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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Mirdal’ika (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Reader takes care of the Razor Crest and the child while Mando is out hunting. When Mando doesn’t return when he’s supposed to, the book-smart reader has to learn some street smarts and help her Mandalorian.

WC: 4.6k

Warnings: violence, cussing, mentions of blood

A/N: Okay, I’m a nerd, a certified nerd as if that wasn’t clear. This is my love letter to the nerds out there, to the ones who had their first kiss a little late, who stayed in and read books rather than partying. I love you, you’re cool. Italics are for emphasis and internal dialogue, but in some places also to show that another language is being spoken. Hopefully that’s clear! Oh, also: mirdal’ika is a word of my own creation. No Mando’a word exists for “nerd” that I could find, so this is my interpretation of the language using my best etymological skills!

mirdala= intelligent, clever -’ika = suffix meaning small or little mirdal’ika = intelligent little one; Mando’a slang meaning nerd.

Growing up, you were the kid who had her nose buried in a book at all times. You rarely interacted with the outside world. While the other children on Tatooine made sandcastles or played games, drawing in the sand, you read encyclopedias and fact books, learning about the other planets in your systems and other cultures. Your fixation at age 12 had been on Mandalorian culture, fascinated by the warriors that were like faraway, mythical knights to your young self. As a child enraptured by fairy tales and stories of intergalactic heroes like Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa, you’d somehow always been enchanted by the bad-boy type, the dark and mysterious man who reluctantly saves the day, more along the lines of Han Solo. Naturally, the fact that Mandalorians never showed their face was mysterious, and you’d admit that you dreamed of being swept away by the Mand’alor and having the privilege of being the sole person to see their face, of being a queen and finding true love. You later moved on to research other cultures, even teaching yourself various galactic languages should you ever get the chance to travel. That didn’t seem likely, growing up on a planet where the only claim to fame was Luke Skywalker’s brief residence a few towns over. Your knowledge of Mandalorian culture was part of what made you so special to Mando, your employer-friend-coworker-roommate-co-parent whose name you had yet to learn. You never asked questions of him. Never asked him to take off his helmet, never asked him what was under it, never asked anything too personal, understood that the helmet could only come off in front of members of his clan. You’d cut him off and finish a sentence when he’d explain something of his customs to you, stunning him with your knowledge. He liked it, and by association he liked you. You had bore much of your life story to him, and he gladly would’ve given you some of his. He had come to like you, to trust you even, but you never asked. For fear you wouldn’t want to hear it, he held back. You even spoke Mando’a, though he didn’t know that. It always brought a smirk to your face as he’d turn his back after calling you some sweet words in his native tongue, thinking you’d be oblivious. It shocked you at first; you didn’t expect such a stoic and silent man to be so openly flirtatious, but after a while it most certainly grew on you. You would tease him equally in another tongue, calling him handsome or dashing in Pak Pak or Bothese. It was fun, the way he’d try to guess what you were saying, usually assuming it meant something negative.

