#Trump taking forests

[rejectingrepublicans]

#Trump taking forests #republican assholes #Greg Abbott murderer and human trafficker #Ted Cruz Russian stooge #Ted Cruz oligarch stooge #Ted Cruz Trump sycophant #Greg Abbott fails Texas #Texas wildfires

[ashfae]

The thing about romance is, it makes a good story.

As soon as Neil described season 2 as "quiet, gentle, romantic" I figured we'd be in for it, because as he's the first to point out, writers are liars. And the best way to deceive is with truth.

Season 2 is romantic. The trappings of romance are everywhere. Crowley tries to set up Nina and Maggie by trapping them under an awning during a rainstorm, a classic cinematic bonding technique. Aziraphale's chosen method comes from his beloved books: the ball, the dancing, appearing as a pair in public, hands held as you twirl gracefully with your heart thrilled and racing. If they can set up a sensational kiss that will unlock the happy ever after. They've lived on earth, they've studied the tropes, they know how romance works.

The problem is a story is only a story.

Nina and Maggie had the classic romantic setup completely by accident before Aziraphale and Crowley ever began trying to interfere with them. They get locked in Nina's coffeeshop. They can't escape or communicate with anyone else, they end up talking by candlelight because there's no electricity, Nina offers wine. Maggie mentions how she'd hoped for a chance to talk to Nina, and now here they are. It's every bit as much a standard as what Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to arrange. Blanket scenarios galore exist because of that starting point. We love that story. And there's nothing wrong with that.

But it's still only a story, it's not enough. Because once that moment of connection is over, however lovely it was, all the rest of the world comes flooding back in in the form of dozens of angry text messages. Nina's messy entrapping relationship hasn't magically gone away just because she and Maggie shared a romantic encounter.

And it's so tempting think oh well, that's easy. We'll just give them more romantic encounters and eventually those will overwhelm the rest of the baggage. Must do, because it'll make them fall in love, and once they realize they're in love that trumps all other considerations, right? So it'll be fine. Love Conquers All.

Neil also mentioned Pride and Prejudice.

Darcy knows he's in love early on and makes a disasterous proposal that shows that he has no understanding of Elizabeth's perspective, possibly hasn't even thought about it. They've been meeting in forest lanes for walks, conversing, had tete-a-tetes in the sitting room, danced at a ball. And while his turn of phrase isn't as flattering as he thinks, he's still offering her everything he thinks she wants and needs: affection, security, his good name, wealth, an escape from the embarrassments of her situation, the world. How can there be anything to object to? Why would anyone ever refuse so much of value?

Elizabeth quite rightly cuts him to pieces. He lashes back with a few hard truths of his own and they separate. During that separation, he thinks and he learns. He takes to heart the criticisms she offered, re-examines his assumptions, opens his eyes. Thinks about her perspective and how sometimes the only difference between pride and arrogance is where you're standing. He does the work. When they meet again he tries to demonstrate that he's learned--not in order to court her again (yet), but because the only real apology he can offer, the only one that would have weight, is to show that he's grown, he listened to her. He changed.

Elizabeth of course has her own journey, accepting that many of her own conclusions about Darcy were erroneous because they were formed without her having the full picture to hand, and once she's done that she has to apply it to her own situation as well. She loves her family, but they do place her at a disadvantage on a number of levels, leading eventually to full-out disaster as her younger sister carelessly ruins all of their reputations. It's hard to admit, it's mortifying, but Darcy was offering her a great deal she needs. His offer did have worth for all that she dismissed it as an insult. And as she learns to value his own character more highly, and then as she sees that he did listen to her even though she insulted him so thoroughly...well, she grows too. And when they do eventually come together it's not because of courting and balls. There's a big romantic gesture in his rescue of her sister but even that isn't why they'll get their happy ever after. It was just the catalyst for the conversation. They win because they've learned how to understand each other and how to communicate for the future. How they can strengthen and support each other, how to balance their strengths and weaknesses. The films leave them at the wedding, but the book shows a bit of their marriage too, and during it they keep learning from each other. Their relationship is held up as a superior love story for good reasons.

The end of season one was romantic too. Crowley stopped time rather than face a world where Aziraphale would never speak to him again, Aziraphale walked into hell to protect Crowley, they dined at the Ritz and toasted the world. But then they stopped. Sure they spent time together, talked, enjoyed each other's company. But if they were talking about important things would Crowley still be living in his car? They had a bit of respite but all that real world baggage that exists outside of the romantic moment hasn't been faced, none of it. Four or five years sounds like a long while but for beings who are quite literally older than the earth? That's just an intermission.

Nina's relationship ends, leaving her with a tangled mess; Maggie realises the sweet dream of love she's been longing for isn't as important as the real Nina. They talk. They plan. Nina will sort through her life, get closure, figure out what went wrong with Lindsay and what she wants from a relationship, learn how to ask for respect instead of just bending under her partner's demands. Maggie will support Nina the way Nina needs, which sometimes means helping her get oat milk for the shop and sometimes means giving her processing space. They're on the same page; they're going to do the work. That's why most likely they'll succeed. To quote one of my favourite fanfics: it's not happily ever after, but it's a chance. It's all going to be okay. (The Profane Comedy by Mussimm, who absolutely nailed this theme)

The romance is nice, it's lovely. We need it to keep ourselves going. To give ourselves the dreams that help us get through the days and nights. But it's not the relationship. It's not enough on its own. The wedding can be the grandest most beautiful ceremony ever with doves flying and sweeping music and bells ringing, but that doesn't guarantee the marriage will last.

Crowley and Aziraphale have had their romantic gestures, oodles of them. One wing raised to protect the other from falling stars, another from rain. Shared ground, shared interests, hands offered in friendship and held on a bus. They've tried to get to the same page, they really have. They just aren't there yet. The biggest most important things still haven't been talked about, and season 2 showed there are even more of those big important things than we'd realised.

The show paints Maggie as Aziraphale's foil and Nina as Crowley's, even to the point of Nina casually calling Maggie 'angel'. But Aziraphale's baggage is Nina's. The toxic relationship has to be processed and understood and closed, and it hasn't been, despite season one. Lindsay never really liked Nina very much, for all that they tried to keep her trapped; Heaven never really liked Aziraphale very much for all that he believed in it. They both let themselves be used. But Lindsay left Nina and went to their sister's, whereas now the head of Heaven has reached out to Aziraphale and said here, we can fix this, you can fix this, don't you want to fix this? Others are already writing about that and maybe I'll add to it later, not sure. And Crowley, like Maggie, has had a sweet dream that he has to set aside. Maybe he'll be able to pick it up again eventually, maybe not. But sometimes you offer support by buying oat milk or rescuing your beloved from the legions of hell, and sometimes you do it by standing back while they sort through their shit.

Quiet, gentle, romantic. It was.

But that's only part of the story. Now they have to do the work. They thought they had, but they were wrong, because there's so much they just hadn't touched yet and tried to cover over with relief and sleight of hand and alcohol and forgiveness. The apology dance doesn't mean much without showing that you listened and learned. They've faced so much trauma already and that should have been enough, we wanted it to be enough and so did they and it's such a blow for it to turn out that there's still more to do, that the baggage hasn't just gone away and can't be hidden under blankets or soothed with cocoa. The texts are still coming in and demanding answers.

But it'll be okay. It will. It's still a chance. And one that in the long run makes them better, builds something real that lasts.

The best stories, the ones that last longest and become classics, are the ones that don't end with the kiss under the awning or the blanket scenario or the wedding. They're the ones that heal us while the characters heal themselves. It's hard to accept that there's still more to do. Harder to imagine how it can possibly work out. And yes, bloody frustrating to wait and see.

And we'll get through that interim by telling even more stories. Because the story is never just a story. It's how we get through the work, it's what we tell ourselves so we can do the damn work. Stories are what we cling to and how we remind ourselves we're human and connect. A book is a person you can carry with you. We're not alone, none of us, stories connect us because we love them and see ourselves in them, which means we see each other.

Aziraphale's back up in Heaven to deal with his unfinished baggage; Crowley left his behind long ago and it's clearly going to come back and bite him in the arse however much he tries to go his own way. And they can't help each other with that. Not yet.

But they'll get there. So will we.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #nina #maggie #nina and maggie #stories #romance #relationships #am I projecting here #of course I am isn't that the whole point? #pride and prejudice #elizabeth and darcy #quiet gentle romantic #good omens meta

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve. 

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect. 

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away. 

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared. 

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process. 

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away. 

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake. 

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back. 

Jake was so close. So close. 

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship. 

If it hadn’t been for him… 

That man was your murderer. 

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well… 

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it. 

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.   

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle. 

His child. His baby. 

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss. 

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away. 

Nothing would ever be enough.  

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.  

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!” 

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength. 

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.” 

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?” 

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head. 

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger. 

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…” 

Murdered his daughter for a second time. 

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream. 

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.  

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells. 

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers. 

Jake hammered again. 

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s. 

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock. 

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you. 

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding— 

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over. 

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland. 

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully. 

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality. 

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death. 

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people. 

He wasn’t allowed revenge. 

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood. 

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them. 

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed. 

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity. 

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again. 

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan. 

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter. 

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms. 

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you. 

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes. 

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?” 

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family. 

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before. 

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…” 

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…” 

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…” 

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it. 

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!” 

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate. 

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours. 

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why. 

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit. 

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better. 

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose.  “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him. 

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.” 

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.  

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!” 

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway. 

The gut-churning guilt doubled. 

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde. 

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought. 

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him. 

“What’s going on?” 

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately. 

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something. 

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—” 

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.  

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul

@eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

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#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

[neteyamslovrr]

Ignored

summary: after neteyam has to take training more seriously to be the future clan leader, he ignores y/n leaving her upset and angry at the sully boy.

1.5k words, fem!omaticaya reader

──── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────

You knew that Neteyam’s duties would eventually trump you, but you didn’t think it would happen oh so fast. It had been a month since Neteyam started properly training to become a warrior. A true member of the Omaticaya, and you felt his absence abruptly.

It wasn’t like he was gone often, but it meant the special moments he usually spent with you, were spent flying with his parents, learning to shoot and be an agile hunter both on foot and in the air.

You missed the moments where he would take you to his favourite trees and climb to the top, to sit and talk for hours. The moments where you both would go to the waterfalls to swim on a sweltering day. You missed the moments with him.

No one else felt it like you. You acted as if he had died and Lo’ak told you that bluntly. But they just didn’t understand, it wasn’t that you missed him, it felt as if he was ignoring you.

He told you he’d start training, and nothing would change, he’d still spend time with you. What a fucking liar.

Walking out to his favourite tree you felt the breeze against your face. The way it cooled down your body it also cooled down the anger you felt within your bones.

Because you were mad at him, and mad at the way you missed him because of something so dismal like not being able to hangout with you in the afternoon. You knew the reason you missed him so much was because you secretly craved him. You secretly hoped he thought of you more as a lover than a friend but he was beginning to treat you as nothing more and it ached.

It ached through your muscles, your organs, your bones, your body was sore with the pain Neteyam was creating in your heart with his absence.

Sitting on the top of the large tree you both usually sat on you felt the tears well in your eyes. You told yourself it was the harsh breeze making your eyes water but even you didn’t believe yourself. Closing your eyes, you laid on were a large branch connected to the trunk. It was peaceful up there. Listening to the sounds of Eywa’s creations made you feel calm.

Calm enough to let your emotions loose. The emotions you’d try to bottle into menial anger and pettiness, but the feelings were deep, they were gut wrenching. You cursed yourself for crying over him, but what were you to do. You loved this man, and he was off leaving you to love alone.

If Neteyam knew that you were crying over him he’d fall onto his knees and grasp onto you while he begged for forgiveness. He loved you so much, so so much.

He knew that his time spent away from you was hurting you especially when he had a specific conversation with Lo’ak only a week ago.

“Bro I literally am begging you to see Y/N.” He was confused when Lo’ak came into the tent grumbling and groaning about you.

“What do you mean?” Confusion painting his features.

“Bro she acts as if your dead, like your out training for a couple of hours and she goes all crazy. ‘Have you seen Neteyam, What’s Neteyam up to?, Is Neteyam doing alright? Neteyam Neteyam Neteyam blah blah blah.’ You have to hangout with her at some point before she hunts you down while your training.” He made little voices and hand movements while mimicking your queries about Neteyam.

He couldn’t deny the guilt he felt for ignoring you so much, but he also couldn’t help but blush at the way you were constantly thinking about him.

Reminiscing back on that conversation with Lo’ak, Neteyam made time today with his father’s permission to not train today to spend it all with you. Walking towards you’re tent he realised you weren’t there.

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked your mother who was sitting down busy making a herbal mix.

“She said she was going to the forest.” Neteyam thanked her and headed out to where he assumed you’d be. He hoped you’d be there.

He couldn’t deny he’d seen you less. He was just so busy, training, going on raids and still having to babysit his siblings he was so tired.

All he wished was to spend a day with you in his arms and forget about the burdens on his shoulders as you washed them away with your caring words.

Neteyam continued to go to his tree, he spotted a blue figure resting in the seat on the trunk and smiled to himself knowing it was you. Jumping from branch to branch with ease he began to climb, the noise startling you.

Noticing the noise, you looked down noticing Neteyam. Wait. Neteyam?!

He couldn’t see you like this. Your face snotty and tearstained, your eyes puffy and wet. For someone who’s been craving him for a month all you want now is to jump out of the tree headfirst and avoid him like the plague.

“Y/N! I found you.” He cheered but his smile dropped when you turned around to avoiding looking at him. “Y/N?” he called for you again now reaching the part of the tree where you sat.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” You didn’t mean for it to come out so mean but it did. Your voice was dripping in venom, but it still couldn’t hide the sniffles and you subtly wiping your eyes.

“Are you crying?”

“No”

“You’re a liar.” He chuckled but that word it flicked a switch in you. Liar. He was the fucking liar.

“You’re the liar Neteyam!” You turned to him revealing your tear-stricken face. His face seeped concern as you yelled at him with such raw undeniable emotion in your voice.

“I don’t understand.” He quietly said resting a hand on your damp cheek before you moved your face away from his touch.

“You’ve forgotten about me. You said- You said nothing would change! You’re a liar Neteyam! You told me that we would spend time together. You’ve forgotten about me and I’m just a friend to you Neteyam. A friend to talk to once a month to still feel like you are friends. I can’t do that Neteyam.”

He was dumbstruck he didn’t think Lo’ak was lying but he did think he was over exaggerating your calls about him. He felt dumb, how dumb to make the woman he loved feel so unattended to, so unloved. He felt like an idiot watching your heart crumble in front of him due to him piercing through it.

Before he could talk in response your mouth was open ready to fire a verbal assault at him.

“I can’t be without your presence so long, and I feel like a dumb idiot because I’m crying over some fucking boy who can’t give me the time of day. But I want you so much Neteyam, I beckon with Eywa everyday to have you brought to me like you were before. I want you in my bones and you have ignored me. It drives me so insane.” You yell at him rage on full display like a painting in a museum for millions to view and stare in awe.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, I beg of you to forgive me.” He turned his body to face you fully. Using both his hands to cradle your face he stared deep into your pained eyes.

“You are no idiot, I am. For treating someone I treasure so deeply like this. I promise my dismissal of you was not my intention. I would never intend on avoiding you. You are my rock and my world, I build my life around you, my hopes, my dreams they all contain you. Please don’t think you are just a friend to me because if I had to treat you as just a friend I’d go crazy.”

“Y/N I see you”

Neteyam was starting to tear up as you cried into his palms. Crying harder now as you processed his words you crashed into his warm chest. Yu were tired, tired of crying, tired of worrying, tired of hoping. You just wanted to feel at home and home right now was Neteyam’s embrace.

Feeling your weight on top of him he wrapped his arms around you tightly. So tightly his arms hurt but he didn’t care. He peppered the top of your head with kisses while you sniffled into his chest. Soothing hands ran down your back as you wept into him.

“You’re such a dickhead.” You mumbled into his chest letting out a breathy laughed followed by a small sob. As sad as you were right in this moment you never wanted to let go of the feeling of being in his arms.

“I’ll be your dickhead.” He smiled down at you continuing to hold you in his arms.

