cheap soap from the fresher, and the rest was a blend of smoke, leather, and metal, the degrees of which varied by the day and yet was still always uniquely him.

You knew you were playing a losing game even just having these thoughts, but you somehow couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop yourself. Ever since Mando stepped between you and Ran’s crew all those months ago, blocking you with his body, a startling, protective rage in every inch of his armored silhouette, this little voice had come to life in the back of your head and wouldn’t shut the kriff up.

What if? the little voice whispered. What if it’s not just you having these thoughts? What if you could have him in more than just your dreams and fantasies in the darkness of this bunk?

Usually, you shoved the voice into the deep, dark recesses of your thoughts and recited equations until it grew quiet. You knew that was nothing but wishful thinking at best and delusion at worst. The Mandalorian was just that: a warrior closed off from the world by a shell of silver beskar. He cared for the foundling, yes, but that was entirely different and bore no correlation to the bounty hunter’s relationship with you. There was little he could possibly want from a former slave turned mechanic, aside from your skills, of course, so you clenched your eyes closed and tried to take shallow breaths through your mouth, but nothing you did could get his scent out of your nose, your memory.

You sighed for the umpteenth time and rolled to face the wall of the bunk.

When the bounty hunter was on the ship, the two of you usually slept in shifts so you could share the bunk, though sometimes the Mandalorian slept upright in the cockpit. It had been his idea originally. You’d been fine with a thin sleeping mat on the floor of the cargo bay, but he’d insisted in his strange, stoic, nonchalant way. So, you shared, and when it was just you and the kid on the ship, the two of you had the run of the place.

The child was currently in the hammock above your head, but you were pretty sure he wasn’t asleep, either. Every so often, he’d gurgle or make some other noise, and more than once you peeked up to find big brown eyes staring down at you in the dimness. You wondered if he could sense your anxiety, and you shifted so you could glare past your feet, out of the bunk, and at the closed ramp door.

You wanted to be angry with Mando, but by the time the sun set a few hours ago, you’d moved past that anger and straight into worry. The bounty hunter had never been gone this long before without contact, and your gut told you something was wrong and wouldn’t let you sleep. You wished you could blame your insomnia completely on your concern, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

As if on cue, a sudden, piercing shriek echoed through the ship, and all the muscles in your body locked up on reflex.

The child gasped and made a worried noise as he poked his head over the edge of his hammock and stared down at you, and you tried to plaster on a fake, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, reaching up to gently rock the foundling. “The ship’s closed and locked up. They can’t get us in here.”

The baby made an unconvinced sound, but he settled back into his bed without any further argument.

You sighed as you continued to rock the child, and you did your best not to flinch when another high-pitched screech sounded outside the ship.

You weren’t entirely sure what “they” were, but you knew they were nocturnal and carnivorous. And hungry. The past two mornings, you’d found bloody animal remains torn to bits and strewn along the edges of the clearing the Razor Crest was parked in like gory, crimson confetti. You’d kept the child practically glued to your side during the days because of this, but nothing ever attacked you during the day. They just circled the ship incessantly at night, howling and screeching and keeping you from finding a moment’s peace or rest. They hadn’t outright attacked the ship yet, but you were ready for it, your borrowed blaster a cold and heavy weight tucked under your pillow.

Reaching for it now, you curled your fingers around the familiar hilt and tried to block out the crescendoing, bloodthirsty shrieks of the mysterious jungle beasts.

You didn’t know how or when, but you must have dozed off at some point because all of the sudden, you jolted awake with a panicked gasp.

The bunk was dark and close around you, but since you’d left the door open at your feet, it wasn’t claustrophobic. Your vision was still blurry with sleep, so you swiped at your eyes with the back of your left wrist as you scrambled into a seated position. In your right hand you grasped the blaster, and you pointed it blindly in front of you, toward the rear of the ship.

You couldn’t remember what had woken you up, but it had been something. Your heart pounded a frantic tattoo into the underside of your ribcage, your arm shaking minutely with adrenaline. The ramp was still closed in front of you, so it hadn’t been Mando opening the door and returning. You squinted in the darkness but couldn’t see anything beyond shadows and vague shapes in pale, muted moonlight. It must have still been night, then.

You strained your ears, listening for the howling, but it was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The jungle beasts usually didn’t go silent until right before dawn, but it was dark enough in the ship that you estimated it was still the middle of the night.

Where had they gone?

Your heart rose up into your throat, sweat beading at every one of your pores, and your mouth was so dry that your throat clicked when you swallowed.

The child made a noise of inquiry above you, barely louder than a breath, but it still made you jump all the same. Your gaze darted upward to find brown eyes staring down at you, but they were wide in an alarmed sort of way. One three-fingered hand poked over the edge of the hammock, making grabby motions at you, and the noise he made this time was more urgent, louder.

Had he heard something, too?

“What is it, little guy?” you whispered, reaching up with your free hand and awkwardly grappling him from his sling-bed.

He tumbled gently into your lap with a soft “oof,” but almost immediately he was standing up, turning around, and frantically patting at your cheek.

“What?” you asked with a frown.

He babbled and continued to tap the side of your face, and his noises grew increasingly distressed until he was grunting with frustration.

Then his tiny palm actually slapped down right across your ear canal so hard that both of your ears rang, and you hissed as you jerked your head back.

“Kriff, what was that fo—” you started to ask, but another hiss cut you off, and this one wasn’t from you.

Your heart stuttered, eyes skipping over the child’s head and out into the cargo bay, and your right hand tightened around the blaster you’d lowered to your side.

But there was nothing there. Nothing moved in the shadowy ship beyond you, and you frowned, thinking your mind was playing tricks on your startled and sleep-addled mind, but then the hiss came again.

And this time, you recognized it.

“Oh, pfassk!” you cursed as you craned around and shoved your hand under the pillow. Your fingers scrambled wildly across the sheet but encountered nothing, and you growled in aggravation, shifting the child off your lap and coming onto your hands and knees. You tossed the pillow over your shoulder in a fit of frustration, and your right hand slapped at the wall around your head until the bunk light came on.

You squinted in the flood of harsh light, the child gurgling behind you, but when your vision cleared, you spotted the thumb-sized comlink off the edge of the cot, shoved up into the far corner of the bunk. You lunged forward and wrapped your fingers around the small device, and the words were falling out of your mouth before you were even sure you had hit the button.

“Mando?” you called into the comlink, cringing when your loud voice echoed back to you in the close confines of the bunk. “Mando, can you hear me?”

Mild static crackled back for a moment as you huddled around the tiny communicator, but then a louder burst of static—the hiss from earlier—exploded to life.

And you were sure you heard Mando’s voice in there.

“Mando!” you shouted as you heart did its best imitation of a speeder, and you cupped both hands around the comlink like that would help him hear you better. “Mando, it’s me! I’m here. Can you hear me?”

Another burst of static. Then…

Mando yelled your name, clear as day, followed by a scream of what sounded like “help” and a chorus of familiar howling, and your stomach bottomed out inside of you.

“Mando!” You were gripping the communicator so hard you were afraid you were going to break it. “Mando, where are you? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. You sat there frozen for a full minute, ears straining to the point of ringing, but only quiet static crackled back at you.

“Dank farrik!” you cursed, punching the side of your fist into the bunk wall.

The child cooed at you, brown eyes big with concern, and he put his tiny hand on your knee as you raked a shaking hand through your hair.

Your chest heaved up and down as you fought for breath, your mind spinning off into a million directions at once.

Mando was in trouble. Mando needed your help. He was fighting jungle beasts, and he was far enough away that you couldn’t hear the shrieking with your own ears, but close enough that he could partially reach you over the comlink. You had to do something. You had to go help him.

But what about the child? What about the ship? You couldn’t take the Razor Crest. It was pitch black outside, and you wouldn’t be able to see Mando below the thick, dark canopy. You had to go on foot.

And you had to take the kid with you.

“Come on,” you said as you tucked the communicator into your pocket, grabbed the foundling and blaster, and scooted to the edge of the bunk. Your boots were on the ground below you, and you shoved your feet in them blindly, tying the laces in three deft movements.

Then you were on your feet, turning on the cargo lights, and jogging the child over to his floating silver carrier. You grabbed the spare remote on top of it, pressing the button and watching the top slide open with a hiss. Then you set the foundling down inside of it, and in the same motion you were tucking the remote into your pocket, turning on heel, and striding for the armory.

Another button press, followed by the hiss of hydraulics, and you were left staring at several walls of guns and weaponry. Some of them you knew. Mando had even taught you how to shoot a few, but those were typically smaller blasters.

And based on those howling screeches, you needed something with more of a kick.

Your eyes skipped over the blaster pistols since you already had the one on your hip, and after a moment’s indecision, your gaze settled on a midsized rifle you’d shot once before. You hadn’t been very good at it, only hit four of the ten targets Mando set out, and you remember it being very heavy.

But it was better than nothing, and you needed something to fight back against the dark jungle.

So, you took the rifle down and looped it around your shoulder, pursing your lips as the strap dug into your skin. You spent a moment checking the power cell and gas canister, and even though both were full, you still stuck a few spares into a belt that you wrapped around your hips. You also added a few grenades to your arsenal, both explosive and ones set to stun, plus a pair of Mando’s vibroknives, as a last defense measure. If you were being honest, if the rifle and grenades failed you, you probably wouldn’t live long enough to use the knives, but it made you feel better to clip their sheaths unto your belt.

The rifle and belt weighed you down with an extra five to six kilos, but you had lugged far heavier burdens through Tatooine’s desert, so you knew you could handle it.

The last two things you grabbed were the head lamp you typically wore when working under or inside ships and the cuff you’d programmed to work the twin lights—along with a variety of other tasks aboard the Razor Crest—resting at each of your temples. The cuff was a haphazard creation of yours made of old leather, metal, and glass, but it worked and was comfortable, which was all that mattered. It also had a small magnetic slot that was specifically meant for the remote of the foundling’s floating carrier, so you fished that out of your pocket and felt it snap into place with a satisfying click.

You were armed and ready now. All you had to do was move.

“Mando,” you said as you stuck the comlink in your ear and synced it to your cuff, which had a built-in frequency booster. You were already moving toward the ramp, tapping at your wrist and listening to the foundling’s carrier humming after you. The rifle felt heavy as you maneuvered it into your slick palms, and your heart hammered a war song in your ears. “Mando, I’m coming for you. Just hold on, okay?”

Static crackled in your ear, and your chest began to heave up and down as adrenaline flooded through you.

“Okay, little man, you’re going to take a nap, alright?” you said as you looked down at the child in his pod, your voice shaking even though you tried to stop it. “And when you wake up, your dad will be back with us.”

He cooed up at you with a fearful expression on his face, but you only spared a moment to press a kiss to his head before you were tapping at your wrist again. The lid of the pod started to hiss close as the ramp of the ship began to clank open, and you slid your finger onto the rifle’s trigger as the door slowly lowered before you.

The ramp finally thudded to the jungle floor, and you took a moment to stare out into the foreboding darkness. The moon was pale and wan in the purple-tinted sky, and all you could see were shadows along the edges of the clearing. Your eyes darted back and forth, every muscle in your body locked and braced for an attack, but nothing happened. Nothing moved save the indigo clouds over head, and the only sound you heard was the muted chirps and hums of insects.

“Okay, come on, quit stalling,” you muttered to yourself even though your heart felt like it was about to roll off your tongue. “Mando doesn’t have time for this.”

At the sound of his name—or at least, the only name you had ever known the bounty hunter by—some of the fear inside you vanished, and you were suddenly jogging down the ramp without further thought. The child’s carrier trailed after you quietly, and you jabbed at your wrist to close and lock up the Razor Crest.

You spared half a glance over your shoulder to make sure the ramp was secured, and then you looked down at your cuff. Mando’s comlink had a built in GPS transmitter, but its range was limited. However, if he was close enough to briefly contact you…

A dot flickered in and out on the grungy screen on your wrist, and you spun in a circle to figure out which direction had the strongest connection. The dot flared brightly when you angled toward the west, and you started running before you even had a plan.

You crashed through the underbrush with the child’s pod hot on your heels, and the thick, humid air sawed in and out of your heaving lungs as you gasped for breath. The lights at your temples provided enough illumination to see several steps ahead of you but not much else, and you tripped and careened over root and vine as you tried not to lose your grip on the rifle.

The good news was the dot on your read-out was no longer flickering, and it was now a strong red point about a kilometer ahead of you.

The bad news?

The jungle was no longer quiet around you.

As your feet pounded into the red soil and carried you forward, static crackled loudly in your ear, and the howling returned, faint at first but growing closer. Shivers wracked your sweat-slicked spine, and every fiber of your being was screaming to run the other way.

But you couldn’t. Because now you could hear Mando grunting and shouting over the comlink, clearer and clearer with each step, and as you vaulted over a protruding root in your path, you distinctly heard a roar of rage directly ahead of you.

You would have shouted his name if there was any breath left in your lungs, but instead you just lowered your head and sprinted as fast as you could.

The howling was nearly deafening now, echoing all around you, seeming to come from every shadow in the jungle. Your ears rang with the soul-piercing shrieks, and the cacophony was so disorienting, you tripped over your own feet and crashed into the dirt.

“Kriff!” you gasped, your knees and palms stinging as you skidded to a halt. Dots danced in front of your eyes as you panted harshly, and the rifle knocked painfully against your sternum.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the child’s pod come to a stop several feet away, the silver orb glinting in the pale moonlight barely filtering through the canopy.

Then you saw something else shift in the shadows behind the floating carrier.

At first, you thought it was your swimming vision, but then the weak lights of your headlamp reflected off several glinting eyes, and the breath stalled in your lungs.

A guttural, wet growl echoed out of the bushes beyond the foundling’s pod, and in the next instant the beast was lunging forward, vaulting over the carrier in one bound.

You yelped as you scrambled backward, fumbling for the rifle’s trigger, and you got the barrel up just in time to block a bifurcated jaw of gnashing fangs. The beast let out a piercing shriek as it snapped at your face, and the familiar sound nearly popped your eardrum at this proximity, but the pain barely even registered as you wedged your legs up under the creature’s chest and heaved it off you.

The beast let out a high-pitched yip as it smacked into a tree trunk, but you didn’t give it the chance to regain its feet. In one swift movement, you brought the rifle up, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

The blaster must have been set on full-auto because a continuous stream of energy screamed out of the weapon, and the barrel jerked upward with the recoil. Bolts of energy shredded through the vines and branches overhead, and some kind of bat-bird creature screeched as it dove out of the canopy and swooped over you. It thankfully wasn’t trying to attack, merely flee, and the avian-beast cawed angrily as it disappeared into the jungle.

“P-Pfassk,” you panted, your voice as jittery as your racing pulse. Still, you scrambled to your feet, with the smoking rifle held tight in your shaking grasp, and you stared wide-eyed at the corpse of the beast that had attacked you.

The thing was almost two meters long, and six disjointed looking limbs jutted out from underneath it. Your would-be-killer looked vaguely canine yet also insect-like, with its long snout and what looked like scaled plates along its spine. The combination made your stomach churn. The blaster had carved smoldering holes into most of the creature’s flesh, but the uncharred remains were blackish-purple, mottled with spots of blue and green that matched the jungle’s underbrush. The beast was entirely hairless and slick-looking like an oil spill, and its bifurcated maw hung open to reveal rows of rotted black fangs. Two pairs of pale white eyes stared blindly up at the dark sky, and purplish blood seeped out around the carcass to stain the jungle floor.

Bile rose in your throat, but before you could even process your fear, terror, and revulsion, a very human sounding scream echoed through the dark night, and you whipped your head in the direction it had come from.

“Mando,” you breathed, and you spared the dead beast one last glance before you took off running again, every sense on high alert.

You didn’t dare blink as you crashed through the underbrush, and you pushed your aching limbs as fast as they would go. The din of snarling and howling was so loud now it was rattling your teeth, and all of the sudden you were stumbling out of the thick tree line and into a small clearing.

A clearing riddled with bodies, both living and dead.

Your brain stuttered as it tried to assess the scene before you. The canopy overhead was broken in a perfect circle, so the moonlight here was strong and bright after the deep shadows of the jungle, and it illuminated everything perfectly. The Mandalorian stood in the center of the carnage, half collapsed against a rotten log twice as tall as he was. Carcasses of the canine-like beasts were piled up in mounds around the clearing, some shot but some charred into blackened skeletons, and the stench of burnt flesh invaded your nose and sat heavy on the back of your tongue.

For every dead beast, though, there were two more still snarling, and boy, were they pissed.

The pack of creatures prowled in a semi-circle before the bounty hunter, all their attention centered on him, and they growled and snapped their bifurcated jaws in his direction. They didn’t seem to want to attack him head on, and a moment later you saw why.

One of the beasts must have reached its breaking point, because with the same piercing shriek that had kept you up the past two nights, it lunged for the Mandalorian, the moonlight glinting off the armored plates along its spine.

The poor bastard never made it.

While the creature was still in mid-air, Mando jerked his wrist up, and a blast of flames roared out of his vambrace. The beast screeched as it was swallowed by the inferno, and its charred corpse crashed to the ground at Mando’s feet a moment later. The remainder of the pack snarled in fury as they paced in front of the bounty hunter, but you felt your throat tighten with fear.

The flamethrower was obviously a great weapon at repelling these creatures, but judging by the radius on that last spurt of fire, you estimated Mando had enough fuel for one, maybe two more attacks.

And there were dozens of the beasts left.

What were you going to do?

You heaved for breath as your eyes darted around the clearing, trying to look for a solution, but you knew the answer was obvious: you were going to have to fight.

You blindly tapped at your wrist, and a moment later the child’s carrier rose up above your head and nestled against the lowest branch of the tree you were standing under. You didn’t know if the beasts could climb, but the pod was made of a strong, reinforced metal, so as long as the creatures didn’t notice the kid, he should be fine.

The same couldn’t be said for you.

Maker, you were going to regret this, weren’t you?

You didn’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

“Hey!” you shouted as you stepped further into the clearing, one of your hands dropping to the belt on your waist.

The chorus of snarls and growls tapered off for a moment as the pack whipped around in unison to face you, and the saliva evaporated in your mouth as you stared at the dozens of glowing white eyes.

At the sound of your voice, you could see Mando jerk upright in your peripherals, but you didn’t dare tear your eyes off the pack as they started to stalk toward you. Sweat dripped down your face and trickled along your spine as you palmed a cold, heavy orb in your right hand, and you watched the distance between you and the creatures shrink bit by bit.

Mando shouted your name, but you ignored him.

“Yeah, that’s right!” you yelled at the beasts instead. “You guys hungry? Why don’t you come and get me?”

“What are you doing?” Mando roared, but you still didn’t pay him any mind as you tracked the pack. There were maybe three dozen left alive, and they bared their black fangs at you as they drew closer and closer.

Twenty meters… fifteen… ten…

Now.

“Take this!” You heaved your arm back, aimed at the beast in the center of the pack’s line, and threw with all your might, and the creature yelped as the stun grenade struck him in the skull.

A moment later, a web of electricity exploded out of the orb and arced through half of the pack, and the poor bastards screeched and screamed as they fell spasming to the jungle floor. The beasts on the edges snarled as they jumped away from their sparking brethren, and you saw some of the canine-monsters retreat into the shadows of the clearing.

This was your chance.

You darted forward the moment you had a clear path to take, and you vaulted over the pack’s twitching bodies in three swift strides. When you landed on the other side of them, you spun around and faced the fallen creatures as they whined and spasmed on the ground. Then you lifted your rifle, aimed haphazardly, and pulled the trigger. You swept the barrel from side to side for a moment, energy bolts tearing and searing through flesh, but then you whirled back around and sprinted toward the Mandalorian’s prone form.

He was propped up against the log with his legs splayed out in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when you saw the dark stain of blood on the ground beneath his right thigh. His Amban rifle lay beside him, but since he wasn’t using it, you assumed he was out of ammo. The bounty hunter listed heavily onto what you first thought was a rock of some kind, but as you skidded to a stop in front of him, you realized the lump was the body of another humanoid, except it didn’t look to be breathing.

“Mando!” you gasped as you crouched down in front of him. “Maker, w-what happened—”

“What are you doing here?” he cut you off with a snarl, and the absolute rage in his voice drew you up short.

You gaped at his visor, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “W-What… you called—”

“I didn’t call you, he did, right before they tore out his throat,” Mando growled and shoved the prone form beside him.

The body flopped over with a thud, and you stifled a gag when you realized the poor bastard had been eviscerated. He was torn open from gut to gullet, intestines and innards gleaming wetly in the dark, and his bulging black eyes stared up unseeingly at the moon.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you breathed in horror. “What happened?”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet up to look at you, but then his gaze seemed to shift over your shoulder, and he was suddenly latching onto your wrist with an iron grip and tugging you forward.

“Watch out!” he shouted as you tripped over his legs and landed on the other side of him, and a moment later you heard and felt the roar of flames at your back as another beast met a smoldering end.

You scrambled up onto your knees and whirled around, rifle held at the ready, but there were only the two new dead creatures sprawled at Mando’s feet. Their corpses smoked as their blackened flesh crackled, and this time you weren’t successful in stifling your gag. You dry-heaved off to the side, tears blurring your vision, but when the chorus of bone-chilling howls started up again, you blinked away the tears and clenched your rifle in a white-knuckled grip.

“We gotta get out of here,” you panted, your eyes darting from place to place as you tried to track the beasts slithering through the shadows.

“Can’t,” Mando grunted, and all of the sudden, you realized his voice sounded off, slurred.

You whipped back around to face the bounty hunter, and your gaze immediately fell to the dark stain under his leg. It had grown since you’d first seen it, and then you realized a haphazard tourniquet was lashed around the top of his leg, right above the metal plate that covered the front of his thigh.

“You’re hurt,” you breathed. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Mando’s head jerked up and down in an unsteady nod. “Just… happened. One of them got me… when I was trying to save the bounty. Pretty sure they nicked my femoral.”

His words were softer and definitely slurred now, and panic rose up in your throat like a burning coal.

“Then we need to get back to the Razor Crest now,” you said as you reached for his shoulders, but the Mandalorian sluggishly shoved you away.

“I’ll… only slow you down,” he grunted. “The bounty and I… are easy meals. The pack should stay to finish us off while you make a break for the sh—”

“No,” you cut him off, and the snarl in your voice surprised even you. “No, Mando. I’m not leaving you to die. We’re only a kilometer away from the Razor Crest. I have extra power cells and grenades. We can make it.”

Mando’s head thunked back against the log he leaned on as he stared up at you, and even if you couldn’t see the face underneath the visor, you could see the resignation in every inch of him.

And it ignited a fury in you unlike anything you had ever known.

“So, what?” you growled, bending down to bare your teeth in his face. “You’re just gonna sit here and die? What about the kid? You just gonna abandon him?”

You’re just going to abandon me? you didn’t say, but the words rattled against the backs of your clenched teeth.

“He’ll… have you,” Mando said, and suddenly his gloved hand reached up as if to touch your face, but he didn’t seem to have the strength, and the tip of his index finger barely grazed the edge of your jaw. His touch left behind a warm streak on your skin, and you didn’t have to look to know it was blood.