With your vast knowledge of languages, you’d both expected that you would be able to interpret the words of Mando’s adopted son, that his babbling would be easily deciphered into some species’ tongue. Eventually you realized that he wasn’t speaking a language yet, simply regurgitating syllables like any child would. He was a baby, after all. You set out to make it your mission to teach the child languages when Mando was away, and he had begun to identify the meaning of words, even if he couldn’t say them himself. He could identify body parts on himself, you by your name, and Mando by his; well, the name you called him, which you knew wasn’t his real name. Mando had taken you on as a crewmate for the Razor Crest a few months ago now, and you still knew next to nothing about the beskar-clad warrior. He was a forward man, so you assumed he would tell you things when he was ready. That’s about all you knew: he was a man, and he was a Mandalorian. He wanted to tell you everything, especially the fact that he had been enchanted by your intelligence and wit since the first time he met you, stopping on Tatooine for a bounty and encountering you when he asked a fellow villager who the most knowledgeable person around was. The tiny green thing he held was a menace, and you cared for him while the Mandalorian man went and hunted his bounty. The child was hesitant to leave you, getting attached after a quick few days of staying in your hut, and the man had decided you could be valuable. Just before he walked through the door, he turned and offered you a job. You were shy when you accepted, and had nursed a crush the whole time you two had traveled together. You couldn’t believe the situation, just like in those trashy novels you’d read when you were interested in his culture. Now that you lived with him and the tiny green thing, you stayed aboard his ship while he hunted and cared for the kid, cleaned, fixed up the piece of junk, and generally ran the almost-household. It was enjoyable; you liked the man, especially once you came to find his sense of humor similar to your own, and you absolutely adored the child in your care. Your little ragtag crew fell into a rhythm after the first month or so: Mando would leave on a hunt for a few days. While he was gone, you’d play with the baby, feed him and care for him. You washed the blood and dirt from the man’s clothing and the child’s bile from the clothing belonging to you and the baby, taught the child new words, and generally… well, raised him. The baby felt like your child when you two were alone, but when the Mandalorian came home, he was the only thing visible in that child’s round black eyes. It was all about him, sitting in his lap, babbling incoherent words to him, playing with him. Luckily for you, the Mandalorian is on a hunt. You and the child sit in the bed compartment; you lie on the mattress and the child rests in his mesh hammock above the entry. At the last port, you picked up as many books as possible to entertain both you and the child. He loved listening to your voice, and so you happily read aloud to him as you rest together. The Mandalorian should be home tonight, you figured, since he told you that this was a rather easy bounty and that it should take him no more than 3 days. It’s now a couple hours after the third day, but you’re sure it’s fine. The child’s eyes droop closed as you read to him, flawlessly translating the book from the Pak Pak it was written in. The Basic words pour from your mouth, and the little thing gives a gentle yawn before curling up with his favorite blanket and silver ball and passing out. Looking up, you laugh at the sight softly and transition to reading in your head. Not long after the kid falls asleep, you follow. It was unintentional, but reading soothes you, and the perfectly cozy bed that smells like Mando draws you in further and further until sleep washes over your body. You hug one pillow to your chest as you sleep, imagining it was the man’s body you cuddled up against. - Mando is 24 hours late. You’ve been pacing in the ship since you realized it’s officially a day later than he said he’d be back. Dammit, you’re going to find that man. You’re not unaccustomed to violence, having been in scuffles as a child and teen, fighting off Jawas or unsavory men in Tatooine cantinas. You need to track him down and find him. First, you go up to the cockpit and look at the comm watch he gave you. It has a two-way tracking device; one for him to find you, and one for you to find him. Mando has the technology to see where you are built into his vambrace. You, however, have nothing. After searching the cockpit, you find and crack open a tracking fob he used in the past. You open the back of the comm watch, finding the bit with the tracker and wire it to the fob. As you connect two wires, the fob suddenly blinks with light. Laughing at the fact that you made it work, you relax a little. Now you can track the Mandalorian man down. After slipping the fob into a pocket of your pants, you scoot back down the ladder and to the cargo hold’s back wall: Mando’s arsenal. You can do this, you tell yourself, and dare to open Mando’s personal armory built into the wall. You strap a holster to your thigh, adding a vibroblade there. A belt with two guns rests on your hips. An ammo belt drapes across your chest, settling between your breasts and pulling your black tank top tight, the back of the leather sash holding Mando’s backup pulse rifle. You take a look in the mirror of the refresher, and you have to admit that you look badass. Weapons and homemade tracker at the ready, you set out to find him. You leave the baby with a trustworthy woman at the hangar, one who has babysat him before for Mando, then enter the bustling city. - Following the blinking and beeping of the fob, you find your way to the opposite end of the city, to a building located near the outskirts. It’s run down and looks abandoned. It makes perfect sense that someone would hide here. As you approach, the beeping of the fob encourages you; the Mandalorian is definitely here. You disable the sound on the fob and slip it in your pocket, grabbing one of the blasters from your hip. As you approach, the building is silent. The roar of the city is quiet but present, and you slip through an open doorway quietly. You scan the rooms, blaster held in front of you and ready to shoot. You take inventory of the first floor and find nothing. The staircase looks terribly old, and you wince as you take your first step onto it and it makes a noise. Now or never, you tell yourself and quickly run up the steps, knowing the noise can’t be avoided, so you’d better make it quick. You reach the top of the steps, pulling out your other blaster, and find a male Twi’lek standing over a pile of silver and black on the floor. Mando. He’s most definitely unconscious, maybe even- no, he can’t be dead, you can see his slow breathing and the way it makes his body rise and fall. “Fuck,” you say out loud, and the Twi’lek turns towards you. The man is large, much larger than you. He’s overweight and dressed in combat clothes, his face battered and bloody. Your heart sinks as you realize this man is the bounty Mando was going for. You need to start thinking on your feet, and quickly. The man starts to move toward you and you hold out both blasters. “Easy there, nerra,” you tell him in Twi’leki, calling him ‘brother’ to attempt to put him at ease. It doesn’t have the effect that you hoped. “Why are you here?” he asks back, also in Twi’leki, reaching for his weapon. “Don’t draw,” you threaten and inch closer. He was a bail jumper, Mando had informed you before he left, but not for a petty charge; he had escaped in order to avoid several charges of murder. He was a former bounty hunter, who Mando had encountered once. The idea strikes you. “I’m here for him,” you say and nod to the lump of beskar behind the man on the ground. “There’s a bounty on his head. I… heard whoever turns him in gets to keep the beskar too,” you say, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. “You going for him too?” The Twi’lek man shakes his head. “No. He was coming for me. Thought he could beat me.” You seize this opportunity. “From what you look like, I don’t think anyone could. This one is worth a lot of credits. Enough to run away to a pleasure planet… twice over,” you say, inching closer. Mando makes a soft groan and it breaks your heart as he gains consciousness. He must notice you; he starts to moan out words, but you know he can’t speak or he’ll expose you both. “Silence, Mandalorian,” you say again in Basic, words holding acid. “Twice over… let’s bring him in together. Find some wonderful planet to share that bounty on…” you offer, raising an eyebrow and slowly creeping closer to the man. “What’s your name?” You ask. He tells you his and you tell him yours, then give him a seductive smile. The man’s face falls into a smirk. You put both blasters in your belt once more and his posture relaxes fully. “Sounds wonderful to me, beautiful.” “Wow. For a jaded bounty hunter, you’re more foolish than one could ever believe.” Before the man can process your words, you’ve slung the pulse rifle over your shoulder and pull it into position. You shoot a pulse and it finds its target in his chest. He groans in agony and falls backwards, directly on top of Mando. Wincing for the man beneath the hulking Twi’lek, you grab a blaster, shooting the man in each leg. “Mando, hey, it’s me,” you tell him as you roll the behemoth from on top of him. “I’m here,” you murmur. He starts mumbling back, but it’s in Mando’a. That makes sense, you suppose, that he’s reverting in such a moment of crisis. “How hurt are you?” you ask, beginning to speak Mando’a to him in hopes he’ll understand you better. Mando’s brain works through the fog, hearing your words and recognizing that it’s you. “Real bad,” he groans out, speaking his native tongue. You touch his elbow, unprotected by beskar, and he whines. “No, no,” he whimpers, sounding almost like a child. You sigh. This was going to be harder than you expected. “Fuck, how am I going to get you out of here?” The brain function that the Mandalorian has left is your saving grace. “Speeder bike. Hidden down there. We can get on.” “Yes, but how are we going to get you downstairs?” He doesn’t respond, simply groans in pain. If this was going to work without immense pain on his part, some kind of miracle was going to need to happen. “I’m going to drag you down the stairs as carefully as I can, okay? We’ll let gravity do the work. Do you have a good arm?” “The left one… so clever, so smart, pretty girl,” he breathes out, words rasping. You blush at the words but chuckle. He’s in so much pain there’s no way he can think straight now. “I’ll go get the bike, then we’ll get you down there.” This is the hard part, you think to yourself. First, you run down the steps and search for the speeder bike Mando mentioned. You find it and sigh in relief. It’s a piece of junk, but it should do. You position it at the bottom of the stairs and then run up them again. “Okay, this is going to hurt. Can you roll yourself?” “No, shoulder’s all fucked up,” he mumbles and you groan. “Well, I’ll have to drag you on the good one. Get ready.” Taking his good arm, you begin dragging him towards the steps. He groans and you wince. “I’m so sorry, you’re doing so well,” you tell him as you move him. “Here we go.” Once he’s at the top of the steps, you hold him under his armpits, blushing at how close you are. He’s so strong, even injured, and you smile softly to yourself. You lower the two of you down the stairs with careful movements and manage to hold him long enough to get him seated on the speeder bike. He leans forward onto the handles. “One moment,” you tell him. Running up the stairs once more, you shoot another pulse into the bounty. He gives a dazed nod, clearly not understanding anything through the pain he’s in. You can’t let Mando leave this man behind. You’re sure he’s unconscious, so you repeat the same movements as before but with next to no gentleness. You toss him on the back of the speeder bike, where the gunner would sit, and tie him down with ropes before covering him with a blanket. “Alright, back to the ship as quick as we possibly can,” you inform Mando and get the speeder to a door wide enough to fit it through. Once it works, you hop on between Mando and the handlebar and start it up, moving as quickly as you possibly can. Soon enough, you’re back at the hangar that holds the Razor Crest. You enter the back way, using the speeder bike entrance. You hop off quickly and park it by the Crest. “Stay right there, I’m going to get this asshole into the carbonite,” you tell Mando. His consciousness hasn’t been clear for at least a day. He didn’t even process the fact that you had grabbed the bounty. “What? You got him?” “One of us had to,” you tease, enjoying the fact that the two of you are finally conversing in his native tongue. You’ve always loved Mando’a, the way the words sound rolling off your tongue. You untie the man, still unconscious, and haul him up the ramp of the Crest. You’ve seen Mando work the carbonite freezer once or twice, and you hope you press the right buttons as you force the man onto the slab. “Come on, baby,” you murmur to the machine, hoping it’ll work. With one final button, there’s a hiss and cold air blows from it, freezing him. You sigh in relief. You return to the main hold and pop out a cot for him to lie on. Running back down the ramp, you find the dazed Mandalorian in the exact spot you left him in. “I’m going to carry you into the ship,” you tell him, grunting with effort as you lift his practically deadweight body off of the side and into a standing position. You drag him up and immediately shove him onto the cot. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you cringe as he moans in pain at the contact with the cot. “One more thing and we’ll get some bacta in you.” The owner of the hangar is waiting for you outside the ship, holding the kid, both confused by the commotion. You very quickly and hurriedly explain to her that everything is fine now, thank her and pay her a generous amount of credits, and rush back onto the ship with the baby. “Keep the speeder!” You shout behind you as you close the ramp. - A full day and a half later, the Mandalorian awakens from a deep slumber with a pounding headache. He sits with a jolt, which only makes the headache worse. He looks around to find that he’s in the Razor Crest, the familiar hum indicating that he’s in hyperspace. The events of the past few days begin to manifest in his memory and he groans, lying back down on the cot. You climb down from the cockpit as you hear him stirring and find him on his side. “Good morning,” you say softly as you sit on the edge of his cot, the kid in your arm. You set the child down and he toddles off elsewhere. “You were out for a good day and a half,” you tell him and stroke his side softly. “How do you feel?” “Like shit,” he groans, rolling to his back again. He’s hyper aware of your touch, the way your fingers drag down his- oh shit, he’s shirtless, armorless- skin, avoiding the bruises. “You… thank you,” he says, gravelly voice soft. It sinks in that he’s wearing just a pair of shorts and his helmet. You must’ve undressed him, cleaned and bandaged his wounds. His breath catches in his throat. You nod and stroke his good arm. “Of course. That’s why you brought me on, isn’t it?” you tease. He chuckles, but it’s clear that takes effort. “Really, thank you. And you got the bounty too! Shit, mesh’la, I-” he says as he starts to sit, but you push him back down with a hand to his chest, caressing the side of his beskar helmet. “Nayc, stay down,” you tell him, chuckling softly. “Rest. I’ll bring you some water and go back up to the cockpit so you can take off the helmet,” you say with a soft smile, standing and going to where you keep the food and water bottles. As you move, he mulls over the events that led him here. He got knocked down and beat by the man that was supposed to be his bounty. That never happened. You came to rescue him and- wait. You just told him no, nayc, in Mando’a. In fact, you were speaking Mando’a to him the whole time you rescued him, reassuring him and directing him in his native tongue, which he had no idea you spoke until just now. You return with a nutrient bar and water bottle, setting them next to his side on the cot. “I’ll head back up-” you start to say, but he stops you by grabbing his wrist. “You speak Mando’a,” he says simply, looking up at you with wonder behind his mask. “Yeah,” you chuckle and admit, face flushing with warmth. His is equally heating beneath the beskar. He sits up slightly but instead you come to his level, sitting on the edge of the cot and pushing him down with a firm palm to his chest. He chuckles softly. “So you’ve understood me every time I’ve called you beautiful,” he says, a tinge of shyness in his modulated voice. Nodding, you tuck a stray hair back from your face. “I… yes, I have,” you nod, giving him an awkward smile. “I hear you talk in Mando'a in your sleep too, sometimes.” Even his chest is flushing with warmth now. You look away, at a corner of the ship “You talk about your life. People from your past.” The silence hangs between the two of you, your hand still resting in the center of his chest. You slowly drag it to his good shoulder, and down his arm. He clasps your hand in his when it reaches his fingertips. “Have you heard the name Din?” He asks in his native tongue, and you shake your head softly, truthfully. It never came out. “That’s… my name. Din, Din Djarin,” he admits to you, hand squeezing yours softly. You gasp softly, not expecting that information from him. A smile settles on your face after a moment. “Well then. Hello, Din.” You lean down and press your forehead to where his lies beneath the metal. A keldabe kiss, you know, the most intimate gesture a Mandalorian can do. It truly melts his heart, the organ pumping frantically in his chest. “Hello to you too, gorgeous. Wait,” he stops and pushes your face from his, gently. He returns to speaking Basic with a chuckle. “How many languages do you speak?” You look upwards, mentally counting. “Uh. 8 and a half. I’m still not finished with Ubese,” you say and turn back to face him, a shy smile gracing your face. “Wow. You’re a mirdal’ika,” he tells you, the smile evident in his voice even though you can’t see it through the mask. Separately, the syllables make sense. You understand the direct translation, but it’s odd, and you cock your head to the side as you look down at the Mandalorian- no, Din. “Little clever one?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Yes, well, that’s the direct translation. It’s really more of a slang term.” “For?” “In Basic… I believe the equivalent would be… nerd.” “Din!” You squeal and laugh, smacking his good shoulder lightly with a backhand. “Excuse me, that’s rude,” you chuckle, the smile growing even wider on your face as you look down at him. He doesn’t respond for a moment and you give a soft sigh. “Well, you need to drink that water. I’ll head back up to the cockpit,” you tell him, really meaning to leave this time, the smile falling. Once again, as you stand and try to move, he grabs your arm. “I… I think I’m going to need help with that,” he admits, almost ashamed. “Please. Stay.” You nod, but then realize what it implicates. “No, Din,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t do that to you, you and that helmet, it’s… it’s your everything, I couldn’t possibly-” “Please, cyare,” he asks in his native tongue again, and your heart melts. “I want you to see me. I need you to see me.” Heart pounding, you take a beat before you respond with a nod. You sit down once more, hands slowly tracing up his sides, then his chest and up to the base of his helmet. “You’re sure. Positive,” you ask. “Of course I am.” With a nod, you allow him to bring his hand to the side to unlatch the lock. Once it releases, he lifts his head just above the pillow and you slide off his helmet, catching the back of his head with one hand and easing it back down to the pillow. You make sure the helmet rests on the floor before you finally look at him. He’s gorgeous, truly. His tanned skin, which you saw when cleaning his wounds, is covered with dark stubble and a mustache on the lower half of his face, broken by two plush lips. Your fingertips trace his jawline as you take in his softly hooked nose, his dark eyebrows, his dark and messy hair, but most importantly, his eyes. His eyes are a beautiful chocolate brown, set gently into his face and looking at you like you’re a shimmering supernova, no, something even more beautiful. For a moment, you get caught up staring at him. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Din,” you mumble in Mando’a. He just gives a soft smile and murmurs his thanks. After you finish staring, you shake your head quickly. “Sorry, the water,” you chuckle nervously, turning to grab it from your other side. Din’s hand catches the side of your face. “The water is a secondary need,” he says softly in Mando’a, turning your face back to his. “I took this off for something else.” His eyes hold a question as he looks up at you. You bite your lip for a moment before breaking into a smile and nodding. The Mandalorian pulls your face down to his, and, ever so gently, your lips finally meet, real and warm and absolutely delicious. You sigh softly, putting a hand on the side of his face too. His lips are softer than you’d expected, while yours are just as beautiful as he dreamed about at night. You both continue for a moment, his hand drifting to your neck, completely lost in each other. A moment later, you pull back and giggle. “I have to admit something, Din,” you tell him and lovingly stroke the side of his face. “It better not be that you’re secretly engaged,” he asks teasingly, a soft smile on his face and raising an eyebrow at you. “No,” you laugh and run your hand through his curls, carding your fingers between the surprisingly soft locks. “That…” you gulp and look away before looking back at him. “Was my first kiss,” you admit and bite down on your bottom lip. He laughs softly but there’s love in his eyes. “A girl as beautiful as you never dated when you were younger? Never went out and flirted with her classmates?” You shake your head. “I was generally too busy at home, reading or teaching myself the language of the man who’d eventually be my first kiss.” You both laugh at that and you grin. His hand rests on the side of your face, gently sweeping his thumb across the skin beneath his fingers. “Of course you were. My little mirdal’ika,” he laughs, bringing your face to his to kiss you once more.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #baby yoda #the mandalorian fanfiction #grogu #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #din and grogu #mando x reader #mando

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will-on-the-internet · 3 years

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hi will 💕 i hope your physio goes well! i have a bau concept for you: how do you think they would react to spencer having a girlfriend? thank u!! 🥰

Here you go, my love! I’ll have the actual fic out for this concept sometime this week, but for now here are the small ideas I had relating to how each team member feels about you dating Spencer Reid.

THE TEAM REACT TO SPENCER HAVING A PARTNER!

HOTCH: Spencer was most worried about introducing you to Hotch, because out of everyone on the team, he was the most devoted to keeping his little family safe. It wasn’t that Hotch didn’t like outsiders, but due to all the trauma and hurt the team had faced in the past, he wanted to know for sure that Spencer could trust you and you were willing to be part of the youngest member’s life, even if it meant dealing with Spencer coming home from long trips away, infrequent communication and a possible risk to your life. However, Hotch sometimes was the one to call you after an awful case, telling you that Spencer wasn’t doing so well and that you should come and pick him up from the office, knowing that if Spencer saw you it would make all the pain seep away, and without a doubt, he would trust you to make sure that Spencer was okay. And sometimes as a last resort when the team is bone dead tired and has to leave during the night for a case, Hotch will ring your phone instead of Spencer’s, knowing you’ll make sure the man actually gets ready and heads out the door, and not just collapse into bed again. In truth, Hotch starts to rely on you in regard to Spencer, but you are fine with that, knowing the older agent has accepted you as someone important to Spencer.

ROSSI: Rossi would be pretty indifferent. He wouldn’t make a big deal about it when you were first introduced to him, just a polite smile and firm handshake. In all honestly, he’d be relieved because finally, Spencer has someone other than the people in the team to confide in and to feel safe with. Soon though, after it’s clear you’re here to stay, he’d invite you with Spencer to every event he would hold at his house, thus inviting you to be part of his small group of friends. He’d make sure your favourite drink was stocked, that you felt comfortable in his presence and wanted Spencer to feel as if the Doctor could come to him any time he needed, within reason of course.