And he was sure to never let you out of arms reach again.

──── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────

authors note: i missed writing for neteyam so i whipped this up. it lowkey might be my fav fic. hope you enjoy!

#neteyam oneshot #avatar #neteyam #avatar the way of water #neteyam angst #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam scenario #neteyam imagine #lo'ak #neteyam sully #avatar oneshot #avatar 2 fanfic #oneshot #imagine #fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction

[artist-issues]

Snow White and the Bluebird

Everyone sees Snow and the bluebird, the bird is on like every Hallmark statuette and Disney Princess sticker of Snow White. But I just want to point out that the bird in the movie is SO WELL-DONE.

I don't mean well-animated. Even though it is. I mean, what the bluebird brings out in the story besides Snow White's kind, loving attitude toward it.

When she first sees the bluebird its when she's about to be stabbed by the Huntsman. The blue bird is lost, and can't find its mother and father, and is crying.

And Snow White responds, "come on. Perk up. Your mama and papa can't be far. Won't you smile for me?"

What's that ladies and gentlemen? She comforts the bird by saying "the ones who love you can't be far?!" So then there's no reason to despair, even if you're a defenseless, fragile creature lost in a bleak and dangerous world?

Then there's the sound of a whistle--a short little melody--and there they are. The bird's parents. And it can fly to them happily.

Snow White was right. The baby bird's parents were never far; they were looking for their loved chick. So there was never any real reason to give up hope or cry. And this whole scene happens right before she has to flee for her life through the Dark Forest.

She despairs for a moment too. Everything seems dangerous and cruel in the Dark Forest, and she collapses in fear...but then the animals find her. And she's "ashamed of the fuss she made, all because she was afraid."

Then she says, "what do you do when things go wrong?" And out of all the hand-drawn animals in the clearing, the filmmakers have the bluebird family answer her. They sing the exact same melody that they sang when the parents found the lost baby. "Oh! You sing a song!" And then Snow White sings the same Lost But Found melody, too.

Why be ashamed of momentary fear? Well, because there was never any real danger. Why believe that things will turn out all right, when the ruler of the whole land and the only person who was ever supposed to take care of you wants you dead? Well, because she knows there's someone else out there who loves her and will find her--The Prince.

He promised her his heart. He's going to find her to fulfill that promise, no matter what else happens. That's why she can sing and smile and serve others even though to the outside eye it may seem like her life is in shambles. But she has faith that the one who loves her will come deliver her.

That's the point of the movie. That's the point of the bluebirds. Faith trumps fear. Focusing on the good truth rather than the darkness of circumstances is the whole superpower of Snow White's innocent, pure character. She's pure love, and she believes in pure love, and that's what makes her Fairest of All.

"Love is patient, love is kind, is not jealous, does not brag, is not puffed up; it does not act unbecomingly, does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered; it does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; it bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things..." 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

#Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs #Snow White #Disney's Snow White #Snow White 1937 #Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs 1937 #Walt Disney #meta #film analysis #classic films #old Hollywood #blue bird #bluebird #ouat #snow #the Prince #Prince Charming #animation #character analysis #love #purity #faith #themes #story #classic Disney #1 Corinthians 13 #love believes all things

[amatchinwater]

Push it till it Breaks | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Once you realize you have feelings for your best friend, Eddie, you can't make yourself say the words out loud. Not even when you notice he has feelings for you too. So you tease the hell out of him in hopes it will make him snap. Probably shouldn't have done in in the middle of a Hellfire meeting. Well, you're certainly not complaining if it gets you Eddie.

Warnings: 18+, there's fluff if you squint, angst, explicit sexual content, spanking, hair pulling, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v sex, unprotected sex (reader on pill), squirting, come as lube, Master kink (Eddie is the Dungeon Master, it makes sense), dom!Eddie, use of pet names, aftercare is offered but reader wants round 2 first, degradation (whore/slut), flashbacks, drug use,

Words: 6199

a/n: thank you @yourdollydreams for the request! I had a lot of fun with it! I tweaked it a tiny bit to rather teasing Eddie in a turning him on sense, she also tries to push his buttons to make him lose control. I hope that's okay! There is a scene with that, but it's not the whole premise because this ran away with me.

Requests are open, I'll take Steve and Steddie too! Send some, if you'd like! Masterlist

Not my gif!! Credit to creator!!

You’re not really sure when it happened, to be honest. There doesn’t seem like a set time that you really started to have feelings for your best friend. You can absolutely pinpoint when you realized you’d had feelings. But the realization came with a minor epiphany that they were far from a new development. Simply that your brain had caught up with your heart. Among other things. 

Eddie has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. You’ve lived in Forest Hills Trailer park, three lots down from him, ever since you were born. Wayne had gone to school with your dad and they both work at the plant together. So, most of your days were spent with wide brown eyes and heavy music. Over the years and the confusing puberty time period, you’d assumed he’d want to not be best friends with a girl anymore. 

Some archaic belief nagging at the back of your brain that you’d grow apart, that guys and girls can’t be friends. But that couldn’t have been farther off base if you’d tried. Nothing can trump the connection from years worth of playing on the same playground. Sharing lame jokes that make you both wheeze with laughter. Parental figures working nights, leaving the slightly older boy in charge of looking after you both. It’s a bond that you just can’t break. 

So yeah, somewhere along the lines, you fell for Eddie “the freak” Munson. It’s a little annoying. Not in the sense that you’re pissed it’s Eddie you want. You just wouldn’t have wasted your time kissing so many frogs in hopes of a prince if you knew that you could have Eddie. What’s annoying is you want to know when it happened. The idea of things creeping up on you doesn’t sit right. God, the day you realized, you acted like such an idiot too. 

---

“What are we watching tonight, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, sparking up a joint where he sits on the couch, shirtless, sweatpant clad legs spread. The light glow from the lamp in the living room paints Eddie in a soft, golden hue, enhancing his relaxed features. All you can do is watch as he lets the smoke spill out of his mouth before inhaling it through his nose. Your eyes fixate on the trail from his plump lips, licking your own. 

What the fuck is going on with you? 

Why are you staring at him like a creep?

Shaking yourself out of whatever the hell that was, your gaze snaps to the two boxes in your hands. “Um,” you swallow thickly, trying very hard to get your brain to read the words printed in front of you. “Stuck between The Shining and Carrie,” you fumble out. You’re about two seconds away from actually slapping yourself. 

You’ve never acted like this around Eddie before. You’ve seen him without his shirt on more times than you can count. Hell, you went with him to get both chest tattoos and the headless bat he has on his ribcage. The two of you have been friends long enough that you’ve both accidentally walked in on the other while changing, so the fact that his thin sweats do nothing in hiding what’s underneath shouldn’t be a surprise either. 

Laying an arm over the armrest, Eddie narrows his eyes to protect them as the smoke coils up from another drag. “So you just want to mentally fuck me tonight, got it.”

Warmth burns your cheeks at his words, freezing your frame still. The instinct to fire back that you wouldn’t fuck him singes your tongue. “I-” That’s not something all that weird to come out of Eddie’s mouth, nor your attempted rebuttal. So why in the hell did it send a shock down your spine like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you? You’re not even high yet, so there goes that excuse. 

“I’m just kidding, babe,” he says, ashing the joint before leaning forward to hand it to you. “You know you can pick whatever you want,” Eddie says, your shaky hand taking the rolled paper from him. 

Inhaling deeply into your lungs, you hold your breath, hoping this will knock some sense into you. Or rather, knock enough out that you don’t have to think about what’s happening and why you’re being so fucking weird. “The Shining it is, then,” you say on the exhale. Putting the tape in, you go back over to the couch, handing the weed back before plopping down on the couch beside him. Without a second thought, you throw your legs into his lap like you’ve done countless times before, settling into the corner of the couch as the movie starts. 

Not missing a beat, Eddie’s free hand comes to your legs, running along the bare skin from your pajama shorts. Your breath catches in your chest feeling the warmth of his hand on you. Cold, chunky rings doing nothing to hide the searing heat blazing your flesh. His hand never goes more than a few inches above your knee as you hand the joint back and forth. But the way his fingers glide across the small portion of thigh he does touch lights a fire inside of you. 

You’re not even paying attention to the movie. The images flashing on the screen, but the only thing you can focus on is his fucking hand. You didn’t even realize that he was trying to talk to you until his hand grips your thigh, shaking it a bit to get your attention. “Huh?” You whip your head to face him.

“I asked if you wanted the last hit,” Eddie repeats himself, holding the roach your way. 

The question might as well have been a slap in the face the way your heart tightens in your chest. Suddenly every single thing makes sense to you. The way his hand has you so bent out of shape. The way he inhaled shooting straight to your core. How he always lets you pick the movie, or the music, and always offers you the last hit. Everything that your best friend does for you wrapped up in a tiny little bow. Why every little thing about Eddie is so noticeable and intense tonight. 

You fucking like him. 

You were so startled by his mind fuck comment and couldn’t say that you wouldn’t because it’d be a fucking lie. Subconsciously, you knew that you wanted to be with Eddie before your brain had even had a moment to process the information. 

Son of a bitch.

“I- uh,” you clear your throat, his eyebrows raising at you in waiting. 

“You alright?” Eddie asks when you still haven’t answered. 

“Great!” You say a little too chipper. “Um, I’m good,” you shake your head, waving at the burnt paper, “you can have it.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch, like he knows something’s off. But he doesn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for. He only nods, taking the last hit and snubbing the remnants. After doing so, he curls his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. Meanwhile your heart is having a field day in your chest. 

---

So, yeah, it became pretty obvious to you that you felt some type of way about Eddie. With noticing everything about him, you started to realize that everything you liked about Eddie, he did for you. Playing your favorite songs softly on his acoustic when you had trouble sleeping. Coming over in the middle of the night when your bathroom sink broke and fixing it for you. Giving you rides everywhere because the thought of his best friend walking somewhere was ridiculous to him. Letting you decide what you were doing on days he didn’t have Hellfire or practice. 

Each and every time you’d offered to do whatever he wanted to do, Eddie would hit you with a ‘I wanna do whatever you want, princess,’ or something of that nature. And the pet names. They’d never stopped. Princess, babe, love, sweetheart. You name it, Eddie’s more than likely called you that. It wasn’t until the day that after a weak attempt to fill the Eddie sized hole in your heart with someone else only resulting in heartbreak did you realize why he always called you sweet names. When he told you that you were too good for the asshole that cheated on you all of a month into the relationship.

‘Babe, you’re perfect and if he can’t see that, he’s a fucking idiot that doesn’t deserve you,’ were his exact words. But it was in the way he held you close to his chest, peppering kisses in your hair while he rubbed your back that it hit you. 

Eddie liked you too. 

Your best friend wanted in your pants but he was just too much of a gentleman to say it outright. You’re not blind and you’re far from stupid. And to be frank, it’s not like Eddie doesn’t have warmth pooling in your gut with the smallest of actions. Maybe, in some backwards sort of way, you hope that over exaggerating your own feelings for him will let Eddie do what you can’t seem to do. Have the courage to make the first move. 

So rather than put your big girl pants on and talk about it, you teased him. The way he stuttered his words when you’d asked if he was an idiot then too was well worth it. 

But once you’d started to tease him about it, you didn’t really know how to stop. It’s become this kind of rapport you share. Him subtly hitting on you while you push it too far to get him to crack. It’s just that he hasn’t cracked. Eddie is like a stone fucking wall when it comes to his resolve. You’d thought for sure the day you’d gotten him to pop a boner class that he finally would’ve said something. 

Except that he didn’t.

You two were talking about some potential date with Jason Carver. One you’d never say yes to, mind you. But still. Word had spread that after the jock’s friend hurt you, that he wanted to swoop in and save the day. You’d rather make out with a viper.

---

“A shoulder to cry on is a dick to ride on, sweetheart,” Eddie scoffed under his breath. 

You roll your eyes, while he’s not necessarily wrong, that's probably exactly Jason’s hopes and intentions, it only lets his jealousy show. “What’s the matter, Eds?” You drop your tone, honey sweet, “would you rather it be your shoulder?” You ask, knowing good and well he’ll get the insinuation. 

“Pfft, anyone is better than Jason, babe,” he says, fiddling with his pencil. “Besides, last I’d heard,” Eddie leans over, “Carver doesn’t know shit about pleasing a woman in bed.” But the sneer on his slips does nothing to hide the meaning of his words. 

“That so?” You meet him the rest of the way, placing your hand above his knee, “tell me something, Eds.” You slide your hand up his thigh, squeezing as you go, and Eddie stills, tension locking his shoulders while he holds his breath. Just as you’re about to reach the inseam, you whisper, “do you know how to please a woman better than Jason?” You make sure to add an extra layer of sugar to the jock’s name, really lay it on thick with Eddie. “You think you could please me?” You tease, reaching your destination and feeling the hardened bulge in his jeans. 

Eddie jolts out of his stool so quickly, he nearly knocks it over, mumbling “bathroom,” to the teacher scolding him for his outburst. 

---

All Eddie did was excuse himself to the bathroom and acted like nothing ever happened come lunchtime. Like he didn’t rub one out in the middle of school because of something you’d said. It was kind of infuriating. Sure, you weren’t exactly thinking he’d jump your bones in the middle of a crowded classroom. You don’t even know what you were expecting. Some other kind of a reaction than that.

An acceptance. Some kind of affirmation. 

An agreement that he in fact could take care of you. That he wanted to. Just like you so desperately wanted him to. You’re running out of ways to tease him that aren’t just throwing yourself at him or walking into his room stark naked.

“I need your help,” Eddie’s voice startles your head out of your locker as he leans on the one beside it. 

“Fuck’s sake, Munson,” you clutch your chest, heart hammering from how hard you were yanked from your thoughts. “Are you trying to send me to an early grave?”

He only laughs at your anxiousness, “never! I like having you around too much, princess,” Eddie grins while you shove the last textbook into your locker. 

Closing your locker, you wink at him, “always knew you had the hots for me, Eds.” 

“Fuck off,” Eddie playfully swats at your arm, making you giggle. 

You’re confident in his feelings for you. But when it comes to the actual act of opening your mouth and telling Eddie how you feel, you clam up. And you’re honestly a little worried that with how long you’ve been teasing him about it, Eddie might not believe you if you said it in earnest. That you were playing some trick. If only he knew that you mean every word. So all you can do now is hope he breaks since you’ve dug yourself into a hole you have no idea how to get out of. 

“What did you need help with?” You lean against the lockers, facing him.

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, “Mike thought it’d be a good idea to get the flu.” With a huff, he presses on, “and I’m not about to get sick for one and cancel the last meeting for Hellfire before break. So, I was hoping” he reaches over and taps your nose, “you would come by as a stand in?”

“Yeah, why not,” you say. It’s been a bit since you’ve played. He taught you how when you were kids, but never got as into it as he did. Helping him plan his campaigns however, that was pretty fun. “Are you still on the Cult of Vecna? I’d hate to be accused of cheating,” you remark. 

“No, we finished that a few weeks ago,” Eddie smiles, “if the dice treats them kindly, the party will be taking down a succubus tonight.” 

“Do I have enough time to shower and change first? Gym kicked my ass today,” you tell him. 

Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder like you didn’t literally just tell him you think you smell. “Of course,” he says, leading you towards the exit. “Gotta grab you an official shirt first anyway,” Eddie weaves through the mass of students making their way to the bus or their cars. Reaching his van, he opens the passenger door for you. As always, waving his arm out with a bow, “M’lady, your chariot.” 

“Thank you, Eddie,” you kiss his cheek, “always such a gentleman.” Even hopping in your seat, you don’t miss the way he tries to hide his blush behind his curls. 

Getting in the driver’s seat, Eddie blasts the mixtape he made for you all the way to the trailer park, not saying a word until he pulls up outside your place. Opening your door, he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go grab the shirt, be back in a few, okay?” 

“Sure thing, handsome,” you pat his chest, boots hitting the grass. Batting your eyelashes at him, you saunter towards your front door. 

Biting away your giggle at pushing his buttons once again, you narrowly miss his grumbled speech under his breath. “...be the fucking death of me.” 