“That’s not good enough,” you snarled before you stooped down and grabbed the ends of his makeshift tourniquet, yanking tightly on both ends until Mando groaned in pain and latched onto your shoulders.

He murmured your name, his modulator crackling in your ear, but you ignored him as you looped his spent Amban rifle over his shoulder and shifted to slide your left arm behind his back, throwing his right arm over your shoulders. You took two deep breaths to brace yourself, and then you dug your fingers into his waist as you tried to leverage the both of you onto your feet.

It was nearly impossible. The Mandalorian had to weigh nearly ninety kilos in his beskar, and with the added weight of the weapons and grenades you carried, you could feel the muscles in your legs, core, and back scream at the strain.

“Dank… farrik,” you hissed out between clenched teeth, but you managed to get the two of you upright, even if Mando was practically limp against you. Still, you had to leverage your back against the log behind you to keep from collapsing.

“We’ll never make it… back to the ship like this,” Mando panted, his cold helmet brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Shut up,” you gritted out, listening to the howling beasts closing in again like they could sense your weakness. “I refuse to leave you behind. So, unless you want to kill us both, you need to get your ass in gear, Mando. I can keep them off our backs as we go, but you need to walk with me. Understand?”

“Cyare,” he slurred, and the unfamiliar word sounded pained as his helmet thunked into your temple. “I… don’t want you to die.”

“Then walk,” you grunted as you tightened your grip on his waist and lurched forward a step.

Mando staggered behind you, half draped over your back, but you widened your stance and refused to go down.

“Please… Mando,” you panted, shoving the barrel of your rifle into the loamy red soil to act as a crutch. “Help me save us. Just… just put one foot in front of the other.”

“Wait,” the Mandalorian said, and he actually lifted his head off your shoulder. “The bounty…”

“The bounty’s dead,” you grunted as your eyes darted to the trees again. You could see the sinuous shapes of the pack weaving between the towering trunks, but they kept their distance for the moment. They’d lost more than half of their numbers by your estimate, and you prayed to the Maker they would just give up, but you knew that would be way too convenient for your life.

“The puck… said dead or alive,” Mando sighed, his arm weighing down on the nape of your neck like a yoke, and it reminded you of the slave’s collar you once wore.

“I can’t carry both of you back, Mando,” you growled in frustration. “I can barely drag you.”

“Don’t need the whole body,” he clarified. “Just… the head. It’s… a big bounty.”

You groaned as you glanced down at the quarry’s corpse, and then you tilted your head back to try and look at Mando.

“Can you stand by yourself for a minute?” you asked.

“Maybe,” Mando grunted, but he shifted his weight off you bit by bit and leaned up against the tall log at your backs. His boots slid a few inches in the blood-soaked dirt as he almost collapsed, but he dug his gloved fingers into the rigid bark and stood there shaking.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes,” you parroted his words from days ago back at him in an attempt to take his mind off the pain, and it seemed to work because he actually huffed out a strained-sounding chuckle.

“Hurry,” he panted, and you nodded as you quickly stepped away from him, stood over the bounty’s corpse, and shoved the barrel of your rifle between his shoulder and neck.

It was so dark, and you were running on so much adrenaline you couldn’t even be sure of what species the man used to be, but you pushed the thought away as you took a deep breath and held down the trigger.

The rifle screeched as it tore through flesh like a hot knife through butter, and you tried to ignore the feeling of lukewarm blood splattering across your lower legs. Moments later, the jittery, rapid-fire motions of the gun ceased, and the bounty’s head rolled away from the smoldering stump of his neck.

Bile rose up in your throat again, but you swallowed it down as you picked up the decapitated head and started punching buttons on your cuff.

Instantly, you heard the familiar hum of the child’s pod drone closer and closer, and behind you Mando inhaled sharply as the jungle dogs yipped in curiosity from the shadows.

“You brought the kid?” he growled.

“Well, it wasn’t like you left me much kriffing choice, but you can fire me later for child endangerment,” you snapped as the carrier floated down to stop in front of you. Then you turned to the Mandalorian and held out your bloodied hand. “I need your fibercord whip. Eject it.”

Mando didn’t even question you, he just did as he was bid. Within moments, you had the thin but strong wire wound up in your palm, and then you started the gory process of wrapping it securely around the bounty’s bloody head. Your stomach churned at the slick warm goo covering your skin, but you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth as you tapped at your wrist again.

The child’s pod opened with a hiss, and you made sure to lower the decapitated head so it was below the carrier and out of the foundling’s line of sight.

“Hey there, bud,” you said as you leaned down and tucked the end of the fibercord into the interior of the pod near the hinges. “Look who I found.”

The foundling cooed and gurgled happily when he caught sight of the Mandalorian, and he lifted his arms and made grabby motions at the bounty hunter.

“Not yet,” you said as you stepped forward and blocked Mando from view. “First, we need to get back to the ship, so I need to close you up again. Don’t worry about anything you hear, though, okay? I promise we’ll be fine.”

The child murmured a soft sound as you bent down and kissed his wrinkled brow, but then you tapped at your wrist, and the pod closed with another hiss, locking the wire with the dangling head in place. You keyed in a few more commands, and the carrier rose up high above you, hovering at least six meters off the ground. Blood dripped from the severed stump of the quarry’s neck as it dangled from the pod, and you flinched when a speck of it landed on your cheek. It might be disgusting, but this way, the child and the remainder of the bounty would hopefully be out of reach of any of the beasts, and you could focus all your energy on getting you and Mando back to the Razor Crest.

“Alright.” You tore your gaze away from the silver pod and shifted your grasp on the rifle, wedging the stock against your right shoulder as tight as you could. You knew your aim would be abysmal since you were going have to shoot one handed while dragging Mando, but you hoped the full-auto setting would grant you some leeway. “Let’s go.”

“You really should—” the Mandalorian started, but you clicked your tongue to cut him off.

“That wasn’t a request,” you said as you sidled up against the bounty hunter and double checked that his tourniquet was secure.

“Fine.” He reluctantly draped his right arm over your shoulder, and you wrapped your left one around his waist. Then the two of you pushed off the log at your backs, and you staggered forward several steps, trying not to trip on any dead jungle dogs.

Mando’s cold beskar felt like it was burning you wherever it brushed against your bare, hot flesh, and he groaned in your ear as he practically dragged his injured leg behind him. The agony of his voice made you want to stop and sprint forward all at the same time, but you settled for stumbling several more steps.

“That’s it,” you panted in encouragement. “One step at a time.”

The pack howled and shrieked as you painstakingly shuffled your way across the clearing, but you haphazardly aimed your rifle into the jungle and held down the trigger. Rapid-fire bolts of energy careened into the darkness, illuminating white eyes and flashes of twining vines and snarling beasts, but several yowls echoed through the night, so you knew you’d hit at least some of them.

“Mando,” you gritted out as you neared the tree line. “I need you to hit my cuff. There’s a button on the side that will turn up my headlamp. I want it at maximum. Since these bastards are nocturnal, I’m guessing they don’t like the light.”

The Mandalorian grunted something that sounded like an affirmative, and then his left hand was swatting blindly at your cuff. After fumbling for a moment, his thick, gloved fingers encircled your wrist, his thumb brushing faintly over your thudding pulse point.

Your feet nearly tangled beneath you, but then Mando found the button on your cuff, and he pressed on it until the lights at your temple were bright enough to blind. The beams of white light cut through the oppressive darkness of the jungle, and the canine creatures yelped in pain as they darted back into the shadows. You swung your gaze back and forth, your lamp dragging over the scenery like a burning laser, and the beasts whimpered as their tails disappeared into the bushes.

“Come on,” you groaned as you dragged Mando forward, and the two of you finally stumbled into the thick of the trees.

You didn’t know how much time passed as you and the Mandalorian struggled back to the ship. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes hours. The moon appeared frozen in the sky above your head, and more than once you had the thought that you were already dead, and this was some messed up version of an afterlife where you were tortured for eternity.

In the end, though, you knew you were alive.

If you weren’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Left,” Mando slurred in your ear, half draped over your back, and your feet stuttered as you swung both of you around to the left.

The rifle screeched as it fired off into the darkness, followed by the yelps of dying dogs, and you hissed as the stock dug into your already sore shoulder. The pack snarled and gurgled as they encircled you, but they were hesitant now that you’d killed a majority of them. You wondered why they just didn’t give up, but you realized they could most likely sense you weakening, slowing.

Sweat ran in rivers down your face and spine, and every tendon in your body felt like it was on the edge of snapping. You could tell Mando was trying to take some of his weight off you, but he was becoming more and more unsteady with each step, his breath jagged and uneven as it rasped out of his helmet. He probably wouldn’t remain conscious for much longer, and if he passed out before you reached the ship, you were both dead. You couldn’t fully carry him, and you would not even entertain the idea of leaving him, so it was all or nothing.

Either you both reached the ship together, or neither of you did.

But, as you glanced up at the child’s pod hovering high over your head, you knew the second choice wasn’t really an option. The kid needed you. Needed both of you.

So, you were going to kriffing live, even if you had to break your body down to achieve your goal.

“Come on,” you encouraged as you stumbled over a tree root. “Come on, Mando. We’re almost there. Stay with me, okay?”

You had no idea if you were almost there or not. The homing beacon on your cuff was beeping steadily, but with all the howling, and the blood pounding through your ears, you couldn’t approximate how close you were to the Razor Crest.

“I’m… trying,” Mando mumbled, lifting his head just slightly. “B-Behind us.”

You cursed under your breath, letting the rifle dangle against your chest as you fumbled at your waist. Your fingers curled around a cold, metal orb, and you clicked the button in its center before you lobbed the grenade over your shoulder with all the strength you had left, which wasn’t much.

Then you staggered forward a little faster, dragging the bounty hunter behind you, and five seconds later, you heard the stun grenade go off, followed by the crackling of static and the yelping of beasts.

“That’s my last… stun grenade,” you panted, and the hair on your arms stood on end with all the electricity in the moist air. “I have some explosive ones… but…”

“But we’re not fast enough to get out of range in time,” Mando finished for you, his helmet bumping into the crown of your head as he sagged a little more.

“Yeah,” you huffed, but then a crunch to your right had you whirling and firing in one motion.

The canine yipped and screeched as the energy bolts tore through its chest mid-lunge, and it crashed into the ground at your feet as you staggered into a tree. The bark scraped painfully across your bare shoulder blades, and Mando groaned as you almost lost your grip on him.

“No,” you growled, tightening your arm around the bounty hunter and tugging you both upright. “Dank… farrik!”

The muscles in your arm burned hotly from the strain of keeping the Mandalorian on his feet, and you bit through your tongue to keep from crying out, the metallic taste of blood coating your teeth and whetting your parched mouth.

You stumbled forward blindly as you tried to work through the pain, but all the sudden, the claustrophobic darkness caused by the towering trees lessened a few degrees. You thought you were hallucinating it at first, but then you lifted your head a fraction and realized the trees were thinning out ahead of you.

And the beacon in your cuff was beeping like mad.

You were almost there. The Razor Crest was so close.

Of course, that’s when the snarling behind you reached new frantic heights, and you knew the pack was gearing up for one final assault.

“Mando, listen to me,” you gasped as you shifted to shove him against a tree, using your palm to keep him rooted at the sternum and on his feet.

He groaned as he listed there, mumbling something that didn’t sound like it was in Basic, but he remained upright, so you seized the opportunity to jab at the screen on your wrist. A moment later, the child’s pod swooped down from where it had been hovering near the canopy, and the bounty’s head dragged against the jungle floor with a dull crunch. You tweaked the carrier’s settings half blind, one eye on the encroaching darkness and the beasts therein, and then you grabbed the floating orb and shoved it against Mando’s gut.

“Ugh,” the bounty hunter grunted, his feet starting to slide out from under him.

“No, lean forward,” you rushed out, grabbing one of his shoulders and tugging him toward you.

Mando moaned as he collapsed onto the child’s pod, but since you’d cranked up the carrier’s power output to the max, the bounty hunter didn’t crash to the ground. Instead, he hung there half suspended, the pod whirling angrily from his added weight, his feet limp and dragging behind him.

“Mando,” you said as you tapped the side of his helmet, eyes still on the shadowy trees. “Mando, I need you to hold onto that pod as tight as you can, okay? Can you hear me?”

“Hear… you,” the Mandalorian just barely breathed, and you saw his arms wrap around the bottom of the silver carrier.

“Hold on like your life depends on it,” you instructed as you tapped at your wrist again. “Because it does.”

“What—” he started to ask, but he didn’t get to finish the question because the pod was suddenly surging forward, in the direction of the ship. The bounty’s head and Mando’s feet dragged loudly against the ground, but with one last jolt of power, the pod lifted away from the jungle floor and began to float away.

The pod would probably have just enough power to get Mando back to the ship before it died, but that was fine. That was just what you needed.

The jungle dogs howled and shrieked as they watched the Mandalorian drifting away through the trees, but as you listened to them start to skirt around you in his direction, you finally gripped the rifle with two hands and aimed into the dark.

Then you pulled the trigger, full-auto, and the shrieking of the energy bolts collided with the screeching of the canines and crescendoed into a deafening cacophony. You sprayed the jungle in wide sweeps as you slowly started to walk backward toward the Razor Crest, the rifle stock jolting into your shoulder in time with your racing heart. You just needed to give Mando time to reach the ship. You had programmed the pod to open the ramp at a certain distance, so they would just fly on into the cargo bay, and it would close behind them. Once they were safe, you could make a break for it and—

Suddenly, one of the shadows broke away from the trunk directly to your right, and you turned too late to see it was a slavering beast, its bifurcated jaw wide open and aimed for your throat.

“Ahh!” You stumbled back, trying to crane away from those jagged black fangs, but your feet got tangled up beneath you, and you came crashing down. A root slammed into one of your rear ribs so hard you heard and felt the snap as the bone gave, but you didn’t even have time to register that pain before the jungle dog smashed into your chest.

You instinctively shoved your arms outward, wedging the rifle between those deadly, snapping jaws. One of the beast’s jagged fangs scraped down your forearm as you tried to keep the bastard from swallowing you whole, and you screamed in fury and pain as blood spilled from your rending flesh.

Then you brought your knee up and smashed it as hard as you could into the jungle dog’s ribcage, and this time you felt its rib snap, and grim satisfaction burned like a wildfire through your blood. The warmth filled your limbs until you thought you would burst into flame, and you kicked the beast again and again as it yipped.

You were just starting to think you had the upper hand when the creature’s jaw started to close with a creaking sound of bone on metal, and your eyes widened in horror as the canine jerked its head back, taking your rifle with it. Then its bifurcated jaw snapped close with a horrible crunch, and the rifle shattered into shards of metal and sparks.

The beast roared in pain and rage as it tossed the remains of your rifle aside, but now you were acting on pure survival instinct, not thought, not logic, and you were already wrenching two grenades and a vibroknife off your belt when the nightmare dog finally settled its four milky white eyes on your face.

“Eat this, you bastard,” you snarled as its terrible jaws, rowed with serrated teeth, descended on you.

Then with one hand you stabbed the vibroknife into its neck just above the shoulder, and with the other you activated the grenades and shoved both of them down the jungle dog’s throat.

Warm blood sprayed down on you like humid rainfall, and you twisted the blade in to the hilt, feeling as it tore through flesh in a jittery fashion. The creature gagged and gurgled as its throat muscles convulsed around your other wrist for just an instant, but then you yanked your arms back with all your might, teeth catching on your elbow again, before you crashed into the dirt.

You were scrambling up in the next instant, barely listening to the creature heaving and choking behind you as you staggered forward into a clumsy sprint.

The rest of the pack howled at your back, but you were flat out running now, and you could see the Razor Crest through the trees. The pounding of paws on dirt sounded at your heels, and you couldn’t tell if you were gasping for breath or sobbing as you tore the final grenades off your belt, activated them, and let them fall through your numb fingers.

In the next instant, you broke through the tree line, and you could see the ramp of the Razor Crest, closing. You slapped at your wrist blindly as you sprinted as fast as you could, lungs heaving to the point of seizures, legs at the point of collapse. You didn’t know if the dogs were still right behind you, but the grenades…

You must have finally hit the right command because the ramp suddenly shuddered before it started to lower again, and you were ten meters away when the grenades went off like dominoes falling.

The first two explosions—of the grenades you shoved into the jungle dog—only shook the ground hard enough to make you stumble forward, but then the rest of them detonated much closer, and the combined shockwave hit you moments later and catapulted you into the air.

Thankfully, the ramp was just low enough that you scraped over it and crashed into the ship, smashing into a bulkhead with a dull crunch. The howling shrieks of dying dogs reached you through the ringing in your ears, and you felt a wave of heat hit you as the grenades engulfed the jungle trees. You curled into a ball on the cargo bay floor, your back to the ramp, and you just barely had the presence of mind to tap at your wrist one last time. A moment later, you heard the whirling of the ramp closing, and when it clanked shut a moment later, you rolled over onto your back and stared blindly above you.

You could just barely hear the roar of the building wildfire outside the ship, and the screeching of the jungle dogs died down within seconds. Your entire body—your lungs, your heart—heaved up and down as adrenaline pulsed through you like a bad hit of spice, and your ears ached in the relative silence.

Then the child cooed, and Mando groaned weakly, and you jolted upright like you had just been struck by lightning.

“Mando,” you rasped, flipping over onto your raw hands and bruised knees.

The bounty hunter half-sat, half-sprawled on the floor at the foot of his bunk. The foundling’s pod lay askew on the ground in front of the fresher like it had crash landed there when it finally died, but the child stood unharmed beside the Mandalorian.

Who was currently bleeding out on the floor of the cargo bay.

“Kriff!” You scrambled forward when you saw the spreading stain of blood below his leg, and as you drew closer, you realized his tourniquet must have been loosened when he collapsed.        

The Mandalorian barely even seemed conscious at this point. His chest stirred only slightly beneath his beskar chest plate, and if it weren’t for the soft groans he was exhaling, you would have thought him dead.

“Mando!” you shouted as you shakily rose onto your feet and staggered the rest of the way to the fresher. Your hands were shaking as you tore one of the storage compartments open in search of a med kit, and your voice cracked when you said his name again. “Mando! Stay with me. We made it back. We’re on the ship. Just stay with me for a few more moments. Please.”

You crashed down onto your knees beside the bounty hunter, tearing the med kit open with bloody hands and broken nails. His helmeted head lolled onto the edge of the bunk behind him, and you could barely hear his raspy breaths through the modulator.

The child stood between Mando’s splayed boots, eyes large and frightened, but you couldn’t pay him any mind right now. Your frantic gaze darted between the bacta gel patch in your hand and Mando’s bleeding leg, and even though it felt crazy, you set the patch down for a moment and reached for the last vibroknife on your belt.

Suddenly, Mando jerked awake with a gasp, and you reached out without thinking, pressing your left palm over his heart and feeling his faint, fluttering pulse.

“Mando, I’m right here,” you murmured soothingly. “Keep breathing for me.”

The Mandalorian muttered your name as his head lolled toward you.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m here,” you said, rising up on your knees and leaning over him. The vibroknife glimmered in your hand, looking like a real-life glitch, but you shook off the unsettling feeling and fixed your eyes on Mando’s visor.

“Mesh’la,” the Mandalorian slurred. The word was soft and elongated to the point of sounding like gibberish, but his hand settled firmly on the wrist you still had pressed to his heart, like he was talking directly to you.

In any other situation, your own heart would be fluttering with a feeling you didn’t want to name, but as the bounty hunter’s blood started to soak into the knees of your pants, all you could feel was dread.

“I need you to stay still, okay?” you said as you dropped your hand from his chest to grip the top of his injured thigh. “I need to cut your pants away from the wound.”

“O… kay,” he muttered, and his hand fell to settle over yours again on his leg like he was grounding himself by touching you.

“Nice and easy,” you cooed, trying to blink the tears out of your eyes so you could see to cut through his pants and not his flesh. “I’ll have that bacta patch on in just a moment. Why don’t you talk to me, huh? Mando, talk to me. Tell me something. J-Just stay awake.”

“Aw…ake,” he whispered, but it sounded like he was just repeating you now, barely clinging to consciousness.

Your hand shook as you slowly sawed through the blood-soaked fabric, and an aborted sob rose in your throat. But you shoved your hysteria down, down, down, you had no time for it, you had to stay level-headed, steady-handed, Mando was counting on you, Mando was dying.

“Mando,” you choked as you finally pulled the cloth away from his wound. Three parallel gashes, each nearly five centimeters deep, ran from his hip crease and nearly all the way to his knee, and blood pulsed sluggishly from the wounds in crimson gobs. “Oh, Maker, Mando.”

You dropped the vibroknife with a loud clang as you lunged for the bacta patch, and out of your peripherals you could see the child waddling closer, standing in between the Mandalorian’s knees, the hem of his little robe slowly staining scarlet. You didn’t have the heart or the strength to shove the child away now, so instead you focused on settling the bacta patch over the bounty hunter’s grisly injuries.

Mando twitched and inhaled sharply as the bacta adhered to his skin, and you sent up a million prayers to the Maker that you had administered aid in time.

“There y-you go,” you sniffled, unable to stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks now. “I got the patch on, Mando. You’re going t-to be okay. You… you have to be okay. Do you hear me, Mando?”

You felt like a glitching holotape repeating his name over and over, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You wanted, no needed, him to stay awake, and every time you said his name, he seemed to jerk a little, like he’d been recalled from a long distance at the sound of your voice.

For a moment, there was only the faint, raspy wheeze of the Mandalorian’s breath through his helmet, but then he suddenly mumbled something.

“What?” You shuffled closer, slipping in blood. You practically had your ear pressed against his visor. “What was that, Mando? Say it again. Come on, talk to me, Mando.”

“Not… Mando.”

The words were stilted, sluggish, and you frowned in confusion. “Huh? I-I don’t understand.”

“My… name isn’t… Mando,” the bounty hunter struggled out, and his helmet tilted forward a fraction like he had lifted his head and was looking right at you. “It’s… Din. Din Djarin.”

The shock you felt was muted, distant and removed, like a crack that formed deep in the heart of a glacier, buried beneath the adrenaline, horror, and helplessness warring within you.

“Din,” you breathed, and the word somehow tasted like the exact moment Peli dug out your transmitter chip. It tasted like freedom, like infinite possibility, and you didn’t understand why.

Mando—no, Din, Din Djarin—exhaled heavily as his head thunked back against the bunk, and even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell his eyes were slipping closed. “I… wanted at least someone to know before I—”

“No,” you cut him off vehemently, reaching out to cradle the sides of his helmet like you were cupping his face. “No, you’re not going to die. Not now. Not when… no, do you hear me, Din Djarin? I will not allow you to die. Not when I worked my ass off to fix this ship and drag you back onto it by the skin of my kriffing teeth.”

“Mmmm.” Din’s head lolled in your grasp, the weight of him growing heavier and heavier. “I knew I would like the way… you say my name.”

Oh, Maker. He was nonsensical now, and terror gripped you by the throat and squeezed.

“Then stay awake, Din,” you begged, and your heart felt like it was on the edge of a great precipice. “Stay awake for me.”