MORGAN: Morgan would be thrilled when he finds out Spencer is dating someone. He'd be so happy that Reid has finally found someone he can trust, relax with, and just feel comfortable around, and even more so because it seems like you love him back just as much. However, he’d also feel very protective over Spencer, and he makes it clear to you that he’s not one to mess with, especially when it comes to his best friends feeling. Derek knows that Spencer has already gone through enough trauma and heartbreak, and Derek wants to do everything in his power to make it clear that you’re not allowed to break Spencer’s heart.

PENELOPE: Penelope would be overjoyed, instantly wanting to become your friend and to invite you to every girl’s night she, Emily and JJ have. She’d definitely take you under her wing, and make you feel like you had always belonged there. And she’d love seeing how happy Spencer is every day, watching him come out of his shell more due to his comfort around you. She’d also be the one to send you funny pictures throughout the day, sometimes stealing Spencer phone when you and the team were out to take candid photos that Spencer would find later and cherish forever. And when he couldn’t think of a date idea or a good gift for your birthday or anniversary, she was the one he’d always run to because Penelope had all the good ideas and juicy gossip that you told her.

EMILY: Emily would welcome you with open arms, doing everything in her power to make you comfortable around the team. She’d seen the recent change in Spencer, how when he left work he didn’t look like he was going home to an empty apartment, how he would grin when his phone buzzed from a new text. She was a profiler after all, and when the team teased Spencer about the lack of a partner, she would know from the way he half-heartedly fobbed off the teasing that there was something he was hiding. She’d also probably be the one to tell Spencer it was okay to have someone in his life, that he didn’t have to hide it and that he deserved to be loved.

JJ: JJ would take on the role of a protective friend, wary and not wanting Spencer to get too close in fear of his heartbreaking. She’d make sure you knew that the team was Spencer’s family and that they all loved the man dearly, and no lover of his was going to come between that. She would also start off as guarded towards you, not as welcoming as the others. But as soon as she’s sure you love one of the most important people in her life, she would become something of another sister to you, inviting you over for family dinners, letting you babysit her kids with Spencer and making you feel like you had a place in this found family of his.

#criminal minds headcanons #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid

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souryogurt64 · 3 years

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sanitized really is the perfect word to describe how everything is now. like, i appreciate the effort to be better people, but also, it just feels like a marketing thing and performative - not genuine. i would feel 10x more safe hanging out with any member of fob or mcr (in their prime) than i would most of the bands in their prime now... simply because even though fob and mcr have had their own problematic things, they were always real about it. they weren’t advertising squeaky clean images. they were just dudes doing their best. and imo, they are probably better people overall than most any of these new band boys. the new ones just have better marketing and grew up with the internet like it is. of course this is just speculation idk anyone, but i wholeheartedly believe it. to quote pete: never trust a band that wouldnt bleed for you never believe in anyone who wouldnt drive through the night to you or whatever lmao. show me your ugly so i know if your good is worth it 🤷‍♀️

absolutely

i mean there are plenty of bands that arent sanitized or big and i really like, im a big fan of mickey darling and a lot of his lyrics are pretty offensive and i love them lol, i also like dazey and the scouts and bad waitress

no men passing out zines about consent gave/give a shit beyond their paternalistic white knight fantasies, when it comes to their friends-- and the music industry is almost always their friends-- they will always back each other up and ive just accepted that. sorry to be frank but i think guys who have "grown up" or whatever in general go from seeing women as holes to incubators when they get married to property when they have daughters

as gabe saporta has said on many occasions: im the kind of guy youd be stupid to trust.

i know yin yang is more complex but when i was 11 i got friendship necklaces out of a vending machine and me and my friend got into a debate about whether it was better to be the "good" half with just a little bad in the middle or mostly bad with good in the middle. and i definitely wanted the black one

ALSO you should definitely read minor characters and come and join the dance by joyce johnson, this 32 year old woman in a punk band told me to read it when i was backstage at a fidlar concert after we talked about assault stuff and it encapsulates these themes, its by a girl and her friends who ran around with jack kerouac and co even though they all got treated like shit because they felt a pull towards the beat movement. i could talk about that book forever omg

also side note i was looking back at songkick archives and those bands ground really hard compared to a lot of bands that went down last summer. like they BARELY toured at all because they didnt want to put in any work at all, they wanted princess buses with their oil diffuser and sushi or whatever instead of a van, they wanted the glamor of opening arenas instead of headlining bars, etc. they didnt view music as their lives they viewed it as a cute fun summer camp they planned vacations around for 3 weeks a summer in europe lol. im not sure what happened but honestly would not necessarily be surprised if pw booted uknowho because they had absolutely zero work ethic, even all nepotism aside lol. sure theyll get another record deal though

#sorry this is so long omg

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

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The Decision

A/N: Well, well, well... it seems as though I have fallen victim to the things I said I’d never do yet again. What a clown. I do place a portion of the blame for this piece coming into being on @something-tofightfor who literally recruited backup to coerce me to write for Mando... but I like honesty and I believe in owning up to things. So to be fair, I probably would have ended up writing this anyway. That doesn’t make it less terrifying to share it, because it is so far from what I normally write, but one of my writing goals for the new year was to branch out so, no time like the present, right? (aka lemme post this right quick before i chicken out.)

ANYWAY THAT’S ENOUGH OF MY BABBLING. This falls into the season 1 storyline. You’ll know where.

Word Count: 2,540

The Mandalorian had been a member of the guild for years. Hunting was second nature to him, his skills in tracking and combat making him perfectly suited for the job. Fighting was simple when the only acceptable outcome was victory; win, and maintain his honor, dignity and reputation, or die in defeat. Do whatever necessary to ensure the latter never happened. There was no middle ground. Even if these ideals weren’t written into the code that he followed, they would still be a part of his code.

The Way.

He never questioned the rulesets that he lived his life by. He was never given a reason to. How many bounties had he collected? How many pucks passed across tabletops or fobs followed to the far reaches of the galaxy, to dusty desert planets and backwater swamps? The number wasn’t worth even thinking about. He didn’t keep track, he kept busy, quickly moving from one quarry to the next, collecting his pay and setting a course for his next destination.

Why then, after all those years, all those successful missions, had this one caused him to go against everything he had ever known? He never cared to learn anything about the bail jumpers and criminals that he captured. He never asked what would become of them once they were handed over to whoever it was that was after them. It mattered less to him than the number of completed jobs he’d done. They’d made the wrong deal or stolen from the wrong person, gotten in over their heads and gotten their heads assigned a price. Mercenary or nobleman, gambler or thief, it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was getting the job done.

He hardly made a profit after spending on fuel and provisions, but he wasn’t in it for the credits. He wasn’t looking for riches or fame. He wasn’t really looking for anything. Just a life that didn’t require him to stay still for any length of time. It didn’t suit him, settling down. He’d had a home, twice. He’d lost his home, twice. His ship was the only home he needed anymore, and since it was just him, he didn’t have a need to profit so long as he had food and fuel enough to carry him through his next mission. So the questions? The hang ups? They weren’t about negotiating his prize or garnering recognition.

Then why?

He sighed, leaning back in his seat and letting his gloved hands fall from the controls to his lap.

Why this one?

It had started before he’d set out to track his bounty, before he’d even agreed to the job- a prickling sensation in the back of his brain. Whether it was an instinctual warning, some cosmic intervention, or a simple lack of sleep he couldn’t say, but it started as soon as he saw the first brick of beskar.

He wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of taking on an imperial client. But the presence of a few stormtroopers wasn’t enough to give him pause. There had only been four of them, and for all the resources that the Empire had at its fingertips during the height of its power, top of the line weapons and armor for their foot soldiers had never been a priority. He liked his odds at four to one even if they had been properly armed and armored in more than the flimsy white gear that he had no doubt he’d make short work of. Regardless, once the door had opened there was no going back, not with a client like this.

The pin pricks in his brain weren't due to them at all.

It was the heavy ingot, dark ribbons of silver-gray running through it, a distinctive clanging sound reaching his ears as the client set it on the table that had ignited the sensation. Beneath his helmet his eyes widened and his mouth fell open as the feeling intensified.

Expensive, Greef Karga had said of the Mandalorian’s rate. Expensive typically translated to bulging sacks of coins, the origin of which didn’t matter much to him so long as the spending of them didn’t line imperial pockets. The Empire is gone. He’d said the words himself, but he knew that there were still hold outs, still those benefiting off of the crumbs of the former regime. He also knew that gone didn’t always mean gone forever, and he refused to play a part in its return by continuing to circulate the currency of the corrupt. Lower pay in less offensive coin was preferable to him, but lower pay wasn’t going to be the case with this one. He knew that going in.

He’d taken unconventional jobs before, certain clients looking for an extra level of discretion or speedy results. His reputation as the best in the parsec was hardly a secret nor was it an exaggeration, and it got him more than his pick of pucks from Karga’s stack. A few times it had gotten him private meetings, face to face rendezvous in locked rooms and hidden basements with desperate customers seeking a chance to hire the Mandalorian. The pay for jobs like these was always as unconventional as the nature of the job itself, coming in the form of black market weapons or obscene amounts. Expensive.

He’d never been paid in the stolen riches of his own people, though.

He closed his fists tightly, the worn leather of his gloves groaning as he curled his hands into clubs. He could still feel the weight of that one single bar and the way that holding it made the foreign feeling intensify. His breathing was deep and heavy as he tried to fight the frustration and anger that were rising at his inability to reconcile his code with his creed.

The alloy, stripped from the bodies of his fallen brothers and sisters, melted down and stamped with the symbol of the Galactic Empire, looked almost grotesque to him in that form. It wasn’t currency. It wasn’t something to be traded or sold. It had more meaning than money. And it didn’t belong in the hands of the client.

It belonged in the hands of his people. The Tribe. And it was his duty to secure it. This is the way- he could already hear the Armorer’s modulated voice speaking the words as she hammered away at the metal, forming it back into a piece of gleaming, impenetrable plating. He could already see the flashes of his past that sparked each time he watched her work, the flames melting the walls he built around the memory of the last time he saw his parents. Each strike was a blast that brought him back to that day- his mother’s arms strong and tight as she hugged him one more time, his father’s steadfast determination to get him to safety. The day his future was written- in blood and beskar.

Even though he hated the thought of being paid in it, there was no scenario in which he was presented with the metal in any amount or form and he denied it. And with the promise of more upon the capture and delivery of the asset? The Mandalorian was many things but fool wasn’t one of them. This job wouldn’t be like others before it. It would no doubt be one of if not the most difficult and dangerous assignments he’d take in his life. But the unsavory demeanor of the client, the overly eager troopers, even the unusual tingling inside his own mind- none of it was enough to make him walk away from the brick or in turn, the job. Not the lack of information on the target or the zealous way that the man across from him spoke of having the asset in his custody.

But that was before. Before I saw the kid.

He moved without wasting time to think, and without taking his eyes off of the child that was staring up at him. Before the IG unit had even locked on to the small green thing peering up at them, his right arm was raised, his blaster putting a gaping hole straight through the bounty droid’s head.

It was supposed to be fifty years old. An adult. It... It wasn’t supposed to be a-

When the hatch on the hovering carriage that the child was tucked into opened, he saw more than the tiny being’s giant ears and enormous eyes as it shied away from the droid’s weapon. He saw himself, felt the helpless fear that he would never fully forget as the bunker that his parents had sacrificed themselves to get him to was torn open, a robotic assailant greeting him with the end of a blaster. But before he could even cover his eyes there had been another flash of movement as a man encased in armor, his face completely covered by a sleek helmet, appeared to dispatch the droid, extending a hand to help him climb out to safety.

It wasn’t supposed to be a foundling.