Passing through the kitchen once inside, you see a note with a twenty on the counter from your dad. Telling you he had to leave early today, but to get yourself something to eat for dinner. Shoving the money in your bag, you make a beeline for the bathroom. You all but tear your clothes off in your haste to get clean, scrubbing yourself harder than necessary. But you really fucking hate gym class and were forced to participate today. 

Satisfied that you only smell like your shampoo and favorite soap, you wrap your towel around yourself and head to your room to get dressed. You have half a mind to just stand there and wait for Eddie to come back. Wondering if you being in nothing but a towel would finally let his instincts take over, throw the gentlemanly attitude in the trash and just take you. But, he’d asked you for your help and knew he would be angry with himself if he missed Hellfire. 

You want Eddie, that’s a fact. But you don’t want to prevent him from doing the things he loves. So you quickly get dressed. Grabbing a pair of wide fishnets and a short, black and red skirt and your boots. Choosing a dark red, lacey bra and panty set to match. It’s only when you start digging through your drawers for a shirt that you remember you’re supposed to be wearing a Hellfire shirt tonight. 

A wicked grin splits your face, an idea forming that you simply can’t turn down. Not bothering to put a shirt on, you sit on your bed with your bra covered tits on display, leaning back on your palms to wait for Eddie. Your front door opens and nerves settle in your chest. What if he freaks out in a bad way?

“You ready, princess?” Eddie’s voice floats through the trailer, his footsteps making their way to your room, “sorry it took so- fuck.” Eddie’s words slow to a halt when he sees you displayed on your bed. “I- um, sorry,” he covers his eyes with his free hand, burning red cheeks beneath his palm. 

“It’s okay to look, Eds,” your voice saccharine even to yourself, “promise I won’t bite. Unless you’re into that, of course.” 

“Put this on,” Eddie unceremoniously tosses the fabric in your general direction, successfully covering your chest, “we’re gonna be late.” 

“What’s the matter, Eds?” You tease further, standing up and putting on the Hellfire shirt, tying it behind your back so it doesn’t cover your skirt and exposes some of your midriff. Hearing the rustling of fabric, his hand falls from his face, expression stern. It warms your core in the most delicious way possible. You can’t help but push him harder, getting in his space, “can’t handle seeing a girl wearing a bra? Or is it me that’s doin’ it for ya?” 

“Keep acting like a brat, babe,” Eddie warns, an inch from your face, pointing at you, “and I’ll put you over my fucking knee. ‘Kay?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, smirking at the red tinge of your cheeks before walking out of your room. 

That shuts you up real quick and you follow him outside to his van.

---

As much as you wanted to poke and prod at Eddie on the way back to school, you didn’t. It wasn’t in fear of him putting you over his knee. That sounds amazing. It was the hard lines on his face as he kept checking his watch. The way he would groan and his fingers would fidget on the steering wheel at every red light you hit on the way there. You kept quiet, bobbing your head to the music, being good so that Eddie could get to his friends on time. 

Did that stop you from uncrossing your legs when his hand found the gear shift in hopes he would reach over to place his hand on your thigh? No, no it did not. Did you get what you wanted? Also no. Annoyed with yourself for not pressing him further, you didn’t even notice you’d gotten to school until your door was yanked open. Eddie’s palm up in offering to help you out of the van. 

You sat at the Hellfire table where everyone had their sheets, notes, and dice set up to play, dutifully listening to the recap of their last session. It wasn’t hard to keep up with, and you really think that if you all work together properly that you’d be able to kill the succubus. Gareth joked that he could just seduce it, win her over so that no one had to fight or die. 

The way Eddie rolled his eyes at the suggestion sealed the deal. 

This is how you’re going to get what you want. If you couldn’t tease Eddie to the point of snapping, you’ll poke the metaphorical bear and piss him off enough to.

“I think you should do it,” you say, placing your hand on Gareth’s shoulder leaning into him, “I’m sure you’ve got what it takes, big guy.” 

You miss Dustin’s muttered, “oh, shit,” and Jeff’s wince. 

Eddie’s hand falls to your thigh under the table, squeezing just enough to equally hurt and feel amazing. “Forget what I said already?” His eyes have darkened and have a glint to them that makes you crave. You know exactly what he’s talking about, but shake your head anyway. He juts his lips, giving you a curt nod and his hand vanishes. “You cannot seduce a succubus,” Eddie explains, playing off his question like it was meant for the group and not you. “She will see right through your bullshit attempt and kill you twice as fast.” 

“Come on,” your voice drips honey, rolling your eyes, ignoring Eddie to face Gareth and stroke his cheek with your finger, “Gareth’s more than attractive enough to pull it off. Aren’t you?” You coo, pinching his reddened cheek. 

You feel a little bad, using Gareth to get Eddie pissed off enough to do something. But at least you’re not lying. Gareth, objectively, is attractive. So what’s a little boost to his ego to get you what you want going to hurt? Nothing. 

“Is that really your course of action, Gareth the Great?” Eddie grits, pointing to the set of dice in front of the other boy. Brown eyes wild and his tone not even trying to hide his annoyance.

Furrowing his brows, Gareth contemplates his options, before holding up a finger and turning his attention to the rest of the group. Wanting their opinion as to whether he can actually do this or not. A conversation you’re not allowed to be a part of when Eddie’s hand grabs your thigh again, jerking your legs open and you closer to him. 

Your wide eyes meet him where he’s leaning in his throne to whisper, “you really want to be put over my knee that badly, babe?” 

“Oh, Eddie,” you purr, guiding his hand farther up your thigh, “don’t threaten me with a good time. Because all it sounds like to me is weightless threats. Why don’t you do something, Eds?” 

“Watch it,” his free hand comes up, ring clad finger pointing at you again, “keep it up and I won’t care that we’re mid session. Understand?” Eddie’s getting close and your nerves are buzzing in delight. That some part of him is accepting your advances. But the fact that he’s still trying to contain himself only eggs you on more. “Careful, princess.”

Is that so? 

Settling in your seat, you smile sweetly, “I understand, Master,” teasing his role of Dungeon Master. You smirk at the way his hand tightens around your thigh. You know what the bandana in his pocket means and you were hoping that he did too. The way his mouth pinches into a thin line only confirms your hopes. “I promise I’ll be good,” you say, lying through your teeth. 

“I’m gonna do it,” Gareth declares, happily oblivious to the conversation that just occurred, startling you two away from one another, leaving your thigh cold. “I’m gonna roll a charisma check, gonna try and woo her with my drum skills.”

“For fuck’s-” Eddie scrubs the irritation from his face, “go ahead. Don’t expect this to be easy,” he growls, “perfect twenty or you fail and I get to watch her eat you.” 

No matter what happens after Gareth lets the die fly out of his hands, you’re certain of one thing; you’ve got Eddie now. Time to make him crack. The die hits the table, bouncing a few times before rolling to a stop. Lifting from your seat, you peer over to the other side, giving Eddie a perfect view of your ass. Hearing him groan, you lean further, seeing a golden twenty on the sleek black die. 

“See, Gareth,” you plop back down in your chair. Reaching over, you run your hands through his curls, “I knew you had what it takes to please a woman.” You really hope throwing that line out that had gotten Eddie so worked up last time would be what it takes to make him lose control now. 

“Well aren’t you-” Gareth’s words are cut short from Eddie’s throne skidding across the floor from his force to stand. Silence falls after the screech. 

“Get up,” he states. When you don’t move, he drags your chair out from under the table. “I warned you,” he seethes in your ear, bending to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder. Your squeal is ignored by everyone at the table when Eddie’s palm smacks your ass. “Have fun fucking a succubus, Gareth. We’ll be back,” Eddie doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder, heading for the exit. 

You look up at the group, hoping one of them will help you or get Eddie to calm down, but they don’t. Jeff is only hiding his smile behind his hand as he shakes his head. Mike looks uncomfortable, not surprising. Dustin winces, awkwardly waving at your retreating form. Lucas mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch. Not even Gareth saves you, too strung out on the fact that he’d rolled perfectly. Because unbeknownst to you, everyone in that room knows of Eddie’s feelings for you. Your blatant teasing hasn’t gone unnoticed by any of them, they’re honestly surprised Eddie didn’t yank you out of the room the first time you touched Gareth. 

Throwing the door open, Eddie doesn’t say a word as he carries you down the hall, trying door handles until he finds one that’s unlocked. Halfway down the hall, he’s successful, pushing that door open just as hard as the club’s. “You know,” he huffs, yanking the teacher’s rolling chair out, “I tried to be nice.” 

He sets you on your feet for the two seconds it takes him to sit down before pulling you over his lap. “Eddie,” you try to scramble up, only to be slapped on the ass again.

“Quiet,” Eddie orders, situating you until you're positioned properly, one arm holding your lower back to keep you in place, the other hiking your skirt. “D’you think I’m stupid? Fucking with Gareth to get a rise out of me. Thought I wouldn’t notice?” He asks, spanking you again when you don’t answer. 

“Not stupid, Eds,” you pant, the sting warming your exposed skin, the thin lace doing nothing to hide the discoloration from his palm. “Just very fucking stubborn,” you correct him, with a breathless laugh. “Can’t take what’s blatantly offered to you.”

“That so?” Eddie rubs your ass, gripping the plump flesh before slapping it again. He dips his hand, running his fingers over your clothed folds, chuckling at the wet patch. “Aww, so wet already? Only a slut’s pussy gets wet from just spanking her. That what you are? My little slut?” 

You moan, “yes,” arching your back to try and get more contact to your aching pussy. 

“And she’s desperate too,” Eddie coos, speaking about you as if you’re not even there. Yanking your panties down, he ghosts his fingers against your slit, “I bet it hurts, hmm?” Eddie slaps both sides of your ass, hard, making you cry out and grip the chair and his legs. “I bet it does,” he kneads the flesh, “being so needy over so little. Don’t worry,” his shoves two fingers inside of you, you don’t know if you screamed or moaned, “Master will take care of you, sweetheart.” 

His voice oozes faux sympathy and your eyes roll back as he brushes that sweet spot inside of you instantly. “E-Eddie,” you moan, trying to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

Yanking you up by your hair, Eddie removes his fingers, slapping your ass. The wet digits make it sting even more. “Call me that again, and you’ll be biting down on your soaked panties for the rest of the night. Got it?” 

“Yes,” you grunt from the angle. Eddie only pulls your hair harder, making you wince, “yes, Master.” Your hair is released and you gasp, falling back to his leg. 

“Good girl,” he praises, sinking his fingers back inside, building your orgasm at twice the rate. You’re a moaning mess in his lap, writhing and ready to snap. “I shouldn’t let you cum for being such a brat before,” Eddie considers. “But fuck, babe, I wanna hear the way you scream when you cum.” 

He doubles his efforts and your eyes roll back, moaning wantonly. “Fuck,” you gasp, warmth spreading through your core like lava. Hot and thick. “Please, please- fuck,” you cry out, a harsh slap to your ass, hightening the sensations in your cunt. 

“Might put those panties in your mouth anyway, princess,” Eddie curls his fingers again and you’re sure you’re going to black out. “Wouldn’t want the rest of the group to hear how much of a whore you are. Ready to fall apart before I’ve even got my dick in you. Come on,” Eddie groans, his hard cock pressing against your stomach, thumb dipping to circle your clit, “show them what a good, little slut you are for me, baby.” 

Static washes over your limbs, a loud, broken moan falling from your lips and you gush. Squirting all over Eddie’s fingers, thighs shaking through your orgasm. Your eyes screw shut, Eddie not stopping the thrusts of his fingers, the coil winding inside of you faster than you knew it could. And before you can even say it’s sensitive, or too much, your walls flutter around him as you come again. Your head grows fuzzy from the intensity of two in such quick succession. 

“That’s my fucking girl,” Eddie growls, pulling his fingers out. You can hear him sucking them clean, “fuck, you taste good.” Helping you up, he bends you over the desk, hearing his belt unbuckle, his pants sliding down after. “Ready?” Eddie asks, rubbing the tip of his dick along your cunt. 

“Please,” you gasp against the cold wood, hands splayed as you turn your head, “please, Master. Need you.”

“All you’ve ever, ever had to do,” Eddie accentuates his words with harder rubs to your folds, “was ask.” Proving to you that had you properly opened your mouth from the beginning that you could’ve been doing this much sooner. “If it’s too much, I want you to say red, understand?” You nod, trying to push back onto his dick. But he pulls farther away, rubbing your hip softly, “I need words, baby.”

“I understand, Master.”

“Good girl,” he praises, lifting the back of your shirt to place a kiss on your spine. Finally, his cock pushes inside of you, the stretch eliciting a lewd moan from your mouth. 

“Oh my g-god,” you gasp out a throaty moan, the fullness of your walls stretching you so perfectly. All you can think about is where you’re connected. His cock full hilt, the hand bruisingly holding your hip and the other rubbing the swell of your ass. 

“Not god, baby, just me,” Eddie chuckles darkly, slowly pulling back to just the tip. Dragging himself inside your pussy in teasing strokes, going only halfway back in to pull back again. “So tight, baby, fucking perfect.” He lifts your leg up until your knee is resting on the desk and then he slams into you deep, provoking another scream. “That’s right, let it out, pretty girl. Scream for your Master.” 

You grit your teeth, the constant ramming of that spongy spot inside of you leaves stars behind your eyelids. “Fuck, fuck,” you gasp, moaning as you try to push back to meet his thrusts. 

Eddie wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you up until you’re flush with his chest, free hand groping your breasts. “Sound so pretty,” he groans in your ear, thrusting faster and your eyes roll back. “Gonna come again?” Eddie asks, leaving your breasts to circle his fingers around your clit. “Soak my cock, baby.” Throwing your head back, you scream incomprehensible sounds, your orgasm rushing through you and splashing all over his dick pumping into you at a startling pace. “This what you wanted? Hmm? Wanted me?”

“Yes,” you croak, vocal chords going through it with the way you keep screaming from his efforts. 

“Prove it,” Eddie says, swiftly pulling out to sit back down in the rolling chair. Grabbing your hips, he helps you straddle his lap. “Show me how badly you’ve wanted me, princess. It’s your turn to make Master feel good,” Eddie guides his dick back inside and you sigh, feeling him back where he belongs. 

“Wanted you for so long, Eds,” you whine, out of breath and very fuzzy. You hold his shoulders for balance, bouncing on his cock. 

His brown eyes soften only just, the hands holding your waist tenderly rubbing the skin. “Me too, princess,” Eddie says, grabbing the back of your head to pull you in for a kiss. You melt into it, grinding against his cock, putting pressure on your clit in a way that has another orgasm bubbling under the surface. You can barely think, let alone breathe when Eddie mutters, “gettin’ close, babe,” helping you grind against him faster. “Can I come inside? Mark this perfect pussy as mine?”

Resting your forehead against his, you nod, not trusting your voice. You’re on the pill, something you can absolutely tell him later once you have the proper functions to do so. For now, “p-pill,” is all you can manage. At least, you think you said it. Your throat certainly made a noise. Whether it was an actual word is up for debate. He’s doing a wonderful job making you cock drunk and you never want to look back. 

Eddie chuckles, wrapping both arms around your back to hold your shoulders, thrusting up into you with sloppy, hard movements. “That’s my girl,” he moans, pounding into you and just when you think you can’t take it anymore, that the burn of your orgasm won’t be more than a tease, your walls clench and you come again. Eddie following you soon after, “fuck, baby,” moaned from him lips, his cock burying deep inside of you as the warmth of his cum spreads inside your pussy. 

Panting and struggling to catch your breath, Eddie carefully pulls out of you. One hand rubs softly on your reddened ass, the other tracing shapeless designs on your back. “You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, all the tenderness in his voice returned, wrapping you in the best kind of warmth. “What do you need?” Eddie asks when you don’t answer, leaning his head back to try and get you to look at him. 

Barely opening your eyes, you half nod your head, mumbling, “just you. Always needed you,” you smile sleepily. 

“You have me, babe,” Eddie places soft kisses on your lips, coaxing your head down from the clouds. “I think you have for a while now,” he laughs under his breath. 

“Took you long enough,” you huff, opening your eyes enough to properly see him. 

“Maybe, if you realize you like me,” Eddie chuckles, out of breath from both of your efforts. “Don’t tease me so much that I think you’re just joking, just say something.” 

Sitting up, you give him a mock salute, “yes, sir,” with a dopey smile. 