“’m so… tired,” he sighed.

��I know,” you breathed as you guided his head back to rest against the bunk, and you couldn’t speak above a whisper because your voice was thick with tears. “I know, but just listen to my voice, Din. Just—”

You trailed off as the child suddenly waddled into your line of sight, and you dropped your gaze slightly to find him standing between the Mandalorian’s thighs, right next to the bacta covered wounds. The foundling stared up at the bounty hunter with a furrowed, seemingly determined expression, and then he closed his big brown eyes as he reached for Din’s leg.

“Oh, buddy, don’t,” you started, reaching out to stop him, but Din—Maker, his name felt delicious and forbidden even in your mind—weakly placed his hand on your wrist to stop you.

“It’s… okay,” he panted. “He can help.”

“Help?” You frowned down at the child. How could he help? Was this one of the “powers” the bounty hunter had vaguely mentioned before? You thought the foundling’s ability dealt with physically moving things, not healing, but honestly you could do for a miracle right about now.

The child gurgled a small noise as his three fingers settled over Din’s wound, and the Mandalorian inhaled sharply at the same time that you felt… something. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was like the very air shifted, became magnetic, charged somehow. The air stilled in your lungs as you feared even the barest breath would fracture this fragile spell you were bearing witness to, and you watched with wide eyes as the gashes on the bounty hunter’s legs began to close right in front of you.

Bacta worked fast… but not that fast.

Several still, endless seconds passed as the foundling healed the Mandalorian, but then just as soon as it began, the moment ended. The atmosphere snapped almost tangibly, time jolted back into motion, and the child suddenly started to pitch backward.

“Oh!” you gasped as you lunged forward, your hands cupping the baby and bringing him close to your body. The foundling’s eyes were closed, his face slack, but his little chest still moved up and down with breath.

“He’s okay.”

You snapped your head up, more tears spilling down your cheeks with the motion.

Din was sitting up a little straighter, and his helmet looked squarely at you. His voice sounded stronger, too, and you gaped at him in bewilderment.

“He’s okay,” the Mandalorian repeated when you continued to blink at him. “He usually… tires himself out when he uses his powers.”

“I d-didn’t know he could do that,” you breathed, and your tongue felt like a disembodied lump of flesh in your mouth. “I… wait, how do you feel? A-Are you okay?”

You suddenly realized how close you still were to the bounty hunter, practically kneeling in his lap, but you ignored this as your eyes darted back to his leg. It was a little hard to tell through the dried blood and blue bacta, but it looked like the three gashes had closed altogether, leaving behind faint pink lines.

“I’ll survive,” the bounty hunter sighed, thunking his head back against the bunk again, but he tilted it to the side to regard you still. “Thanks to you.”

“I-I’m not the one who just healed you with magic,” you stuttered incredulously as your cheeks flared hot, and you cuddled the child against your chest even though you realized you knew almost nothing about the apparently powerful foundling.

“No,” Mando said evenly, “but you did charge out into a dark, unknown, dangerous jungle, fight off a pack of wild dogs, and drag both me and the bounty back safely.”

“Well,” you snorted with an edge of hysteria in your voice, and you gestured to the discarded head that lay sprawled against the corner of the fresher. “I don’t know if I’d say he got here safely.”

Maker, you felt a little crazy, hollowed out and wrung dry by the sheer amount of emotions you’d just experienced in a span of a few minutes.

“I’m serious,” the Mandalorian replied. “You… saved my life. I am in your debt.”

“I-I’m not one for debts.” You shook your head to try and clear it, dropping your gaze to the foundling’s face, nuzzled against your sternum. “I don’t like to owe anyone or be owed. You’ve stuck your neck out for me before, so let’s just call it even… Din.”

You saw the bounty hunter freeze out of the corner of your eye, and you bit your cheek until you tasted blood.

You should have known that was too much to ask for.

“Sorry,” you muttered, peeking up at the Mandalorian through your lashes. “You… mentioned your name when you were—”

“I remember,” Mando said, cutting you off, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his expression hidden as always and his voice pitched in a way you didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, feeling the adrenaline starting to drain out of you and be replaced by every ache and pain you had ignored in lieu of survival. “Of course, I can just forget about it. You weren’t exactly in your right mind, after all. I’ll just… using ‘Mando’ is fine for me.”

The Mandalorian’s visor stared you down unflinchingly for what felt like an eternity. Then…

“You can… use my name, if you like,” he said haltingly, then quickly amended himself. “But only when we’re alone, on the ship. I… my name could be a dangerous thing in the hands of my enemies.”

You blinked in shock at the bounty hunter.

“A-Are you sure?” you asked, and you tried to keep the hope out of your voice, but you knew you failed miserably. “O-Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You’d thought giving up his name had just been a delusional, dying declaration, and you didn’t want him to regret it. What you said had been true enough. You were fine using “Mando,” even if the traitorous feelings buried deep in your chest said otherwise.

“I’m sure.” The bounty hunter nodded minutely. “I… trust you.”

The admission flooded your whole body with warmth, and goosebumps broke out across your skin. You’d known the Mandalorian trusted you, he wouldn’t have left his ship or his foundling in your care otherwise, but hearing him say the words felt like something out of a dream.

“Okay, then.” You smiled, heart thudding against where the child was pressed into your chest. “Din.”

At the sound of his name, the tension in the Mandalorian’s worn body seemed to bleed out of him entirely, and he sighed as his helmet fell back again.

“Let’s get off this Maker-forsaken planet,” he grumbled.

“I second that,” you chuckled dryly before you slowly clambered to your feet, careful not to slip in Din’s tacky blood or jostle the sleeping baby in your arms. You very gingerly leaned over the prone Mandalorian to set the foundling in his hammock, but you hissed when the movement jarred the bruised or fractured rib in your back.

“What’s wrong?” Din asked below you, and he was so close you could feel the rumble of his modulated voice against the bare skin of your stomach, your tank top having lifted up a fraction.

“Nothing.” You took a quick step backward, trying to put distance between you and the bounty hunter, but now that he was no longer actively dying, you were starting to realize you were a little more beat up then you’d previously thought.

The moment you stepped back on your right leg, your hamstring seized up, and when you went to grab at it, you realized your fingers were a little numb. You glanced down and saw fresh blood dripping down your forearm—your blood, not Mando’s—and the sight of the wound seemed to flip a switch in your brain because a moment later, pain crashed over you like a wave.

“Dank farrik,” Mando cursed lowly as he tried to shove himself up.

“No, no, no, no,” you babbled, holding out your less injured left hand in a gesture to stop him. “Don’t get up so fast.”

“You’re hurt,” he grunted, and you could practically hear the scowl in his voice as he tilted his helmet back to stare at you. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you stressed, even though you could still taste blood on the back of your tongue. “Also, you seriously have no room to talk. You were literally just bleeding out less than five minutes ago.”

“How much bacta do we have left?” he asked, completely ignoring your statement. “We should take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“Maker, you’re not even listening to me, are you?” You rolled your eyes as you leaned your shoulder against the bulkhead, but when the Mandalorian started to get up again, you held your hand out once more. “Alright! Alright. Let me at least set the coordinates to meet up with the client and get the ship in the air. I’m pretty sure the jungle is burning down around us as we speak anyway, so the sooner we lift off, the better.”

Din stared up at you silently for a moment like he wanted to argue.

“It will take me two minutes, max,” you reasoned with him. “I won’t pass out or die in that time frame, okay?”

“Fine,” he finally sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “Just… be careful climbing up there.”

“I’ll try my best,” you snorted, wincing when pain flared through your body, but you still slowly made your way to the ladder.

It took you way longer to climb five rungs than it should have, but you thought not falling back into the cargo bay was a feat in itself, given how every muscle in your arms and legs twitched in pain. The blood pouring down your arm also did nothing to help your grip, nor did your scraped up palms, but you still made it into the cockpit relatively unscathed.

Dawn was just breaking beyond the windows, but you could barely see it through the black smoke that hung thick in the air. Guilt sat heavy in your chest as you saw the charred trees and the birds fleeing the flames overhead, but you told yourself you did what you had to in order to survive.

And it wasn’t like you were walking away scot-free, either. Your arm pounded painfully in time with your slowing pulse, and every time you took a deep breath, you became a little surer that the rib in your back was, in fact, broken.

You punched in the client’s rendezvous coordinates without sitting in the pilot’s chair since you knew if you sat down now there was no way you were getting back up. While you waited for the Razor Crest to power up, you cringed at the blood you were dripping all over the floor, but there was nothing for it at this point. The whole ship would need a thorough scrub down the next time you made a pit stop, but that was a future-you problem. Right now, you were mainly focused on getting off this planetoid and out into orbit without crashing and burning.

You held your breath as the pre-Empire ship rose up above the now smoldering jungle, but no warning alarms or messages sounded. The Razor Crest glided steadily upward, and you leaned heavily on the control panel as you breeched first the clouds and then the atmosphere. Entering orbit rattled the ship and you more than you cared for, but nothing broke off or burst into flame, and before you knew it, you were drifting through the familiar black void of space.

“Thank the kriffing Maker,” you sighed as the autopilot took over, and then you turned and shuffled back to the ladder, exhaustion starting to make the edges of your vision go fuzzy.

Or maybe that was blood loss?

You were a little less graceful with the descent than you were with the ascent, but you at least landed on your feet before you nearly collapsed into the fresher.

“Careful,” Mando’s modulated voice murmured, and suddenly his bare hand was on your left, uninjured elbow, skin against warm skin.

“What are… you doing up?” You frowned as you studied the Mandalorian, trying to make sense of what you were seeing as he led you to sit in the open mouth of his bunk.

“I told you,” he said, reaching over and grabbing another med kit from the fresher. “We need to take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“You should be resting,” you grumbled, but you were too tired to put any real heat behind your voice.

“I’m fine,” Din parroted your earlier proclamation back at you. “The kid did a thorough job.”

Then the bounty hunter sat on a crate before you, a crate that hadn’t been there before, and you realized he was no longer wearing a majority of his beskar, save the ever-present helmet, of course. Instead, a faded but clean pair of duraweave clothes covered his body, and the bloodied outfit you’d basically sliced off him was piled up between his feet. It also looked like he had haphazardly tried to mop up some of his blood with the dirty clothes, and you wondered if you’d been up in the cockpit longer than you thought.

“Hey,” you chuckled suddenly, and you distantly noted that your voice was a little slurred with exhaustion. “Looks like I’ll have some new rags after all.”

You giggled a little loopily as you gestured to the Mandalorian’s blood-soaked clothes and then to the blood and dirt your outfit was also currently coated in, but Mando didn’t seem as amused as you were.

“Let me see your arm,” he said as his helmet stared at you impassively, but then he paused and added, “Please.”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tried to argue as you held out your injured limb, but since it was still actively dripping blood, your words didn’t carry much weight. Then the bounty hunter gingerly gripped your wrist with tentative fingers, and you hissed through your teeth as pain lanced up your arm.

“Osik,” Din cursed in a language you didn’t recognize, slowly rotating your arm to take in the extent of the damage. “Did one of those dogs get you? The bastard almost flayed you to the bone in some spots.”

“Yeah, well I shoved two grenades down his throat, so I think we’re even,” you gritted out.

Din froze and lifted his head, your blood, sweat, and dirt-streaked face reflecting back at you from his visor. “You what?” 

He must have really been on death’s door if he didn’t notice or remember you literally blowing the jungle dogs to Tatooine and back, but you just shook your head.

“Story time later,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes as you tried to breathe through the pain. “Bacta time now, please.”

“Right.” Mando jerked back into action, and in the next moment he was shifting into medic-droid mode.

Few words were shared between you two as the Mandalorian tended to your bumps and scrapes. Beside the deep lacerations on your forearm, your palms and knees were scraped bloody from tripping your way through a dangerous jungle in the dead of night. Your upper back was in the same condition since you’d been wearing a tank top when you decided to grapple with blood-thirsty hounds, and when Din accidentally brushed against your lower back, a small whimper squeezed out between your clenched teeth.

“This rib is probably broken,” the bounty hunter said, and there was a heavy quality to his quiet voice.

“Thought as much,” you grunted, trying to sit up straight without breathing too deeply. “Too bad we don’t have a full bacta tank to soak in.”

“I could always… drop you back off on Tatooine,” Mando muttered. “With the payment that I owe you, of course. Should be enough to pay for a full treatment and then some.”

You froze sitting there in the doorway of his bunk. The Mandalorian wasn’t looking at you, too busy double checking the bandage he’d wrapped over the bacta on your forearm, but you could see how rigid his body was as he awaited your answer.

“Do you… want to drop me back off on Tatooine?” you asked hesitantly, the breath shallow in your lungs. You could hear the child snoring softly in the hammock directly behind your head, and the thought of leaving him opened a dark pit inside you.

And that was nothing to say of the thought of leaving the Mandalorian. Of leaving… Din.

Now that you knew his name, the feelings you had done your best to ignore came surging up to the surface, that little voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

He told you his name. He trusts you. He wants you here. Maybe he wants you for more than just your skills.

You shoved the thoughts away as quickly as they cropped up, but that didn’t stop something small and fragile from unfurling in your chest. You almost wanted to call it hope.

“I—” Mando started, stopped, fidgeted on his crate, and then sighed as he scooted back a little to stretch out his injured leg. “No, I don’t want to do that. You’re a talented mechanic and… good company. I’ve… enjoyed having you on my crew.”

“Oh.” You blushed as the breath whooshed out of your lungs, leaving you feeling lightheaded and buoyant. “T-Thank you. Current circumstances notwithstanding, I’ve enjoyed being on your crew, too. A-And not just for the payment. Seeing new worlds, as dangerous as they are, was something I never thought I’d get to experience. So, even if the price to pay is a few bumps and scrapes, I think that’s a fair deal.”

“You have a skewed idea of ‘fair,’” the Mandalorian chuckled dryly as he reached down beside him, picked up a pair of his gloves, and slipped them back on.

“No kriff,” you snorted, the scar on the nape of your neck tingling. “But it works out in your favor, so I wouldn’t question it too much.”

“Fine.” Din held up his hands, but then he lowered them to his knees and cocked his head at you.

“What?” you asked when he didn’t say anything for a full minute. His gaze made your skin prickle even if you couldn’t see his eyes, and with each passing moment, you grew acutely more and more aware of how dirty and disheveled you looked and felt.

“Nothing,” he said, fingers flexing against his knees. “Just… thank you. Again. For saving me, the kid, the bounty, and the ship.” 

You fidgeted in discomfort. You didn’t know what to do with praise and compliments, having never really received them before, so you shrugged your shoulders as you picked at the bandage on your arm.

“I told you, we’re even,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” he argued, and something about his tone told you he wasn’t going to let this go. “So, how about this: after we drop off this bounty with the client, you can pick the next planet we stop on.”

“Really?” Your eyes flicked up to the bounty hunter and widened. He’d never let you pick a destination before. You’d always just been along for the ride.

Mando nodded. “And make a list of parts and stuff you need to keep the ship running. We’ll stock up wherever we stop off next.”

“Okay.” You grinned as your heart did a little jig in your chest, and you stuck out your bacta-wrapped hand to shake on it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Din Djarin.”

His name rolled off your tongue like a grain of sand spiraling down a dune, picking up momentum as it went, and it sent a shiver of pleasure straight down your spine. You knew you were playing a losing game with your own heart here, but as you stared into Mando’s visor, you also knew there was no stopping yourself now. You would just have to deal with the future heartbreak.  

The Mandalorian tentatively reached out and grasped your fingers in his gloved ones.

“Deal,” he rumbled back.

“Good.” You nodded as a yawn cracked open your jaw, and you reached up to cover your gaping mouth and scratch your nose. “Now, given the client’s rendezvous coordinates, we should have a few days of rest before we reach our destination, and if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to start right now by taking a well-deserved nap.”

You made to stand up, but Din gently placed his hand on your shoulder to keep you seated on the edge of the bunk.

“Take the cot,” he said as he nodded behind you. “I’m going up to the cockpit to send a message to the client anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you murmured around another yawn.

“I’m sure,” he said, but then his gloved fingers were suddenly ghosting over the bridge of your nose. “By the way, you’ve got a little grease right here. Just thought you should know.”

You went cross-eyed as you tried to draw his finger into focus, but when he stepped back, you noticed the fingertips of his glove were shiny, and glancing down at the hand you used to shake his revealed that your palm bore the same black sheen.

“Hey, this is your grease,” you muttered indignantly, but then Din was pressing gently on your shoulder, guiding you to lay back on the cot, and you went willingly.

“Get some rest,” he said, turning off the bunk lights. “We’ll worry about cleaning up later.”

You tried to grumble something, but exhaustion was starting to tug at your limbs and eyelids, and your body unwound bit by bit as you buried your face in the bounty hunter’s pillow with no remorse.

A moment later, Mando’s boots were clomping up the ladder to the cockpit, but he left some of the cargo bay lights on and the door to the bunk open, like he somehow knew you were afraid of the dark.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at your lips, but you spiraled into sleep before you could fully process the thought.

#din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian/you #the mandalorian/reader #pedro pascal #star wars #fanfiction #fanfic #my writings

[a65232-joshywoshy]

18

     Rachael stood with her back to Penny, who was sitting on the couch. Penny smiled at the woman in front of her who was wearing only a t-shirt and diaper, Rachael’s favorite pajamas. As the song on her phone started, Rachael shuffled backwards towards Penny, taking small steps in time with the music. As the intro ended, she spun around and sang along, though she only knew half of the lyrics. 

     They both smiled as Rachael danced in the apartment living room. Both women shared the philosophy that life is what you make of it. They could have been sad or stressed that they would have to leave this apartment in less than a month, forced to uproot their lives and start anew somewhere else. Instead, they lived life one day at a time. Each day was a gift, they had agreed. Sometimes all that matters is the here and now. Here, at this point in time, everything was perfect.

     Penny got a text from Veronica.

     “Oh no. Veronica is divorcing Marco.” Penny said with a sigh. 

     “Oh no.” Rachael stopped dancing and sat on the couch next to Penny.

     “I knew they were going through a rough patch, but I didn’t think it would lead to divorce.” Penny read the last text from Veronica out loud, translating the words from Spanish. “ ‘Everything is going to be okay, though. I will miss him, but he really wasn’t good to me, anyway. He wants to stay in the house, so he is kicking me out. So I will find my own place. My abuela raised a strong woman; I will make my own way.’ I’m going to invite her to stay over here. She’s too stubborn to ask.”

     Penny quickly typed the invitation to Veronica in spanish. Rachael loved watching Penny type in spanish. Scrambled words and strange characters seemed to come together like magic, forming words and sentences that were alien to her, yet perfectly clear and concise to a Spanish speaker. Language always fascinated her. Some languages could delete the verb ‘are’ if the context was obvious. Other languages had 100 unique words to use in place of ‘I’. And still others had phrases and words for feelings that took English speakers an entire sentence to describe.

     Penny read Veronica’s reply “ ‘Mija, I don’t want to be a burden on you. It’s unfair for me to take up the space you’ve worked so hard to earn.’ Ptch. She sounds like an abuela.” She spoke her reply out loud, while she typed in spanish. “Please. You. Are. Not. An inconvenience. Let. Me. Take care. Of you. The way. You take. Care. Of me. If. Abuela. Was here. I would. Tell. On you. Familia primero. Siempre.”

     Penny hit send, then the two stared at the message screen waiting for a reply. “Do you know what those last three words mean, Rachael?” While Penny waited for Veronica to weigh her options and make up her mind, she figured she would keep Rachael entertained with a little spanish lesson.

     “Um…” She read the words without their proper accent, much to Penny’s amusement. “Fam-ee-lee-uh prihm-air-o See-em-pree.”

     “Rachael. Babygirl. You butchered that pronunciation. Escuchen. Repeat after me. Fah-mee-lee-uh pre-mehro. See-em-preh.”

    Rachael repeated the words back, this time only failing to roll the ‘R’ in primero.

    “Very good. Thank you.”

     “Does it mean family one?”

     “Close. It means family first, always. I said that to pull on her heartstrings. I’m kind of partial to having her over all the time, but I also don’t think she has too many housing options right now. It may be a little presumptuous of me, but I don’t care. There’s not a lot I can do to make her have a bad opinion of me at this point.”

     Penny translated Veronica’s reply. “ ‘Okay, Mija. You win. I’ll be spending the night tonight, if that’s okay. I won’t be too much trouble.’ Yes! She’s coming over!” Penny did a little dance. “I get my Mommy. She’s coming over. I’m going to collect ALLl the women. Mwahaha.”

     “Yay! I mean, it’s sad that she’s getting a divorce. You know what I mean. Does she have kids?” 

     “Yeah. She has a son, but he’s like 20 and moved out already.”

     “Okay. Should we start getting ready to go see Kim, soon?” Rachael was still chipper. Getting to see someplace new was exciting, even if her social anxiety tended to climb higher as she did so.

     “Yes. We should get ready. And you know what? I’m going to let you diaper me. I’ll wear a longer skirt or something so noone will know but you. But it’ll be my little gift to you.” Penny stood up to go change, then stretched.

     “A gift? I’m special! Why do I get a gift?” Rachael asked sweetly.

     “Because I love you. That’s why,” Penny cooed.  “You get a gift for no other reason than ‘I love you.’” She kissed Rachael’s forehead. “Now diaper and dress me, babyslave!”

     “Yes ma’am!” Rachael eagerly hurried to the bedroom for clothes and supplies. Penny followed behind.

     “Let’s see.” Rachael rummaged through the boxes in the room. She found a white pleated skirt, flowy top, and a rearz princess diaper, then patted the bed, directing Penny to lay down. “Lay down right here, sweet princess girl. We don’t need any grown up panties anymore.” After taking Penny’s clothes off, she started to grab baby powder. 

     “No baby powder, please.” 

     “Why not?” Rachael stopped, puzzled.

     “I’m allergic. It makes my skin break out. It’s not a bad allergy, it’s just enough to bother my skin.”

     “I’m sorry. Well, shoot. I guess I won’t get to have powder, either.”

     “You can have powder on yourself. I just can’t put it on you.” Penny looked at Rachael apologetically. “I’m sorry. You really like it, don’t you.”

     “Meh. I can do without. That’s part of any relationship, I guess. Compromise.” Rachael finished getting Penny dressed, without baby powder. “Could you powder someone if you wore gloves? What happens if you accidentally breathe it in?”

    “Nothing,”Penny said as she sat up again. “But I would be anxious that it would touch me somewhere else. If I start smelling baby powder, I start worrying that it’s touching some part of my skin that I don’t see. It won’t kill me, but I just really don’t want my skin to break out and start getting itchy. We’ll work on some kind of plan for you to be able to use baby powder, on yourself, sometime. I don’t want you to not have the things you like.”

      “Thank you. Can I get changed now, too?”

     “Of course!” Penny kissed her cheek. “We’ll take turns.” 

     Penny smiled and layed Rachael down on the bed, with a kiss to the forehead. Penny changed her out of her pajama shirt and wet diaper, into a dry diaper and new, publicly acceptable outfit. The bagginess of the outfit helped conceal her diaper. Neither one of them were obviously diapered.