He had done his best to shake the unexpected connection to the child, closing the carrier and bringing it back to his ship, trying to treat it like any of the countless other targets that he’d captured. But it seemed that the more he tried to ignore it, the more that feeling in the back of his mind grew, two words bouncing around his brain as he set the course for Nevarro. Asset. Foundling. Asset. Foundling. Asset. Punching the shifter into drive, he took off before the other word had a chance to be the last.

He had naively hoped that once he made the drop off, delivering his quarry to the client, that he’d be free of the conflict- that he could collect his payment and return to the covert. That false hope popped and fell flat the second the first question was out of his mouth.

“How many fobs did you give out?”

It shouldn’t have mattered.

It never had before. Occasionally he’d run into another guild member while on assignment, and, more often than that he’d have to stave off other sloppier, non- guild hunters and mercenaries. High value targets tended to draw a lot of greedy attention from multiple sources. He had always come out on top, leaving his challengers empty-handed or incapacitated, and his target shackled or dead. Their presence was always negligible to him. Guild or not, no other bounty hunter came close to the Mandalorian in any measurable way.

Instead of a numerical answer, the client had merely stated that obtaining the asset- the foundling. The asset. The f- had been of great importance. The man had then set a camtono on the desk, pressing a button to open the pressurized unit and silencing the war of words. It was more pure beskar than he had ever seen outside of the covert. Stacks. He’d been drawn to it like a woolly moth to a flame, mesmerized by its dark shine. Stacks of the invaluable metal that belonged to his people, the people who had saved him, raised him, made him what and who he was. Taking another step, he couldn’t resist reaching out to touch it, feel it’s weight and know for sure that it was real. Stacks of the very same beskar that had been pillaged from the corpses of men and women who had taken the very same creed that he had.

He wondered what illicit riches the client had used to tempt the others into taking this job. Setting the bricks back into the container with the rest, he wondered if perhaps some of them hadn’t been offerings, but threats. He wouldn’t put it past the man, who still proudly wore the empire’s symbol around his neck- the symbol that had been pressed into each brick of beskar, as though it gave him some kind of right to possess it. He wondered why he was wondering these things, and before he could answer himself yet another question was tumbling from his lips; one brought on by movement in the corner of his vision as the child’s carriage trailed behind the doctor into an adjoining room.

“What are you going to do with it?”

While asking questions about the fates of the unfortunate beings he collected, most frozen in carbonite to keep them quiet and cooperative for the return journey, wasn’t standard procedure for a guild bounty hunter, following his instincts was, and the prickling had not ceased even after the camtono was sealed and handed over to him.

If anything it had become less of a needling, nagging feeling, and more of an acidic burn.

He hadn’t gotten an answer. He’d been paid, the job finished. It was time to move on. What was it that the client had said? Those parting words that had been laced with authoritarian venom? Something about restoring balance, about the beskar being returned to the Mandalorians, and things being as they should be?

Why then, had the entire trek back to the covert been consumed with those large round eyes as they seemed to plead with him not to leave? Where before there were two words, now there was just one.

Foundling.

It echoed through his brain with each spur studded step he took through the city. It followed him as he descended to the underground hideout that the Tribe had been forced into. It was what he heard when another Mandalorian had called his honor into question. Coward, the man had called him.

Was he right?

The Armorer had ended the scrum by reminding both men of the creed they’d taken. This is the way, she’d stated with finality before continuing to forge the beskar he’d reclaimed into a sleek new full set of armor. Again he saw his past with each strike of her tools against the hot metal. Again he saw himself in the same position that he’d found the child in. He’d refused the Mudhorn as his signet, and he’d left the excess beskar to be used for the foundlings under the Tribe’s care. But neither of those acts of penance erased the thing that had replaced the prickling; the guilt of turning the child over to those men and their agenda.

“The foundlings are our future.”

“I was once a foundling.”

Beskar may hold up against most forms of force. But not even the glinting, impenetrable breastplate he now wore could keep the guilt from curling around his heart beneath it. It squeezed tight as he reached for the small round piece that the child had unscrewed from the gear shifter.

This is wrong. This one is… He swallowed, eyes locked on to the silver orb between his fingers. This is wrong.

Slipping the ball safely into his pocket, he quickly flicked every switch back to the off position, the Razor Crest’s engines powering down as he stood.

The conflict between code and creed had come to a head, one superseding the other by a large margin of personal importance. He was a guild bounty hunter, and he’d delivered the asset to the client.

But he was a Mandalorian first, and the child was now his responsibility.

This is the way.

I have no real clue who to tag here, so if you would like to be removed from or added to this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know!

@something-tofightfor @pheedraws @valkblue @gollyderek @alraedesigns @malionnes

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #mando #din djarin #the child #mando fic #the decision #idk what else to tag here i am out of my depth #this is the way i guess

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nurseunearthed · 3 years

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ICU Roller Coaster

Sitting in my car, drinking a hot coffee, giving myself 5 minutes before heading into work. Tears streaming down my face, I’m crouching hiding myself from the other nurses rolling into work. Why was I crying? I love my job! Right?

I recently started an ICU foundations program in a Major City Hospital, my dream hospital. I would attend this hospital visiting sick family members and get a little tickle, an urge, telling me this was where I was meant to be. Before long I changed my career direction and started studying nursing with the eventual goal of Critical care. Each placement at this hospital I would be so filled with excitement that I would one day be a nurse at this hospital.

I graduated my studies, worked in a rural hospital for my grad year and then tried my luck back to my dream hospital. I put in an application for the foundations program in ICU and was surprised that the next day after interview I was being told id been accepted into the role.

My first day, I was that idiot, walking tall with the biggest cheesiest grin, I’d made it, and I was in Crit care.

Each time before shift I still walk tall, so proud of how far I have come but just prior to that im crying in my car. Days off im on the couch not having the energy to move. I am tired to my core that I do not function, beside attending work. On days off Ill try attend to self-care, I’ll try rest but, at the start of each work week I feel utterly exhausted like I never had any days off.

I am becoming so frustrated because I want to be the best I can be, I want to do my job 110%, I want to be the gun nurse they never realised they were missing. I want to be amazing for my patients and attend to all their care needs. I want to be the Nurse they remember. I want all this but at hand over time I never feel like I have done enough or that I know enough. I want more and I feel like I am not enough to get it.

Ill say and feel all of this but then I remember that feeling I had on my first day, how proud I am, Ill see how far I have come and I remember that while I’m at work, caring for my patient, in that moment, I love it.

I was told before I even started, ‘be prepared for the rollercoaster’, I fobbed this comment off never realising that how many ups, downs, twists and turns there would be in just one day. I find it so difficult to talk to family or work about the competing feelings of crying in my car but claiming to still love it. I also know that I’m not alone in feeling like this.

I guess this is my purpose in starting this blog. To let people know they’re not alone in their feelings, that its ok to cry about work while still loving it, and that sometimes the best outlet for competing feelings is to write about it.

This is Nurse Unearthed.

#icunurse #Nurse Unearthed

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bestintheparsec · 4 years

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Just You - (Din Djarin x reader)

Summary: @elisemb123 suggested (a long time ago i’m so sorry) a Din x reader fic about “spicy awkward situations” -- I went off my own interpretation of that and I hope you like it!

A/N: This is my first (actual) oneshot (please go easy on me)! The first of my “tropes” oneshots (without saying too much, this was based on the “zipper” trope)😏 This was more challenging to write because I’m so attached to ‘Healer’ but I hope that you enjoy it❤️ As always I appreciate any and all feedback!

Words: 2.4k

Rating: T

“No,” Din snapped.

Greef had only looked towards you for one second before Din caught on, rejecting the idea.

"But you can't go in there. At least, not without being conspicuous," Greef countered.

You and Din were a team. You'd never done any hunts without him, not in the last year since you'd joined him aboard the Razor Crest. Your quick minds were alike, which greatly helped on the job every time. But the pay hadn't been enough lately. You needed a higher stakes bounty, one that could provide for a while without either of you having to worry.

This was currently the only job Greef could offer. The bounty was a shady, very rich, very powerful higher-up who was heavily guarded and rarely made public appearances. You would have one shot at him -- at a formal event on the planet Perinnion. You had looked at Greef with confusion when he'd told you. Perinnion was notorious for being one of the finest and richest planets in the outer rim. But a lot of it was all for show, a cover for the malicious businesses that frequently went on under the table there. It was definitely not the usual type of hunt.

They weren't accepting of anyone who didn't meet their shallow standards, so there was no way Din would get into some gala in his armor. Greef mentioned that disguises would have to be involved, and had looked over at you.

"She's not going alone," Din said firmly. He was sitting right next to you in the tight booth, and you could feel his shoulders tense up as he said it. You turned and looked into his visor at the same time he tilted his head to look at you. Despite everything, you felt your cheeks heat up. You broke eye contact before Greef could sense anything was off.

Din was your partner, in all ways but one. When you joined him, you simply needed a job and he needed the help. But in the time that you’d worked together, you started to feel something change in how you felt about him. You cared about him. That was completely normal, you'd told yourself time and again. But you couldn't help how sometimes you felt your heart flutter at the gentle way he spoke to you, on the rare occasions that he spoke at all. He was kind, though it was all kept hidden beneath the armor. He had a softness to him that you’d never known before. You would never tell him any of this, of course. He was strict to his code, and you would never do anything to jeopardize your present relationship with him. The fleeting thoughts of him were enough to keep you warm, and it would have to be enough.

“Yeah, I don’t know, Greef --” you said.

“Perhaps their ideals are different, but this is probably one of the least dangerous situations you could put yourself in for a hunt,” Greef continued. “Surely you can handle a bit of arrogance.”

“It’s not that -- I’ve heard stories of how these events are always swarming with undercover New Republic guards, on the lookout for trouble. I doubt they’ll take well to people like us being around,” you added.

“To get that man, she’s going to have to raise hell in there. As soon as she causes any alarm, the bodyguards and the Imps will be on her. You really want to let her go in there alone?” Din criticized.

Greef was getting impatient. “Then you’ll have to prepare well, Y/N. And you don’t have to be alone. You can lure him out -- talk intriguing business schemes with him. Then you and Mando capture him once he’s out and vulnerable.”

You both seemed to ease up just a bit, mentally running through the plan as you looked at each other.

“What do you think?” Din asked you, quietly. “We don’t have to take the job. Not if you don’t feel safe.”

You looked away, thinking of all the times Din had thrown himself headfirst into danger on behalf of you or the child, completely disregarding his own safety despite your protests. It was hardly a big deal for you to socialize with some conceited 'royals’ for a job that would keep all of you worry-free for months.

“You mentioned a disguise,” you said after a moment. “Where exactly am I supposed to find one that remotely parallels the Perinnion formal wear?”

Greef smiled, as if he’d known you would agree all along. “I have connections with someone there. I’ll give you instructions to find her. Her name is Kas, and you can trust her with the details of the mission. She’ll be more than willing to help.”

You nodded and both stood up to leave. Din took the puck and tracking fob, exhaling quietly as he walked behind you toward the door.

From his constant composure you would’ve never been able to tell -- he didn’t even realize it himself, but lately something about you made him start to soften, and he had no idea what it was or what to do about it. He’d never worried for any of his past workmates like this -- it was work, that was it. He rarely even liked his team members, let alone care about them. The kid had been on his watch for a long time, but he’d never known the feeling of being protective of anyone the way he was with you -- as if keeping you out of harm’s way meant he was protecting himself from what he would feel if anything happened to you. He often shook his head at himself, trying to find something else to occupy his thoughts, trying to ignore the way the curious look in your eyes made him feel something he was unfamiliar with.

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

Kas was an older, maybe middle-aged woman. She had lines around her eyes, which were hardened yet still kind. You could tell she had plenty of experience in dealing with all the sketchy transactions that went on. She quickly showed you that she not only distrusted the people Greef had bounty pucks on, but that she would also willingly help you take them down.