His fingers dig into your hips, “what was that?” It takes you a moment to sift through the haze in your brain to notice he’s not angry, his hard cock digging into your ass. But you bite your lip once you understand what he means. “Say it again,” he grinds you against him, your eyes fluttering shut with a sigh. Lifting you enough to prod at your pussy, Eddie repeats, “call me sir again, sweetheart.” 

The tease gets to your head as much as it does your pussy, “please, sir,” you whine, trying to get him inside of you again. 

“For you, princess?” Eddie sinks you down on his cock, the sinful sounds of both of your cum making you moan, “always. Now be a good girl and come so that I can get you home and take care of you, yeah?” 

You probably won’t be making it back to Hellfire as your hips start to roll again. 

But at least you’ve finally got Eddie.

---

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[yuurei20]

Hey! I was wondering how animal linguistics works— is it technically a form of magic, or is it something that even our magicless prefect could learn?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question, it led to many interesting places!

It might not technically be stated anywhere that animal linguistics requires magical proficiency, but as NRC is a magic school it seems like the two would be related. But we also don't really know that every single class at NRC is magic based--there are cooking classes, for example, where magic seems to only rarely come up.

I gathered together some of what it is that we have seen of animal linguistics in the game to see what it is we know:

Jack has said that he is poor at animal linguistics, citing the fact that he is still a first-year student: "I know a few words in wolf, but other animals? Forget about it."

Rook, Leona and Azul might be skilled at it, but in Azul's case it may have been an ability that he acquired via a contract that he lost in Book 3 (this is unconfirmed).

It is Ruggie's best subject (as well as Grim's, with Grim capable of understanding Stitch during "Lost in the Book"), and neither student seems to be particularly adept at magic, from what we have been told.

Ruggie calls himself a "middling mage" while Idia says that Grim is as "lackluster with magic as he looks," which seems like a decent argument in favor of animal-linguistics-talent being independent of the strength of one's magic. But this doesn't technically mean that someone with no magic at all would be capable of learning it.

Jade has a comment about potionology that seems to relate to this topic, saying, "When it comes to potions, intelligence trumps magical power. That makes it the perfect subject for you, yes?" insinuating that the potionology might not require magic, and Riddle says that "The freshmen curriculum is more focused on magical theory than practice" (thank you @enderfore and @been-taking-muay-thai-classes!) so it seems the school does have classes that do not require magic, it may be possible that Animal Linguistics is one of them! :> And this opens the door to a lot of possibilities!

Do magicless schools in the Twst universe also offer animal linguistics and/or potionology classes? Or are they considered arcane subjects, even if magic is not technically required to study them? Is talking to animals no different from speaking a foreign language in this universe?

And then there is Silver!

While I'm not sure if it has been confirmed that Silver understands what animals are saying, they seem to understand him--possibly without the use of a foreign language, like we see Rook teach to Ace?

Could Silver have been born with this ability, or did it come from his childhood growing up in the forest, making him a polyglot?

Rook's comment on mole language being understood by hedgehogs seems to insinuate that "animal linguistics" is something of a blanket term to describe a variety of languages that might vary by species, yet Silver seems to talks to many different animals at once in one language that is also being understood by Kalim and Jamil, rather than speaking in a foreign language like Rook does.

And Rook and Silver aren't the only characters who use light-magic during battles and have also been shown possessing inter-species communication abilities (credit for this discovery to this twitter user):

Kalim says that he is "great with animals," with Jamil confirming that he has had empathy for animals since he was a child.

In a vignette Kalim seems to be corralling a menagerie of different animals together by himself, but it is revealed that Jamil is talking to the animals in the background, so we cannot be sure how successful Kalim would have been on his own.

I am not sure there has ever really been any commentary on Kalim's magical abilities (unlike what we have heard about Ruggie and Grim), though we have been told that he is a poor student, so maybe his ability to commune with animals is being bolstered by his magic and/or natural talents?

There are far more questions to be had than answers, but it is so interesting to think about! :> Thank you again!

#twstask

[amethyst-aster]

Blog intro

Hello! I’m Aster, a person who gives advice and who is still learning about the world as a whole. I am non binary and in wizardblr and same-pic-verse! I am a nyanbinary which basically means that I’m a cat person who’s non binary. I do get phantom shifts and feel species dysphoria so…yeah

Fandoms:

Kingdom hearts (lore)

Castle of illusions (yt)

Musical Theater

FNAF

TWOMP

Warrior Cats

Heartstopper

DRAG RACE

mlp fanon

TX2

Hazbin Hotel (angel dust is taking up all of my brain space rn)

My blog is mainly about anything that catches my eye, such as cats, food, memes, fun things, famous posts, photography, tag games, etc.. and centered around magic.

DNI if you are a: transphobe, homophobe, racist, TERF, ableist, fanatic, pro-life, anti-fur, a trump supporter, truscum, those people who change their race, or just a rude person in general.

I want to make clear: I do not want to be harassed or sent hate asks!(especially anon)

As some of you might know, I am slightly unhinged at times and half the things that I say I don’t remember!

I am queer in many ways (sometimes people say I’m either the queer friend or the gayest one in the room, which I love). More on that in my pronouns page

Boundaries:

Yelling (don’t yell at me please)

do not call me selfish

Invalidation (Don’t invalidate me or gaslight me in a way that’s not jokingly)

Apathy-like saying how you don’t care or seeming disinterested or acting like you have a problem with me without saying it to my face or just not caring without communicating

Too many bad things all at once

asking about my age or things relevant to that

insulting me to a higher level in a serious way (more on that here)

men/boys hitting on me (queer + not interested, this includes trans men/masc aligned gendered ppl)

I love tag games and asks btw

#lore drop” for posts about me as the mod revealing my lore ooc

oh also @amethyst-of-shadows is my horny blog

@amethyst-aster-2 is my alt

Fun fact: Frogs are sentient, as are we. Pick up a frog today!

Fun fact 2: I am obsessed with shiny sharp things (especially daggers, scissors, fire, and swords, mainly daggers)

Link to wizardblr:

TW Unreality, Mild Violence, Knives, Weapons, and occasional sexual references

#intro post #blog intro #pinned post

[yandere-sins]

Illusion and Reality

I got a bit lazy yesterday with correction, so today is a late post! Finally got the chance to write for my boy Tighnari ♥ I also crowned him yesterday so this is a special piece for my fav bow character ♥ [Referencing this post]

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Tighnari x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Themes, Hallucinations (Mushrooms), Blowjob, Obsessiveness, Non-Con Actions towards the end

Prompt: Intoxication - Drugs, alcohol, hormones running rampant and space sex pollen, the senses are not quite lost, but the will to struggle is gone. @sintember

»»———————— ♡ ————————««  

“Be careful!” you called after him as Tighnari made his way into the wilderness. Cheerful, sweet, your voice was just like you, and it haunted him even when he finally sat down after scavenging the lush forest he swore to protect. Truth be told, it had been hard to leave this morning. Especially when you called after him, still with a bit of drowsiness in your eyes since you two did a late round along the trails yesterday. Tighnari wasn’t especially tired, but he would have preferred staying back and crawling into bed with you for another nap.

Actually, he could need some sleep after watching over you the rest of the night.

But no could do. His studies, a lifelong commitment and passion, were only trumped by you now. As much as it hurt him not to spend every second by your side, he had a good reason to indulge in his other favorite pastime. Especially now that he learned about a very new sort of mushrooms with peculiar effects on one’s perception.

The taste was rather bland, the consistency crumbling away under his fangs. But when he opened his eyes again, Tighnari was in heaven. It must have been heaven—you were there. Standing before him, a slight breeze blew through your hair as you turned around, smiling at him. With wide-open arms, you ran towards him, and he caught you, felt the warmth of your body pressing against his, and heard your heart beat excitedly as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder.

Archons, he could smell you.

This illusion, madness, was palpable for all his senses. His ears were large enough to hear you breathe, his fingers not too calloused to caress your skin. He smelled Sumeru Rose on you when he pushed his nose into your hair, and if he were to stick out his tongue, he could have probably tasted apples on your lips. This mushroom was fucking amazing in its impact on those who consumed it.

“Are you just going to hug me?” he chuckled, filling his senses with your smell one more time before allowing your head to fall back, your eyes meeting his. You were exactly how he remembered you, the days he spent memorizing every little detail about you finally paying off as his mind created this perfect replica of you. The only thing it couldn’t do… was talk. But you let your body speak for you instead, rising upwards to meet his lips. Letting out an excited moan, Tighnari leaned in, licking over your lips until you parted them, allowing him to deepen the kiss as he pleased. Until you both were too breathless to continue.

You were so fucking alluring, rubbing your body against his while his hands fell to your ass, gripping and squeezing it through your clothes. Your eyes hooded as you wrapped your arms around his neck, granting him to move you as he pleased. Tighnari wasted no time pulling you on his lap, parting your legs until your hips fit snugly on top of his, the throbbing of his cock already too much to bear for the usual so composed forest watcher.

It was true. Tighnari loved you. He loved you from the moment you came to Gandharva Village, spinning a tale about how you needed to get out of the city for a while and maybe wanted to take your chance as a forest watcher. It was all a lie. He could see from your clothes that you weren’t a citizen of Sumeru City but a treasure hoarder from archons-know-where. And still, he fell in love with you, your scent, your smile, the excited jumps you did whenever he took you out to learn something new. Even though he knew you’d leave once you found what you were searching for in his forest, he loved you. He needed you.

Desperately rutting upwards into this illusion of you, he imagined all the ways he’d sprawl you out on the forest floor, let the sun lick over your body that shone with sweat as you two mingled. He had imagined countless times by now where he’d take you—by the river, near the waterfall, against the side of a mountain. Nothing would be safe of you two if only he had his way, and your fluids would leave behind waypoints he could remember even long after you were gone.

But instead, he had to resort to this, a mere illusion slipping down his body, brushing aside his hair and gently biting into the side of his neck, claiming him as he wished you would. Your hands wandered lower while his caressed you upwards, eventually finding hold at the back of your neck and his fingers tangling in your hair. You worked away at his pants, knowing exactly where to reach and what to unbuckle, just like he did. No one knew it better than his own mind, after all.

Soon enough, his cock sprung free, teased by the wind blowing against the hot flesh, leaving nothing about his desire for you to anyone else’s imagination. You grinned, looking up at him teasingly. Gripping your hair, he forced your lips to his once more, indulging in the kiss before nibbling your lips like a silent order. When he finally released you, you lowered your head, wasting no time passing on the kiss to the tip of his cock. Then, with long, deliberate strokes, you licked him from his balls to his tip, your tongue slipping side to side after a few straight lines, spreading your wetness accompanied by your hot breath.

After waiting for you for so long, never getting to satisfy even the smallest of his desires in the real world, he couldn’t wait. Tightening his grip on you, Tighnari forced you down his length, listening to the slurps and imagining the unrestrained sound of moans that should have accompanied it. You were so wet, your tongue doing its best to wrap around and please his shaft while he bopped your head up and down. His hips couldn’t hold back from jerking into the motion, spit collecting around his base every time your face smacked into his skin.

Tighnari wished this was real.

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t. But if it was better than this, then it might be his personal way of surrendering. He would do anything if it meant having just half as good of an experience as this with you. And with every sloppy smack, he wished he could invade something else of yours too. Between your legs instead of your mouth, the seed that was threatening to splurt out any second almost waisted between your lips.

Regardless, he couldn’t stop his pending orgasm, his hand pulling your lips off him once he unloaded all the pent-up jizz down your throat. The most obscene sight unraveled in front of him, your expression full of lust while his seed dripped from your mouth. Tighnari quickly pushed it back in with his fingers, watching your tongue lap out to lick it off hungrily.

A growl—a sound so feral and ancient—formed in his throat as he watched you lap up his essence. He wanted nothing more but to push you back into the soft grass and take your body like you had taken his heart—completely. But before he could, your mouth opened again, and a single word fell from your lips.

“Tighnari?”

No, it couldn’t be. This illusion of yours couldn’t speak, couldn’t utilize your sweet, tender voice, even if the memory of it was ingrained in his brain. Even if his name coming from your lips made his cock jolt right upwards again, desperate and needy for attention, Tighnari knew something wasn’t right. And unfortunately, as much as he didn’t want to stop the experiment here, he couldn’t ignore this turn of events.

Forcing himself out of the illusion, he opened his eyes. His gaze wasn’t focusing as fast as he wished it would, making him vulnerable to the wildlife and dangers of the forest. But it allowed him to hear it again, his favorite word from your lips. “Tighnari, are you okay?”

Fuck.

His name sounded like a prayer from your lips. Succulent like the juiciest apples and the worry threading throughout it was like another maddening illusion at its finest. Rolling his head to the side, he faced you, and you breathed a sigh of relief, placing your hand over your heart as you recovered. “You took a long time to come back. Had me worried there for a sec,” you sighed before a smile crossed your features again. “I thought you were a goner.”

Your joke was lost on the way your body relaxed now that you knew he was alive. You shouldn’t have been in the forest; he forbid it. Once again, you were trying to search for the treasure you wanted. A treasure that would take you from him. You got up again, stretching, before looking down at him, and he swore, one step closer, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to bury his face between your thighs and show you just how much of a goner he really was. Having gone completely mad like this was new to him too, and he hated how his head thrummed with the aftereffects of the mushroom he ate, denying him reasonable thoughts.

The only thing that got through to him was need. He needed you. On the ground, below him, on your back, your stomach, legs wrapped around his waist, moaning and choking on his cock. All while clenching around his shaft tightly with every thrust while he rutted his seed deep inside you. And he needed you now. Now, tonight, tomorrow, for the rest of his damn life. Needed you in his bed, to build a nest for you, keep you there, naked and ready for him. Such… animalistic instincts that he never had before were now plaguing his mind.

Maybe he was still under the effects of the illusion. Maybe the spores of the fungi had gotten to his head. Right, it wasn’t him. This version of him wasn’t who he was! Well… unless… What if it was? What if it was the real him? The one that was overshadowed by rationality and sanity most of the time? The true desires deep inside him?

When you turned around, prompting him to return to the village, you were so vulnerable, trusting. Tighnari snatched your ankle before you could even see it coming, bringing you down to the ground close to him. And just a second later, he was on top of you, panting, admiring the way you were submissive beneath him. Him, Tighnari. Worse than any Rishboland Tiger. If they were territorial, then what was he?

And as his cock urged him on, the growl he had bitten back before returned to the once domesticated fox, and he let it, your eyes widening at the sound.

“Mine.”

#Sintember 2022 #Tighnari #yandere Tighnari #yandere!Tighnari #genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere!genshin #Tighnari genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere!genshin impact #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #Lemon #OW

[celluzu]

QSMP as Warrior Cats

Thunderclan: Roier, Quackity, Vegetta, Baghera, Slime, Mariana, Etoiles, Leonarda, Juanaflippa, Tilin, Pomme.

Shadowclan: Badboyhalo, Cellbit, Jaiden, FitMC, Foolish, Dapper, Ramon.

Riverclan: Forever, Pac, Mike, Maxo, Aypierre, Trump, Richarlyson.

Windclan: Philza, Missa, Felps, Antoine, Tallulah, Chayanne.

Loner/Rouge: Wilbur, Spreen, Kameto.

Starclan: Luzu, DanTDM, Rubius, Tilin, Bobby, Trump, Juanaflippa.

Dark Forest: Cucurucho, Elquackity.

- All "eggs" were found at fourtrees on the same night, the clans believe the kits to be a sign from Starclan for more peaceful, united times. The kits were taken back to clan camps, and continue to aid in bringing them together. They'll soon have more dangerous forces to deal with than border disputes.

- Unfortunately for the clans, these kits only seem to draw those dangers closer to their home. They quickly find that something is targeting the "eggs" and are devastated and enraged when they lose three of them to the mysterious monsters.

- Felps, believing to be following a starclan cat was led into the old Windclan tunnels. If he didn't know any better, he might just think that the "starclan" cat was the one who made the only exit collapse.

- Quackity vanished on the way home from a gathering, returning the next moon to the clans suspicion.

- Elquackity possesses Quackity's body similarly to how Ashfur possesses Bramblestar in the recent arc

- Wilbur is a loner, who found Tallulah at the edge of the Windclan border, knowing he couldn't take care of her alone he brought her to Windclan. He visits frequently, and is seen as a friend of the clans.