     “There. All better.” Penny told Rachael. “Let’s go see this house.”

~~~~~~

     “This is the place? Whoa.” Rachael was surprised at how large the house was. Kim waited for them on the front sidewalk as they drove up the driveway.

     Before them was a large, two story house. It wasn’t a mansion, but was still large enough for more than 5 bedrooms. A pool was visible in the backyard. Behind the house was a communal lake; a few boats dotted its surface.

     “Hello, ladies. Thank you for coming!” Kim looked very happy to see her former co-workers. They exchanged pleasantries as Kim started the tour of the house. Inside, the rooms were spacious. Vaulted ceilings and open concept spaces were all throughout. The bedrooms were smaller in comparison, but still larger than any room in Penny’s apartment.

     Kim told the story of how both sets of her grandparents wanted to get their first grand-daughter the most expensive gift. What started as a petty competition between her grandparents had escalated until she had a house, car, and multiple shares of stocks in her name. Through the trickling down of their money, they had ultimately made Kim wealthy as well. She had enough money in her multiple savings accounts to live comfortably for decades, with all her bills paid. Getting a job was how she earned extra “spending money”. 

     “So your grandparents just gave you all this?” Penny couldn’t imagine her grandparents cooperating long enough to make a single decision, much less buy her expensive things.

     “Yep.”

     “So this house, your car, is all paid for already?” Rachael had received a few expensive gifts from her grandparents a few times in her life. Still, she knew that none of them, even if they pooled their money, could afford a house like this. Rachael was floored.

     “Yes.”

     “And you’re just going to let us live here? How much will we owe you?” Penny was floored that rich people could so easily forget the value of what they possessed. 

     “You can stay for free, if you need. But if you insist on paying something, just pay your portion of the utilities.” Kim shrugged. It made no difference to her.

     “We’ll definitely pay that. Maybe more. Thank you so much for this offer, Kim. Do you have any specific rules for us if we decide to live here?” Penny asked.

     “Not really. Just… don’t destroy the house? The HOA demands that there are no parties past quiet hours of 10pm. Clean up after yourself. Just the basic things. The house is basically yours to do with as you please. I’ll be leaving in 2 days for a family vacation. So, do you want to stay here? I kind of need an answer so I know if I need to find a house sitter or not.”

     “That would be wonderful. Please.” Penny said. “Oh. One last thing. We may have a guest over for an extended amount of time. Is that okay? It’s my friend. She is getting divorced and needs a temporary place to stay while she finds a place.”

     “Sure. I really don’t care. I’m just happy that the house is being used now.”

     “Thank you very much.” Penny said. Rachael echoed the thank you as well.

     “You’re welcome. Here are the keys. I’ll have my people send you the paperwork today. Can you just text me your current address so we can send it to you?” Kim started typing on her phone. Most likely sending messages to ‘her people’ to begin the process of accepting tenants. “Feel free to start moving in when you’re ready. I have to take off. Bye friends.”

     And with that, she was gone, leaving Penny and Rachael standing in the massive living room, stunned at the gravity of what just happened.

     “I love rich people.” Rachael said. 

     “Me, too.” Penny slowly spun around, taking in the house one more time as she played with the keys she was handed. “I guess let’s get lunch, then go pack. Then move, I guess? I don’t know. The world is our oyster, love.”

      “Let’s go!” Rachael said excitedly.

      They left the house, locking the door behind them, then spent the rest of the day packing and moving enough stuff to the new house so they could stay overnight.

[knives-out20]

Discrepancy - Dean Corso x Male!OC - #3

Fandom: The Ninth Gate (1999)

Pairing: Ambrósio ‘Ambrose’ Fargas (OC) x Dean Corso

Warnings: Swearing, Faggotry, Spoilers for The Ninth Gate, Flirting, Homoerotism, Sexual phone stuff but not phone sex y’know, Ambrósio has no chill and knows no bounds y’all,

Notes: what is going ON y’all....lmao

Dean lay on the bed of his hotel room in Paris, talking to Ambrósio over the phone. "Ambrósio, how are you holding up?"

"I'm lying down if that answers your question, Dean" Ambrósio answered, definitely wearing a shit-eating grin.

Lying down, Dean thought. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, I dunno...talking to some shady book dealer over the telephone."

"I'm shady?" Dean chuckled. "First I'm out of place, and now I'm shady?"

"Yea, man, what the fuck is with your fucking gray hairs around your ears, you got premature graying or something?" Ambrósio inquired, squinting a bit.

"Have you just been thinking about the hairs around my ears lately?"

"I've been thinking of more than the hair around your ears, Dean."

"My facial hair?" Dean teased.

"More than your hair, man."

Dean grinned, "ever the flirt?"

"I try my best, Corso." Ambrósio rubbed his thigh, biting the edge of his lip.

"You been, uh...back at the house, as of late?"

Ambrósio shrugged. "Carmen let me go back to check it out with her really buff boyfriend, like, wrestler-type buff, Jeronimo's huge."

"Is he setting some high expectations up for me?"

Ambrósio decided to mess with Dean. He put on a puzzled tone, "who said they're for you?"

This caught Dean off-guard, like Ambrósio wanted it to. "Oh- uh, nothing, I just- all this had led me to assume-"

"Chill, man, calm down, I'm playing around" Ambrósio giggled. "It felt a bit...grim, but that's obvious, y'know? I mean, with...the reason why I'm staying with my friends in the first place."

"Yea."

A moment of silence struck the two before Ambrósio asked Dean another question. "Where are you right now?"

Dean's gaze darted around his hotel room. "In a hotel."

"Central?"

Dean slowly licked his lips in thought. "Uhh...Sure." He nodded, pulling out a slip of paper and a pen. "I'm staying at this Hotel Central place nearby, in this room. You can reach me there if you're specific."

"No, no. Out of the country." Dean corrected him.

Ambrósio scoffed, "yea, so where are you?"

"France. Ever been?"

"You offering?"

"Again?"

"I'm assuming that's a no."

Ambrósio broke out into a smile as he leaned back in his seat. "Does adoption not exist in America, or wherever?" He giggled. "I'm adopted, half-Pakistani."

"Ever been?"

"You offering?" Ambrósio joked.

"Don't lose hope" Dean smiled. "If I grow to like you enough, decide I need some sort of companionship in my life, I'll reach out."

"You make it seem like it'll be a privilege to me, to be able to hang out with you. It's quite the opposite."

"Oh, really?"

"Yea. It'll be a privilege to you, or rather anyone, to hang out with me, Ambrósio Fargas."

"That's true. Any new up-comings with your..uh...grandfather?"

"Mmh." Ambrósio hummed in a gloomy way. "Jeronimo has an uncle that's in the funeral business. He'll help with all the funeral stuff for my Avô."

"Wish I could come."

"It's like you want to be out of place, Dean, jeez" Ambrósio laughed.

Dean liked listening to Ambrósio's laughter, even more-so since he caused it. He assumes he just liked that he was able to make Ambrósio smile during this suddenly-dark time in his life, given the abrupt death of Victor and all.

Ambrósio and Dean got hit with another moment of comfortable silence. It seemed to be a running thing between the two men.

"You still lying down?"

"On my bed in Carmen's guest bedroom, yea. Why? You gonna ask me what I'm wearing?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you're still wearing that red shirt."

"I have a damn washing machine, Dean" Ambrósio licked his lips. "It's unbuttoned just like the first time you saw it."

"You wearing those gray pants, too? With the stripes?"

Ambrósio hummed his answer, meaning a 'no." "I'm wearin' some shorts, actually. Switching things up, today. What're you wearing, Corso?"

"Same things from the day you first saw me."

"Not one for changes, eh?" Ambrósio questioned. "Well, no. You probably are, given that Balkan's making you go here 'n' there around the globe for some old books 'n'...whatever. Y'know?"

"Yea," Dean nodded. "I'm really sorry, too, Ambrósio. About your grandfather. I never meant for this to happen to him, I didn't anticipate it like you did, but anticipation really has nothing to do with it." He explained. "I'm sorry."

"It's nothing. My Avô was old as hell anyway, Dean. He was bound to go sometime, but I just...not so soon. He was a good man."

"I'm sure he was, he seemed like it."

Ambrósio smiled. "You're a good man, too."

"Really?"

"Yea." Ambrósio nodded. "You, you- you didn't need to give me your hotel number that night you first came, you didn't need to come inside the house to call for me the other day. You didn't need to make sure I was okay, and gonna be okay. You didn't need to make sure I had some place to stay, or ask for Carmen's number in order to reach me. Hell, you don't need to be talking to me right now" he listed out, admittedly blushing a bit.

"But...I am."

"But you are, exactly. You added me into your little equation when you had the choice to leave me in your memories as Fargas' pretty, queer grandkid."

"'Pretty'?" Dean repeated.

"I'm fucking divine, Dean, it's in my name. Meanwhile, Dean means like...'valley.'"

"Would you describe me as a valley, Ambrose?"

"A valley of weird gray hairs, some round glasses, dark academia, and an angular face."

"You think my face is angular?"

"In a good way, pretty boy."

Dean smirked to himself, dragging his free hand slowly down the side of his face. "You think I'm pretty, too?"

"I thought the flirting made it obvious."

"I'm more than a pretty face, y'know" Dean sassed.

"Well, duh. I'm not shallow" Ambrósio scoffed. "I like when we talk, too, and not just for your voice-"

"You like my voice?"

"I've told you this before!"

Ambrósio chortled. "I don't only listen to Hendrix and Foreigner, Dean, Jesus Christ."

"Who else do you listen to?"

Ambrósio stepped back, towards his staircase. "I could listen to you. You sound like you could do a number on people if you sing."

Dean knowingly shook his head, looking down to hide his smile. "I don't sing, but...thanks."

Dean hummed in agreement. "You mentioned reciting poetry, when I met you."

"Yessir."

"What writers do you like?"

"Aw, damn, uh..." Ambrósio scratched his jaw in thought. "Baudelaire, definitely. And JP Marquand, Oscar Wilde, and Lord Byron. To name a few."

"Quite an array."

"You like?"

"I wouldn't shy away from the names. It's an impressive list."

"Thank you, I know." Ambrósio smiled, proud of himself.

"You still lying down?"

"Yea, what're you doing?"

"Lying down, on my hotel room's bed, talking to the dreamy, divine grandson of Victor Fargas." Dean flirted, stroking his beard.

Ambrósio poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "I am dreamy."

"You really are."

"So..."

"So?"

"So, we're just both lying down, on our beds, talking to each other over the telephone?"

"Why, would you rather be doing something else, with somebody else?" Dean joked.

Ambrósio raised his eyebrows. "I'd rather be doing something else that involves being on a bed, with you...Doing a far more scandalous activity than just talking."

Dean fought back a grin, looking over at the wall. "You're on quite the roll, huh?"

"Whether it be the romantic poets I indulge in, or my natural-born charm, the world may never know."

"I think it's just you, honestly."

"I'm touched." Ambrósio placed his free hand over his chest, where his heart lay underneath. "Oh, also- I figured out another song you remind me of."

"Really? Which?"

"Poison by Alice Cooper. I was gonna say his other song Feed My Frankenstein for the sake of the title and sexual themes, but there's lyrics in there regarding a body part that neither I nor you have...I'm assuming. There's nothing wrong with if you do, though. I have a guy friend with the body part, but he's saving up money to get rid of it."

Dean's eyebrows jumped. "You listen to Alice Cooper?"

"Sometimes, do you?"

"Not really my thing."

"Ah, yes, let me guess." Ambrósio raised a finger in thought. "You enjoy sitting back in leather armchairs, surrounded by dusty, possibly-expensive books and listening to the likes of Debussy, Chopin...I happen to like Tchaikovsky myself, if he's any your style."

Dean laughed softly. "No, not actually. I don't know what I listen to, I don't know if it could be classified as one thing."

"If you ever come back to Portugal, we could listen to my records together 'n' see what you're into" Ambrósio offered.

"Are you asking me out?" Dean joked.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm a gentleman, I'd buy you dinner, first." Ambrósio corrected him. "I'm just flirting your socks of for the time being." He told, sliding a hand through his dark hair; he closed his eyes and gave it a tug, trying to imagine that it was someone else, someone specific, tugging his hair in his bed.

"I'm not wearing any socks right now."

"Task complete." Ambrósio nodded slowly, sure of himself. His smile grew when he heard Dean's slight laugh through the phone.

"Dinner, huh?"

"Yea. Wine, music, candlelight, the whole shebang. Again, a gentleman."

"The sound of it does intrigue me."

"That's the goal" Ambrósio stared up at the ceiling. 

"Your activity from before, regarding a bed...What would that include?" Dean didn't know what he was doing, nor what he was hoping to accomplish, but liked the power it held over Ambrósio trying to flirt with him...Well, trying and succeeding, but he liked playing a hard-to-get guy.

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure." Ambrósio partially lied. "Winding, twisting, turning, gyrating, writhing...incessant writhing" he purred. "Perhaps some assorted debaucheries along the way."

"You can be so charming when you want something, eh, Ambrose?"

"Or someone," Ambrósio added. "And I can be so charming, full stop."

"Of course you can."

"Alright, how can I get to you, Dean?" Ambrósio asked him. "Tell me the rules." He whispered through the telephone, Dean stifling a shiver.

"Can I trust you?" Dean playfully rolled his eyes.

"Oh, my dearest Dean, have I given you any reason not to?"

"That's true."

Ambrósio's voice turned into another whisper, "you and I could be as thick as fuckin' thieves. Tell me the rules, Dean." His fingers stroked from his chin to his cheek, a faraway look on his face.

Dean could just imagine the look on Ambrósio's face as they spoke. "First, you gotta tell me if I can call you 'chico' yet."

"Beg for it, like you wanted to" Ambrósio reminded him, free hand trailing down his neck, down his torso.

Dean turned back around, seeing Ambrósio holding onto the opened gate. "What is it, chico? Can I call you ‘chico’?"

“If you ask nicely.”

Dean rolled his eyes knowingly, “save either one of us begging for something from the other for another time.” He finally flirted back. 

Dean held a knowing expression on his face. He should've expected this.

"No problem, Ambrose. Can I call you 'chico', yet?"

"Only if you beg like you wanted to." Ambrósio flirted.

Dean looked around in thought, "wouldn't you rather in person?"

"Would either one of us want to travel seventeen-ish hours for you to beg me for something so small in the midst of your big book mission?" Ambrósio rhetorically asked. "You wanna call me 'chico', you gotta do what you suggested. It was your words, not mine, big man."

Dean hummed. "Please?"

"'Please' what?"

Dean giggled quietly. "Please, can I call you 'chico'? Please?" He insisted, "please? Let me call you 'chico', Ambrósio, please."

Ambrósio had a smug look on his face, "you may."

"That was barely any begging."

"Let's save actual begging for some other time, when we're closer together. Okay, amor?"

"Okay, chico." 

"I also thought of another song."

"You're full of them for someone who supposedly couldn't think of any."

"Shut up," Ambrósio chuckled. "I Was Made For Loving You."

Dean licked his lips, "by Kiss?"

"You like Kiss?" Ambrósio looked surprised.

"I know Kiss, and I know the song you mentioned. How come I never remind you of any Jimi Hendrix songs?"

"That's not my problem" Ambrósio replied. "I Was Made For Loving You, Dean. Take it or leave it."

"Y'know what, Ambrósio?" Dean inquired. "Maybe you were."

"Not even 'maybe', Dean. I know I am." Ambrósio checked the time. "Listen, I gotta get going, a guy's gotta run. Talk soon?"

"Sure thing, chico."

"Bye, Dean. Stay safe."

"You too."

Ambrósio and Dean hung up their phones, Ambrósio's head spinning of round glasses, prominent cheekbones and smooth voices as he left the bedroom. Whereas Dean stayed where he was, rubbing his thighs with thoughts of dark, soulful eyes, inked-up torsos, and dreamy grandsons.

Both of them just hoped Dean's mission would end quick so the two could talk physically again, or maybe do a greater deal than talking.

#the ninth gate 1999 #the ninth gate #the ninth gate oc #dean corso #dean corso x oc #dean corso x male!oc #dean corso x male #oc #ZAYN oc #zayn malik oc #male oc #oc x male #oc x canon #canon x oc #canon x male #male x male #male x oc #male x canon

[skylarmoon71]

TMNT 2014/2016 Donatello x Reader- Extra

“Donnie you girlfriend’s here!” Raph’s yell echoed throughout the lair, and you were sure you could feel Donatello blushing from all the way across the room. You punched Raph’s arm playfully as you moved past him, and he just smiled at you. Donatello who was typing on the computers halted, turning and looking you over nervously. 

“H-Hey (Y/N). “ Even though the both of you had been dating for weeks now, and he was still shy when talking with you. Or interacting in general. You didn’t mind though, you’d get him out of his shell soon enough. (Pun unintended).

You sat down next to him, watching as he went back to work. He was unplugging a few of the wires and adjusting them. For what, you weren’t sure. 

“Are you rearranging the system?” He nodded. 

“Just a small modification. Mickey wrecked the main servers again with hot cheese.” you snickered. 

“Hey brah, no one told me they weren’t cheese proof!” Laughing, you shifted to help him. You had a pretty good idea on how he set up the systems. It would go by much faster with the both of you working on it. Donnie glanced at you for a second, and you hadn’t even noticed. He was still lost on how he’d gotten someone like you to fall for him. 

He’d always been a person of logic. There was an explanation and a reason behind every issue. Most problems could be solved. Yet, the mystery that was you, it was the first time he didn’t have an explanation. His eyes drifted when he realized you clicked on a music player. It was a random radio station. You turned grinning at him. 

“Some music to help us.” you said. And just like that you were back at it. The music filtered through softly. And you found yourself humming to the lyrics you had no idea you even knew. It was a soft melody. And strangely, it made you think of Donatello. 

Something about you

It's like a addiction

Hit me with your best shot honey

I've got no reason to doubt you

'Cause some things hurt

And you're my only virtue

And I'm virtually yours

He listened to the words, eyes now completely focused on you. Your eyes looked so bright as you rocked your head to the slow beat. You weren’t even doing much, but when he looked at you all he could think was..

“Beautiful..” 

And you keep coming back, coming back again

Keep running round, running round, running round my head

And there's certain things that I adore

And there's certain things that I ignore

But I'm certain that I'm yours

Certain that I'm yours

Certain that I'm yours

The song was speaking to you on a deeper level. The more you listened, the harder it was for you to stay on task. You licked your lips, swallowing, because maybe it was just you, but the room felt a bit hotter now. 

There's something about you

It's when you get angry

Hold me, I saw mercy

And you're like a shoulder to turn to

If some things burn that's when we're hanging on for this life

We held on so tight

And you keep coming back, coming back again

Keep running round, running round, running round my head

You fiddle with the cord in your hand for a few seconds. Usually it never took you so long to find the correct jack. So why was it suddenly difficult for you to think. You wanted to steal a look in Donnie's direction to see his progress. 

“Who am I kidding, I just want an excuse to look at him.” It was true and you knew it. When you finally convinced yourself to look, his eyes were already on you. Your heart gave a quick beat, and in a matter of seconds, the items in your hands were completely forgotten. 

And there's certain things that I adore

And there's certain things that I ignore

But I'm certain that I'm yours

Certain that I'm yours (I adore you)

Certain that I'm yours (I adore you)

I adore you, I adore you

I adore you, I adore you

Certain that I'm yours

Your hands slid over the table, finding their way into Donnie’s. He closed his fingers over your palm, and you felt yourself moving on its own, getting closer to him. Your mouth opened slightly, ready to feel the softness of his lips. The taste of his tongue. The firmness of his biceps. The-

“No kissing in front of us bro!!” Mikey’s voice broke your little moment, and Donnie pulled away so quickly he fell out of his chair. He landed on his back, scrambling to gather himself from the very ungraceful fall. Your cheeks flushed. “I completely forgot they were there.” 

Damn Mikey, it was going to be difficult trying to get a kiss from Donnie now. Poor guy ran off mumbling something about getting more data cables. You sighed, placing your chin in your palm, watching him basically sprint away. Leonardo passed by, giving you a look. 

“I’m disappointed in you (Y/N), taking advantage of Donnie like that.” He was smiling as he said it and you laughed, chugging an empty soda can from the table at him. 

“Oh hush!” 

~~~~

Resetting the networks didn’t take that long, and when you were done you just chilled at the lair. They all just went about their day as normal. There was practice, then pizza then some more fighting, a lot more pizza. Sometimes you wondered if they were addicted to pizza. The day was coming to an end, and you knew what that meant. Pretty soon the turtles would be out on patrol. You headed to Donnie’s room to gather your stuff. Picking up your jacket, you were about to meet up so you could head with them to the surface. As you were turning to leave Donnie walked in. You smiled. “Be careful out there. I know you guys are ninja turtles and all but that doesn’t make you invincible. “ 

“I know, we will.” They kind of were invincible. Not because of the mutagen, but because they had each other. Whenever they fought you saw it. The unity. There was nothing stronger than their bond as brothers, even if they fought on the daily. 

Donnie was just standing there staring off into space. For a second you thought maybe you forgot something. When you looked over at the bed, you saw the goggles he usually had on. 

“Oh, you came for this.” you were about to pick it up and hand it to him. 

“I’m sorry.” You stopped looking at him confused. “W-What? Why are you apologizing?” 

He scratched his neck. “I always make things really awkward when I’m around you. Earlier I..I really wanted to kiss you. Sorry if Mikey made you uncomfortable.” you shook your head. Did he really think you would be mad for something like that. 

“Donnie come on we both know that Mikey lives to embarrass you. And you never have to apologize. If anything I should apologize. I know it’s a bit hard for you. You’re shy, but it’s cute. You don’t have to force yourself. I’m willing to go whatever pace you're comfortable with.” 

He was looking at you, processing your words. He was happy you understood that it wasn’t always easy for him to display how he felt. But he really hoped he could be bold. Just for you. 

“Maybe I should just go for it..” he couldn’t see the harm in trying. 

Your brows knitted when you saw his posture change. He looked a bit more sure of himself. Sort of  the way he was when stating facts, or battling enemies. 

“Would you..prefer it if I were more forward. “ 

“What…” it took you awhile to realize he was walking you backwards. You finally made contact with the wall. And the way that he was looking at you, it was really causing tingles to run through your body. 

“Donnie…” He leaned down, silencing your words, and you leaned in, pulling in a sharp breath through your nose at the sudden kiss. You were trapped between his body and the wall. And you were perfectly fine with that. His finger ran over the side of your neck, and you could feel goosebumps follow as he trailed down your shoulder, over your collar bone. His hand didn’t move any further. After a few more seconds of slow sensual kisses, Donnie pulled back. His breathing was slightly labored. Your brain was still trying to catch up with what happened, because those kisses left you partially speechless. 

“Wow…” you muttered. You were usually the one to initiate kisses. Due to his shy nature, you sort of got used to being the one making the move. Watching him take the lead, it was incredibly sexy. 

“Just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter.” 

Boy were you wrong. He picked you up this time, arm hooking under your knees and you squeaked, right before your words were stolen once again by another kiss. 