She had been ready for you at her home as soon as you landed on Perinnion, providing helpful details regarding the night’s event -- exit plans, topics that would be of interest, and of course, your disguise. Din stayed on the Crest for a while, preparing the weapons while you went inside with Kas.

You looked down at yourself as she helped you step into the sturdy dress. She wouldn't tell you where it came from, but somehow it fit you well enough. There wasn’t a way to describe the ensemble as anything but beautiful. The dress’s skirt was made of a thick, emerald-colored satin fabric that fell in full waves smoothly to the floor. The bodice stopped just above the waist and was daintily adorned with small but intricate, understated golden jewel embellishments that completely covered the black lining underneath. It was sleeveless, save for two thick bands of black ribbon that wrapped over your shoulders to hold the whole thing up. To finish it off, she tied a matching black ribbon around the waist, letting the long ends drape softly in front of you.

“Is the slit necessary?” you muttered, wondering how practical all of this was for the mission. The skirt completely encircled you, but on one side there was a slit that went up a little past your knees. It was subtle, your leg only revealed if you wanted it to be.

“In every way, my dear,” she grinned at you, holding out a thigh holster and your blaster, gesturing to your leg as she moved part of the skirt aside to show you. “It provides easy access to your weapons. And, should you need to run, it allows you to do so without restriction.”

You nodded and sighed, taking them from her hands and securing them to your leg.

“Thank you,” you said.

Kas patted your shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she left you to yourself. She gave you a wink, making you wrinkle your brows in confusion.

You looked at yourself in the tall mirror. You had insisted on leaving your hair plain, down and held in place with a few pins, allowing just a few loose strands to fall around your face.

It was quite a bit different than what you usually wore -- black tight-fitted pants and maybe some sort of dark-colored jacket overtop whatever shirt you could find. Needless to say, anything this luxurious was not what you were used to. The fact that you were essentially going into combat mode like this made you feel even more disoriented.

Din's voice appeared before he did. “We should go over the plan again --” he said casually as he entered the room, abruptly stopping in his tracks when he saw you.

“Oh, I --” you instinctively moved to cover yourself, though you were fully dressed and ready to go in public like this.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, looking down and turning to leave. “I -- I didn’t know you were --” he stammered.

“No, wait. It’s okay, Din,” you said reassuringly, calling him back. “I’m...done. I don’t know where Kas went off to.” Your hands awkwardly smoothed out the fullness of the dress skirt. You glanced at the floor before looking back up at him.

Even in his mind, Din couldn't find any words to say. The few seconds of uncomfortable silence may as well have been hours. He thought of how you both tended to look -- skin and clothes covered in dirt and dust, sometimes even blood. For most of his life, all he’d ever seen was damage and destruction. It was a stark contrast to how you looked standing in front of him right now. He felt like he wasn’t meant to see anything so intimate and....breathtaking. Din glanced away, trying to avert his eyes under the helmet and quell the reddening of his cheeks even though you couldn’t see him. But he couldn’t resist, eventually tilting his head back up as you met his gaze through the visor. You were looking at him with that soft expression again, leaving him completely flustered.

You held your arms firmly against your side. The dress was snug and it wasn’t going to go anywhere, but you suddenly felt fidgety. You caught a glimpse of the back of the dress in the mirror and saw that Kas had left before finishing the look. That sneaky woman, you thought, shaking your head.

"She didn’t -- Can you... help me with the back?" You asked in a softer voice, awkwardly moving towards him. You were suddenly very aware of how much air your leg was getting. The strings lacing up the back of the bodice were more for decoration than fit, but you weren't able to tie up the elaborate backing yourself. He nodded just slightly and you turned your back to him.

Din felt uneasy, hesitating for a few moments before reaching down to the ribbon around your waist. He carefully tied it as best as he could, gloved fingers occasionally brushing lightly against your covered back. He could hardly concentrate on the immediate task at hand. You looked down at the floor, wondering if he could sense your nerves -- though your quickened pulse had nothing to do with the job tonight.

"Thanks," you said quietly when he moved his hands away, turning to face him. You tried to keep your heart rate steady. When was the last time physical contact made you feel like that? You thought. You really needed to get it together.

He fixed his gaze on you, and neither of you said a word. Din felt his heart go soft as he looked into your eyes, which now held an expression he couldn't quite figure out. There was a lot at stake tonight, but you appeared ready. The tension in your composure was opposite to how you looked; elegant, like the calm before the storm. He was relieved you couldn’t see his face right now; he kept glancing around elsewhere in the room, a nervous tic you were unaware of. Out of nowhere, Din felt overcome by the need to gently wrap his arms around your waist as he imagined the feel of the smooth fabric of your dress against his hands. He didn’t say anything, not wanting a tremor in his voice to reveal him. What had gotten into him? He thought to himself. He felt his heart constrict as he felt himself realize what he couldn’t possibly say aloud.

You suddenly cleared your throat, breaking his train of thought. “Well, we better get going. I think Kas had some last minute plans to share,” you said.

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

You stood hidden in the trees in the stakeout spot. You were both checking your weapons one more time before leaving to get inside the event, alone.

“This should be fun,” you grinned up at him. “For once the bounty won’t immediately try to kill me. We’re probably going to have to take out the guards, though.”

He didn't respond for a few moments. “I don’t care what happens to them,” he said. “Just you.”

Was it just you, or did he seem extra on-edge about this mission? “Just me?” you let out a nervous laugh before noticing how he seemed more serious than usual.

Din said nothing, only responding with a nod.

“I’ll be alright,” you said softly. “We’ll be in and out.”

He was still looking at you, not answering. Your hands were down at your side -- you tried to occupy them by patting your dress, rechecking for your weapons as if you hadn't just checked a minute ago.

Another moment passed before he slowly reached down and gently took your hand in his. You looked up at him, the gesture unexpected but not unwelcome. The rough leather of his gloves traced your skin with light pressure, ever-so-briefly before he let go.

You smoothed out your dress again before you gave him a reassuring smile. You turned and started walking towards the venue, cheeks flushing as you hoped your knees wouldn’t give out beneath you.

Tags (separate from Healer): @aeryntheofficial @immundusspiritu @i-like-those-odds @heyy-honeyy @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @jensfolly @spacegayofficial @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian oneshot #my ff

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goodproofingwater · 4 years

Text

Chapter 13 | Tinder Tommy

Word Count: 2522

Taglist (if you would like to be added just ask!):

@a-dorky-book-keeper @ishoutmarcoandyoushout @idesiretomhardy @theamuz @blinderscaps @peakywriting @justanothershelby @contemporary-mary @auroravipers @moonyscardigans @peakysxshelby @miss-shelby-barnes @vintage-fantasyyy @ly—canthrope @morgan-1830 @i-love-you-green @l0tsofpennies @exploringmycosmicsoul

Notes:

Thank you all so much again for being so patient! I am going to go back and number all the chapters so they are easier to read through, hence the name on this one being a chapter name and not a wordy name (i am so bad at those!). Anyway, please feel free as always to send me any feedback or questions or comments on Tommy or his girl!

You are left with nothing but filthy texts as Tommy’s workload increases to the point where he barely leaves the office, and you wonder on more than one occasion how he would react if you showed up at his office and offered to help him to relax. But you hold back.

You know that this new relationship, if you could call it that, hangs in a very delicate balance of respect, business and lust, and although the more you learned about him the more you saw yourself feeling more than just the need to get on your knees for him, you don’t want to do anything that could change the way he feels about you. At least not until he is more clear with his own intentions as to where this is going.

And so when Jonathon walks into your office and asks you to make yourself free for a meeting at 2pm the next day, you feel a flush of arousal at the thought of being under Tommy’s keen gaze once more.

It had been weeks since you had seen him, and you dress in a white shirt, black pencil skirt and heels for the meeting, pushing your hair back into a slick ponytail in an effort to look professional in case your expression gives away just how interested you are in the man you failed to mention you were sleeping with.

Heels click along marble floors as you walk into what feels like an entirely different world. Shelby Company Limited’s headquarters were not at all what you had been expecting as you got to know a man who was so fond of whiskey and cigarettes. It’s front facing wall was made up entirely of glass, the white floors matched the white marble reception desk which you approached with caution, allowing Jonathan to take the lead as you did your best to hold your jaw tight as you looked around.

Everything that wasn’t white was silver, steel or black save for a huge painting of library shelves which had been composed in such a way that it looked 3D. As you moved towards it clipping the small visitors tag to the black suit jacket you had chosen to wear, it looked as though you were walking through the stacks. It was only when you were standing next to it that you saw the blocks protruding from the canvas, and you had been so transfixed you hadn’t heard him approach.

“Interesting isn’t it?” His voice is like silk against your ears, delicious and enticing even when he has his professional face on. “I bought it at an art fair when we moved into this office specifically to entrance those waiting for a meeting. I find it has a way of affecting someone’s mindset.”

“Affecting someone’s mindset how?” You answer without thinking, Jonathan’s eyes darting to you as it seems you disrespect one of the most powerful men in London by talking without a proper introduction. Tommy’s eyes bore into yours, his tongue running along the back of his teeth as his lips remain slightly parted, forcing you to remember how he looks at you as you take him deep in your throat.

“Usually in my favour” is his response, and the eye contact lingers for only a moment before it’s broken by Jonathan holding his hand out.

“Good to see you again Mr Shelby.” He offers both of you a strong handshake as you introduce yourself, a small smirk washing over his lips as his thumb grazes the back of your hand in a way that lets you know he’s enjoying playing this game. That he understands from the short conversations he’s had with your boss that you have not told him the full extent of your ties to Shelby Company Limited.

“Likewise, but I will say Jonathan that you’d be seeing me a right side more if you had accepted my offer.

Jonathan’s smile falters, transforming into something you had never seen before, something fake and on the verge of a grimace as if he had been expecting the jibe, but not so soon or in front of company.

“Well while I’m always willing to help Mr Shelby my answer remains the same. I have loyalties to my film and I won’t be leaving any time soon.”

“Shame” he speaks, but he looks bored, as if this was a well rehearsed dance that he was eager to get out of. And maybe it was. Perhaps this very conversation happened much more regularly than you knew.

Just when you were about to step forward to prompt the men into moving, Tommy’s gaze turned to meet another man you had not heard approach regardless of the echo of the hall.

He was inches taller and years younger than the man you had been used to dealing with, a familiarity dancing on the features of the two men made you wonder if this was the younger brother he spoke of when you first met. His shoulders were broad and strong, his back straight and the air of superiority that radiated off of him was infinitely more frustrating than that of his older counterpart.

The younger man wasted no time in running his eyes up and down your body, his gaze hungry and although you could almost feel the smirk willing to form he kept up appearances.

“What time do you call this, Michael?” Tommy shook his arm to force his sleeve down as he made a show of looking at his Rolex, one which you shouldn’t know that he slept in, one which had left marks on your stomach where he had held you flush against his body.

“Sorry Tom had some acquisition orders to sign off and thought it best to get them rolling before this meeting. Michael Gray. Chief Accountant.”

He holds your hand a beat too long and Tommy notices, guiding the three of you into a lift which looks like something from a science fiction film. The floor is a giant light box, mirrors making up two walls and doors on the other two, and Tommy taps a small fob to an almost invisible black circle to force the box to move.

As Jonathan deals with the pleasantries you wonder how much Tommy has told his Chief Accountant. Does the man who is making no attempt to hide his lust know that his boss had you on your knees less than a month ago? He doesn’t show signs of recognition, only a lack of respect in the form of his eyes taking in every inch of your body that he can.

You get to the floor in under a minute, your stomach curiously okay for such a short flight up 26 floors and you are about to comment when the doors open into something the polar opposite of the reception.