- Spreen is considered a hostile rouge by Thunderclan after attacking their Warrior Roier.

- Jaiden was once a thunderclan cat, after being plagued with nightmares of the dark forest she sought refuge with Shadowclan. Thunderclan believes her to be dead.

- Pac was separated from his patrol while examining suspicious paw prints after the disappearance of a friendly kitty pet. He found himself at the river, where he was dragged into the water by a mysterious force.

- Mike refuses sleep after his disappearance, fearful that Pac may visit his dreams from Starclan and confirm his fears that his friend might truly be dead

- Richarlyson can often be found crossing the river onto Sunningrocks to play with with Bobby. Forever can often be found dragging him back.

#this is a wip and subject to change but im happy with it so far #qsmp #pactw #mikethelink #qsmp jaiden #spreen #elquackity #wilbur soot #warrior cats #lots of half clan relations will happen here if you cannot tell #forever REALLY wants to get to know the leader of windclan..................

[indristian]

Weirdly specific König Headcanons part 5

By an austrian for an austrian character

After the Trump speech, where he claimed that our trees were explosive König wouldn't shut up about the warlike conditions he had to endure when playing in our forest cities.

In May 2019, after the Ibiza affair, there was a solid week, where he would almost exclusively listen to Ibiza-related partysongs.

He hates being carried, he's normally the one carrying people. And most of the time when he carries people it's the fireman's carry.

He celebrates Christmas on the 24. of december in the evening. This and the food blessing for easter are the only times a year he'll go to church without being forced by his family, mostly bc he gets food afterwards.

His father would often wake him to help with the farm. If he was hungover and refused he'd get told "Wer saufen kann, kann am nächsten Tag auch arbeiten" (very loosely translated "Those that have the energy to go out and drink, have the energy to go work on the next day"). He sometimes uses the phrase just to get on his teammates nerves.

Every time someone complains about their job within his earshot he'll say "Hättest halt was g'scheites g'lernt" (meaning "Should've trained for a better job then"). When pointed out that they have the same "shit" job he just sighs and says "Yeah, takes one to know one."

Prefers colder temperatures over warmer ones bc "It's easier to put on clothes to keep warm than take them off to keep cool, especially when you're down to your underwear already"

People, for some reason, just love to tell him all the gossip and he loves it. Too bad he has no idea who half of the people he has gossip on are/forgets about the names involved immediately

Inspired by my best friend: If you go on a hike with him, he'll be standing there at the top of the mountain with his hands on his hips, not a drop of sweat on his face and he'll say "Yeah, that was a tough hike" while you're on the ground next to him fighting for for your life

If he's bored he'll go on r/austria to see if there's any "drama" like the "I ripped my 1000€ jacket on somebody's fence, can I sue them?" or the "Someone vomited in the staircase in front of my flat, do I have to clean it?" posts and the posts that made fun of them

He knows how to use a scythe (for mowing grass things, maybe also slicing up people, but mostly just mowing grass). First time his team sees him with one they take a pic, add the text "bad soldiers get reaped by the big german grim reaper" and post it on the community fridge. Within a day the german is angrily scribbled out and austrian added instead.

And not really a headcanon more like something i overheard while one of my friends played warzone: when you play the game in german and König heals you he says "Put some spit on it" (if I remember correctly)

I'm surprised I came up with so many headcanons, tho I'm kinda running out of steam.

In other news I made a playlist of songs I think would get stuck in his head/he would listen to. The playlist is a weird genre mix, but I swear I can can think of a reason for each song to be in it. I may add some new songs over time.

And I'm so happy spotify doesn't record what I'm listening to rn bc I don't want Austropop to be in my top 5 genres for the next wrapped.

Part one, two, three, four and six

#könig #könig call of duty #könig cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #call of duty warzone #cod modern warfare #cod warzone #cod warzone 2.0

[wishful-seeker]

The complete guide to black mirror scrying: how to interpret visions, how to make a mirror, and beginner advice.

The biggest issue I had when I first started scrying is that there are no set correspondences for the visions you see. Unlike other divination methods: like tarot with card meanings, or pendulums with yes/no/maybe, this method of divination is deeply personal and tailored to the person scrying. Scrying is similar to charm divination where to assign meanings to your charms, the difference is you have no idea what you will see and must come up with your own interpretation each time. I have some tips for accurately deciphering these visions.

Main things you need to know:

1. The feeling you feel when you see the images is IMPORTANT in deciphering what they mean, and your personal interpretation trumps everything else.

For example If you see an eye, and you have a good feeling about it, take note of that.

Next, try searching the symbols common meaning on Google. If the common meaning doesn't feel correct, dig deeper, ask what it meant to you.

The symbolism of an eye according to the internet says "Dreaming of eyes can be considered a very symbolic image connecting us to our soul. Similar to many ancient cultures the eye is understood to be a symbol of good, evil, protection, vision, knowledge, wisdom and mystery."

2. If you can't find the meaning of a symbol try searching it as a dream interpretation. Ex: "what does dreaming of an eye mean." Dream interpretation websites have extremely specific symbols and meanings.

3. Symbols around the world have different meanings depending on location and culture, one symbol may have 2 completely different meanings.

For example, the eye can symbolize both good and evil, this is when personal feelings and associations are important. Did seeing the eye feel good, or bad?

4. You will occasionally see things that cannot be simplified to one symbol, for example, seeing a scene unfold, like a stereotypical idea of a vision. When this happens, break it down into multiple symbols, and combine the meanings.

For example, I saw myself in a forest, looking up at the night sky and stars through the trees.

My personal interpretation of a starry night sky, and a common dream interpretation of it is: A clear starry night sky symbolizes dreams and hopes coming true, happiness and good fortune, relaxation , and achieving goals.

The meaning of trees is: trees have been used to represent life, growth, wisdom, prosperity and more in legends, poetry, literature, and religion.

However, i have my own meanings associated with trees, so trees are also a symbol of peace, strength, stability, and resilience, according to me.

Now you ask yourself how to connect and relate these meanings together. This scene is telling you these symbols go hand and hand in your life.

Personally, I would interpret that as saying through nurturing myself, and growing, and persevering throughout my life, has and will lead me to my goals and peace. I'm on the right track.

I find scrying is the best divination for me because I've also noticed in my experience, even when I see something "negative" my brain shows me in a gentle way through the visions.

For example, once I saw a willow the wisp, I LOVE willow the wisps, I think they're beautiful, but they represent a warning that danger is near. But somehow my subconscious knows how to show me comforting images, despite the negative connotations. I really struggled with tarot cards because the "negative" cards would easily trigger me. It always felt like tarot cards were yelling at me instead of gently guiding me, and I find scrying to be gentle, at least for me.

It makes a big difference to already associate a scrying mirror with good peaceful vibes, just like how if I had a comforting feeling with cards, they'd probably trigger me less.

Everyone will have some divination methods that work really well, and some not so much. I hope this guide can help you learn if scrying is the divination method for you or not.

Some people can be pretty scared of scrying mirrors specifically, because new agers put a lot of fear mongering rules on to those mirrors. Some will say allowing others to look in the mirror is bad luck, or that you should always cover and cleanse it when you're done. I don't follow any of those rules except for veiling it when I'm done, and only because I have a pretty cloth. I've used it for over a year and I have NEVER had a bad or scary experience. I've showed it to friends, I leave it uncovered sometimes, I never cleanse it. I meditate before using it, and I do a very short sheilding visualization, and it's an extremely calming experience. I do it to calm my anxiety after a bad day.

So if it's as peaceful as I say, why is there so much fear behind scrying mirrors?

Well it's actually the same reason why people are terrified of ouija boards: kids act like it's a toy, they do things wrong, and their own fear invites a negative experience.

Here are some tips to avoid a scary session, and general first timer info.

1. DO NOT look at yourself in the mirror! This is only for experienced people. If you do this your face will morph and melt and it'll be scary to someone who has no experience! The mirror should be angled in a way that NOTHING is reflected in it, you want it to be a completely black void in the dark, with a candle far away so it's just light enough to see what you are doing. Angle the mirror towards your blank ceiling. This will allow the mirror to act like a TV screen where you just watch pretty shapes and pictures go by.

2. You have NOTHING to be afraid of, and if this scares you, don't do it! The more calm and at peace you are, the better the experience will be.

3. If you want to scry, but you're afraid of the mirror, you can scry on any blank surface. A black or white one is best. You can use a dark computer screen, you can even scry with your eyes closed! The darkness you see when you close your eyes is perfect for seeing visions, I have a friend who does this.

4. It'll take at least 15 minutes of staring WITH A VERY SOFT FOCUS to start seeing visions, if you want to try making this go faster, try meditation with your eyes closed before hand. When you start seeing things, time will move by fast, what feels like 10 minutes could be 40. Be careful not to lose track of time.

6. Remember that Scrying is best done in the dark with a candle just bright enough to illuminate the mirror, but not bright enough to make the mirror cast reflections. You want a black void unless you're doing the looking at your face method.

7. You may need to listen to trance music, meditate, or do some type of small ritual activity to get you in the zone so you can see things, everyones way of doing this is very different.

Lastly, I know some of you might be wondering, where do I get a scrying mirror?

Well you can easily make one yourself with a picture frame, black acrylic paint, or black spray paint!

First, get a pretty picture frame

Then take out the glass and backing

Paint one side of the glass with black paint, do multiple coats until when looking from the unpainted side, you can't see through it.

If you can still see through it after multiple coats, paint the inside of the frames backing black too, so that when it is up against the painted side, all you see is black.

Put the glass back into the frame UNPAINTED SIDE IN THE FRONT. This is the reflective side.

That's it!

This is one I made:

However, you can probably tell it's not a picture frame, it's a mirror frame. If you want to use a mirror frame you can, but you NEED A CLEAR GLASS PANE that fits it. You cannot paint on the mirror glass and make it reflective.

P.s. I keep a hagstone for protection and connecting to the spirit world, and celestite for spirit guide communication when I scry.

Good luck guys, I hope this helps.

#black mirror scrying #scrying #divination #witchcraft #witchblr

[holly-fixation]

Fallen Silver

Summary: Sephiroth is MIA. Second Class Rhapsodos and Third Class Hewley are tasked with locating and finding him. The public does not know of this disappearance. No one was prepared for the truth. 

Further inspired by my ask to @altocat. 

Please enjoy.

…

The plains of Wutai raged with the never ending war against the Shinra Electric Power Company and their newest military program: SOLDIER. Even the most recent entries of this program decimated enemy forces under the simplest command. Of course the strongest of these SOLDIERS was nicknamed The Demon of Wutai: Sephiroth. Most enlistees joined to follow in his footsteps and become SOLDIER First Class for fame, strength, or riches. 

Sephiroth, in reality, was more ‘down to The Planet’ than anyone outside Wutai knew. His closest friends, comrades he made on the battlefield, knew him as the awkward and sheltered super soldier he truly was. The public admired his strength, but his friends cared for his innocence. Even their first few interactions revealed the truth, but more than one audience with the Silver Soldier was incredibly rare for normal recruits. It took time for him to open up. He liked pasta. He liked reading. His cat-like pupils widened to saucers when he spoke about the stars. He was… normal. A little weird but yes, normal. An awkward, normal guy. Genesis and Angeal were teaching him how to fit in simply by being his friends. Everything was going well for so long, until…

Shinra locked down any rumor of Sephiroth’s disappearance through their troops. Even the simple thought of losing their trump card lowered morale at this critical time. No one knew exactly what happened. One average battle in the forest, one average day and tactic for success, Sephiroth running ahead as always to take down or distract any large threats.

An average, normal battle. But Sephiroth didn’t return. 

“It’s been a month,” Genesis stated as he paced in their tent.

“We’ll find him,” Angeal countered simply as he continued cooking their meal.

“Something’s wrong. There’s no ransom. There’s no negotiation.”

“You don’t know that-”

“Yes I do.” It was a snippy and childish response but not at all inaccurate. Genesis was under strict order to keep this any and all news within the tent. No one could know of Sephiroth’s situation until all was well. “They’re doing something to him. This isn’t normal interrogations, I can just feel it.”

“They might be waiting until morale’s shaky. It’s the perfect time to strike.” Angeal kept his gaze on the meal, forcing himself to stay calm and collected for his friend’s sake. “You’ve been captured before. You know what they do.”

“I know exactly what they do, and This. Isn’t. It.” His truth cut like a dagger, and silence claimed the tent. 

“...we will find him.” That was the only promise Angeal could make. His condition? That was another story. “We will, Genesis. We’ll find him…”

* * * 

It took three months to take down the correct fortress. Every troop fought savagely, desperately on both sides. The rivers of blood were nothing new. The rain put their foreign forces at a heavy disadvantage but they eventually broke through. While most troops and squads celebrated this great victory, the Second and Third Classes searched high and low through every centimeter of the fortress. 

Their efforts paid off. Finally months of effort bore fruit. They located a hidden trap door to an ornate staircase, patterns of gold and silver lining the walls deeper and deeper as they entered. At the bottom, stone and marble statues of the Wutaian water god constricted the room. The scales surrounded them like a victorious snake. Altars, fountains, torches, candles, shackles, weapons that could never be useful in battle with carvings dry with crimson, all kinds of ritualistic objects lined the edges and led the SOLDIERs to their desire. 

Sephiroth.

It was Sephiroth.

They couldn’t stop themselves from running to his side, but they rapidly searched for any uninjured place to begin. 

Sephiroth wasn’t dead, but that was the only detail that didn’t claw at their hearts. His uniform was long torn from him, replaced with barely concealing garb of snakeskin and brown leather straps. Each open section of ghostly white skin exposed deep blue scars and the tiniest of bleeding cuts. Injuries that small should heal in seconds to the average SOLDIER. Sephiroth’s body would heal too fast to process the injury at all, yet he bled and he couldn’t stand. Gold shackles at his wrists were the only thing keeping him upright. His bare feet slumped against the ground. 

How was he still bleeding?

Why was he still bleeding?

“Sephiroth!” Genesis was the first to speak as they searched for any opening that wouldn’t cause more harm. But there wasn’t any.

“Sephiroth, can you hear us?” Angeal questioned before giving up his search and lifting the Silver Soldier. 

They heard his reflexive, pained gasp from his weight being moved from the chains, his lungs both free from strain but crushed in adjustment. 

Genesis cut the chains with his red rapier and immediately casted cures and healing spells. But they did nothing. Not the tiniest cut responded to the magic or resealed. 

Though Sephiroth's face was only marred by two perfectly symmetrical lacerations down his cheeks, his sunken eyes and dried lips claimed their attention. Wutai left him down here to die of starvation and dehydration along with whatever rites they conducted. 

His friends watched his lids flutter as they adjusted his body onto both of their shoulders for support. 

“ah-ah…!” A pathetic moan left his lips as he winced and tried to force his body to respond, the slightest tensing and moving of muscles. 

“Don't move. We got you. Just breathe, Sephiroth. You're safe,” Angeal reassured. 

“What did they do to you…?” Genesis mumbled aloud the thoughts plaguing his mind. “What did they do to you…?”

“G-Genesis…?” His voice was so broken, so shattered, stuttering and struggling through his raw throat. “A-Angeal…?”

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, giving him the moment he silently requested. Sephiroth focused his strength and carefully pried his eyes open. “I-I…”

Genesis unconsciously grabbed his face and forced the Silver Soldier's eyes to his. The mako in them had vanished, drained, as if he never stepped foot in a tank or opened his arm for an injection. But his pupils… they were small black circles, struggling against the light. 

Circles. Not needles. Human. Not snake-like. Not cat-like. Not Sephiroth. The eyes were crystal blue. Wrong. Utterly wrong. They fell closed again, but Genesis saw it clear as day. 

“Genesis, let's move.”

Finally the redhead got control of himself and both SOLDIERs lifted the MIA Demon of Wutai out of the chamber. Only in the cloudy light of the moon did they spot another horrifying change. The silver mane the entire planet recognized did not reflect light as it once could. The defining difference between silver and gray had fallen. 

Sephiroth looked too human. Dangerously human. 

Genesis flung off his red coat and covered Sephiroth in it for both protection and covertness. They couldn't let anyone see him like this. They snuck Sephiroth into their tent and made sure no one caught a glimpse. Once he was set down, Angeal stood back up. 