You felt this one all the way to your core. You were thankful he was supporting you, because if you’d been standing, you would have caved in seconds. 

“His tongue is…” you moaned, tightening your hold. 

When did he learn to kiss so well? Was he holding back this entire time. The warmth of his skin and yours seemed one in the same now. You couldn’t tell if it was his heart hammering or yours. Your fingers drifted down to his chest, enjoying the ridges of his plastron. Everything about him was so firm and strong, far different from his tender personality. 

You hoped you could just stay there kissing forever. When he parted this time, you could tell there was a great deal of reluctance. Your breath came out shakily, trying to recover from both his surprise attacks. 

“I’ll work on it.” He spoke softly. You looked at him. “Y-You’re fine..” you stammered. If he was going to be any more forward, surely your poor heart wouldn’t make it. Donnie was satisfied with the look of bliss on your face. “She looks happy.” That was all he could really hope for. His head moved closer, and you were already leaning in for round three. You sighed this time. 

“Gosh...I could never get tired of kissing him.” 

If not for your need of oxygen, you’d probably never part. Donatello sat down on the bed, still holding you. With the change in location, you twisted in his arms. You were now straddling him. You pressed into him, and Donnie fell back softly on the bed, bouncing slightly from the springs. You giggled, and so did he. 

“I suppose I should really let you go. You know, keeping the city safe and all. “ You really didn’t want to. And Mikey would probably bust in the door and ruin the moment anyway. He raised his hand, brushing your cheek, and you leaned into the touch. 

“Kiss me.” Donnie whispered. 

His low tone struck something in you. You shudder, nodding as you reconnected your lips. His hand ran over your back, up your spine. You arched into him, a sultry sound escaping. You blushed, because that one was unexpected. Donnie just kept kissing you, slowly, lovingly. You were unsure how a kiss could be so hungry and tender at the same time. It was crazy. His hands were now on your thighs, the heat from his fingers travelling to every part of your body. 

When you parted this time your head rested on his chest. You closed your eyes to try and regain some semblance of control. Because right now, Donnie was ruining you in the most wonderful way. 

“I think..I can get used to this..” you mutter. Donnie smiled, still running his hand up and down your back. 

“Me too.” He replied.

#donatello #teenage #mutant #ninja #turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #mikey #raphael #leonardo #love #nerds #shydonnie #cuteness #newyork #jamesarthur #certainthings

[kyber-kisses]

Hymn (Part 1)

Winchester Brothers x Sister!reader (platonic)

Summary: Y/N Winchester has wrestled with demons ever since her mother died, but when her younger brothers lives are in danger it’s their souls she fights to save, because isn’t that what a big sister should do?

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, angst. John Winchester being a terrible father.

A/n: thought I might try something a little different from what I usually write. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy! I based this on the song Hymn by Joel Porter and the lyrics will be in each chapter! (I highly recommend giving it a listen!)

You were gonna kill him. God, that man was getting on your last nerve. John Winchester ever the terrible father. Adjusting the strap of your rifle, you pulled back the moth eaten curtain ever so slightly, peering out into the darkness. The only light came from the buzzing neon sign of the otherwise empty motel, the bright blues and reds flickering as if they were at the end of their life.

The stories told are all we know

Exchanged in truth and word

The photographs are quilted paths

From places we've outgrown

“Y/N, when is dad gonna be back?”

“I’m not sure, Sam.” Turning to look over your shoulder, you gave the young eight year old a soft smile. “Just keep doing your homework.”

“But I don’t wanna. It’s boring.”

“Well too bad mister. You gotta.” Leaning across the small table, you ruffled his hair- only for him to bat your hand away.

“But what about Dean?”

“I’m helping Y/N guard the door.” Dean piped up from his spot on the other side of you, his chin resting on the windowsill as he watched two raindrops race down the pane of glass.

“Yeah, nice try there Bub.” Shifting the strap on your should once again, you turned Deans head towards Sam, nudging him out of his chair. “You sir should be helping your brother with his homework.”

The freckled twelve year old let out a groan before sliding out of his seat and walking around the table towards his brother. “This is bullshit-“

“Woah hey! Language! Just because dad curses like a sailor does not mean you get a free pass to do so.”

“. . .Sorry.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought.” You nodded, leaning your weight against the wall as you peered out the window once more. He should have been back by now. Whatever he was hunting was holding him up. If anything happened here all you had to keep the boys safe was your hunting rifle- nothing else except a damn knife. once again: John Winchester, ever the terrible father.

We carry with the friends we make

The hearts we mend and break

I see it in another way

All lives that we have changed

Rolling your shoulders you could feel the rifle resting against your back, the feeling similar to the way your mothers hand had when you were small and afraid. Taking another deep breath you pulled your fingers into the sleeves of your canvas barn coat in an attempt to keep warm. The heating in the room sucked and you had relinquished all your other coats to the boys to keep them warm.

“Y/N, why can’t you help Sam? You’re way smarter than me.”

“Oh why thank you, Dean.” You grinned, eyes still trained on the empty parking lot. You knew what that little minx was trying to do. “But your flattery isn’t gonna get you out of the task.”

You heard another groan from behind you, before a light thunk as Dean hit his head on the table. “This. thunk  Is. thunk  So. thunk  Dumb.”

A light laugh of amusement bubbled up from your lips as you looked over your shoulder. “You keep doing that and your aim isn’t gonna be so straight anymore.”

At that Dean stopped, lifting his head from the table to glare at you. “You’re not so straight- anymore-“ he tried, his failure at a comeback amusing you all the more.

“Wow, great comeback right there. Really, I’m proud.”

Deans eyes narrowed as he pushed back the work he was helping Sam with, before popping up to stand on the creaky old chair.

“Dean! My work!” Sam let out a whine as he tried to gather the papers.

“You wanna go?!”

A wicked grin spread across your face as you slid off the rifle and set it on the table, beckoning him with your hands to try and come at you. “Bring it Bub, let see if you can really tackle your sister to the ground.”

In that moment you swore the freckled rascal became a blur, launching himself across the table at you with a playful yell as he barreled into you. But unfortunately for him he was half your size and you were stronger. Your arms locked around him and you were quickly throwing him over your shoulder, locking him in place as he tried to squirm free.

“Wow, I thought you were actually gonna do it this time. I’m a little disappointed.” You joked, walking across the room to deposit him on one of the beds.

“It’s not a fair fight! You’re sixteen! You’re supposed to let me win!”

“It’s not a fair fight-“ you mimicked his whine before dropping your shoulders, hands on your hips. “If I let you win how are you gonna get better, huh?”

Dean was silent, eyes narrowing as he watched you turn to head back to Sam. . . But you didn’t get far before he lunged at you again, locking onto your back and pulling you backwards and onto the mattress.

“Hah! How bout that?”

“How bout that? Alright, you asked for it-“ you quickly flipped, pinning your brother to the bed as you pinched his sides. A shriek of laughter echoing around the room.

“Tickling?! That’s playing dirty!”

“Oh is it? Not in my rule book-“

The both of you were too engrossed in your tickle war that you didn’t hear the scrape of a chair across the linoleum floors or the sound of small feet running across the room towards you, and suddenly you were being crushed by another flannel clad boy, the sudden weight making you fall back agasint the mattress,both brothers climbing on top of you.

I must go alone

Cause I need you there

So my memory of home is full

“Sam!”

“You were having fun without me.” He gave you a sad pout, his eyes big and bright.

“Alright, I’m sorry. . . But did you guys have to dog pile me?” You wheezed, trying to squirm free only for Dean to lay down completely on top of you, Sam right behind him as they both grinned.

“Yes!”

“Oh, you little bastards-“ you grinned once more, trying to wrench your arms free to tickle them into submission. But the playful tone of it all quickly ceased when a ear shattering shriek seeped through the cracks of the motel door, freezing all of you in place as you looked up, suddenly alert.

“What was that?”

“Y/N-“ Sam let out a small whimper, suddenly curling into your side as you sat upright, Dean resting on his knees besides you.

“Shhh, I need you both to be quiet alright?” You spoke softly, sliding of the bed and onto the ground, your movements almost completely silent as you worked your way across the room and grabbed your rifle. “Stay behind me.”

A moment or two of complete silence fell over the three of you before another shriek echoed from beyond the thin walls of the motel making you jump.

Someone was out there. Someone needed help.

Quickly spinning around, you knelt down in front of Dean before passing over your shotgun. “You know how to shoot this right?”

“No! Dad still has me practicing with the BB shotgun you got me for my birthday-“ the slight waver in Deans voice making your heart break.

“Well, it’s the same basic concept.” You breathed, helping him adjust the weapon in his arms.

“Y/N! You can’t leave us here.”

Not trying to take my time away

Replace the old with new

My prison with my reasons right

Till I come back to you

“Dean, somebody might need my help. I need you to stay here and keep Sam and yourself safe okay?”

For a moment there was silence but then Dean nodded, “o-okay.”

“Alright, now you’re gonna wanna lean right into that stock.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the gun in Deans hands. “Cause it’s gonna kick a hell of a lot more than any BB rifle. Okay, go ahead and pull the bolt back. Grab it right here. Just tug it. There you go.” You nodded, watching as Dean did what you told him to. “Now, as soon as you fire your gonna want to get another round in there quick.” You added, popping back up on your heels as you reached for your knife that had been sitting idly by on the side table. You only made it a step to the door before you heard them both call out again.

“Y/N, we should wait for dad-“ Sam peered around Deans shoulder, eyes now big and worried. They both looked so afraid- god, it broke your heart.

“I know, Sammy- but there are people out there that might need help.” You knelt down once more, finding it easier to speak to them at eye level. “Now, listen to me. If I get into trouble out there, you make every shot count, yeah?”

“I got this.” Dean nodded, his sudden face of determination make you smile lightly.

“I know you do.” Leaning forward you quickly placed a kiss on top of both of their heads before popping back onto your feet. “Be brave, I’ll be back.” And then you were reaching out and twisting the door knob, your feet quickly carrying you over the threshold as you slammed the door shut behind you and disappeared into the dark, leaving the two brothers behind, Dean pointing the barrel of your gun at the door.

He was ready. If you could be brave, so could he.

A minute passed, and then another. . . And another. And with each passing second they both grew more worried. They wanted you back here with them. They wanted to know you were safe.

It was around the five minute mark of you being gone that another scream split through the silence, making the hairs on the back of Deans neck stand on end, and Sams grip on his arm tighten.

“Dean, that sounded like-“

“Y/N-“ eyes now blown with fear, Dean partially let go off your rifle, as he bounded towards the door- throwing it open full force. The downpour outside drenching him almost instantly as he raced out onto the front steps, Sam in tow.

“Y/N! Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?!” Panic seeping into the marrow of his bones when he was only met with an empty parking lot.

“Y/N!”

But no answer came. The only sounds now came from the rain as it beat down against the rooftops and pavement, the occasional clap of thunder making both boys flinch.

“Y/N!”

Now I must go alone

Cause I need you there

So my memory of home is full

Read part 2 HERE

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#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #sam wilson x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester series #dean winchester series #winchesters x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #supernatural

[andhumanslovedstories]

Recent country songs that have made me literally gay gasp as a gay woman, in order of how much they make me want to write an essay on gender and queerness

HONORARY MENTION BUT JUST BECAUSE I THINK THIS IS TECHNICALLY AMERICANA NOT COUNTRY (but genre is fake) AND THIS SONG ISN’T RECENT (2014 and I’ve been listening to it faithfully since then) BUT I ONLY RECENTLY LEARNED IT’S A COVER AND THAT’S MADE ME RECONTEXTUALIZE IT: “Murder in the City” by Brandi Carlile, a cover of The Avett Brothers where she changed the words “make sure my sister knows I loved her/make sure my mother knows the same” to “make sure my wife knows that I love her/make sure my daughter knows the same” which fucking. fucking gets me. Especially since the first time that I heard this song, I assumed it was from a man’s point of view because of that line, and then I learned that Brandi Carlile is a lesbian and I was caught up in my foolish heteronormitivity, and then I learned it was a cover and thought oh okay I guess the song is originally from a man’s pov and it’s cool she covered, and then I learned she changed those lines to make a song that already feels deeply personal to her to explicitly include her love for a woman and the family they’ve made together. And that’s just. It’s all just a lot. 

3) “Fooled Around and Fell in Love” by Miranda Lambert featuring Maren Morris, Elle King, Ashley McBryde, Tenille Townes and Caylee Hammack, because the first time it came up on my spotify, I saw the title and was like “hey dope I like this song” and then I heard the first line was still “I must have been through about a million girls” and I realized none of the words or pronouns were getting changed and I was getting the song I’ve always wanted and deserved: a high production value, high energy, big girl group tribute to being a lesbian fuckboy who Fooled Around And, oops can you believe it, Fell in Love. 

2) “If She Ever Leaves Me” by The Highwomen, sung by Brandi Carlile who is, as mentioned, lesbian, but since I’m apparently still chugging my comp het juice, I was still trying to figure out if this song--a classic “hey buddy keep walking, she’s my girl and she’s not interested” song with an interesting element of the singer being aware the relationship might not last anyway--was gonna be explicitly queer. And then there’s the line, “That's too much cologne, she likes perfume,” and I was like OH HOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!! 

This is immediately followed by the lines “I’ve loved her in secret/I’ve loved her out loud” which is also deliciously queer in this context, with this singer and that juxtaposition, but the line that really fucking got me is my favorite of the song: “If she ever leaves, it's gonna be for a woman with more time.” This is two women in a complicated relationship. This isn’t just a “keep walking, cowboy” song, it’s a song that uses that framework to suggest a whole ass “Finishing the Hat”** relationship, and that’s so interesting to me. Like a song that isn’t just explicitly about two women in love but one that conveys very quickly a rich history between the two of them. And in a genre where the line “Kiss lots of boys, kiss lots of girls if that’s something you’re into” was revolutionary representation.

(Fun fact, “Follow Your Arrow” was partially written by Brandy Clarke, another country lesbian! Another fun fact, so is basically every other good country song. Brandy Clark, please write a big lesbian country anthem, I know it will immediately kill me on impact.) 

To quote one youtube comment, “”lesbians how we feeling??” and to answer by quoting some others, “As a closeted baby gay in the 90s, who was into country, this song would have changed my life”, “I just teared up.  So many happy tears, as a gay woman raised on country music,  this is something that's definitely been needed.  Thank you Brandi. Thank you highwomen”, “This song means more than I can say in a youtube comment”, and “Lesbians needed this song :)”

It’s me. I’m lesbians. 

**ANOTHER HONORARY MENTION EXCEPT IT ISN’T RECENT AND IT ISN’T COUNTRY SO I GUESS THIS IS JUST A MENTION, BUT I AM INTERESTED IN THIS SONG--“Finishing the Hat” by Kelli O’Hara. A very good Sondheim joint, that’s about making art, the costs of its obsessive and exclusive nature and the incomparable pleasure of putting something into the world that wasn’t there before. It’s such a traditionally male narrative that I’m thrilled to find a wonderful female cover of it. I’m not even fussed about her changing the gender from the lover who won’t wait for the artist (except that the shift from “woman” to “one man” sounds so clunky) because there’s value turning this song into a lament of the men who won’t love artistic women. But I do also wish she’d also recorded a version that kept the original gender so it would be gay. OKAY BROADWAY TANGENT OVER, BACK TO COUNTRY. 

1) “Highwomen” by The Highwomen, ft. Yola and Sheryl Crow. I can’t even express the full body chills the first time I heard this. Like repeated, multiple chills renewed at every verse of the song. This really closely parallels my experience with “Fooled Around and Fell in Love” up there, because when I started it I was like “oh dope I know what this cover will be” and then the lyrics started and I was like “OH MY GOD I DIDN’T.” In the case of “Fooled Around” it’s because I was amazed that they kept the original words. In the case of “Highwomen” I fucking transcended because they changed them. 

So I grew up on Johnny Cash, obsessed with a couple of his albums but largely with a CD I had of his greatest hits. (Ask me how many times I listened to the shoeshine boy song. Hundreds. Johnny Cash told me to get rhythm and I got it.) And my FAVORITE was “Highwayman” from the country supergroup he was in, The Highwaymen. The concept of the song is that each of the four men sing a verse about a man from the past and how he died. It’s very good. The line “They buried me in that grey tomb that knows no sound” used to scare the shit out of me. I didn’t expect to have a song that targets so specifically my fear of being buried alive in wet concrete. 

(If you haven’t heard the song, by the way, listen to this version to properly appreciate it as a piece of music. If you have, watch the fucking music video holy shit this is a work of art oh my GOD.) 

So I was predisposed to love this cover before I even heard it. But then I heard it. And they rewrote the song to be about historical women. And it’s like. There’s layers here okay. 

Neither the Highwaymen nor the Highwomen are signing about famous people. This isn’t a Great Man tour of history, it’s about dam builders and sailors and preachers and mothers and Freedom Riders and also Johnny Cash who flies a starship across the universe, as you do. 

In the 1986 version, it’s a song about the continuity of life--the repeated idea is “I am still alive, I’m still here, I come back again and again in different forms.” The highwayman is all the men in the song. He reincarnates. The song is past, present, future. The title is singular, masculine. The same soul, expressed through multiple voices, multiple lives. 

In the 2019 version, the title is plural, feminine. Highwomen. This song is about women. Each verse asserts the same motif as the 1986 version--“I may not have survived but I am still alive”--but there is no implication of reincarnation. Each woman is her own woman. This version has a final verse that the previous versions lacks. The singers harmonize. It’s not a song where one voice replaces  another, the story of this One Man progressing through time. It ends in a chorus of women saying “We are still alive.” 

We are The Highwomen Singing stories still untold We carry the sons you can only hold We are the daughters of the silent generations You sent our hearts to die alone in foreign nations They may return to us as tiny drops of rain But we will still remain

And we'll come back again and again and again And again and again We'll come back again and again and again And again and again 

Another fun fact! The first time I heard them sing “We are the daughters of the silent generations” I died! But luckily I came back again and again and again.  

This is a song about the continuity of history. It asserts that women’s historical lives matter and that they continue to matter, long after they died. This is a song about legacy as well, the legacy of nameless women who worked to protect the ones they loved and make the world better. They don’t die by chance. They are all hunted down by political violence, by racism, by misogyny, for stepping outside their prescribed roles. But, as Yola (who btw fucking CRUSHES THE VOCALS ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????? HOLY SHIT MA’AM) sings as a murdered Freedom Rider, she’d take that ride again. And at the end of the song, she joins the chorus but does not disappear into it. Her voice rises up out of crowd. And the crowd calls itself “we”. These women are united but not subsumed into being One Woman. This is about Women. 

And then, outside the song itself, there’s the history of this song about history. It’s originally by Jimmy Webb and was covered by Glenn Campbell. This cover inspired the name of the supergroup that covered it, the group with Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Waylon Jennings, and my man Johnny Cash. And it’s like holy shit! What an amazing group to collaborate! Hot damn! 

Then, it’s 2019 and here’s The Highwomen with Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires. The name is obviously riffing on The Highwaymen. Shires set out to form the group in direct response to the lack of female country artists on the radio and at festivals. And they name themselves after a country supergroup, and they put out this song, a song connected to massive names in country music, and they center all of this on women and womanhood and the right of women to be counted in history and to make history and to talk about the ways we have mistreated and marginalized women, in a group that started because one woman was like hey! we’re mistreating and marginalizing women! 

I just think this is neat! I think there’s a lot here we could unpack! But this post is 100 times longer than I was planning and work starts in a bit so uh I’m gonna go get dressed and listen to The Highwomen on repeat for the next hour, “Heaven is a Honky Tonk” is another fucking bop that improves on the original, it would be dope if they’d collab with Rhiannon Giddens, okay byyyyyyyye 

#don't even know what to tag this bc for one there's way too many links for this to show up in any tags!! #country music #long post #surprisingly long post! #feel free always to rec female country/americana/folk/bluegrass to me esp if it's gay

[ae0nx]

FRUITS BASKET S2 EPISODE 7 RECAP AKA ‘TOP TIER FURUBA SHIT’

An accurate representation of me getting ready to talk about this episode. 

My guys... this episode pretty much hit all the points for me in what I expect of a Fruits Basket episode... and more! I loveeee this episode. I gotta admit last week’s episode was a bit of a shoulder shrug for me cos it was mostly a set up for the beach ‘arc’ but this. episode. I have way too many screen caps, I don’t know how I’ll do this. 

And we open up with a big ‘fuck no’. I love the flash forward just to prepare the audience for a whole lot of hurt. Excellent. *pours myself a glass of wine*

- Hiro: “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Mum, just don’t trip over, ok?” Sorry about that guys, I just found out my Mum’s pregnant Everyone: Whaaaaa?!

Hiro’s nonchalance of it all had me dying 😂

I appreciate the ‘dog’ fan. Definitely accurate in more ways than one. Strike one.

Strike TWO. The fact he said that in front of not only Tohru but KISA AND HIRO is so gross. I’m not even joking. It’s just gross. Not a great joke at all. Poo poo.

STRIKE THREE. Akito... please come get your dog. It’s the only useful thing you can do rn anyway

Wow, Yuki. I actually teared up a little at his realisation. This whole episode should just be called ‘call 999 for these kids’.

Hiro’s mum just sounds like a Furuba fan tbh 😝😂 Also... are the zodiac members born in their animal forms? Or is it just in the first instance they are held by a parent of the opposite sex? Cos if it’s the first option, that’s pretty... messed up. But, theoretically hilarious at the same time!

Ohhhh... Tohru’s one of those people who like to push aside their own problems and focus on other people’s instead... Except, it’s not in an annoying and judge-y way at all. However, I am beginning to question whether she is actually that selfless and the real root of it is that Tohru needs a distraction from her own pain. Either way, it’s sad and I don’t think she’s doing it consciously at all which makes it even sadder.

Oh, Tohru.

Also, appreciation for Momiji being a human backpack at all times. And I love his cat eared hat! I want one! Our Outfit Appreciation Winner this week. 4 stars.

- Kisa/Hiro being a mini version of Kyoru was basically confirmed this episode and I am happy.

Such a gorgeous moment. Pretty much met the feelings and emotions I got from reading this moment in the manga AND MORE. It’s golden. And I love it. ...‘nuff said.

Oh look, Dad’s here too 🤣

*looks into the distance to a far off future...* ANYWAYS

- Kyo being so open and honest and vulnerable with Tohru to a point where he mistakenly already thinks he told Tohru all about his parents already is just... everything to me. Especially from someone like Kyo who’s constantly carrying all this baggage around. But jeez, we always forget that Tohru’s got baggage she’s carrying around too! Tohru and Kyo on surface level look like such opposites in every way but remove some layers and they are so similar, it’s uncanny! 😍🤡

I just love developing relationships. 🥰

- Kyoko definitely wanted to destroy that flowerpot 😈 We love her. We miss her.

He’s so in love with her, I can’t. I’m gonna cry. <3 Also, that expression feels like a very Kazuma expression, is it just me?

*spontaneously combusts* 

But anyway... just cos we can’t have anything good for too long...

Tbh if I knew a Shigure, that’d be how I’d start every conversation.