Mahogany radiated from every inch of the room, the desks on the main floor large and important, each of them with an old fashioned green lamp and a chair to match. It felt like hundreds of staff as you walked past rows of desks, each member working on laptops and screens which vastly contrasted the desk beneath them.

The mixture of antique and modern was something that shouldn’t have worked but it did, and you were slightly dazed by obviously amounts of money which had been pumped into things which could easily have been bought for cheaper.

The wall of windows remains, and Tommy leads you toward it before turning left through a set of mahogany doors marked “Managers Suite”.

A large break out desk, also mahogany, sits in the middle of what could only be described as a small hall and two regal looking doors lined each wall, with one double set matching those that you had just come through sitting at the far end of the hall, elevated by a few steps.

There were less people here, but you could see the resemblance between some of them immediately, eyes which matches Tommy’s gazing up at you from a younger version of him, being attractive clearly running through genes.

Tommy led you through the double doors which sat upon the raised platform and into an office filled with more mahogany and polished brass, the wall of windows extending across the back wall of his office with blinds had drawn to fight the glare which must easily catch the screen on the laptop which sat on the huge mahogany desk.

But he did not lead you to the chairs which sat opposite, rather to the small square table which held steaming cups of coffee, a white sugar bowl piled high with brown sugar and a small milk jug to match. Each of the cups were decorated ornately, and were sitting on matching saucers.

You sat on the chair opposite Tommy, with Michael on your left and Jonathan on the right, and you listened as your boss and Tommy discussed formalities.

You could feel Michael’s eyes on you as you did your best to pay attention, and you glanced over at him only once his name was mentioned.

The small smile which washed over his features at your eye contact made your pulse race, his tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip making you swallow thicker than you would have expected especially with Tommy sitting so close, and it’s the older man clearing your throat which diverts your attention from the younger.

“Why don’t you derail the case for us, Mr Gray” Jonathan speaks, and Michael tears his eyes from you to speak to the lawyer, unveiling a tale of a woman who is spreading a rumour that he sexually assaulted her while they both drank at a bar. The story went on that Michael was with several others, including a man of great influence; Jeremiah Jesus, who saw the woman happily partake in the flirting and touching, and a woman, Polly Gray (who turned out to be Michael’s mother) who overheard the woman scheming to “take Michael for millions” by pretending otherwise.

It wasn’t long before Tommy began to bring you solidly into the fold, asking for your opinion on matters that otherwise would have been left to Jonathan, knowing that the lawyer would not be able to refuse his whims considering the cost of the service. And the best part was that instead of being incensed that he was losing control, Jonathan seemed incredibly impressed by how you were dealing with it.

“Well the thing about defamation claims Michael is that you have to prove that they’re not true.” You hope the implication in your words isn’t too much, but the silence which stretches as they wait for you to continue speaks volumes.

“I’m asking you if you did it” His leans back, confidence injected into his every move

“Do you really think I would do something like that?” You’re glad for the smirk on his features only for the satisfaction which comes from wiping it away.

“Yes. So did you?” Your fire takes him aback more than anything else, and his eyes dart between your questioning gaze and tommy who pretends to stroke his face in an attempt to hide his smirk.

“Like I said” Michael continues, clearing his throat and leaning forward to take his coffee cup and sip, “there’s proof I did nothing of the sort. And I would never treat a woman like that” The second sentence seems to come as an afterthought, his eyes meeting yours as he says it, and you bite your lip as you move your gaze to Tommy who has gone from smiling to serious in the space of a moment. His eyes met yours as his thumb dragged along his bottom lip, and Jonathan spoke to Michael as you practically felt Tommy undress you with his eyes, dominance filtering through his body language as you failed to hide your attraction to his cousin.

The tension was broken as Tommy fixed his attention to the task at hand, and as the meeting came to a close you began to realise the full weight of what you had done by introducing Jonathan to the idea of helping Shelby Company limited. But It wasn’t until after you had exchanged business cards and loaded goodbyes and you were walking across the courtyard having left the building that you realised its effect on your career.

“You were excellent in there,” Johnathan smiled, “I get the feeling that this is the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership”

And although he was offering you drinks and lunches to say thank you for such an affluent deal, all you could think about was when you would see Tommy again is a less professional capacity. And, if you were being totally honest with yourself, what it would feel like to be bent over that huge mahogany desk.

Tommy couldn’t help but watch as the gorgeous figure hugging skirt you chose clung to every inch of you, slowly testing his patience, slowly driving him crazy with the thoughts he had to bat off in an attempt to stay professional. Your hips moved as if in time to music toward the lift, and you shook hands with him and Michael, the smell of your perfume intoxicating him more than it had done when he had woken up next to you.

Something about being in this professional setting, or something about the hint of jealousy he felt as you eyed his cousin, had him keen to book in another date, another tryst, another excuse to touch and lick and kiss you.

When he had finally returned to the managers suite, he grabbed Michael’s arm before he had the chance to disappear into his office. It was not lost on him that Michael had been looking at you the way he had, and although he was a man who was not the exclusive kind, he was also not okay with sharing.

“Don’t even think about trying to fuck our lawyers strategist” he takes he professional angle, but the smirk which spreads across Michael’s face tells the older man that he doesn’t care for professionalism in this instance.

“But she’s—“ a moment of realisation washes over the blonde, and his smirk turns into a grin before he speaks louder than Tommy would have liked, “that was the girl from your phone wasn’t it? The one who’s been sending you nudes?”

Tommy swallows, lips parted ever so slightly as he lets the silence talk for him, and Michael let’s out a short laugh before he shakes his head.

“Well damn, a body like that and brains too.. I would be an idiot not to try something..”

The grip on Michael’s arm tightens, and John notices, freeing himself discreetly from the conversation he was having with his executive assistant incase things took a turn for the worst.

“I’m telling you Michael. She’s off limits. Both because of the defamation case, and for your own sake.”

But lines being drawn had never done anything but enthuse Michael to break them, and the shit-eating grin remained on his lips as he sneered, “we’ll see”

#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #lauren writes #tinder tommy

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ridingbensolooooo · 5 years

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Thanks for the tag @discordiavonsin it’s just what I needed to forget about stats for a little bit :)

Put your music on shuffle and answer the questions about each artist.

Name of Artist: Panic! At The Disco

What genre are they ? um honestly who actually knows at this point.

How long have they been active ? since 2004 I believe

Have you ever heard them on the radio ? yeah high hopes still gets played every now and then around here

Have they released any new music within the last year or two ? Yeah, Pray for the Wicked! Love that album to death, I’ve decided “Hey look ma I made it” is going to be my graduation song when I finish uni at the end of the year!!

Do they have a male or female vocalist ? Male - Brendon Urie aka Beebop

Name of Artist: BTS

Would you recommend them ? Fuck yeah they’re my favourite band kids

What is your favourite lyric of theirs ? “The dawn right before the sun rises is darkest” I’m gonna get it tattooed when I save up enough money. I’ve wanted that as a tattoo for nearly 5 years now so I’m sure of my decision lmao just need money.

What are their album artworks like ? Pretty but never over the top which is nice. The last few album sets have made a pattern if you buy all 4 versions and line them up which I have to saw I am a big fan of.

If they stopped making music, would you be sad ? I would be absolutely devastated. They’re my favourite band! They said in an awards acceptance speech not too long ago that they were considering disbanding at the start of last year and I honest to god burst into tears right then and there. I’d be crushed.

If you didn’t know what they look like, based off their music, what you guess they looked like ? I’d just have a stereotypical picture of pretty idol boys in mind. Which isn’t far off tbh but they’re so much more than that too.

Name of Artist: Twenty One Pilots

How popular are they ? Depends on who you ask. They’ve had some very popular songs but people seem to forget about them when they’re not releasing new stuff?

Have you ever seen them perform live ? I’ve seen them twice actually! Which is surprising, because I live in Australia and not a lot of bands make the trip here very often, so I’m very glad I’ve got to see them as many times as I have. They have an incredible energy when live, Tyler commands the space and Josh is fucking awesome on drums irl too.

How did you find out about them ? I heard about them ages before I actually got into them, back in 2013 when my friend showed me this cover he was super obsessed with, and it was top’s cover of Can’t Help Falling in Love.

What is their sexuality, if known ? They’re both in relationships with women so I’ll say straight but who knows really.

Is their music easy to dance to ? Most of it is! They’ve got some really good beats in most of their songs, but also some of them are very slow and you just want to feel the music, not really dance.

Name of Artist: GOT7

What instrument is the most prominent in their music ? Umm they’re a kpop band so computer?? Idk how pop music is made.

Does your family listen to them ? Not at all, I’m the only one in my family who listens to kpop. They only listen when I make them lmao.

Are they still making music today ? Yes! They’re coming to Australia to promote their new album which is fucking awesome because kpop bands barely EVER come here. Like I thought American and British artists didn’t come here often, but it seems like they’re here every 2 weeks compared to kpop artists TT.TT

Would you want to meet them ? I would love to! I’ve been learning korean but I’m not very good, but they have 3 members who speak fluent english so I’m sure we could manage a chat

How represented is this artist in your saved music / collection ? All of their albums are spread over like 4 or 5 playlists lmao

Name of Artist: My Chemical Romance

When did you discover them ? I was very young, my mum is super into them and she used to play the black parade album all the time when I was a kid. I literally can’t remember when I heard them for the first time lmao.

How many albums do they have ? 4 :(

Which member of the band is closest to your ‘type’ / do you find the most attractive ? Frank Iero could punch me in the face and I’d thank him and tell him his tattoos look really nice that close.

Have they gone through any line-up changes ? Um, fuck Bob. Enough said.

Is their music more fun or serious ? The first 3 albums of theirs were very angsty and serious and like rock opera-y but Danger Days has very different vibes. More like, let’s make fun of how shit the world can be instead of wallowing in a pit of despair.

Name of Artist: Fall Out Boy

Is the type of music / genre they play something you would typically enjoy or is their sound different for you ? Yeah man, I’ve never left my emo phase and I love their sound even as it continues to evolve.

Based off of their sound, what would a human version of their music look like ? Hmm, depends which era you’re talking about. Early fob is emo Pete Wentz at his peak, but now their sound sort of reminds me of this instagram model I like, Vanja Jagnic.

Could you see yourself getting along with the members personally ? I feel like I would get along with them all very easily! I have it on good authority I’m a nice person, so hopefully that would carry through.

Did somebody recommend this band to you ? Does my mum count? She likes fall out boy too and used to play them when I was younger as well, so I guess she recommended them to me in a way.

Name of Artist: BLACKPINK

How many people are in this band/group ? 4

When did they start making music ? 2016, I didn’t realise it’s been so long already!

Do they have any well known songs, if so, which one(s) ? Umm not sure in western countries, maybe Jennie’s solo song? They’re pretty popular in Korea though.

Do you listen to this artist regularly ? My housemate is obsessed with them so yeah I do listen quite a bit.

How would you describe their music ? Pretty typical of kpop, they’re way more “edgy” than most girl groups though which I like. I’m not a fan of the cute/sexy/infant vibe that a lot of other girl groups have going on.

Name of Artist: Seventeen

If they use a stage name, what is their real name(s) ? Wow this is really the wrong band for this. Okay so, S.Coups is Seungcheol, Jeonghan goes by Jeonghan, Joshua has a korean name but Joshua is his birth name so idk if it counts (it’s Jisoo though), Jun is Junhwi, Hoshi is Soonyoung, Wonwoo is Wonwoo so that’s easy, Woozi is Jihoon, DK is Seokmin, Mingyu is just Mingyu, The8 is Minghao, Seungkwan is Seungkwan although people do call him MC Boo (not sure that counts as a stage name), Vernon also has a korean name but Vernon is his birth name (Hansol is the korean name though) and Dino is Chan. Phew.

Do they regularly make pop charts ? They do in korea! They’re mid range popular, but they’re steadily getting more popular each year.

Have you ever met them ? No, I wish lmao.