“I'll get communication to send a message about 'SMIA'. Just get him comfortable and get him clean.”

“Angeal-”

“don't go…” The broken baritone pleaded. It was so dramatically different from what they knew, they assumed he was in a trance or a dream or an adrenaline induced hallucination.

Genesis forced his initial reaction back down and overrode his friend. “Get back here. ASAP.”

“please…”

The begging froze the Second but forced the Third through the opening faster. 

“I swear on all the gods I will destroy them all for this,” He muttered as he grabbed the hidden medical kit and pulled out all kinds of wraps and disinfectants and cleaning products. He only stopped when a hand wrapped around his wrist. 

“Genesis…” Sephiroth was looking away. “stay close… please stay close…”

Without thinking, he shifted all materials closer and began cleaning the lacerations of his cheeks first. “I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

“...I… don't know what they did…” He struggled to speak. “but I can't… heal…”

Genesis grit his teeth against the truth leaving his friend's mouth. Sephiroth clearly didn’t know it was much more than his healing factor. “We're taking you to Midgar. They'll be able to do something. They definitely know a lot more than me.”

“don't leave…” Another childish plea, trying to ensnare the wrist in his weakened state. “I'm so alone…”

Now the Second really did stop in his tracks, clutching the silver soldier's chin to make him repeat. There was something in his voice that was just wrong. This wasn't the basic shock from torture; this was something emotional as well. 

But Sephiroth was impossible to break. Interrogations with him even in the rare instances of capture were useless. He was silent, not giving up any information or even a cry of pain. When he returned, he kept his silence as a defense while he healed until he returned to his normal self. 

So who was this? Who or what was speaking through Sephiroth?

“please don't go…”

What did they do to him!?

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Any time the Second’s touch left the captured man, the First pleaded without fail. Even if it was only the moments between wringing out the bloody towel used to clean his skin, he spoke. He needed touch and no one knew why. Presence alone wasn't enough. 

Genesis couldn't help but think of the moments they've spent together as friends. Sephiroth was incredibly avoidant of any and all contact. He forced himself not to think about the reason this changed as Angeal returned and received the same treatment. They were both trapped in his grip or by his voice. Sephiroth hated this desperation in him but the very same desperation overpowered his thoughts. 

“don't go… please don’t go…”

* * * 

The healthy soldiers were initially commanded to stay on the front lines, progressing through Wutai until new orders said otherwise, but their presence was the only thing keeping Sephiroth calm. The Silver Soldier nearly screamed when medical personnel tried to take him alone. His friend stayed with him on the helicopter to Midgar to keep him quiet. Shinra still did not want anyone knowing of his condition. Screaming in an ambulance cot would not help that goal. They didn't leave his side in Medical. They even forced their way into the Science Department, and for a short time, the doctor allowed them to stay. Anesthesia wasn't working. No chemical knocked him out long enough for Angeal and Genesis to leave his side before he reacted, not like they wanted to. The staff surely didn't want them in the way though. 

“Take them out…” Sephiroth tried to explain as he fumbled through his torture stained memories. “They have to be the source…”

“What are?” Genesis questioned immediately. He would fix anything without question. 

“The blue sheets… the slabs… They're in…-” He winced sharply, and Genesis instantly grabbed the hand on his arm. 

“I got you.”

“They're in here…” His arms shook as he pointed to the blue scars at his side. 

“Try not to move so much,” Angeal suggested calmly, trying to keep the hushed tones of the lab around them. 

Sephiroth just turned to his dark haired friend with his horribly human eyes. “Have they tried to already…?”

He nodded. “They discussed removal in the medical wing, but they said something more is going on. They didn’t elaborate.”

They went quiet after that, Angeal scanning the walls to give Sephiroth some privacy, but Genesis refused to move his eyes from the horribly human form.

The very moment Sephiroth was okay, Genesis would burn Wutai to the ground. 

A moment later, the doors opened and Professor Hojo strided through holding some kind of sealed, opaque container marked with yellow biohazard tape, muttering something about finally getting ‘them’ out of here. Without warning, he placed the box on Sephiroth’s chest, not even acknowledging the two soldiers in the Demon of Wutai’s grip.

Instantly Sephiroth’s persistence collapsed. He curled around the container as a child does with their favorite blanket, all but putting his thumb in his mouth, releasing both of his friends as relief flooded his features. 

“Now that that's taken care of, you can leave.” The scientist wasted absolutely no time kicking the SOLDIERs out. 

Angeal grabbed Genesis before he could throw a punch or say a word. 

“We need to begin the procedure. If you truly care for Sephiroth's well being, leave my laboratory now.”

Genesis really did swing that time and Angeal blocked it, grabbing his fist and guiding him away. 

“Let's go.”

“I really wanna hit him,” his voice was ice.

“So do I. But for Sephiroth's sake, let's go, Genesis.”

That was the only comment that convinced the Second Class to leave, the Third following behind to make sure he didn't break anything. 

* * * 

Pacing. Pacing. Pacing. Pacing. 

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“This isn't helping, Genesis.”

“Nothing's helping.” He crossed his arms and his finger tapped anxiously. “He's been in there for seventeen hours and they won't even put us on missions to clear our heads.”

“Because we can't go overkill in Midgar, it's incredibly dangerous.”

“Not in the slums.”

“Knowing you, you'll cause structural damage to the pillar right now.”

“Then don't put me near the pillars.”

Angeal sighed. “I am literally the farthest from assigning you missions.”

“You can put in a good word.”

“I'm a Third.”

“And they trust your judgment more than mine.”

“Genesis.”

On and on they went with their childish worry. Genesis threatened to burn down the building multiple times just to get a glimpse of Sephiroth. Every passing lab technician was only saved by Angeal's level headedness. They panicked with no updates, no knowledge of what was truly happening.

Deep within the lab, the horror of truth was worse than the uncertainty of the unknown. 

The Wutaian Water Defense Ritual was merely a legend, folklore passed from generation to generation as far as Shinra and its Science Department were concerned. ‘Incapacitate any intruder with the strength of Leviathan’. Simply the necessity of Leviathan scales made the rite next to useless. To gain these scales was no easy task, and storing them posed an incredible risk to thievery. 

Apparently, Wutai was smarter than they thought. While Shinra swept through the country, Wutai gathered all resources to take down the Silver Soldier, including items of legend. Every item in Sephiroth’s imprisoning chamber was taken back to Shinra for analysis and all were a major piece in completing their goal. Though no one currently knew how Sephiroth was captured in the first place, this ritual crippled him. Ceremonial spears cut him open long enough for Leviathan scales to be inserted into his ribcage like CDs piercing his lungs. The first five healed over with terrible blue scars. The last two eroded into his bloodstream, tainting his very genetics. Like the ancient belief that tempering swords with the bones of your enemies imbued them with their spirits to make them stronger was truly the result of the bones’ carbon and the iron of the blade creating primitive steel, Wutai clearly had no idea why the scales weakened the Silver Soldier so. 

As the scales degraded from Sephiroth’s incredible healing factor, they blocked critical connections with his Jenova based cells. His hair, eyes, and body becoming as weak as a human’s were direct results of this severed connection. This permanent severance even began killing his enhanced cells. Hojo’s current theory grew from his Reunion theory. Sephiroth no longer felt the subconscious presence of Jenova, or however he felt it, and his body and that desire panicked. The failed results of Project G were the closest connections he had before he was given the container of J-cells.

After removing most of the scales, the lab hooked Sephiroth up to a type of transfusion machine. This slowly and painfully restored the mako and Jenova cells Sephiroth had lost in the ritual, but too fast or too slow of a procedure was critical to correct. 

He was fragile. Human. Hojo hated seeing him like this.

Unbeknownst to the friends of the Demon of Wutai, Hojo remained at Sephiroth’s heavily medicated side. With the container, medicine and chemicals finally took their desired effects. Sephiroth wasn’t mentally present, but he refused to release the container of cells. The doctor watched achingly as the molasses of silver claimed his hair once again. Then his weakened health returned to that of a new SOLDIER. Lastly his eyes adjusted to their enhanced needles, and he let go of the container. Hojo took the box and left before Sephiroth could open his eyes.

Twenty two hours of procedure passed, and Sephiroth was finally back to himself.

Angeal and Genesis ran to his side the moment they were allowed entry. They stayed with their silver haired, cat eyed friend for the entire month it took to regain his strength. Genesis couldn’t describe the joy he felt from Sephiroth’s victory over him in the training room. 

He liked pasta. He liked reading. His eyes were saucers when he spoke about the stars.

His friend was finally back. He didn’t care about the legend or his second place reputation. His friend was back to normal. That’s all that mattered. 

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Thanks for reading!

To be continued...

Chapter List

#sephiroth #angeal hewley #ff7 angeal #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 genesis #hojo #ff7 hojo #wutai #ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ffvii #fallen silver #Fallen Silver #sometimes you just gotta write some angst

[moondirti]

← chapter four

masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.4k Summary: You learn there's more to your current planet of residence than what meets the eye. Warnings: aphrodisiacs (sex pollen), mentions of masturbation, language, dirty thoughts, discussions of consent, groping, pining, anxiety Notes: I love being evil and doing evil things. Seriously though, this chapter was a beast to write so I hope you enjoy it! For your reference, Ede is a planet of my creation. It does not exist in the Star Wars canon. If anyone knows of anything similar to it, please let me know!

There’s something wrong with Ede, and only Din seems to notice.

Perhaps, with all the frogs and strange lizards the kid ingests, he’s built an immunity to all things peculiar. Or, maybe, it’s a subset of his species to be naturally resistant to planet-borne illnesses. Din really can’t make sense of the logistics in it, but his child is just as bouncy and vibrant as ever - and as endearing as those characteristics are normally, they’re damn well exhausting given his current state. 

You. Din knows why you’re fine. Hard as you try to be regimented with those daily E-bacta shots, you’re not free of the substance’s ungovernable effects. Your wrist is almost fully healed now, yet you still haven’t made any changes to the dosage. Because not only do they keep you healthy, they leave you rejuvenated, pumped up for the gruelling training sessions Din throws at you. You’ve been able to get back up and fight after every bruise, every loss. And while you have yet to win, Din is extremely fucking impressed with how you manage to outsmart him every single time. Clever girl. He occasionally considers going easier on you too, to let you beat him; but he recognises, for as long as you’re primed the way you are, you need to be pushed to your limits. 

Honestly, with just how well the E-bacta seems to be working on you, he’s contemplated snagging a shot. But no, supplies are limited; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. You need them more than he does. 

Yeah. The helmet takes the brunt of it, anyway. He can handle the way the fog clouds his senses, if only for a little longer. It isn’t as if it instils thoughts in him he hasn’t had already. Din doesn’t need an aphrodisiac planet to think about spreading you underneath him, to crave the taste of your cunt; the sight of you does enough to him alone. But stars, does it make it infinitely harder to keep to his restrain. 

He’s a Mandalorian, as disciplined as they come. A lesser man would have caved by now, he’s sure. Be that as it may, the smallest things have been setting him off. A glimpse of your shoulder. The shape of your legs. He was sure he’d gone mad when your smile was enough to spur him as he fucked his fist late one night. It’s been a while since his last lay, sure. That isn’t the issue - it’s never been as bad as this, not since he was a teenager and saw a woman’s breasts for the first time. 

Yours trump those, though, easily. 

It had all come to a head that day in the forest. When you ran and triggered something absolutely primal within him, something that lit every suppressed urge with the scorn of a thousand suns. Over his course as a bounty hunter, Din has long since stopped relishing in the thrill of a chase. Adrenaline means nothing to him, a hindrance at the best of times - to keep a clearer head, he operates with apathy. It helps with precision, and the reputation that trails along. But when it was you he had to catch…

The instant his heart skipped a beat, Din knew he was in danger. 

And when he had you pinned to the ground soon after, he crossed a line without second thought. What’s worse, he didn’t regret it. He doesn’t. He only wishes he’d gone further, that he’d seen more of you.

‘T-That is not fair.’

No, it hadn’t been. Even if they were to get off this planet, what he’d done has permanently ruined you for him. The feel of your flesh. Your supple softness. Din, with the memory of your breast seared into his palm, is a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time before he implodes - and with the lack of control he’s had over his mind lately, he can’t have you around for that. You’d hate him.

“Hey,” Your shoe nudges his leg, dragging him back to reality. “You okay?” 

No. “Yes.” 

Din isn’t a bad liar - the modulator flattens the inconsistencies in his tone, his helmet conceals any tells. Yet still, somehow, you remain unconvinced. A brow arches quizzically, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. Firelight illuminates the planes of your face, fluttering sparks almost as bright as you. Clever, clever girl. 

“Sad ‘cause I won?” Your smile is devil-sent, devious. The things he’d do to you.

He exhales. “Sure, if you call throwing pebbles at me winning.” 

Taking a large bite of the fruit you picked, you talk through a mouthful. Din hardly registers it. “Tactical problems require tactical solutions.” Your lips are plump, highlighted with a thin sheen of juice as you chew. He wonders if they’d look that way surrounding him. 

“I’m a tactical problem?” He pitches in after a while, upon watching the way you settle into the awkward silence.

“A real menace.” You giggle in response, brushing a hand over the hovering pram near you with agonising tenderness. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 

“Hm,” Din hums absentmindedly. Tendrils of fog lace his ankles and wind up his legs. It’s almost… sentient, in the matter it encompasses him, like it’s privy to the wicked fantasies he has of you. Maybe it is - that would explain why you and the kid are so unaffected; maybe Ede can only influence those already too far gone. 

The thought is nothing revolutionary - he knows. Din knows he’s awful for feeling this way. It goes against everything the Mandalorians have ever taught him; a betrayal of his creed to lust after someone so unsuspecting. Unwilling. The guilt that eats him alive is justified - welcomed to a certain degree, a reminder not to betray the trust you have in him to remain strictly professional. He was the one that invited you to live with him, for Kriff’s sake; the least he can do is think of you with the decency you deserve.

“Y’know, the flower this fruit comes from can be used to make an extremely deadly poison. Synox, I think it’s called.” You say, eyeing the rose-coloured morsel with vapid interest. Din hums. He recognises it. “I saw it on my walk earlier… ‘Course it’s edible in this form.” 

“Couldn’t have guessed.” The wry comment pulls another laugh from you. Something foreign settles in Din’s chest. “I didn’t know medical academies taught so much about poison.” 

“If they did, I couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t the best student.” And though you shake your head with all the vulnerability of an honest woman, the Mandalorian doesn’t believe you. It’s difficult to imagine a world in which you aren’t the smartest person in the room. “An old friend mentioned it once, is’all.” 

“An old friend,” It’s not quite a question any more than it is an open-ended interrogation, founded in concern over the vacant tone that’s wormed its way into your voice. He isn’t blind; he sees the subtle hesitation in your admittance, the recoil of your shoulders at a memory he isn’t informed on. Disappointment latches on to him at the sway this one individual has on you. For all the likeliness that it isn’t a former lover, he knows it very well could be. Discomfort swells in him at the prospect; he tells himself it’s the fog. 

Your gaze flutters to him. You’re smiling again - it feels forced. “Shocked to find I have other friends, Mando? I’m not that insufferable.” 

Other friends. Other friends. Was he… one of them too? 

The fruit is nothing but its core now, a fat seed with rough edges. You poke a hole in it with the wooden dagger you use for sparring practice, then bury the pit in overturned dirt. Din watches you, tracing the curve of your hip when you bend, the dainty motions of your fingers while you work. His cock throbs from behind the confines of his pants, semi-hard already and leaking steadily, preparing him solely for the embrace of his own hand later. A stone lodges itself in his throat - uncomfortable, much like the rest of him - and he thinks of ploughing into your tight cunt instead. You’d soak the front of him, moaning his name in between choked gasps and whimpers. Fuck, he can almost hear it, the way your skin would clap as he pistons his hips against the softness of your thighs, his nose buried between your tits, fucking you open.

His Doc. His clever girl. He’d ruin you.

“Mando?” 

He needs to get out of here. 