I love Hatori. :) I mean he wouldn’t actually slice his gut open but it still means a lot to me that he said he would...

This go around of Fruits Basket has made me realise how much I relate to him and his position in the family. Every anime has a character that’s in their twenties and just... tired and I always relate best to them, shoutout to Keishin Ukai from Haikyuu.

Even though I hate Akito, I have an appreciation for the subtle shit the animators/designers do whenever they come onto screen. All of Akito’s actions have a kinda feather-lightness/almost ethereal feel to them and the way Akito is contrasted against not only the scenery but the other characters around them is... so gooood. I’ve already talked about how I love the emphasis on the presence of Akito in their first appearance in the anime but... I’ll still be talking about it cos it’s great. And I can’t wait to hear Colleen Clinkenbeard in this ep, but Maaya Sakamoto was stellar in this episode (fun fact: did you know she also played Haruhi in OHSHC?!?).

But yeah, I still hate Akito. Sorry.

- Kisa’s little sigh of relief that Tohru doesn’t have to meet Akito was already HEARTBREAKING but mixed with this moment....?!?!

...

I...

I just really need someone to explain to me how you could like Akito. Even after the ending of this whole series. Like...

I just don’t get it. I don’t... 

Look, I’m gonna malfunction if I don’t move on.

Oh?

This is the start... of something new... it feels so right... to be here with you... 

oooohhhh 🎶 

 👀

- Kinda sad that Kyo and Tohru had the house to themselves but there was so much weird and bad energy in the air that they couldn’t even really enjoy their pancakes :(

- That Akito and Shigure and Hatori (and partially Kureno) scene just really... disgusted me. To see someone have that much power in their touch and their words is... freaky and unsettling. And I love it cos it’s interesting but I also hate it soooo much. I have nothing more to say about it besides that really. I was more interested in the Shigure and Hatori moment afterwards...

That’s a nice way of putting it...

Maybe this was to be taken mostly as a joke, but do you think that Shigure actually wants Hatori to remind him how much of a shitbag he’s being? Most of my problem with Shigure (and why I actually liked 2001!Shigure but let’s not go there again) is that out of everyone in this series, he’s the most untouched. And yet he schemes and manipulates and seems to get everything he wants. AND what makes it even worse and annoying and spectacular, is that Shigure’s little nudges and pushes of the chess pieces which are the zodiac members aren’t so obvious to the extent that you could only blame him for it. It’s almost genius, if it weren’t so repulsive. 

*sighs* I just really want him to either repent or feel some kind of guilt afterwards. 

...Hence why I’m most interested in where he’s at after the end of this all.

All I want is a scene between him and Tohru, somewhat like this:

👀

...Ok, this moment made me like Shigure just by 5% more this episode. Still trying to figure out that Shigure/Akito relationship literally a decade later tho...

BACK TO SOME KINDA HAPPY(?) STUFF!

I love love love love love this moment between Yuki and Tohru. It was gorgeous!

I wish this scene were longer so I could make an AMV (if I really felt like it) with Coldplay’s ‘A Sky Full Of Stars’. The lyrics match the moment so much and I definitely cried.

Oh, Yuki...

It was such a beautiful way to end this episode. Wow.

And Yuki’s words to Tohru that ‘she’s just like the sky’ has so many meanings to it and I want to go into it but I’ll start really explicitly going into spoilers. So, I’ll just leave it as poetic cinema.

Perfect.

God, this was such a good episode, guys! I’d probably put this episode on the same level as the True Form episode. It gave us furuba shenanigans, it gave us kyoru, it gave us disgust and hurt and it gave us a moment of someone rising out of the ashes!

I love this anime. :) See you next week!

#fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket 2020

[lovelylogans]

37. w moxiety?? i’m w e a k

and the moon’s never seen me before

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, mentions of being drunk. that’s about it, but please let me know if i’ve missed any—this is fluff, folks!

pairings: moxiety, mostly off-screen logince

words: 1,483

notes: i am literally so sorry this took so long! this prompt was “dance with me!” this takes place in the wyliwf verse, about two months after the main storyline. the songs patton’s listening to/singing to are “bubbly” by colbie caillat and “reflecting light” by sam philips, a gilmore girls easter egg and also where the title comes from. 

logan has nearly one hundred pages to read for his english course, a paper to write for history, and two tests to study for in latin and science. his plan for this saturday has been to sequester himself into his room to handle them—they haven’t quite reached spring midterms, but they’ve certainly reached the point that his coursework is starting to pile up on him again to the point of being nearly unbearable.

his dad had agreed with this plan, and virgil had, too, sent him upstairs with some healthy study-snacks and an enormous bottle of water, in hopes that logan will “take care of himself.”

he has. he’s also found himself unexpectedly hungry, again—he wonders ruefully when this growth spurt will finally stop, and he’ll stop feeling like he’s eating his dad out of house and home, to quote virgil—but he plods down the stairs, empty plate in hand, ready to sneak into the kitchen to pile up his plate with some filling options. hopefully, he’ll remain unseen so he can flee back to his room before he can be distracted too much. 

he hears music playing, the susurrus of a broom brushing along the floor, soft humming following, and then his dad starts to sing.

his dad has a pleasant voice—logan’s used to hearing it in terms of birthday songs, singalongs, and, in a handful of distant memories, being sung to sleep—and it harmonizes sweetly with the acoustic guitar, the alto voice of the artist. he remembers this song. it had been on the radio frequently when he was younger.

“dance with me!” patton sing-demands, at a break in the music, and logan chances a peek into the kitchen, trying his hardest not to be seen.

it’s still relatively early, so the sunlight’s slanting through the window in the kitchen, sunbeams that caught the dust motes dancing in the air. his dad was still half in pajamas—a sweater, pajama pants, one blue fuzzy sock and one black fuzzy sock—and virgil was dressed for the day, in jeans and his usual hoodie, but his feet were bare. his dad is twisting around the room, holding the broom as if it was a dance partner.

virgil has his back to his dad, but logan can still see the slight smile on his face, even as he scrubs at the dishes in the sink.

“i have kept you focused on chores,” virgil says, sounding only slightly resigned, “for five minutes. we can dance once the floor’s swept.”

“but this is a great song!” patton says, and picks up where the artist has continued without him, “—you make me smile, please, stay for a while now, just take your time, wherever you go—”

he twists on socked feet, mismatched, and tilts the broom so it stands on its own in the corner, slowly moving to crowd virgil at the sink, singing and harmonizing with the music all the while. virgil’s still fighting a smile, and focuses back on the dishes that he’s been scrubbing the whole time logan has been standing awkwardly in the living room, despite the fact that it’s visibly clean.

logan is beginning to regret that he hadn’t just continued without coming to a stop, when he’d heard the music. he knows his dad and virgil are together. he is happy about the development. he has been campaigning for it for years. it is nice to know that his father is being shown love, and being cared for, in the way that he deserves. it is also nice to know that virgil is just about the happiest he’s ever seen him.

it is also, he can acknowledge, a bit strange to walk downstairs on a saturday morning to see his dad cuddling up against virgil’s back, resting his chin on virgil’s shoulder, and cooing at him about virgil in the context of the lyrics it starts in my soul, and i lose all control. partially because it is virgil, but mostly because that is his dad.

(he might even admit, a while down the line, that the entirety of these feelings stem from that is my dad, considering he has three.)

but, he reflects as virgil rolls his eyes, smiling fondly, but at least he places the dish aside and moves to wipe his hands on a dish towel to gently hold patton’s wrists, keeping him in place, they are, very clearly, happy. yes, his father had sometimes sung and danced when he did chores on saturday mornings. but he had never had someone to sing and dance with. virgil has never had anyone to sing to him and dance with him. 

his dad sways on his feet, keeping virgil in their strange half-hug, and ends the saccharine song with an equally saccharine kiss on the cheek.

“dance with me?” his dad requests again, softer.

virgil seems to war with it, for a moment, before he sighs in defeat. “one song.”

“that’s all i ask,” his dad says, and leans up to kiss virgil on the cheek. “here, i’ll pick, just—wipe off your hands, you’re leaving soap suds on my wrists.”

“oh,” virgil says, and hastily, more thoroughly, wipes off his hands. “sorry.”

his dad waves him off, his tongue poking between his lips before he lets out an “a-ha!” and hits play on a song.

this is a song that logan doesn’t know. it starts with similar instrumentals—acoustics—but patton rocks up and down on his toes.

“you’re looking at me like you’re expecting something,” virgil says.

“what, you don’t remember?” his dad asks, hands behind his back, seeming strangely shy.

and then the singer begins to croon, her voice soft and clear, “now that i’ve worn out, i’ve worn out the world, i’m on my knees in fascination…”

“oh,” virgil says. then, “frankly, i’m shocked you can remember this. you were destroyed.”

“we don’t talk about my twenty-first birthday,” patton says primly. “well. other than this. you remember it now, though?”

“yeah, ‘course,” virgil says, sounding strangely fond. “i was practically holding you up, you were so drunk, but you kept telling me one more song, one more song…”

“and this is the song that came on,” his dad says. “this is the first slow-dance we ever danced to.”

as they’ve been talking, they’ve slowly moved toward each other, almost like they’re being pulled by some kind of gravitational force. as the singer begins to crescendo, reaching the first verse, and they’ve settled into a dancing position. his father’s arms wrapped around virgil’s neck. virgil’s hands at his father’s waist. they’re swaying together, more than anything. logan knows his father can dance, in a formal sense. this is hardly formal dancing. virgil’s feet are bare, his father’s feet socked. virgil has a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. they aren’t really even performing dance steps.

“is that so?” virgil says softly.

and yet there is something just as graceful as a viennese waltz in the way that they turn tiny circles in the kitchen. there is something just as smooth in their movements. there is something even more clearly emotional than even the most chemistry-filled dance duo could ever accomplish their eyes are fixed on each other’s—virgil’s, softened and fond, his father’s, even more expressive than usual, a smile on his face that’s gone sweet and sappy around the edges. 

it is so blatantly, clearly obvious that they love each other. in something as small as a dance on a sunny saturday morning, just to get a break from chores. in something as obvious as eye contact.

and this, logan thinks, this exact facial expression is why he can never get too righteous in his indignation about any potential displays of affection. because this is what he’s been rooting for for years. 

he’s been rooting for them to be blatantly, clearly, obviously in love with each other. and now they are.

he cannot possibly be angry about that when it’s so sweet that it makes him want to call roman, a little, and it makes him imagine a tiny, dingy little apartment that’s all theirs when they’re trying to make it in the world, and roman doing the exact same thing, gently prising him away from his desk just to get logan to dance with him, to do something sweet and silly and small and romantic…

he sets the plate on the coffee table as quietly as he can. they’ll see it later, and hopefully get the hint. the snacks can wait. he figures they’re probably owed some privacy, anyway.

logan goes up the stairs, the music chasing him as he goes—“i’m on my knees in fascination, looking through the night, and the moon’s never seen me before…”

there’s a swell of violin and cello. a shared giggle. the sound of a gentle, honeyed kiss.

“…but i’m reflecting light.”

#my fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #moxiety #ask #the sideshire files #fanfic fridays

[ice-cream-nekogirl]

can you meet me tonight in detention? (Iida Tenya X Reader)

I’s been wanting to write for Iida for a while... and so I did! My best... I love this boy he’s so underrated compared to Deku, Bakugo and Todoroki and he’s so nice... uptight... but nice...

Summary: Even the hardest workers get stressed out and exhausted, but sometimes stressed out just snap...

Warning: The reader is not going to be very kind in this story because well... while I have my limits on how mean a reader can be, I also thought it’d be neat to feature a mean-ish kind of reader in a story. But... if you don’t really like, I don't recommend this.

I also wrote this because I’m so stressed out I wish I could scream at someone since the people I’m around IRL either don’t notice or just don’t give a shit. 

Also angst, mentions of stress and anxiety, but with a happy ending. 

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vw9k5HWGwI

I'm not a bad guy So don't treat me bad if I'm feeling sad, alright? Please don't be mad if I don't smile back, alright? If I fuck up my words, don't think I'm absurd, alright? Alright?

“Are you serious…?” You said outloud as you sat on your bed, looking at your phone and reading up on certain pages and wikis that interested you as a means to distract yourself from the fact that you had a shit-ton of homework due at the end of the week, as well as like 3 different tests.

Thankfully, Iida was already kind enough to actually help you study for the test that was today in class, and even helped you in the other subjects and yet for some reason your brain still felt empty. He was so nice, he really did help you but you envied how he could easily retain this information. Clearly, he knew you were struggling, but you had a feeling he didn’t entirely get just how much you were struggling both emotionally and physically.

You wanted to tell him, you did but at the same time it wasn’t any of his business. Iida was too sweet to put up with your bullshit and you weren’t going to do that to him. So to you it just felt like it made more sense to bottle all of this up rather than be upfront with your stress. And anything else you might have felt for him…

When did school get so hard? And when did it catch up to you all so fast? Did you procrastinate worse than you thought? Or were the teachers just being extra cruel?

At this point you had no idea, but all that mattered was that you were in your dorm room and could only partially relax before those fucking tests. You just wanted to sleep for the rest of your life or at least sleep all the way through your school-life until you get somewhere you want.

The worst part? 

The second you blinked you realized that you had already somehow fallen asleep and the clock on your phone read 8 am. God... you couldn’t...

You couldn’t get yourself out of bed yet, you had to just lie down for another 5 minutes before those motherfucking tests.

“(Y/N). Are you okay?” However, a soft knock and a soft voice broke you from your thoughts but it was only Uraraka and you sighed in relief. She was okay, you didn’t mind hearing from her. “Uh huh I’m good Ochako.” You replied neutrally and you didn’t have to see her face to know she was smiling.

“Oh good! Breakfast will be ready soon okay?”

You smiled a little bit and gave another relieved sigh, “Okay… awesome I’ll be there shortly.” Good, you could stress eat at breakfast and try to not freak out or throw it back up when you start your tests.

Once you made it to the kitchen to eat with everyone, keeping to yourself and managing to somehow eat enough to satisfy your hunger for a little bit. Although you didn’t seem to notice that some of your friends, namely Uraraka, Midoriya and Iida had noticed how little you’ve been eating lately.

You barely had much breakfast at all...

However, you didn’t want to bother anyone at all until everything was taken care of so you quickly hid away once breakfast was over so you could relax in the commons for a little while longer until class starts and then you had to do all those blasted tests.

Once your ass hit the soft couch, you immediately put your ear buds in to play the first song that came to mind to block out the rest of the world for at least 3 minutes.

“Find a cure Find a cure for her life Put a price Put a price on her soul.”

“Oh my god Oh you think I'm in control Oh my god Oh you think it's all for fun.”

“Oh my God…” You mouth the lyrics and bobbed your head to the lyrics with your eyes closed, completely ignoring the reality around you as you sang this beautifully angry song that sounded just like your life right now.

“(L/N).”

And you had no idea that someone was trying to get your attention as you just kept mouthing the lyrics and dancing in seat to the rhythm. 

“(L/N).”

Nope, you couldn’t hear anything, you were too busy rocking out and listening to the screaming and the cries for help that you made you wanna scream too. Yeah! You were going to do it!

“(L/N)!”

Except you didn’t shout, it was someone else who had raised their voice and tapped your shoulder as you opened your eyes in shock and looked up at the offender with wide (E/C) eyes. It was Iida, and he didn’t look too happy with the fact that you had your earphones on full blast and didn’t hear him. But your shocked look just turned into a look of annoyance as you reluctantly put your music on pause.

“Please take off your headphones.” He started by politely requesting that you take the buds out of your ears and God you were so annoyed but did it anyway, “Ugh…” What did he want now? You were NOT in the mood.

“What Iida?” That came off a lot ruder than you intended to but at this point you were starting to care less and less.

“You really shouldn’t listen to your music at such high volume, it might actually worsen your hearing overtime.” He just HAD to give you a little mini-lecture about how listening to music too loud was going to make your hearing worse as you get older.

Why did you have a crush on him? Dammit, you wanted to focus on the fact that he was so handsome because he was. He was so handsome and such a good guy, and you adored him, but right now you weren’t in lovey-dovey mode, you were in hella-stressed mode and thus in a bad place to be lectured.

Hella-stressed mode brought out a less than pleasant side of you, where you just saw all the flaws in people and sometimes you did things you often regretted afterward. Right now you were holding it all back though, for Iida’s sake…

I'm physically exhausted Tired of my knuckles beating I'm chewing gum to pass this time Sadness, can't you see it? You're too busy seeking self-pleasures Look at how I'm feeling You write me up and say it's love And I can't believe it...

“Whatever, I’m going to the bathroom to wash my face or something... I’m exhausted.” Standing up, you tried to exit but he stopped you before you got the chance to take even a step forward. “I’m sorry (L/N) but could you please stay where you are? There’s something you and I need to discuss because I think it’s very important regarding your exhaustion.”

“Ugh.” You replied in annoyance, completely missing the concerned look on his face turn mildly offended, but at least he didn’t call you out on it. “I know you’re quite busy, but as of late you haven’t been eating very well. I’ve noticed it. I recommend that you start to monitor yourself because skipping even one meal can impact your moods and affect your health. Look at yourself, you’re out of it and that makes me wonder if you’ve been getting enough sleep.” He was telling you this like you didn’t already know that.

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded and hummed as you tried not to express ALL the annoyance you had right now.

“You��ve been falling behind a little bit too, I think it might be because of this decline in eating well. So please start taking better care of yourself okay? I can help you though if you-.” You had to stop him right there.

“I’m well aware of that Iida. Why do you think I’ve been working so hard? I know I’m falling behind… that’s why I’ve been working my ass off lately.” Keeping your cool (but barely) you explained yourself and hoped that it would make him see from your point of you, but he didn’t seem to entirely get your plight.

“And I commend you for that, but I’m also talking about your health here. Not taking care of yourself is going to make your grades suffer, it’s why you’re struggling right now.” Iida meant well, he really did, but he just did not understand…

“Is that really why I’m struggling? Is it?” So you lost some of your patience with him but didn’t raise your voice. Although he was a bit surprised at how you were biting back.

“Yes I believe so, that’s why I’m suggesting that you eat better so you don’t struggle like you currently are right now, and furthermore I recommend procrastinating less, I’m aware that you’re prone to that, which may also be why you’re struggling.” Twitching your eyebrow, you lost the ability to look at him because the more he spoke, the more it felt like he was just calling you out.

“Not everyone can be as on top of it as you okay?” Maybe this time he’d get the message to leave you alone, because right now you wanted him to just go and not remind you of how much you were sucking and how much stress you were in as your heart started to race...

And this wasn’t one of those crush heartbeating things, no, you were trembling because of everything that was starting to crawl into your skin as you resisted the urge to pace and run away or do something else undesirable...

Iida was even more surprised, but he still tried to be sympathetic because he was, he really was to your plight even though he wasn’t completely aware of how you were feeling. “(L/N) please… I’m not trying to put myself above you or offend you, I’m trying to help you because I’m worried about you and I want you to-“

That’s it…

“Dammit will you just SHUT YOUR TRAP AND LET ME HAVE THE LAST WORD FOR ONCE?!” There was nothing you saw other than red as you suddenly just screamed at the class rep and ignored how your shout had alarmed some of your classmates as they somewhat awkwardly arrived at the source of the shouting. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You simply couldn’t have someone trying to talk you down and ignore the fact that you were so pissed off and stressed out. And you REALLY didn’t need someone to kick you while you’re down. Whether they intended to do that or not, you didn’t need it and you didn’t want it.

Iida was visibly horrified, his eyes went wide at your sudden outburst but he couldn’t just let you get away with talking to him like that when he was just trying to help you. “(L/N)! Watch your language and please don’t use that tone with me when I’m trying to help you!” Voice slightly raised, he still tried to retain a sense of professionalism and not just snap at you like you were doing as you gave him a look. Who the hell was he your dad?

“You may not be feeling well, I can sympathize with that but that’s why I-.” He really wanted to help you, and it was actually kind of hurting him that you didn’t seem to want it. But he had to help you, maybe he should have been helping you more. Because right now…

You couldn’t with him. You literally could not.

You could not pretend that everything was all right anymore, and Iida was unlucky enough to be around you while you were definitely not all right.

Hey, can you meet me tonight in detention? I can feel your blood pressure rise, fuck this tension Let me crawl up into your mind, did I mention? Pretending everything's alright is detention...

“No you know what? Just stop! I am SICK to death of you always droning ON AND ON about shit I could care less about, because the truth is dude-” You were ready to just go on and on but to your shock, Iida was still trying to talk over you as a means to put an end to this. He hated the fact that he was even arguing with you about this, he never wanted to argue with any of his dear classmates.

“Enough already (L/N)! I won’t be spoken to in such a manner when I’m looking out for you! Please just let me-.” He cut you off, so you immediately did the same.

“No! Be quiet! That’s your problem! You’re like talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, YAP! Blah blah blah, on and on over and over again!” You made a mocking voice as you used both your hands to do the ‘blah blah’ gesture much to Iida’s slight horror at the way you just went off on him and weren’t stopping...

He tried very hard to try and get his word in as he stammered and every time he tried to speak you raised your voice and made yourself louder, meaner...

“Like oh my GOD I can’t believe how ANNOYING I didn’t realize you were until now! What kind of taste do I have?! I mean oh my GOD! You’re grating, you’re an uptight ass, you bitch, you nag, you’re privileged and don’t even know it, you’re an oblivious snob, you stick your nose in everyone’s business and you strut around acting like some kind of God Mode Mr. Goody Goody Two shoes, well cut it the fuck out! I’m tired of it man! I’m tired as hell, and I don’t need you up in my business and bothering the hell out of me you annoying priss! And I especially don’t need some privileged rich boy telling me that I need to take care of myself, when I don’t have the fucking advantages that you have!” As you let out quite a furious tangent and listed off all the things you disliked about your class rep with your fingers, you were so furious and making all these hand gestures you didn’t see the appalled look on his face. 

You DID see small glints of tears threatening to well in his eyes though. Oh he’s going to cry now? Typical. Apparently, he couldn’t handle the truth, could he? Classic rich boy move.

“(L/N)! N-Now you’re just being rude!” Iida was so lost for words at your barrage of insults and apparently how you really felt about him that there was little he could say to defend himself. Never in his life has anyone told him things like that.

And he looked even more distraught when he saw you laughing, “Oh! You’re gonna cry now? WOOOOOW… so you can dish it by being on people’s ass but you can’t even take it? I don’t feel sorry for you... Did I hurt your feelings? Did I hurt the rich boy's feelings~?”

“Stop it…!” His voice cracked ever so slightly and he hated himself for it as you relentlessly went in to drive the final knife into the fresh wound.

“Well then how about YOU stop fucking up my school life and leave me the hell alone already you four-eyed, made-in-the-shade jerk?!” You were standing big as you shouted at him with exhausted eyes that he couldn’t see through his tearful ones.

“Y-You’re going to detention after classes are over!” Iida quickly snapped back. He wasn’t certain if he had that authority but he needed to do something, anything to reassert himself, even though his quivering lip and the tears in his eyes hardly made him intimidating for you as you scoffed and threw your hands up in the air.  