If they toured in your city, would you go see them ? I would! They did come to Australia, but I’m broke and couldn’t afford to go all the way to Melbourne to see them.

Name of Artist: Red Velvet

Are they known for anything else besides music? Not really sure, maybe being from one of the big 3 companies in Korea?

What is their nationality ? Korean!

Are they a guilty pleasure ? A bit yeah lmao, I don’t listen to all of their stuff because a lot of it is not my taste at all, but the songs of theirs I do listen to fall into the category of annoyingly catchy.

Which age group is this artist most popular with? My age and a bit younger I would say.

Has this artist ever toured in your country/state/city? Nah, SM artists don’t come here.

Name of Artist: Falling in Reverse

Do you think it’s necessary or important to know about their personal life to ‘understand’ their music ? I feel like some of their songs are directly related to things that have happened in Ronnie’s life, so yeah to a certain extent, but a lot of the time you can get it from the vibe of the song.

Have they ever gone on hiatus and did they return ? I’m not sure actually, I don’t follow them that closely.

What instruments do they use ? Guitar, drums, bass, vocals, synth/keys.

What city are they from ? Las Vegas

What are your experiences with fans of this artist? I don’t really know anyone who has them as their favourite band so I’m not really sure what die hard fans are like, but everyone I know who is a causal fan seems super chill.

I don’t really have that many people to tag lmao so I’ll just tag people in my activity recently @samanddean-winchesthair @unfade @blue-roses-and-red-rubbies @classylaughs have fun if y’all decide to do this!

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edenfalling · 5 years

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[Fic] "What Wind Is to Fire" - Chronicles of Narnia

alexseanchai said: Narnia, noble gases, some combination of Susan, Lucy, Aravis, and Lasaraleen. Depending on which combination, the scenario could just be getting them in contact or in the same physical location. (1,375 words)

I went fairly AU on this one, because of reasons. :)

--------------------------------------------- What Wind Is to Fire ---------------------------------------------

"Excuse me, Dr. Tarakhiana?" said an unfamiliar female voice as Lasaraleen extricated herself from a conversation on gaseous fractional distillation methods that had spilled from the presentation room into the hotel lobby, and prepared to return to the tiny room she was sharing with her so-called assistant for an hour of breathing space before her own research group's presentation.

Lasaraleen held up her free hand in a silent plea for time, swallowed, and lowered her paper cup of too-weak coffee. "Yes, that's me. I'm sorry, your name escapes me."

The other woman -- tall, pale, long black hair done up in a net of intertwined braids that managed to look effortlessly gorgeous despite how long Lasaraleen could tell it must have taken to put in -- smiled. "Susan Pevensie, of Cair Paravel Technical Institute. I hear we have a friend in common."

Only years of practice allowed Lasaraleen to keep her expression cheerful and her posture relaxed, even as her heart pounded in a mix of fear and emotions she refused to name. "Oh! Isn't that just delightful! How is Aravis these days? You must tell me -- it's so difficult to get any sort of personal news when one isn't working just down the hall in the same laboratory."

Dr. Pevensie nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. I sometimes feel I wouldn't see my own sister more than once or twice a year if she weren't attached to the Cair's research hospital." She gestured with her own paper cup, setting the little paper tab of her tea bag swinging. "But I'm sure you have places to be and I don't want to keep you. Perhaps we can talk some time when neither of us is so tightly scheduled. My card."

She pressed a small piece of paper into Lasaraleen's palm.

It was the right visual size and shape for a business card, but far too thick: one or more larger papers folded up small. Lasaraleen tucked it into her purse without commenting on the oddity.

"I don't know if I'll have any free time for the rest of this conference," she said, falsely bright, "but I'll certainly make a point of writing. Or at least I'll try! I'm sure Aravis can tell you all kinds of horror stories about how scattered I can get when it comes to everyday bits of logistics. And international mail does get rather chancy on occasion."

Dr. Pevensie laughed. "As the person generally responsible for managing everyday logistics among my own research team, let me assure you that I've both heard and handled worse. Speaking of which, I should probably go wrangle some of them off to their next sessions, and leave you to your own plans in peace, Dr. Tarakhiana."

"Oh, do call me Lasaraleen! After all, we have a... friend in common."

"Lasaraleen, then," Dr. Pevensie said as she pressed the elevator button. "And you must call me Susan."

"Of course," Lasaraleen said. "Best of luck in your wrangling, Susan, and may your tea never be too bitter or too cold."

"That would be a true miracle," said Susan Pevensie, and stepped aside to allow Lasaraleen to enter the elevator.

Lasaraleen didn't take the folded papers out of her purse then, nor in her hotel room. (She might not have seen her assistant setting up cameras and recording devices, but that meant very little. It was better to err on the side of caution.) Instead she gave her paper, danced lightly through the question-and-answer period, and attended a highly interesting panel on recent advances in applied uses of superconductivity. She went to dinner with her research group and their various assistants, and spun new conversational topics every time an awkward silence reared its head. She accepted two complimentary drinks from a very drunk and persistent professor from Terebinthia and tactfully fobbed him off on hotel staff to be poured into his own bed where he'd hopefully wake up with both a massive hangover and a refreshed sense of shame.

Finally she felt secure enough to excuse herself for "deep thoughts, darlings, you know how it is!" and wave off her assistant's offer of company with a laughing promise not to leave the hotel. She took a glass of indifferent white wine out to the central courtyard and spread both the typed copy of her paper and the several sheets of shorthand notes she'd made about the more intelligent questions raised by audience members before her on the little glass patio table. The strings of fairy-lights woven through the trees weren't quite bright enough for comfortable reading, but she had a pocket flashlight to aid her and long-established preference for working outdoors, so nobody should question her.

She unfolded the papers Susan Pevensie had passed her, and took a swallow of wine in a futile attempt at emotional preparation.

My dearest Lasaraleen, Aravis had written.

Lasaraleen closed her eyes and pressed her hands flat against the creased pages. Dearest! Still! One night of desperate words, two years of nothing, and still, that old word.

Something ached behind her eyes and writhed nebulously through her chest. Lasaraleen took a deep breath, pulled out a pen to further the illusion of work and unconcern. Then she continued reading.

My dearest Lasaraleen,

I am sorry for not writing sooner. I know the censors would never have allowed anything of worth to reach you through normal channels, and so I never tried to send even anything light and empty. That felt to me as though it would have been a lie, and thus worse than silence. It has been made clear to me that this was cruel.

I am beyond grateful that the reflected suspicion of my flight has finally faded and you were allowed to attend an international conference at which one of my new colleagues was also in attendance. Please know that to me you are still the sun in the sky and the breath in my lungs, and I regret every drop of woe I have brought upon you. If I could have stayed in Calormen without losing myself, I would have. You are what kept me true enough to myself to know that I had to leave.

Saying that is probably also cruel. I am sorry for that. It remains true.

If you wish to defect, I will do all I can to help you. If you wish to remain, I hope you will nonetheless forgive me enough to allow communication. Without you, I feel like an atom of some noble gas, perpetually doomed to drift without bonds. You, O my dearest, are my oxygen, my fluorine, overcoming my resistance to bonds and connecting me to the world. Oh, I have my colleagues here in the North, and my fellow refugees -- do you remember Cor Fitzroy and Hwin Conseil, who worked for a time on the cleaning staff at the Mezreel laboratory? -- but the Calormen they knew or imagine is not the same as the face you and I grew up with, however false it has proven.

Someday the Tisroc will die, and while there is no guarantee that General Rabadash will be any better a man, transitions are always periods of chaos. There may then be a small time and place to insert a lever into the wheels of power and push for change. I am pushing in Archenland and Narnia, as are others who either love Calormen as it could be or who abhor the cruelty and waste that trail in the wake of hostilities between nations and believe that an outstretched hand is a stronger inducement to reform than a closed fist.

But all that is gilt and glitter over the steel of my sorrow and my longing to once more hear your voice and feel your arms around me as I embrace you in turn. O my dearest, you are as clear water in the desert and I would drink you dry.

Yours, if you wish it, Aravis Khereena

In a hotel in a foreign land, under the scrutiny of spies, wreathed by the shifting shadows of fairy lights that danced as wind rustled through the trees, Lasaraleen pressed the heels of her palms to her closed eyes and swallowed against the burning pain of joy.

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

End of Story

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

I ended up splitting the difference between letters and an actual scene-with-dialogue. *wry*

#liz writes stuff #mini ficlet prompt meme #ladies bingo #chronicles of narnia #lasaraleen #aravis tarkheena #susan pevensie #alternate universe because reasons

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itsnotjeromekayy-blog · 5 years

Text

Guns, Love, Roses

Written by Jerome A. Kay

Chapter 1;

Love. An emotion described as being almost as addictive as any other drug in the world. Since the beginning of time, love is an emotion described as being complex and unpredictable. The only feeling in the world that can cause happiness, sadness, anger, passion, jealousy, and in some cases, a mixture of all. It’s an emotional state of being vulnerable, and a constant surprise of not knowing whats going to happen next. So why is it that love becomes an emotion that we strive to understand and figure out, yet when we explore and experience it, it can hurt and potentially destroy us? The answer is simple. As human beings, we can't help but feel the need to be wanted. We seek friendship and companionship as a way to cope with everyday problems, and having the support you need with friends and your significant other makes life just that bit easier. The people you hang out with defines you, and makes you who you are today. Friendship, relationships, and companionship come at a cost, which is time. To balance sacrificing time to maintain, grow and meet new people is something that even I find difficult to find the answer to. I guess we all go through life differently, right? In order to experience this, you must let your walls crumble for another person to enter your life for them to see whats on the other side of the wall and they too must do the same because friendships and relationships work around what we call trust. Without trust there is no foundation to any type of relationship, and so this story which you’re about to read involves heavily around respect, loyalty, and honour. By following these three codes, and act upon them, you become trustworthy to others around you too. Stay true to your words, and keep promises that you make, because by acting upon what you say- demonstrates the type of person you are both to them, and to yourself for you are without a doubt, true to your word. For the people we love, we hold three seperate masks which we put on, then off- depending on the circumstances. One mask for your family- one mask for your friends- and one mask for yourself. In this chapter, I’m putting on a mask for the friends which has made me who I am today.

I’m going to take you back to the city of Melbourne, Australia- where it all started. More specifically, the inner suburbs of the west. Labelled one of the roughest sides in Melbourne where ironically, I first learnt what brotherhood love truly was. If you lived in the western suburbs of Melbourne, YKB was a well known troubled Asian youth gang that originated from the suburbs of Kings Park, a suburb neighbouring St. Albans which was filled with nothing but Vietnamese families who immigrated here back in the early 1970’s. It stood for Young Kings Park Boys and, if you didn’t have enough money to live in Boxhill or Springvale- or any Asian parts of the eastern suburbs, you wounded up here in the west- which was filled with a higher rate of crime and was considered the roughest part of Melbourne. Yes, you guessed it- Kings Park was one of them. Children playgrounds would be filled with used syringes, house burglary was common, people used and sold drugs, and trap houses were everywhere. It was to nobody’s surprise that joining YKB became almost too easy. However- I’ll stop you there, because I’ll be totally honest, we weren’t a gang. We were just highschool friends consisting of only 10 of us within our friendship circle who caused nothing but trouble in Year 9 at a school called Copperfield College, located in the heart of Kings Park. We honestly didn’t give a fuck about school and always talked about girls and looking forward to going clubbing when we were older but man I had to say, the teachers and principal especially- hated us. Detention and suspensions became my middle name, but to my surprise- none of us had gotten expelled. In class, we did nothing but throw pencils and highlighters at one another, make paper planes and throwing at each other, scratching the tables with our initials and drawing dicks and balls, and my favourite prank yet- rubbing the tip of the pen really fast on the bench- causing it to heat up and touch other students in the face or arm with it, leaving a small burn mark. We made the art teacher cry once for calling her a slut and made her quit. Fighting of course, was our favourite. We would all write our names on a tiny piece of paper, put it in a hat, and shake it around and the two names which popped up had to fight at lunch time inside the boys toilets where we filmed it, laughed, and became our primary source of entertainment. Lunch time fights was my only reason why I even came to school- otherwise I’d either not turn up or wag class to go steal at the milkbar next door or ride our bikes around the area. To put it simply, we loved the art of misbehaving, and we loved doing it so long as we had the company of doing it with one another because to me- no matter what we did or what we got up to, I felt like I belonged somewhere- and the feeling of being wanted and being called part of the boys disregarded all thoughts in relation to consequential thinking when it came down to doing things which were considered immoral.