When he stands, his armour clunks clumsily at the speed with which he moves. You’re still on your knees, about face level with his crotch, and he thanks the Maker that you worriedly peer up at him instead of surveying the evidence of his arousal. You look so good like this, he could just grab your hair and–

“Need to run a perimeter check. Watch the kid.” The excuse is half-assed; unbelievable because, in the two week’s they’ve been on Ede, there have been no signs of life larger than the occasional bug or amphibian. You don’t question it, though, just frowning solemnly at him. In his mind, that’s infinitely worse. 

But he can’t stick around. Not when you look so fucking divine; all glass, smooth edges, burning over the hot coals of his desire. Not with the way your brows furrow slightly, neck stretched and elongated as your head tips back to drink him in. You’re lovely, gentle, and you’re always there - always so perfect at supporting him. Blood rushes from his head, he can feel his heartbeat at his brow; he wants you. And the fog filters through his helmet, wafting up his nose, dimming his reasoning. It tells him to do it, lift your face to his and devour you completely, to suck in your precious moans when he stuffs his cock into you. But no, no. He can’t.

Not when he risks hurting you. 

With a stiff nod, Din marches off.

The chronometer ticks metrically, consistent in its sole function. To you, in your anxious state, its rhythm gains speed with every minute you wait. Dawn emerges on the horizon, and you haven’t slept, trapped in silence with the debilitating tangent conceived three hours ago.

The Mandalorian has been gone for the better part of the night, and there has yet to be any sign of his return. 

Initially, with the way he stormed off, you figured you’d leave him to his own devices, at least until he came down from whatever temperament he was in. It isn’t your first rodeo, after all; Mando is moody on his best days, withdrawn and reticent with what he feels. You like to think that your relationship has progressed past that point, but with the unaddressed tension between you nowadays, you aren’t too sure. That’s fine, though. Really. He’s kept you around for long enough that you’re close to confident he won’t leave you stranded on the next planet. The ease your group has settled into is more than enough reassurance that he doesn’t despise you – so when Mando left you by the fire, you’d shrugged off his bullshit lie and carried on with your night. 

During the first hour, you massaged the taut muscles in your back and practised your kicks. As Mando had you on strict orders not to target tree trunks (“You’ll disfigure your leg.”), you fashioned a dummy using a duffel bag, old rags, rope and duct tape. You’d started with the roundhouse, likely because of the impression it made when your bounty hunter had seized and repositioned your ‘lazy’ stance while teaching you. His words rang clear in your head: load your weight onto your back leg, step around forty-five degrees towards your target, swing your upper body for momentum, lift, pivot your hip and kick. Progress was slow - you were kind of glad Mando wasn’t around to see. Your first few tries on the makeshift dummy had hurt, the impact reverberating up your tibia and throwing you back on your ass, but then you realised your mistake in using your foot. Your shin is sturdier, supported by denser bones. When you had adjusted accordingly, your kicks had more sway, despite hurting just as bad. Soaked in sweat, you’d considered it a victory all the same, thrilled to tell Mando the news. 

At the second hour, you began with your nightly routine. The system was one you’ve adapted for everyone’s convenience; after tucking the child into his hammock, you’d be the first to shower. Mando always preferred to wait until you were asleep anyway, as to avoid the risk of you walking in. And, despite his absence, you stuck to the familiarity. It wasn’t a prolonged ordeal - the water on Nevarro was scalding by cause of the lava plains, so you’re accustomed to quick washes. In no later than ten minutes, you padded out in a plain shirt and compression pants. There wasn’t much else to do afterwards - on any other day, you would’ve gone to bed - but something told you to wait until the Mandalorian came back. To occupy yourself in the meantime, you had laid out your remaining supplies to take inventory. There was a disturbing lack of E-bacta (that couldn’t have been you, could it?) as well as gauze, so you made a list of items that needed replenishing. The mindless chore gave you ample time to overthink, and it was then that the doubt crept up on you. ‘Do perimeter checks usually take two hours?’ 

All throughout hour three, you spiralled into a well of crushing concern. While re-organising the chaotic wire work along the Crest, you wondered what could be taking Mando so long. Had you said something to upset him? Maker, you hadn’t even pondered that possibility; you had just let him go with little care or issue. The thought made you sick. If he was upset, then it’d be on you. Worse - if he was hurt, it’s on account of your negligence. Fuck, what was wrong with you, have you not grown? You’d made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t let loose again, not after what had happened last time. And for all your efforts to distract yourself, your father’s palish, blue-tinged face haunted you; there as you fixed the hatch, singed into the back of your eyelids while you polished the floor. You were a sitting duck, dizzy and only half-mindful of just how little you were doing. 

Now, it’s a bit off of three hours since the Mandalorian’s absence. You’re covered in a parka, clutching your way-too-bulky blaster with one trembling hand and surveying your chrono on the other. The ramp is open in front of you, a morning chill drifting through to take up residence in the hull. You’re unsure if the way your nose stings is due to the cold or the threatening onslaught of tears you’re keeping at bay. 

“Two minutes, Mando. You have two minutes to come back or I swear to the mighty sister above I’ll find and kill you myself.” The waver in your whisper betrays the hysteria surging within you. You can admit it to yourself here, in this chasm of dread, alone with only the chirp of far off birds and background drone of the Crest - you’re fucking worried for him. 

Time passes. Your resolve weakens. The crack of a twig catches your rapt attention; nothing becomes of it. You squeeze your eyes shut, and draw in a long breath.

Then, you move. 

You follow the trail of sunken footprints in mud. They aren’t hard to miss; the hunter wears heavy duty combat boots and weighs double the average man - courtesy of his beskar; even rain couldn’t easily corrode the path he’d made. What’s more, any low hanging branches or leaves have been wacked out of place, broken off at their arms somewhat violently - if you’re to go by their splintered ends. It occurs to you that, based on the evident wreckage, the Mandalorian must have been frustrated upon leaving camp. You fidget nervously to expel the guilt that returns at the thought. 

The forest is dark, the light from the rising sun barely filtering through its thick canopy. Chewing your lip, you try to orient yourself amidst the panic. The fog is always thicker in the morning, coming well above eye-level and shortening your sightline significantly. You stumble over fallen logs, slip on mossy rocks. At some point, you start to notice the faint floral aroma present in the air. Has that smell always been here?

Great, you’re losing it. Gulping, you breathe through the tears brimming along your waterline. ‘Relax,’ you tell yourself, ‘have a little faith’. Mando has lived this long without you hanging over his shoulder, he’s more than capable of warding off any dangers that come his way. Still, that reckless urge is back, the one you’d battled with when the pirates had attacked - the need to protect him. You want him to know it; he doesn’t have to rely on himself anymore, you’re here for him now. Trekking through an uncharted, abandoned forest with a blaster you’ve never been taught to use, wandering into a fight you wouldn’t be able to win. Should you even be expecting one? No, you’re looking for your lost companion, that’s all. That’s it. Mando is fine; you are too. Your palms are damp with perspiration, and the beginnings of a migraine pounds at your temple, but you’re okay. 

Some protector you are.

The continuous buzz of the Crest’s machinery has faded by now, and the once distinct footprints are a confused mess, disorderly with the way they impede on one another, turning in circles. It’s completely unlike Mando - too tumultuous to be a trail he made in sound mind - but it is, you’re sure of it, you hadn’t lost sight of the prints for more than a second. Shivering, you squat to gain a closer look. It’s only then you pick up on the foreign articles that litter the area, like tiny little balls with thorns all along their surfaces. A bullet of adrenaline shoots through you. Bugs? No. Seeds. They’ve been around for the past few metres. 

A horrifying suspicion arises. This entire time, you’ve been distraught over the idea that a person intercepted and attacked him. You hadn’t even paused to note the dangers nature posed; if perhaps Mando had fallen into a pit, been attacked by an animal or grown susceptible to poison. Ede is an uncharted planet, the closest one you were able to land on post attack. Camp is safe, but there’s no way of knowing whether the rest of the world is. 

Stupid, stupid. You waited so long to come out and find him when time can mean the difference between life or death. The gravity of your predicament comes crashing down, devastating in its weight. Where the fuck are you even going? The prints mean nothing here, the forest floor is unruly, roots winding amidst soil, disrupting leaves and tiny plants. They could have been made by anything; gone is the telltale pattern of Mando’s sole’s, missing is the pace of his regular gait. You’ve been grasping at straws and wasting precious time. 

You stop for a moment's respite, hyperventilating. While trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible, you quickly realise none of it is enough. This isn’t working, that’s been established. None of this is helping Mando. You need to steel yourself and think with a clear head. Yeah, just… Just ground yourself. 

The earth is solid underneath you. If you focus, you can feel the way it pushes back against the pressure you put on it. Your blaster is cool, the metal comforting in how familiar it is. You imagine it’s Mando, that you’re running your thumb over the curve of his pauldron. There’s a rustle of leaves, the thundering rush of a waterfall, a faint groaning. And there’s the tick of your chrono, constant and unchanging. The flowery aroma has grown richer now, shifting in and out of reach with the swirling mist. Can Mando smell it too, through that helmet of his? Can he indulge in the details of life; smell, taste, sound?

Sound. 

A faint groaning. 

You perk up, holding your breath, trying to pinpoint its source. They’re overshadowed by the ambience of the forest, but they’re there, hidden between lulls in the wind. It’s coming from your… You wait again, forcing all your mental strength into concentrating. Left. It’s coming from your left, in the same direction of a babbling brook.

It’s the best hope you’ve got. 

At once, you start on your new path, half-running to your best ability on the rough terrain. It’s like your mind goes silent, laser-focused on this localised objective. Get to the groaning’s source. There’s no time to second-guess yourself, you can’t afford to temporise; whether or not it’s coming from Mando, there’s only one way to find out. So, you jog, readjusting yourself when the sound veers away from right in front of you. Your ankle bends far too often on account of your clumsiness, and your pounding heart threatens to drown any external noises out. Your desperate search lacks all the elegance of a seasoned predator - someone like Mando, who’s been doing this long enough to earn his stealth. You don’t let the foolishness of it disrupt you, though; it can’t matter to you, not when something far more frightening awaits. 

The pained sounds have gotten louder now. You don’t really need to strain to hear them anymore - they find you. You stumble blindly forwards, squinting - trying to catch a glint of his armour, the squelch of blood-soaked earth beneath your boots - any indication that it is, in fact, Mando you’re chasing and not some wounded creature. The trees are larger here than they are at camp, triple your width, and crowd each other like wires in a chain-link fence. You should be wary; but common sense dictates that it’s safer than out in the open, where you can be attacked from any angle.  

Your foot stubs against another stubborn obstacle, and you bite back a scream of frustration. These fucking roots are the worst; they weave into the ground and jump up at you when you least expect it. You can already feel the blisters forming on your toes as a result, and you have half a mind to punt this one if it wasn’t for Mando’s advice against it. 

You’re grateful you don’t, though, because when you move to step over it, a cold grip wraps around your ankle. 

And you just… know. 

Your skin prickles with the atmospheric shift; you can smell it - that musk, leather and spice. The fog blocks any chance you might have in confirming your beliefs - the forest floor all hazy - but your brain short-circuits like it does only in his presence, and you know. 

“Mando?” You whine down at your calf. 

Your name comes back to you. It’s broken, choked between ragged croaks. 

Sobbing, you fall to your knees, crawling over to the other side of the body slumped up against a trunk. His gloved hand remains at your ankle, unbearably tight. There’s something off about the way his fingers press into your skin, like you’re clay he can easily mould; honestly, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s here. It’s him. You weren’t aware your shoulders were as stiff as they were until they slump at the sight of that T-shaped visor, a black void so comforting to you it’s hard to imagine you were once scared of it. There’s a man behind the helmet - one so unexpectedly gentle, somewhat awkward and so fucking reckless. 

“W-What happ– Stars, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Your hands are everywhere all at once, smoothing down his arms, poking around his abdomen. You check for blood or sore spots that’d make him cringe. When you don’t find any, your agitation booms; maybe he is poisoned. You… you can’t help him if he is, not until you get back to the Crest. “Fuck– I’m s-so stupid, I should’ve brought–”

“Nghh, g…” He sounds hurt, but he doesn’t look it. There’s no open wound anywhere, he isn’t shivering with the chills of toxicants. He’s still strong, evident in the way he holds onto you. So, why is he lying before you like a dying man? Why do you taste desperation saturating the space between you?

“Hu–Huh? Mando, hey, tell me what’s wrong.” You squeak, shoving two fingers under his cowl, beneath his helmet to check on his pulse. It’s faster than it ought to be. Shit, and for someone who was out all night, he’s heating up. The fabric of his cape is fully soaked with sweat, peppered with those spiky seeds. You have no idea what this could be; he shouldn’t be sick, his mask prevents that. “Please.”

Mando lets out an aggrieved moan. “G-Go. You need to– to leave…” 

“Are you insane?” You whisper-shout, the consonants hissed between your teeth. He’s not in his right mind. You need to get to the Razor Crest, to the medisensor and your supplies. That’s your only option. Decisively, you yank your leg back from his clutches and pull at his arm. Mando doesn’t budge. “Get up! C’mon. I need to get you back,” 

“Fuck– you–” He moans hoarsely, head falling back. “C-Clever girl. Need… Need you– mmfh— need you to get away.” 

The moniker catching you off guard, your efforts cease for a moment. No, not now. Whatever game he’s playing at, you’ll deliberate later. Forget how the praise sounds coming from him, his voice husky and rough. Forget about it. “Nuh-uh. No way, bud, get up. Let’s go home.” 

“Home,” It’s spoken softly. You exploit the vulnerability. 

“Yes, yes, home. Where it’s safe, where I can help.” 

His hips roll before his thighs spread, a leg bending at the knee. When his foot digs into the ground, you manage to pull him up onto his feet. Hurriedly, you lay his arm across your shoulders, wrapping yours around his waist. He’s heavy, but aside from the occasional stagger, Mando doesn’t put his full weight upon you. 

“You have to work with me, okay? We’re walking back to the ship, so stay conscious, please.” 

“Sound– Sound so… pretty when you beg.” Warmth pools into your cheeks. Dismissing it, you begin to retrace your steps. Mando trudges along, his voice weak when he speaks again. “Can’t stop thinking of you.” 

Ignore it. Your tummy blazes with the flattery, but it’s not real. He doesn’t understand what he’s saying. This… thing that’s gotten into him has the added element of psychosis, you’re sure. You reflect on what you know can do that instead of on your trickling desire. An agent that hinders the senses, perhaps. Or a brain-eating amoeba of some sort. 

Your heart stops. Fuck, why would you even think that. 

If possible, you push Mando harder, conscious of the way his hold tightens on you. 

The carnage you left in your wake trying to find your companion makes for a convenient trail back to the Crest. Even so, it’s a miracle the two of you reach it for all your combined impairments; Mando’s hardly cognizant by the end - a string of hushed groans filter out of his vocoder, an added indication he’s not yet dead as he stumbles beside you. You imagine your complicated mix of panic and lust doesn’t help either; as much as you want to focus on all the means through which you can help him, his wandering hands keep pulling your attention away. It seems the only thing you could centre on is how strange it feels. Save for when he fondled you to gain an upper hand in your spar, Mando is not a physical person, deliberate or not. His touch grazing up your back is abnormal in all the right ways, a scene pulled straight from one of your fantasies.

Naturally, this happens to worry you even further. 

You’d made sure to activate the ship’s ground safety patrols for the sleeping child before you left. In the time it takes you to disable them, it’s like Mando’s torment triples. He clings to you now, his body hunched over so his helmet can rest atop your shoulder. With how his arms are wrapped around you, you can feel every uneven breath he takes, his muscles jolting as if the action pains him. Or maybe it does.

You wriggle loose, dodging his embrace yet still supporting his weight. The sudden lack of warmth is sobering; you strive not to think about how nice it’d been. “We need to get you inside. Can you climb for me?” You ask, keeping your inquiry gentle as you guide him to the base of the ramp.

“Yes.” His words are restrained – not tense, but something a little more savage. 

“Come on then. That’s it, yeah, that’s good.” And aside from the way he tips forward, Mando manages to make it up into the hull with relative ease. A shred of anxiety ebbs at that; he’s doing okay so far. It’s an encouraging sign. 

“Let… Let me–” He starts, protesting as you help him down onto the ground. 