“Great! I’m gonna love it there! You wanna know why? Cuz I get to be away from you!”

The fact that you were in trouble and definitely going to detention didn’t seem to deter you as the taller male hitched his breath, forcing back the rest of his tears and threw an arm to cover his eyes when the traitorous tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn’t let his classmates see him like this, he couldn’t let you see him like this so he could only do what his available part of his brain told him to do, the part based on emotion, and so he quickly dashed off away from his classmates as Uraraka and Midoriya tried to call him back while you just huffed and watched him run off with slightly wide eyes…

De-detention De-detention Pretending everything's all right is detention...

“Oh my… (L/N)… please, I understand you’re upset but… please let’s all just calm down…” However, because the other could tell you were still mad, Yaoyorozu tried to fill in for Iida in getting you calm down, but unfortunately she underestimated your anger at the moment.

“Ohhh like it’s SO easy… you’re just as bad as him Yaoyorozu! What’s the rich girl got to worry about huh? You can calm down easily since you can afford EEEEEEVERYTHING in the world…” You were still pissed and reacting purely on anger without even thinking of what you were saying, and poor Yaoyorozu walked into the lion’s den not knowing that the lion was awake and pissed.

You were the lion.

“W-What?! B-But I-.”

“But NOTHING. Calm down?! That’s easy for you to say! You’re SO fucking smart and I bet everything Asshole-sensei gives you is like no fucking problem, what are you even doing here Yaoyorozu?!” You couldn’t take it anymore, what were all the rich kids doing at this school when they could do whatever they wanted? While people like you, Uraraka and Kirishima were working your asses off because you had to actually work for it.

It wasn’t Iida’s fault, and it wasn’t Yaoyorozu’s fault either and you knew it, but you were so pissed off and at an all-time stress high you thought the tears welling in her eyes were innocuous and just another way to get sympathy from the others. Of course, the princess wanted sympathy because she wouldn’t and couldn’t understand real world struggles. And you were certain that the princess was going to get what she wanted because you had no doubt that she always got what she wanted.

“I-I…” Oh now SHE was crying,  wow...

“I-I’m here to be a hero like everyone else is! Just like you!” She exclaimed and covered her mouth when the tears were coming and she couldn’t stop them, but you had no sympathy for her right now. She could do anything she wanted, and she wanted to be a hero? So why didn’t she just buy her way into an agency?

“Oh! You’re crying now! HA! Classic princess move, can’t handle any kind of real world truth because you’re SOOOOO sheltered and happy in your big fancy castle and people like me are stuck in little shitholes barely making ends meet, well go cry home to your rich mommy and daddy sweetheart don’t cry here. If you can’t handle real-world shit, go cry home to mommy and daddy and maybe think about how great you have it and how you have never struggled a goddamn day in your life, while people like me got shit and have to deal with everything by ourselves using what WE got every goddamn day...” Your display of aggression and downright callousness shocked everyone, but Jirou didn’t hesitate to step in to defend Yaoyorozu when she burst into tears and ran over to a worried Ashido and Uraraka.

“Okay that’s it! You better leave her alone (L/N)! And chill the hell out! She didn’t do anything to you!”

Wrong choice of words…

“I need to chill the hell out?!”

“Yeah!”

Girl vs girl, Mineta was much too scared to enjoy the concept of a catfight as you and Jirou got up in each other’s faces, but it didn’t last long when your anger took the reigns, “How about you shut the fuck up so I don’t have to listen to your condescending smart-ass comments?! Ain’t nobody asked for your imput!”

“I’m serious (L/N)! Cut it out or-“

“Or what?! I can kick your ass easily Jirou, don’t even try me right now, cuz I am HELLA stressed out and my telekinesis can fuck anything up cuz of the headache I’ve had for the last two weeks. I already beat up several people in the Sports Fest and another edgy chick at the USJ. But if you wanna try to pick a fight with me go ahead, it’ll end badly I guarantee it…”

Your threat actually intimidated her because she’s seen you use your telekinesis quirk in battle and you got good with your quirk, but didn’t have COMPLETE control over it especially when your emotions got the better of you and you were in the WORST possible mood. Jirou reluctantly backed off as you scoffed.

“Good.” You could have beaten her in a battle, but that was the last thing you wanted since you were tired and mad as hell. You were going to feel horrible about it later but right now you were stuck on anger, and your concerned classmates just wanted to help you.

“(L/N)… being angry is not a pretty feeling…”

“Yeah, c’mon now just… try and-“

Not wanting to anger you any further, kind souls like Aoyama and Ojiro attempted to try and get you to calm down, but it didn’t work…

“Try and what?! I don’t need you guys to tell me what to do either! What can you dolts even do?!” You shouted at them too, and already the two blondes were scared as hell and trembling at the volume you were using.

“Aoyama! You’re a joke and I have NO idea how you even got into this class!” You pointed at the taller blonde who’s eyes widened and he backed away slightly, and then you turned your finger over to Ojiro.

“Ojiro you’re even worse! You’re weak-willed, boring and your so-called costume is the definition of a fashion faux-pas!” Suddenly you shouted that last word a little bit louder as he, like Aoyama, backed away slightly when your words straight up attacked them…

Quietly Aoyama gasped when the words hit him, it was a tad bit dramatic but genuine as your words sincerely did hurt as the tears instantly sprung to his eyes while Ojiro felt an uncomfortable swell of hurt in his chest as he couldn’t fight his own tears at how much that stung and how you just kept yelling.

“What kinda advice do two of the most frivolous students in our class have for me? Hmm?! Go on, lemme hear it!”

“N-Nevermind… s-sorry for bothering you…” Ojiro tried and failed to hold back the tears in his eyes, and it wasn’t just him, Aoyama was on the verge of tears as he hiccuped, “O-Oui… w-we didn’t mean to… upset you…”

They both timidly apologized, before they both dashed away from you, crying as they covered their eyes. in an attempt to hide their tears On any normal day you would have felt horrible, but not right now, not yet…

“(L/N)!”

Your next victim in the making? You turned with a frenzied look in your eye to see a very nervous looking Midoriya as he was trembling where he stood. He KNEW he was in trouble just for daring to speak up and you could tell he was AFRAID. “P-Please… s-stop this…? I-I know that you’re mad but…”

“Well, well, well, well, wellllll~!” Cutting him off you threw your hands in the air, “The famous Deku, always, ALLLLLLWAYS gotta play the motherfuckin’ hero, well… NOT TODAY DEKU!” You went from 5 to 10 just like that as Izuku shrunk and yelped a bit.

“I’m not in the mood to be hearing nothing from your goody goody two-shoes ass cuz I got shit on my mind you couldn’t even begin to understand cuz you’re SOOOOO smart, so when I say ‘Shut the fuck up’ I mean SHUT THE FUCK UP!” God you were being so mean and a part of you felt horrible when Izuku was trembling with fearful tears in his eyes, but you were still angry and your anger was still in control as you saw the green-haired boy back away…

“Right choice… now… does anybody else have anything that they wanna share or ask me?” You asked everyone else, outright warning them all as Bakugo snickered a bit at how angry you were. Was it wrong that he found this kind of awesome? Way to tell off the privileged ones and the losers and ESPECIALLY Deku…

I wanna go home and you say, "Now is not the time" Fuck being all alone in back of the classroom, ah Stop calling up my phone, trying to say that I've been out of line When all I ever asked was to go to the bathroom...

“Why did Iida, Ojiro and Aoyama just run off crying?”

Aizawa’s voice broke you out of the rage you were in as he entered the room. Even though you turned to face him with the same exhausted and irritated look on your face. He wasn’t having it, but neither were you. However, you knew better than to shout at this asshole that was your teacher and you didn’t need to be in anymore trouble than you already were.

He knew you were pissed off and stressed out, but he saw three of his students run off in tears, and then Yaoyorozu and Midoriya were crying too. Classic stress-induced meltdown…

“I made them cry sir.” You muttered and raised your hand as you didn’t look any less annoyed. Yeah you made them cry, so what? Dammit… you made them cry… for some reason that didn’t feel very good when you actually said it outloud.

“Why?” He asked you in a plain, simple tone as you tried not to look anymore annoyed. “Iida told me things I didn’t want to hear. So I yelled at him. Ojiro and Aoyama tried to get me to calm down, but I didn’t wanna hear that neither, so I yelled at them too. Yaoyorozu and Midoriya too.” You had to reluctantly admit what you had done, and to your shock Aizawa didn’t seem TOO annoyed.

“Iida said I have detention because I was rude to him. I don’t really care that I was but I will be in detention.” Sighing, you at least had enough balls to admit that you weren’t going to skip detention, which mildly surprised Aizawa as he sighed.

These kids…

“Very well. Make sure to apologize to everyone when you’re done.” He wasn’t good at the whole comforting and making kids make up, so he just expected you to apologize because he knew that you would start feeling bad soon. You weren’t normally like this, it was just stress and he understood that, but he wasn’t going to straight-up tell you to relax. And you didn’t expect him to either since he knew his students knew better. 

Aizawa cared about his students, and you knew that, and you were actually glad that he didn’t punish you any further and instead just made sure you remembered to go to detention.

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER…

You did it. 

You finished all the fucking tests and you were freaking the fuck out. You had no idea how you did, but at the same time you really didn’t give a shit. They were done, and that’s all that mattered to you right now.

Yet, why didn’t you feel as good as you wanted to? After a test you normally felt SOME relaxation and proceeded to treat yourself or just go to sleep after everything was done. Except, treating yourself felt impossible…

For one, you had detention to go to after school. Second, once tests were finished you became aware of how HELLA awkward everything was in class after your meltdown. Iida refused to look at you the entire time as he quickly averted you and avoided you every time you were in the vicinity. Every time you even looked at him, he ignored you. Which actually really stung...

Then Midoriya and Jirou almost seemed nervous when you were close too, as they looked away from you out of fear that you’d say something mean again. Then Yaoyorozu, Ojiro and Aoyama practically teared up when you looked over at them.

Clearly… they were all still feeling hurt over your words and how you behaved. Did you feel bad? Yes…

“Are you okay (Y/N)?” Thank God Uraraka at least wasn’t treating you like some kind of monster as she seemed the most concerned for you.

You shook your head and sighed, “I was SO stressed out Ochako… I just… snapped… I know it’s no excuse for what I said to Iida and the others but… god… I was SO stressed out… and I took everything out on them… I needed to, I mean I shouldn’t have but I just… felt like I had to…” You could be honest with Uraraka, and although she didn’t approve, she understood.

“I know… it’s okay… I wasn’t feeling very good either because of the tests either... it’s stressful, it really is... But… you can still apologize to them… when you’re ready. They’ll understand, after all… Iida… Deku, Jirou, Yaoyorozu, Ojiro and Aoyama are nice. I know that they’ll forgive you and understand why you were upset and know that you really didn’t mean any of it. They know you (Y/N).” She gave you a soft smile in hopes that it would reassure you, and it did a little bit as you gave her a little smile in return.

“I sure hope so…” 

Even though she could tell you were nervous, Uraraka had faith in you. She knew you could do it, and she knew that you would win them back because after all they were in this together right? Everyone stressed out when it came to trying to be good at what you’re doing.

You thought so too. You were sad, that’s all, you were stressed out, that’s all. It wasn’t an excuse, but still. You didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

And you really didn’t mean to hurt Iida...

Hey, can you meet me tonight in detention? I can feel your blood pressure rise, fuck this tension Let me crawl up into your mind, did I mention? Pretending everything's alright is detention 

What have you done?

Being in detention with Present Mic made you realize that you screwed up. Albeit because he tried to do The Breakfast Club thing by making you and the other students in detention just write why you thought you were here. In English.

You didn’t really have a problem with English but thinking about why you were in detention and writing about why you thought you were in detention made you realize EXACTLY why you were in here. You snapped at your innocent classmates, threatened one classmate, and made some of your classmates’ cry, even when they were trying to help you, you made them cry…

You made Ojiro cry. You made Aoyama cry. You made Midoriya and Yaoyorozu cry.

You made Iida cry…

You made the boy you’ve been crushing on for quite some time cry. He wanted to help you and you said all of those horrible things to him and made him feel lower than he’s probably ever felt. And Iida really was a sweet guy. Yes… he was uptight, yes he came off as a bit of a snob, but dammit, he only bothered you because he cared about you, he helped you because he cared about you, and you yelled at him and hurt his feelings.

The thought made you want to cry as a tear dripped down your cheek and onto the paper you were writing on to confess your crimes.

“Hey… it’s okay now (L/N)…” Present Mic was kind enough to offer you some sympathy though because he and Eraser knew that you were just under a lot of stress and meant none of the nastier things you might have said to your classmates. “It’s okay… the worst part is over for now doncha think? It’s time to move on! And squeeze in some downtime afterwards yeah~! Maybe relax yourself now that you have a little time to breath!” He was still as excitable as ever, and it actually made you smile as you wiped your tears away.

“Yeah... yeah you’re right sir...” 

No more negativity. Not right now.

You wanted positivity, and show that kind positivity to your classmates from now on. As soon as you were finished with your paper and handed it to Mic, you were rushing out the door. “You got this!!” He made sure to give you that support too, because he knew a stressed-out student when he saw one and that’s the only reason you got upset in the first place. They needed to do something about students and mental health…

Tonight I can feel your blood pressure rise Let me crawl up into your mind Pretending everything's alright Is detention...

To be continued...

#boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia iida #Iida Tenya #bnha iida #my hero academia iida #iida x reader #mha iida #iida is a good boy #my hero academia #iida imagine #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku #momo yaoyorozu #aoyama yuuga #ojiro mashirao #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #tenya iida #tenya x reader #tenya iida x reader #jirou kyouka #melanie martinez #melanie martinez lyrics #detention #detention melanie #bnha angst #mha angst

[lowkeyaesthvtic]

On The Road

Pairing: poly!Sea Three (Uma x Harry x Gil)

Summary: A modern!AU entailing a sneak peek of what a road trip with the Sea Three would be like

Word Count: 1,819

Warnings: Like one swear word and that’s it

It was an item on their bucket list since they were little kids: take a road trip across America. None of them knew at the time that they’d be crossing that item off the list together, but they were incredibly glad they were. Uma longed to see all of the beaches. She frequently visited the tiny shore on the outskirts of her hometown, but she hadn’t seen anything near the palm trees and white sands and crashing waves she dreamed of. There’s so much to do at a beach. She could lay in a chair and relax, falling asleep with the warm rays beaming down on her bronzed skin. In the more popular cities, she could take a quick stroll across a boardwalk for an ice cream cone or a local outworldly fair snack of some kind. If she was feeling extremely playful, she could wade around in the ocean with her two favorite boys because she knew there was no way they’d stay still with such a large, wet and blue playground out in front of them.

Harry was pumped to see the big cities. They didn’t necessarily live in the middle of nowhere, but you’d have to drive hours to see any kind of skyscraper clump. He’s always been so enamored with the idea of something being big. He had heard of beautiful brick buildings with modernized furniture and movie theaters larger than a football field. Harry especially longed to visit the largest mall in America, located in Bloomington, Minnesota. Does he need an entirely new wardrobe? Not necessarily. But is he going to get one anyway? Absolutely. Thoughts of the night life zoomed through his brain. All three of them were 18, there were likely multiple night clubs that they could get into. A booming, music filled environment with colorful lights and a crowd more accepting of their relationship and his extravagant personality than many of the people in their grassy suburbia.

Gil was excited about many parts of the trip, but it would be the little things that would make him the happiest. From the wacky tourist attractions they would visit along the way to the local family owned restaurants they would stop at for the occasional meal, Gil realized that the smallest parts of the trip would make the biggest memories for him. Not to mention that there was something interesting to him about sleeping on and comparing multiple hotel beds.

As Harry placed the last of their things into Gil’s hand-me-down SUV, he felt Uma’s small arms hug around his waist in excitement. “I can’t believe we’re finally doing this. Gil and I have been working doubles at the Wingstop for at least two years.” Harry closed the trunk and quietly chuckled as he turned to face his girlfriend. They had been working quite a bit for this. They knew it would be expensive, and they definitely knew that their parents weren’t going to help much. So, for the past two and a half years, the three of them had been doing everything they could to earn some money for their trip. Harry was not only playing more gigs with his ‘band of pirates,’ but he finally persuaded his boss at the local boxing gym to make some extra cash teaching self defense. Gil had a hard time keeping a job, his lack of awareness usually making him late. But after Uma put in a good word for him at her mom’s burger and wing joint, he did everything he could to look like a good employee. Uma started working so many doubles that she rarely had time for anything other than school and work. It put a bit of a damper on their relationship, especially since Harry didn’t see Gil and Uma outside of school and his occasional visits to the Wingstop. But at the end of the day, they knew that all of this hard work would pay off in two months worth of time with each other.

“Well, it’s happening. All of our work is finally paying off, duckling,” Harry replied, gently pushing one of Uma’s ombred braids away from her face and behind her ear. Harry went to kiss Uma’s lips when the two of them were interrupted by a boyish, excited shout coming from Gil as he ran towards Harry and Uma with open arms and a lion plushie in his hand.

“Road trip! Road trip!” Gil chanted, beaming with joy as he held Harry and Uma in a warm hug. “We gotta get this thing started! If we don’t leave now, we’ll be getting into Dallas really late and then Uma over here will be a sleepy, grumpy mess.” Gil chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Uma and leaned in to give her a quick kiss on her head.

“The only reason you’re not as sleepy as the rest of us is because you’re knocked out in the backseat before we even leave town.” This was the longest trip the three had ever taken, but it definitely wasn’t their first. One specific trip was when the three of them were in their freshman year of high school and they had to travel 6 hours by school bus for a state theatre competition. Despite the rockiness of the bus and the screaming high schoolers, Gil was knocked out before thirty minutes could pass. Not only that, but he stayed asleep the whole ride. “Speaking of which,” Uma spoke as she went to open the door to the driver’s seat. “You’re driving first.”

Gil groaned childishly and gave Uma his signature ‘puppy-eyed’ look. “Why?”

Harry walked to Gil and wrapped an arm around him. “Uma’s made a little bet. You drive two straight hours with no caffeine and no pulling over for a nap, and Uma and I each owe you $5.”

“And if I don’t?” Gil cocked his head to the side in subtle confusion.

“You owe each of us $5. Either way, someone’s getting money out of this. What do you say?” Uma quickly shifted her glance to Harry. The two had made a little bet themselves. Uma believed that Gil would never give up the chance to sleep for something as small as $5. Harry knew that Gil had a strong competitive streak in him from sports and other activities they shared with each other. Whoever was wrong had to sit in the back seat all by themselves for as long as Gil was able to drive.

“You know what? I’ll do it. You guys are gonna be so broke by the time this trip is over.” Gil chuckled, confident that he would win this tiny little bet. Harry smirked and looked to Uma as if to say ‘I told you so,’ and watched as she slowly opened the door to the backseat. 

“Alright, boys, let’s get this show on the road.” She mumbled, partially disappointed that she had lost her little game. But truthfully, she was more excited than anything to spend two months alone with the best boyfriends in the world.

The trip started off as right as rain. Traffic in their town was relatively light, and they crossed the state line within 45 minutes. Harry, being in the passenger seat, had the privilege of picking the music. Hard electric guitar and strong lyrics about being ‘original losers’ and ‘underrated youth’ blared through the car, making it easy for Gil to stay awake. But, just as quickly as Uma was able to find a comfortable spot to rest her eyes amongst the luggage she shared the backseat with, Harry’s hardcore modern punk died down to slow Nirvana grunge that was easy for him to chill to. As suburbian highways turned to blank, near stranded roads, Gil needed something to keep him awake and aware. “Hey...Harry, are you awake?” Gil asked, his eyes darting from left to right in an effort to prevent zoning out on the road.

“Uh, yeah?” Harry looked up from his phone and over to Gil. Harry could tell that his boyfriend was doing anything to keep himself awake. A part of him was conflicted. He could either pretend to nod off and leave Gil to lose the bet, or he could keep Gil company out of fear of what would happen if he were to fall asleep at the wheel. Thankfully for the three, he chose the latter. “How long do you think you’ve been driving?” Harry asked, using his words to keep Gil awake.

“Honestly, I don’t know. The GPS said the drive was going to take 6 and a half hours. So I told myself that once it hit 4 and a half hours, I could start looking for a gas station to pull over and switch spots, you know?” Harry nodded his head, but he became nearly bug-eyed when he saw the GPS said they would arrive in 7 hours. No...no this couldn’t have been right. They’ve been in the car for at least an hour and a half.

“Gil, sunshine, can I see your phone for a moment?” When Gil nods his head, Harry grabs the phone from the magnet nearly plugged into the AC vent in Gil’s car. He rolled his eyes as he realized what was wrong: Gil had either missed an exit or taken a wrong turn, extending their already long road trip. “Jesus fucking Christ…Gil, take the next exit and find a gas station.”

“Wait, why? We’re perfectly fine on gas.”

“Because you clearly don’t know how to follow a GPS. I’ll wake Uma.” Harry turned his body and slightly climbed over his passenger seat to lightly tap Uma on her leg, causing her to slowly stir awake and sit up.

“Are we here?”

“Hate to wake you, darling, but you’re riding shotgun. I’m gonna drive.” When Uma responded with a confused expression, Harry grabbed Gil’s phone from the magnet and showed it to Uma. She was just a confused and similarly shocked as he had been when he first saw that Gil had gone the wrong way.

“Jesus, Gil, tell me you didn’t do this to get out of your bet.” Uma flatly asked as Gil pulled into a nearby gas station and began to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“I didn’t even realize that I had done something wrong until Harry said I did.” Gil innocently shrugged his shoulders and switched to the back seat, an area that had been warmed from Uma’s sleeping body. Harry got into the driver’s seat and began to drive. 

Gil smiled as he snuggled into a nearby pillow tucked into the backseat. Did he fake getting lost to get some shut-eye? Maybe. Was he going to end up owing Uma and Harry money for this? Possibly. But the only thing that mattered was that he was getting to spend two straight months travelling the country with his sleepy girlfriend and his flourishing, overdramatically Scottish boyfriend.

#modern au #descendants #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #disney descendants #disney descendants 2 #disney descendants 3 #sea three #sea three descendants #sea 3 #harry x uma #harry hook x uma #uma x harry x gil #harry x uma x gil #huma #uma daughter of ursula #uma descendants #gil x harry #gil x uma #gil descendants #gil legume #gil x harry x uma #harry x gil x uma #ot3 #my ot3

[jae-canikeepyou]

| connecting | j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader genre: fluff  a/n: i was really excited to write this since it was inspired by my fave disney movie “tangled” ! hope you enjoy reading ^^ still thinking if there should be a part two(?) for this. let me know!! :D

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the sun rose just in time at the moment you opened your eyes. a new morning, a new day, and a new hope. shockingly though, the alarm clock did not do its job. that meant you had to place new ones if it was the batteries. the smell of bacon made you up on your toes, leading you downstairs to the garden. 

on most days and most often, you stayed at the tree house your uncle had built. it kind of became your permanent room rather than the one you had at the actual house. you lived at the countryside. not exactly though. when you moved houses, it partially felt like it was a forest, fresh air and greenery.

oh the sound of the raw meat sizzling was making you drool as you saw your mother— stepmother, to be precise, smiling as she told you to sit with her. “only bacon would make you step out of that tree house.” 