Things started getting serious when we started trouble with particular kids in school who had older brothers or cousins that were affiliated with a particular gang whom they called themselves Little St. Albans- LAS for short, who began mocking us, intimidating us, saying shit like “what are you gonna do?” Or “you guys are nothing!” Just because they were a known gang didn’t mean shit to us just because we were just a group of mates who didn’t have a name. Wayne, one of our mates from school, decided to label us as Young Kings Park Boys, and we didn’t question it as we accepted him as the leader. We were now officially called a gang and LSA laughed at our faces because they couldn’t take us seriously until they realised we were ballsy enough to call them out for fights. We thought they were just all talk until they’d rock up infront of the school gates at the end of school, waiting for us to fight- and we did. Every couple weekends we would rally together and fight against LSA. We fought hard, and tried our best to stick up for ourselves, but lost every single time because we were outnumbered and sometimes they’d use weapons and played from dirty from time to time. They didn’t like to lose, and neither did we. Winning was a must because we had too much pride and ego. We began asking around kids from school who were down to fight with us and were more than welcome to be a part of the boys. To our surprise, our numbers grew only just slightly and we were on par against LSA who finally shook hands with us and said we earnt their respect and that they’ll finally leave us alone on the condition that we helped them fight against a gang known as Prosperity Sunshine Boys- which was also short for PSB. LSA and PSB had been fighting for a couple months now- apparently over a girl and we got involved. PSB, were on a whole new level. Even with YKB and LSA combined we were no match for them during gang fights, outnumbering us almost 2:1. But we still fought, because we were loved it, despite getting our asses kicked. Word went around quick about the drama between YKB, LSA, and PSB. Our gang name grew larger in reputation, and so did our ego. We wanted to get bigger, better, and stronger.

In order to do so, we needed more members. We would go out of our way to threaten other kids from neighbouring schools and if they arched up or fought back we would stop harassing them, and instead- shake their hand and ask them to join. Another way we got people to join was to test how much balls they’d have- so we’d tell them to go to Coles and come out with a bag full of stolen lollies and chips. If they came out without being caught they’d became YKB instantly- and we’d eat it all and leave it nothing for them. We were looking for specific boys who were wiling to stand their ground and proved that they had the guts to stick up for themselves and did as we told- and that was all. Just be loyal, respect us, and be honourable. Racism around this time was quite predominant. We would be labelled as having small dicks, squinty eyes, and were called gooks or fobs by other races- the wogs and islanders in particular who had their own cliche. The one insult that we all hated, was being told to go back to where we belong, or go back to China because to them- all Asians were “apparently” all from China. We didn’t hesitate to put a fist in someone’s mouth for saying that, because we were defensive against our own race and stuck up for helpless kids who were victim of racism because we took pride in who we were, and where we derived from. Deep down, we all knew that the only place we really belonged to- was with one another. Just by spending time and hanging together as a group gave us a sense of purpose and identify- and our bond as a gang grew along with it. That’s how I met my three bestfriends- Jake, Dylan, and Wayne. They were more friendlier than the others, because they wouldnt fight or seek trouble unless we really had to, and they stood by me through thick and thin. I remember the story clearly- the 10 of us, at Watergardens station steps, Little Henry from YKB called Wayne a bitch if he didn’t smack a cyclist and take his bike. Without hesitation, Wayne did so and the boys had a laugh as the man tried to give chase. Wayne stumbled and struggled to get away and that’s what made it even funnier. Another story about Dylan, was when we got into a fight with a kid who claimed he was telling everyone he was YKB at St. Alban's train station, but after confronting him, some old wog guy tried breaking up the fight and that was when we turned our attention to him instead- jumped him, bashed him, and it was Dylan who smashed a bottle on top of his head which sent him to juvy. I remember this day like it was yesterday, watching and laughing at the video footage of us running away from the scene and seeing Dylan bottle him, fleeing, and tripping over his own shoe lace. That assault went viral in the area and I remember clearly all 5 of us running away as that man laid still and lifeless, bleeding from his head and his daughter there crying. He was labelled a hero for doing it amongst the boys- no matter how fucked up the situation was. We encouraged violence. If at any given time we said we were going to do something- whether it be to hit, stab, or jump someone- we would do it. Our threats weren’t empty because we stayed true to our words. None of us were shit talkers.

Being a part of any gang- YKB especially- came the reputation, and depending on what you did or how hard you repped the gang came the amount of attention you earnt from those who knew of you- and people would suck up to you, claiming were a sick cunt or try to befriend you. It was an ego feeder- but with the goods, came the bads. Mum would always tell me that If you seek trouble, trouble will come to you- and in our case trouble would always be around the corner. We would try to look for ways to get into fights with either ourselves or random strangers- we would argue over pointless shit- for example over the last cigarette. We’d spent most of our time playing a computer game called Dota at Akira in St. Albans. If we weren’t at Akira or hanging out at St. Albans station steps with LSA, we would all catch a bus to Watergardens which became our secondary domaine. Here, we spent the rest of our days skipping school and hogging the Maximum Tune machines at Hoyts. Since we were poor, we mostly scabbed $2 off kids from strangers to play the game and hussle kids from other schools to get it because they were easy targets. Some of us were good at stealing, using our five finger discount skills at popular retail stores like Ozmosis, JB HI FI, Big W and, Woolworths- being our favourite place because that’s where it held all the lollies and bags of chips. You had to be good at it cause once staff and security picked up that we were doing it all the time, we got banned and the security guards would all know us by face and by name- which was what forced us into kicking it around the station steps of Watergardens after school for hours where we wasted time mocking people, smoking, threatening people, and again, fighting people for no reason, even if it was over a stare or looking at any of us the wrong way. If we didn’t have money, we would walk around the suburban area, robbing people for their belongings- jewelery, wallets, phones, and in some cases, peoples shirts (if It was branded) or even their shoes regardless if it fit or not. To put it simply, we seeked the thrill of wanting to be rebellious to gain attention and to give ourselves a name that we weren’t to be messed around with. The one thing though, about us boys in particular- is that we all had something to prove towards one another. Just because we were a gang who all fought for eachother and believed in the same idea and principle- we also contested one another as an act to prove who was more superior and better. We would have one on one fights between eachother and if you turned down a fight you wouldn’t be part of the boys anymore and be considered a pussy. You had to be a fighter, and you had to back one another up and do as they say, and to not ask questions. That was how we showed respect.

Highpoint was a no go, considering every time we went we would fight with boys from PSB. Sometimes we win, sometimes we’d lose- depending on how many we’d bump into there. VIP nights at Highpoint were held a couple times a year- which meant massive discounts on all clothes. We didn’t give a fuck about discounts or clothes because we only went for one purpose- PSB. We all knew they’d be there and, without a doubt, we would come through those shopping centre doors with weapons- and in numbers and LSA would be there with us. Fighting became much more intense as chairs would be thrown and other bystanders would be hit- it was chaotic. For fun, one of the boys were heavily into spray painting and thought it was fun to spray paint the initials YKB across the car park of Watergardens, then eventually it stretched into St. Albans. Sometimes we did it at Highpoint, but PSB would just spray paint their tags right over ours and there wasn’t any point- or risk. We all taught eachother how to spray paint and eventually once we got good, we made an effort to spray paint the fences of peoples house near the train tracks, so that everyone who caught the Sunbury line would see our tags which stretched out until we stopped at Footscray- because, we didn’t fuck around with guys from that area. We knew who to disrespect- and knew who was worth giving respect too, and the boys in Footscray were one of them.

Three years later after the creation of YKB- lots had changed. No one respected each other, loyalty was a joke to some people- and there was no honour. There were a lot of unnecessary agression and violence within our circle- and also to other people. A lot of people in the gang, especially the new kids who joined- acted cocky and big headed, and only joined for their own reputation or a name for themselves. The group almost tripled in size, and it was only by mistake that this happened because people even I didnt know was in it, who began inviting others- and others began inviting their cousins, and it got annoying because we didn’t know who was friend, or foe. Not even Wayne was able to control the gang. Now that I think back, I’m not going to lie- were absolute drop kicks. We were all young and immature, uneducated and just full of nothing but energy, testosterone, and pride. Most of us began dropping out after Year 10, most of us came from broken families and did nothing with our lives- yet as obvlious kids, we aall visioned ourselves to be in each other’s lives till the very end because we claimed we were loyal and that we loved one another. Predominately in the Asian gangs, especially Vietnamese - they had a saying which involved the term Anh Em. This means brother, in Vietnamese and was heavily used as a sign of respect. Even if you weren’t Vietnamese like myself, you would still get called one. And in my days, a lot of asian gangs were Vietnamese-based. It wasn’t long until the term got used loosely- and without meaning.

Some of these memories back when it was only just the 10 of us was why I purely stayed, but as new members starting joining I lost the respect for the group entirely but some of us, like myself, still needed a place to belong- hence why we stayed despite the two facing, bitching and hate grow like cancer within our circle. I began to hate showing loyalty- especially to specific boys in the group who didn’t deserve it, but you had to get involved no matter if the situation was big, small, or life threatening. What pisses me off sometimes- is if you needed help with your own fights, most boys would say they would help but wouldn’t even show face. Where’s the loyalty in that? There wasn’t any true love for this gang anymore and despite spending most of my teenage years with them, I needed to find another place to find what love meant, because I was wasting my time hanging out with friends who weren’t beneficial for my life. I made a Tumblr back when everyone thought it was cool. I posted many photos of the boys and what we got up to and I remember writing something about me wanting to leave and wanted to find somewhere else I could belong to without all the violence and to my surprise I received an anonymous messaged me which said, "I can change you.” I asked who she was by replying to her message and moments later she revealed herself to me and I didn’t hesitate for a second asking for her phone number. This is the beginning of how I opened up the next chapter to how I experienced love with a girl.

After graduating high school, I grew out of the gang phase. YKB slowly died down, along with its drama. Some of the boys branched off and made their own gang, bringing some of the boys with them. Others dwelled deeper into the harder drugs such as methamphetamine and heroin, and mind you most of us weren’t even eighteen yet, destroying their lives at a very early age of addiction and dependency. Majority of us had police records consisting of theft, assault, and burglary. Some of us were in juvy, jail, or deported and we all knew it just wasn’t the same. But as we got older, we believed that it was best we walked our seperate ways. Till this day, I still keep Wayne, Jake and Dylan as mates because they were the only ones who stood by me through thick and thin. As for the rest of the guys, it’s a hi and bye if I do ever see or bump into them. I’ll always remember being apart of the group, as it showed me what brotherhood love really stood for.

In loving memory of Sorhana M.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Sequel

Conclusion

#PTSD

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paolodoyle · 3 years

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The Ultimate Guide To Local Locksmith Company

When it comes to missing or misplaced vehicle keys, a car locksmith or auto locksmith may assist. He will also help you if your locks are broken, if you have transponder key issues or lockouts, or if you need ECU programming. These days, a locksmith will even offer mobile roadside assistance. Locksmiths are skilled at breaking new car keys, unlocking vehicles, and programming transponder keys. Visit https://www.obryantlocksmith.com/

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localocksmithnearme · 4 years

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Jeep Patriot Fob Keys And Remote Program San Antonio TX

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Transponder key generate

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