“ah well, it’s my little paradise after all.” you eyed her with a grin on your face. your stepmother raised you as her own since your birth parents, didn’t really know how to care for an infant. your father was blind and needed assistance; and your mother cared for you a little while but eventually left for another man. so your stepmother came into the picture at the time before you even turned one. “i get to do things i want without being disturbed.”

“that’s alright. an artist like you need space and quiet. how many canvases have you painted on?” she asked as she plated your meal, getting the meat from the grill. 

you took a bite almost immediately from the serving tong. a joking but soft scoff escaped from your mother’s lips. “mom, there’s too many that i lost count. but remember the huge boxes you got for me on christmas? yeah one of those are close to be full of em’.”

“oh wow, you have to show me your masterpieces.” she clapped her hands together. she checked her watch, only to jump slightly at the time. “i’ll be late for the flight.”

“you’re leaving, mom?” you asked, a tiny complain from you made her giggle.

“it’s a business trip again, sweetie. i’ll be back in four days.” she cooed you with a tight hug.

“but you’ll miss my birthday.” you sighed, placing the plate down onto the wooden table. 

“i’ll make it up to you when i get back, alright?” she pecked your forehead before leaving you. “see you in three days. love you my princess.”

hardworking as she always was, your stepmother would often go overseas for meetings since she worked with a company that required a translator. and apparently she was ranked at the top category, so the demand for her was quite high. 

“love you too mom!” you yelled back.

you finished your meal and headed back to the tree house to continue with painting the canvases. the paintings you started, were something you hoped your father could be able to admire. he never got to see the world, the people, the beauty, and you. 

the childhood you had was something you remembered; still so fresh, as if it was yesterday. the house that was passed on from your father’s side ultimately became a shelter of nightmare. the word cancer was foreign to the teen you, definitely out of your vocabulary. you needed explanation as to why your father had gotten it, and why he had to leave the earth early. it had been three years after all.

not long since you began to paint almost half way onto the third canvas, the radio you were listening to blasted the playlist with your favorite boy group; that alone kept you hyped up, nearly knocking down several acrylic paint bottles over. the music moved your toes, then your legs, eventually your whole body. even your hair swayed in motion, as if the wind had blown it. 

“i just wish i could get to see them live.” you sighed, colors you puto onto the canvas blended with your emotions. “ugh, i’m so senti.” (sentimental). the clock showed quarter to four, it already had been hours since mother left. 

the once upbeat vibe came to a halt when you heard a couple of boys yelling with bicycle bells ringing. it also seemed like one was being chased too. you scoffed as you went to take a peek off of the window. they ruined your moment of jamming. the yells were increasing when the half of your body was out of the window. you saw a couple of figures at the far distance of your front yard. 

a ruffle from the bush that was near your tree house gave a sound of light crash. a bell rang from it too. was it a bicycle? as you further your body look at the bush on the just on the left side of the tree house, your sight suddenly came to a dim.

your body met with a boy with pink hair. as your eyes kept closed, bracing yourself for the impact, you knew his body slammed into yours and for sure you heard his honey-like voice. “nghh agh!” he gasped as his body was on top of yours, but your head rested on something you assumed it was his hands. 

the light from the sun made you open your eyes. the pink haired boy smiled sheepishly and the first you noticed was his ears. 

“can you get off me?” you asked sternly. 

“oh my g- i’m so sorry!” he stood up as he dusted his clothes. the yells from the boys grew louder, making the pink haired boy flinch at their presence. you took a peek at the front yard, around four boys on their bikes, looking for someone. “ugh man, they chased me until here?” he took a peek as well and hissed at what he saw, before sitting back down by the bottom of the window.

“you know i could report you for trespassing.” you stood up, pointing your paintbrush at him. 

he had his hands up in the air as if he was caught by the police. “hold up now i don’t want my shirt to be dirtied.” he said. “i’ll explain later but is it okay if i hide here for a while, maybe for tonight too?” he asked as his eyes trailed off.

you wanted to refuse but girl, his dimples showed and to be honest, you thought guys with dimples were the most sweetest. how could you resist him? especially as of right now, he was smiling at you, clearly embarrassed. but after all, he was a stranger and interrupted your jam session. “i don’t normally allow strangers here, let alone you.” you furrowed your brows. 

“ah c’mon! with a face like this?” he suddenly pouted— no, was that a smoulder? gross. “look, i’m having a rough day today and i really need a breather-” 

“then i think a breather for you would be outside?” you pushed him to the window, his footsteps hit the wooden floor with such impact at the force he received.

“hey hey hey! watch it!” he yelled with his palms touching the edge of the window. “do you want me to die?!”

“i don’t see why not?” your attempt to push him stopped as the radio continued to play the playlist you were listening earlier. “ooh yay!” you hopped back to your paintings. 

the pink haired boy eyed you with confusion. “girls have such weird mood swings.” he walked up to you, mouthing the lyrics to the song.

“you know them??” you turned around to the boy. “man i love them!” you felt yourself heating up realising the boy still climbed your tree house. “i- i like them..” you cleared your throat. 

“i can tell.” he laughed at you. 

“anyway, you have to leave.” you pushed the boy to the door. not the window this time. 

“please, can i stay here for tonight? i can’t have my buds chasing me like i’m a prey.” he sighed. his tone made you wonder how a pretty boy like him could utter such cute tantrums. 

he sat down at the table by the door, taking a sip from your cup. you crossed your arms at how he felt so homey immediately after invading someone’s property. “why were you being chased?” you questioned with curiosity. the boy seemed desperate to hide and you had to hear him reason out. 

“i skipped rehearsal yesterday.. and today. told them i wanted a break because we’ve been practicing non-stop.” he walked to your hanging cradle chair and sat on it. an long exhale escaped from him. you eyed him from head to toe. his whole body worn out with slight shakes. 

“i’ll let you stay..” you said, the boy’s eyes beamed with life. 

“yes! haha! thank you so much!” he placed his hands at the back of his head.

“..with one condition.” you continued. 

“anything for you, miss..?” he now stood up and walked up to the window where he had entered earlier. 

“y/n. my name’s y/n.” you said, blending the colors for the last time before actually stopping for the day. 

“y/n.. i’m yoonoh.” his voice trailed off but with a tone of amusement. “what’s your condition then?

the amphitheatre at the distance’s horizon caught your eye as you looked at the view. you remembered your mother’s words: “only bacon would make you step out of that tree house.” funny fact though, food was the only way to make you go out of your residence’s area. as you made up your mind, your sigh caught his attention. “see that park with that shade thing flying above it?” you asked. 

the boy turned to the direction you had told him. he squinted for a clearer and distinct view, where it shortly came into his sight. “yeah, the amphitheatre. what about it?” 

“i want you to bring me there.” you smiled, making yoonoh do the same. his response was a tilt of a head. you exhaled before continuing. “tomorrow evening, that ampitheatre will light up in colors. it does that every year. i want to see it in person, like how it’s special.” 

“it does, yeah. you haven’t been to the city?” yoonoh asked, his arms crossed.

“never. i’ve haven’t seen the city since i moved here and when i was a wee baby. more of i didn’t want to because i tend to limit myself from seeing the world.” you opened up to him as you tidied your art supplies. 

“why is that? there’s more to see out there! i can tour you if you like.” his dimples showed again. 

your body hesitated for a while, lips tried to find words to answer him. “my father was blind. he never got to see the world’s beauty, so i thought i’d do the same, y’know, experience things he did and understand him. now that he’s passed, maybe there’s benefit from a different point of view. my hearing got sensitive, in a good way.”

yoonoh stayed silent, respecting your words. he didn’t want you to stay caged in here any longer. “coming from someone who hasn’t seen outside beauty, you’ve got great imaginations.” he pointed to the wall of canvases. “i’ll bring you to the amphitheatre, first thing in the morning.”

to think that you would step foot to the lands of the city made your stomach churn. the whole experience would be something new. yoonoh sat back at the hanged cradle chair, taking several selfies at different angles, and there was no signs of stopping any sooner. you let him be, he looked tired anyway. his sweats slid down from the temples, and as he wiped them, he caught you looking at him. “i know i’m handsome.” he said. cheeky fella’, but he ain’t lying. 

luckily though, the tree house had an extra room besides the one you both were in now. your uncle had included it in the design if you had friends over. yoonoh could stay there even if it was a little cramped. he wouldn’t complain, would he? the day seemed to end quickly; with three completed paintings and endless conversations with your ‘new-found friend’? wait you weren’t there yet. he was someone you had met accidentally. 

maybe sometimes accidents can lead to something new.

#jung jaehyun #nct 127 #jung yoonoh #nct #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun nct #jaehyun au #jaehyun writings #jaehyun scenarios #nct writings #nct scenarios #jaehyun oneshot

[chrsuwu]

bad habit (chris x reader)

singer!chris x actress!reader

summary: to the world, he was chan, but to you he was chris. the real chris.

a/n: this was inspired by the title track on ben platt’s album bad habit!! i HIGHLY suggest you listen to it (or don’t lol) there will be mentions of it in the story

words: 1,600

warnings: ANGST, fluff uwu

why did they have to cast you with him. not that you couldn’t back out of this opportunity now, but getting to star in a romance drama with one of the biggest artists at the moment would be amazing for your career, especially since it would be your big break in dramatic acting. you previously starred in a family friendly sit-com, where you played the main character, but the show recently came to an end because many of your castmates wanted to move on. you loved being the star in the sit-com, but you wanted to do something more mature, and starring in a drama was the perfect chance.

unfortunately, you were told you will be partnered with some sort of big name celebrities, which would be great, if you didn’t previously date you. to the world, he was chan, but to you he was chris. the real chris. the same chris who let you down time to time, when all you wanted was to love him. love is a strong word, and you hate to admit that at one point you did love the now bleach blonde haired man.you two ended on a bad note. the bad note wasn’t the break up, but rather after the breakup, he constantly leaned on you, as a back up plan. like he’d come and go out of your life, when he needed someone he’d come to you, but as soon as he got what he wanted, he left. you got sick of it, so you and him got into an argument, which ended with you sobbing in your bathroom, with him on the other side, hearing your cries.

over the past year you two haven’t spoken, partially because the ratings in your sit-com went up, and his music career took off, but mostly because of the argument. now you’re on your couch, sitting with your script for the first episode of the drama. you tried to ease your mind of the thoughts and just get into the role when your manager called you. “hello?” you asked, answering the phone.

“hey there’s my rising star!! the director wants to have dinner with you and chan at his apartment tonight, you down?” she asked. you thought about it for a bit. you didn’t really want to see chris, but you did want to give your best impression to the director. you decided to put hard feelings a side, and girl up to meet the director.

“sure,” you replied.

“great! i’ll tell him you’ll be there tonight, it’s at 6, so be ready at 5:30, okay?” your manager said.

“okay, got it,” you responded.

“okay bye bye now!” she ended. you began to sigh, but ended as a gasp when you saw the time was 15 to 5. you quickly got up and got ready.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ii

“i’m so glad you agreed to meet up chan will be here any minute,” the director said to you as you sat on the table in the dining area.

“great!” you replied fakely. you brushed on your dress as you looked at your phone.

“i don’t know if anyone told you, but chan actually wrote and sang an ost for the drama,” the director said, attempting to strike a conversation with you. you smiled.

“no i didn’t, i’m sure it’s great,” you said.

“he said he’s gonna have us take a listen to it tonight,” the director added. you nodded, then suddenly a knock was heard at the door. “that must be him,” he said, getting up to answer the door. you peaked over to see your ex. he shook hands with the director, and briefly made eye contact with your figure at the table. the two struck up basic conversation as the director motioned chris to the table. “chan this is y/n, y/n-”

“actually, mr. kim, we’ve met before,” chris said interrupting the man. the director looked at you.

“ms. y/n never told me of this,” he added, in a slightly betrayed voice.

“we used to be a thing, actually,” you told him.

“for a year to be exact-”

“and it’s been a year since we broke things off, no worries mr. kim,” you added, cutting chris off from adding anything else from your relationship into the conversation. the director smiled.

“anyways, chan you said you brought the demo for bad habit?” mr. kim asked the curly haired man. chris smiled brightly, rushing a bunch of memories back in your mind.

“yes, i hope you like it, it’s just the chorus since the verses are still in the works,” chris said. he brought out his phone, and loaded up an audio file.

bad habit, i know but i'm needin' you right now can you help me out? can i lean on you? been one of those days sun don't wanna come out can you help me out? can i lean on you?

the audio stopped, and chris looked up. “so?” he asked. you hesitated to react. chris’ talent was no secret. you suddenly remembered the moments he’d sing you to sleep softly, or when he’d hum ed sheeran while driving. you remembered gently falling asleep in the studio as chris worked on another song. remember him writing lyrics about you in a coffee shop at 3 in the morning when you both couldn’t sleep. you suddenly couldn’t remember why the two of you broke up, he just suddenly grew distant, and then he left, but once things got hard, he’d comeback. you began spacing out when the familiar man called you out of your thoughts. “y/n?” he asked. you shook your thoughts.

“hm? sorry i spaced out for second,” you replied to chris.

“what did you think?” mr. kim asked.

“oh, it was- uh, good,” you answered. chris looked at you slightly dissatisfied.

“i think it fits perfectly for the plot, amazing chan, really,” mr. kim encouraged chris. chris grinned and nodded.

“thank you sir,” he replied.

that’s basically how the rest of the night went, you didn’t talk much, but you got lost in thought often. you spent so much time dwelling on the short, bad things about chris, you forgot about the sweet, and attractive things about him. that’s when it hit you. you still loved chris, and maybe you always did. you spent all this time hating him to distract yourself, and here you sat, in front of the man who broke you so many times, but you still constantly yearned for. you felt your eyes brim. you stood up and spoke sharply, “i’m going to use the restroom excuse me,”. you left the room, assuming you’d find the bathroom, finding it just down the hall, and locking yourself in. you cried softly this time, not wanting the two men in the other room to notice your suddenly burst of emotion. you couldn’t stop the tears from falling. you hadn’t cried this much since you ended it with chris. a sudden knock interrupted your soft cries. “y/n, are you okay?” chris asked. you suddenly straightened up, wiping your tears. you decided you’d tell them you felt sick and you’d go home. you opened the door, and met eyes with chris. 

“i don’t feel right, i think i’m gonna go home,” you said, speed walking out of the apartment as quickly as you could.

as you walked to your car, you didn’t notice chris following you. you walked to your car, when chris stopped and grabbed your wrist. you looked back, wiping another tear. “what’s wrong?” he asked.

“nothing, nothing i just need to go,” you replied.

“i don’t buy it,” he said.

“well, i guess you’ll just have to not buy it then,” you said.

“y/n, seriously, talk to me,” chris begged.

“why so you can leave me again?” you faltered. chris froze. not quite sure how to reply to you. you scoffed, “just forget it, i’m leaving-”

“wait!” he called. you looked at him and sniffled. “y/n, i need to be honest with you,” he admitted. you furrowed your brows.

“what?” you asked.

“y/n i accepted the offer to act in this because i knew you were casted as my love interest,” he stated. you hesitated.

“why?” you asked. chris chuckled.

“you still don’t get it.” he said, “y/n, it’s a bad habit of mine, but i need you right now.”. he restated lyrics. it clicked. the song was about you. “y/n, i love you. i loved you a year ago, when we broke things off, i loved you when i first met you a year before then, and i love you now. as i stand in this parking lot, i want you to know. i love you y/n.” chris announced. you didn’t know how to respond. chris slowly got disappointed. “i-i’m sorry i shouldn’t have said it,” he said quietly, before he let go of your wrist.

“how do i know,” you started quietly.

“what?” he asked.

“how i do i know you won’t leave me again chris. how do i know you won’t suddenly decide you don’t want to be in my life anymore, and leave me,” you appealed. chris looked down sadly. he looked back up at you.

“i only left you because, i didn’t want to fall too deep. i hated how attached i felt to you, even now, i’m still attached.” he answered. you suddenly met his gaze.

“chris,” you began, “i- i love you too. i tried so hard to get rid of you, but it never worked.”. you looked down in embarrassment, when chris suddenly covered you in an embrace. 

“i love you, y/n,” he restated.

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

a/n: i don’t really care for the ending, i may rewrite this in the future but yeah!!

#chris bang #chris bang stray kids #stray kids scenarios #straykids #stray kids #bang chan #chan #chan scenarios #stray kids chan #stray kids au #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios

[thejazzvoid]

Oh and for the ask meme, all of them

...Oh dear. Well, anyway, here they are, I suppose?

I (Where did you hide the body?): In plain sight.

II (Favorite rock?): Chalcedony, most likely, partially because hhh cool rock, partially because of Elizabeth Bear’s story “Tideline,” and partially because the name just sounds cool.

III (Worst dream you ever had?): The first one I could think of was one in which I was trying to hide from something or other and ended up trapped in my backyard; also spiders had begun emerging from my hands.

IV (Answer this with a lyric from the first song that comes to your mind.): I want a love that falls as fast as a body from a balcony; I want a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground (from “Townie” by Mitski).

V (Does blood make you uncomfortable?): It honestly depends on the context, but not just seeing it.

VI (Even numbers or odd numbers?): Odd numbers, I’d have to say.

VII (Something you hate that you love?): Homestuck.

VIII (The first initial of someone you hate?): B.

IX (Make up an acrostic for the word “exsanguinate.”): (Based on the TMA episode “Blood Bag” because it seemed fitting and I didn’t have any other ideas)

Entomology led me here, to my likely e-

Xit from this room within the

Stomachs of thousands of mosquitoes,

And

Nothing seems to

Go right; go right—it’s the fastest way out, and

Underneath ceiling panels,

I am bled dry, and

No one else is

Around;

They’re already out there, and

Entomology led me here.

X (Do you enjoy corndogs?): Not really?

XI (Favorite movie from the year 2005?): I suppose I’d have to choose “Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire.”

XII (Least favorite music genre?): Most modern country music.

XIII (Have any terrible restaurant experiences?) Yes, if by “terrible restaurant experiences,” you mean “the result of other unrelated turmoil unfolding within the confines of a restaurant.”

XIV (Three things that you would never want to come near you?):

i) The sun, or any other star, for that matter.

ii) The remaining smallpox viruses still in containment.

iii) The supermassive black hole at the center of our galaxy.

XV (What is the worst way for you to die? [In your opinion]): Buckle up, kids, this is going to get detailed. So, let’s say that I’ve uncovered something significant that could right some wrongs and provide information that a lot of people need.

Before I can release my findings, though, or prepare for my likely neutralization, I’m abducted and recognize some of my captors as acquaintances or loved ones. After days of coercion, I make up information on the whereabouts of several important figures and/or my friends. My abductors know that none of this is true, and they tell me.

I am violated repeatedly, shot, then set alight. Somehow, my death is covered up or framed as suicide. None of my discoveries ever reach their intended audience.

XVI (Any unusual habits?): I tend to flap my hands when I’m excited or stressed?

XVII (One emoji that you probably have never used?): 📟; I’m not quite sure what it’s meant to be.

XVIII (Write a three-sentence horror story about a Gatorade bottle.): My mother told me never to leave food in my tent while camping. Tonight, however, I kept a bottle of Gatorade half-closed next to my sleeping bag. I woke to a decaying hand shredding the side of my tent and a long, hollow-eyed face softly groaning above my own.

XIX (Do you know what Old Bay is?): Do you?

XX (Can you dance?): I’m a fairly good dancer.

XXI (What first comes to mind when you see rope?): The figure-eight follow-through knot, for some reason.

XXII (Make an obscure reference.): What happened in Piedmont will hopefully stay in Piedmont or eventually mutate into a non-virulent form.

XXIII (What is your favorite color for a balloon?): Yellow or teal, most likely.

XXIV (If you were to ever go to court, would you more likely be guilty or innocent?): Depends on the crime, my guy.

XXV (Are you hungry?): No.

XXVI (Do you have an unlucky number?): 7.

XXVII (What does “JMD” stand for?): The Oxford Dictionary says it’s “Jamaican Dollars.”

XXVIII (Random inside joke?): This vanity’s real picturesque.

XXIX (What sends chills up your spine?): Whenever I stand in this one spot outside my house, I just kind of reflexively shudder for some reason.

XXX (How many questions are currently in your inbox?): 2.

XXXI (Someone real who scares you?): This might not technically be someone, but the fact that Disney has the influence that it has?

XXXII (Run or hide?): Hiding, most likely, because you can hide indefinitely, with any luck.

XXXIII (Who is the last person who mad you angry?): Jeff Bezos.

XXXIV (What’s going on in your head?): ...I don’t know; I just work here.

XXXV (One little thing that makes you smile?): Moss.

XXXVI (Are you a decisive person?): Not really, but I’m working on it.

XXXVII (Would people describe you as a paranoid person?): A year ago, definitely, but not so much now.

XXXVIII (What store would you be the least likely to be found in?): I have been many places, but I’ve never once seen a Sam’s Club, no matter how many signs I see for them, and I have no real interest in seeking one out.

XXXIX (Do you like hats? If so, what’s your favorite type?): Yes; I don’t know what my favorite type of hat would be, but my favorite hat is this massive orange sun-hat that makes me feel like some kind of reclusive artist/former socialite.

XL (Bowties or ties?): Ties.

XLI (Who?): The friends we made along the way.

XLII (What?): Oh, you know,,, ;)

XLIII (Where?): The Taco Bell parking lot.

XLIV (When?): The witching hour.

XLV (Why?): For love and for spite.

XLVI (How?): Duct tape and a fire within.

XLVII (Do you collect anything?): Tiny containers.

XLVIII (What time is it?): As I type this, 12:04 p.m.

XLIX (Favorite mode of transportation?): Bus, walking, or “Castle in The Sky”-type airship.

L (Would you ever kill someone to save someone else?): It depends.

LI (Make a joke.): Contrary to popular belief, magic actually does abide by mathematical principles—hexponents.

LII (.esrever ni gnihtemos etirW): Rats live on no evil star.

LIII (Would your dash be considered SFW?): Yes, for the most part.

LIV (Do you like to cuddle?): Heck yeah, my dude.

LV (What makes you angry?): Late-stage capitalism and the texture of Jell-O.

LVI (How many voices are in your head?): I don’t think in auditory words, exactly; it’s more a Strange Cloud Of Ideas and at least one song playing the background.

LVII (Do you consider yourself mentally stable?): Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve been doing better than I have been in a while, but it’s still some kind of time.

LVIII (Are you easily offended?): If the comment or whatever it is is directed at me exclusively, no, but if it’s meant to target other people as well, then I suppose so.

LIX (What’s wrong with taking the backstreets?): You’ll never know if you don’t go.

LX (Any questions you want people to ask you?): Be needlessly ominous. Ask me to write short horror stories. Confess your feelings for me. That kind of stuff.

#yeet #cw death #cw spiders #ask #cw horror #cw smallpox #cw mosquitoes #cw blood