“No. Just stop moving, I need to figure out what’s wrong.” You’re firm. His stunted motions still at the conviction evident in your tone, but he’s just as stubborn despite the stutter in his response. 

“Nothing’s w-wrong, clever girl.” 

“You’re burning up and you can barely function, Mando. Don’t lie to me.” Cutting him off before he has the chance to say much else, you hustle around the hull, locating the medisensor just as you set down your blaster by your makeshift couch. As much as you despise it, you clearly can’t deduce the problem on your own. You’ll need the hand-held diagnostic scanner for that prior to starting treatment. 

But when you point it at the Mandalorian, it draws at a blank. 

The glowing screen flashes a few times more down at the hunk of steel situated against a wall, seemingly as perplexed as you are. On the side are a list of his symptoms – fever, migraine, nausea – but the main box dedicated to the diagnoses is empty. 

“You useless son of a–” 

“Told… you…” 

“Are you just… sick? Is that it?” Doubt creeps up. It’s in you to overthink; maybe you’ve blown this out of proportion. 

“No.” He uses the floor to push himself into a precarious stand. You’re right by him when he dangerously sways, propping him up by his chest. “Jus’ let– let me use the r-refresher, okay?” 

“Mando-” 

“You don’t u-understand,” Your heart twinges in mild offence. Regardless, you nod. He’s right. You can’t make sense of the situation. You’ve done your part in getting him home fine, but until he’s willing to tell you what else you can do, you’re purposeless. 

“Okay, okay. But I’m staying right here. Shout if you need anything.” You scold, walking him to the refresher door. His visor turns to take you in, the intensity in his solid-black stare startling. It stretches the longer the pause, gorging on your vulnerability, and suddenly, you’re all too aware of everything wrong with you. You hadn’t thought to wipe the tear tracks on your cheeks; your hair is a frizzy mess; your parka is stiflingly hot along your collar, sweat beading down your forehead.

Mando shakes his head minutely. “Don’t… answer me if I do.” 

Your expression drops. “What?” 

But he’s already limping through the refresher door, unfastening the front of his cowl. You barely catch a glimpse of his neck before it whirrs shut.

The datapad flashes from its place on your lap, your legs crossed underneath it and pulled close for comfort. In your proximity to the refresher, the artificial rain of the shower is clear, pitter-pattering upon durasteel floors. The Mandalorian has been in there for a remarkably long time. Like you, his washes are usually militaristic in length, and if it wasn’t for the splashes he makes as he shifts, this prolonged interlude might be a cause for concern. 

As it stands, though, you’re doing the best you can. Mando’s datapad is outdated and horribly inefficient - it’s been loading this page for the better part of five minutes now - but it works for what you need to do. After he shut you out, you’d decided you wouldn’t wait until he recovers; curiosity and concern dictate you find the source of his malady, if only to be prepared should something happen. 

So, here you are, researching Ede on the galactic planetary index. In contrast to Arkanis or Chandrila, both planets with a rich history, there’s practically nothing on the one you’re stationed on. Basic facts about its climate, the fauna – its natives live high on the mountains, which explains the lack of life you’ve encountered so far. You’re just about to jump to the section on planetary borne illness when something captures your attention. 

‘Markedly, Edians choose to stay well above ground level to avoid the fog that pervades through Ede’s forests during mating season. For more information, refer to section 4.’

Everything highlighted so far you’ve been able to discern based on experience; the rain is a water-based compound, rouge-tinted fruits are safe to eat, the blue ones are not. The fog, though - you hadn’t noticed anything wrong with the fog. It’s annoying at the worst of times, disadvantageous to your vision, but nothing dangerous. Certainly nothing that warrants as great of an adaptation as colony relocation. Worrying your lip, you tap on the redirection to section four.

‘Ede’s Aphrodisiac Nature.’

Your stomach sinks. 

‘During the first 5 standard months of its rotation, Ede enters its mating season, where its climate shifts and the flora release stimulants to encourage fauna to reproduce. Not much else is known of this phenomenon, save for its common contributors, including but not limited to the previously mentioned fog and philein seeds.” 

A photo of the latter is attached; a little sphere with thorns along its surface. Something sparks in your memory. You think back on it, trying to pinpoint the hazy recognition. Was it something you pried from within the kid’s mouth? No, if he had eaten one, he’d be just as sick right now. It’s something else, your intuition gnaws at you. 

It occurs to you then. They were there, the seeds, on the ground as you tracked Mando down, attached to the pills of his cape. 

And then the mental blockade frees, cold realisation flooding in. 

It explains the unaddressed tension whenever he was around. The incident in the forest that had struck you as incredibly peculiar at the time. All the sweet nicknames and husky compliments. Fuck. Fuck. Of course he isn’t interested in you. Only a fool would connect the dots this late. 

A hope you didn’t know you held diminishes right as your name echoes from within the refresher. 

You’re on your feet in a second, reeling like a guilty child caught doing something naughty. You’re unsure why – nothing has changed since before your discovery; Mando is stable, the two of you have remained friendly. But the heat of his touch returns like it never left, grazing up your back, rounding at your shoulder. You can almost feel the sensation of his palm kneading your breast, digging into the tender flesh and holding it for the smallest second. All of it had meant so much to you – a possibility that the attraction you felt wasn’t so one-sided. But it was nothing, entailed nothing. 

Your name comes again, broken. You don’t want to ask, you lack the strength it takes to, but you’re sworn to a creed much like the Mandalorian’s. As a physician, you’ve promised to seek and aid all ailments in face of personal bias. As his medic, you owe him as much for the protection and shelter he gives you in return. 

As his friend, you hate to see him in pain. 

Hesitantly, you approach the door to the refresher. Upon closing in, you pick up on the fainter sounds you’d missed. The water still runs, but there’s the purr of the heater just below, working overtime given the length of the shower, accompanied by loud reverberations as bottles hit the floor. The commotion is jarring, shaking you as you listen in for any indication of Mando’s well-being. 

It comes in the form of long, drawn out moans, hoarse and desperate.

Shit. 

However you’re able to muster the strength to speak is a mystery. The words are dense on your tongue, molasses, sticky with angst. “M-Mando? Are you… Are you doing okay?” 

The other side goes quiet. In the lull, you notice a distinct absence of something you hadn’t caught onto before. Slick slaps of something. Soap falling to the floor, maybe. Or… skin on skin. Your legs press together at the mental image that surfaces.

“It hurts,” The whine is so unlike him, a little clearer than his voice usually is and closer to any admission of defeat you’ve heard from him. Your heart aches. This isn’t just hard on you. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Your ear presses into the metal wall separating you. His moans have devolved into hushed breaths now that you’re listening - you almost wish they hadn’t. 

What comes next transgresses any expectation you have of his answer. You half assumed he’d reject your nagging completely and stay silent. Another part of you felt he’d walk out, good as new, to prove you wrong. The concession that comes is beyond concrete reasoning and hypothesis. No educated guess can predict Mando’s next words. 

“Y-Yes, come in.”

You choke on your saliva, coughing violently. 

It’s so startling, in fact, that it grounds you back to your senses. 

It is so contrary of Mando to seek this out in you. You’re no idiot, you can comprehend what your offer must sound like to him in this state. Like you were asking for permission, consent. And though he admitted defeat and invited you in to join him, nothing in this can be consensual. He was hardly sane when you’d found him, and you’re sure he can’t have gotten any better since then – because now he’s calling you when he explicitly told you not to answer, and it’s so fucking deviant to the resolution he’d made. So far from the man who kept you at arms length until you touched down on this Maker-forsaken planet, who has the will of a nerf, who does not want you in the way you want him.

And you can’t take advantage of that. 

You rush to pull out your supplies. You won’t help him, not in the way he’s asking you to, but you can make this a little easier. Yeah, two tablets of pharmaceutical-grade antibiotics should mitigate his other symptoms. You’ll keep an eye out for him afterwards but he’ll be fine, this will mull over. No long-lasting side effects were mentioned in your research, after all. 

You knock the refresher door. “Listen. I’m gonna come in and give you these two pills. I’ll keep my eyes closed and turn off the lights for extra measure.” 

You wait for any acknowledgement. A grunt is all you get. 

Gulping, you brace yourself, screwing your eyes shut and holding onto the medication with an iron grip. 

You’re met with a sickening gust of steam as you enter. The air is practically liquid with how humid the room is, hot water vapour pouring into your senses. You’re sure you won’t be able to see even if you do open your eyes, but you keep yourself on a leash, self-devised instructions repeating like a mantra in your mind. Give him the meds and leave. Give him the meds and leave. Get yourselves off this planet. Just give him the meds and leave.

Muscle memory alone ensures you’re able to find the light switch to turn it off. Your eyelids darken with the lack of light, somehow making it harder to navigate. Your free hand is outstretched in front of you, bumping into various surfaces before it manages to meet the cold glass partition to the shower. 

“Can you move? I’ll hand you the antibiotics.” Your voice is shaky

“C-Can’t…” Comes the bated reply. 

Stars, okay. Okay, that’s fine. That just means you’ll have to get in there with him and… and…

“A-Alright. I’ll come to you,” Your fingers slip against condensation as you slide open the barrier. They twitch uncontrollably, but whether it’s in trepidation or eagerness, you don’t know. The cloying heat doubles within this contained area; you’re thankful for the water that beats down on you for the way it washes away your perspiration. 

“Down here.” Mando rasps, leading you to find him positioned up on the floor. You squat, careful not to touch any part of him when you extend your hand.

“H-Here, right in front of you,” You choke out, wound tightly in on yourself. His fever is palpable even with your distance, the warmth permeating the space between you. It’s a welcome break from the beskar he usually wears. 

Something constricts in your chest, and it dawns on you again - probably entirely too late - that the Mandalorian is naked. Even though you knew he’d be. And of course he is. He doesn’t shower with the fucking armour on, but you’d blocked the idea off. Until now. Now, it’s real, and tangible, and so, so close. You can touch him, should you please. He needs you to. 

‘But he doesn’t want you to,’ you remind yourself, ‘not really.’

You stay in place until Mando’s inaction becomes too much to bear. He hasn’t taken the pills off you yet. The shower rains down on you, thoroughly soaking your hair, causing your leggings to cling to you like a second skin. 

You inch closer. His thigh grazes your knee.

Closer. The space grows tighter. 

Closer still. His head is within your reach, hot breaths fanning across your neck. 

Then, Mando’s ungloved hand spreads up your waist. Through the wet material of your shirt, the callouses and scars he’s earned over the years greet you. Your forearm comes to rest lightly atop his chest. The pills start to dissolve in your palm. 

Your cunt weeps, throbbing in need, and you determine to make this quick. Boldly, rashly, you search for his mouth. You accidentally meet his cheek instead, a rough stubble peppering the expanse of it. Your fingertips trace the pinpricks down to a pronounced chin, then up, up, finding the bump of his lips with little else than a spluttered gasp. 

When you push the medication onto his tongue, it vibrates with a guttural moan. His mouth is impossibly hotter than he is, like buttered silk along your skin. His touch roams along you as the muscle does much the same, swirling between your digits, tasting the desire that undoubtedly drips from your fingertips. Maker, he’s an expert with it; you have to bite back the desperate whine his ministrations inspire. Because you can’t. You can’t.

It takes every atom in you to pull away. Your entire body complains, seizing with unrestrained lust, and it’s hard to remember why exactly you want to be anywhere but here. Your core, your gut, your heart; they’re all set on the compelling Mandalorian in front of you. But there’s a tiny voice that manages to scream louder than all else. It convinces you that this isn’t fair, what you’re doing to him – and it’s right. Every single dream and reverie you’ve pondered on had included Mando as an active participant, either the instigator or sober partner to your filth. And sure, his actions may be disproving you at the moment, but what happens when he comes to his senses? When he remembers how you had let him fuck you when he was so clearly ill? 

You can’t do that to him. 

So, you peel his hand off from where it nips at your thigh and carefully move away. You’ve opened your eyes at some point, yet you still can’t see, the room shrouded in perpetual darkness. Consequently, your remaining senses heighten, and you’re able to step further back when Mando moans out an incoherent protest and reaches for you. If he pulls you back, you don’t think you’d be able to leave again.  

“Mesh’la… Cle-Clever girl, please.” His leg knocks yours. You give his calf a reassuring squeeze. 

“I… I can’t, Mando.” He’s the sick one, but a cry escapes you all the same. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Just hang in there.” 

And, despite the way both him and your body howl at you, you leave him like that.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #pedro pascal #baby yoda #grogu #fanfiction #series #angst #smut #fluff #The Remedy #reader insert #friends to lovers #sorry for this one everybody

[liminalmemories21]

9 Books To Read in 2024

tagged by @jesuisici33. Thank you!

In release date order:

1- Holly Black - The Prisoner's Throne

After the shocking events of The Stolen Heir, Prince Oak is in deeper trouble than ever before. As his situation grows more precarious, Oak is desperate to find a way out, before all of Elfhame is caught in the coming storm.

I love pretty much anything Holly Black writes, but I particularly love the Folk of the Air series. I'm a sucker for a good dark faerie court drama.

2 - K Ancrum - Icarus

Icarus Gallagher is a thief. He steals priceless art and replaces it with his father’s impeccable forgeries. For years, one man—the wealthy Mr. Black—has been their target in revenge for his role in the death of Icarus’s mother. To keep their secret, Icarus adheres to his own strict rules to keep people, and feelings, at bay: Don’t let anyone close. Don’t let anyone touch you. And, above all, don’t get caught.

Hi yes, I am predictable.

3 - EK Johnston - Pretty Furious

In the small town of Eganston, Ontario, five good girls have had enough. They’ve experienced the best of what their community has to offer, but they’ve seen the darker side too. Together, they’ve decided that it’s time for a reckoning and that justice is their privilege to give.

If you have not read her earlier novel Exit Pursued by a Bear, go read it. It is so angry, but also so beautifully about healing and friendship.

4 - Leigh Bardugo - The Familiar

Set in the Spanish Golden Age, during a time of high‑stakes political intrigue and glittering wealth, The Familiar follows Luzia, a servant in the household of an impoverished Spanish nobleman who reveals a talent for little miracles. Her social‑climbing mistress demands Luzia use her gifts to win over Madrid’s most powerful players but what begins as simple amusement takes a dangerous turn. Luzia will need to use every bit of her wit and will to survive—even the help of Guillén Santángel, an immortal familiar whose own secrets could prove deadly for them both.

I like most things Leigh Bardugo writes, so curious about this.

5 - Tess Sharpe - The Girl in Question

Four teens. Three henchmen. Two thousand acres of remote forest. One very bad man. And a whole lot of new secrets to unearth. The unmissable, thrilling follow-up to The Girls I've Been.

First go read The Girls I've Been. Then Five Times We Almost Kissed. Then Barb Wire Heart. Tess Sharpe is such a fantastic writer - and the heart of her books is always people making the best choices they can when none of the choices are good or easy. Also, Barb Wire Heart is kind of like if S2 of Justified had been about the women.

6 - Anna-Marie McLemore - Flawless Girls

The Soler sisters are infamous in polite society—brazen, rebellious, and raised by their fashionable grandmother who couldn’t care less about which fork goes where. But their grandmother also knows the standards that two Latina young ladies will be held to, so she secures them two coveted places at the Alarie House, a prominent finishing school that turns out first ladies, princesses, and socialites.

Younger sister Isla is back home within a day. She refuses to become one of the eerily sweet Alarie girls in their prim white dresses. Older sister Renata stays. When she returns months later, she’s unfailingly pleasant, unnervingly polite, and, Isla discovers, possibly murderous. And the same night she returns home, she vanishes.

I will read anything they write. No questions asked. They're books are always so gorgeous and lush.

7 - Kristin Cashore - There is a Door in This Darkness

Wilhelmina Hart is part of the infamous class of 2020. Her high school years began with the election of Donald Trump and they ended with COVID. Now Wilhelmina, like so many of her peers, is in limbo, having deferred college because of the pandemic. Compounding the national trauma of 2016 to 2020, Wilhelmina has wrestled with the devastating loss of one of her three beloved aunts shortly after the 2016 election. This is a loss she felt so keenly that she’s spent the last years deep in her personal depression, only obscured by the seemingly endless waves of national trauma. Now on the cusp on the most consequential election in living memory, Wilhelmina may have found a door in her darkness and perhaps the courage to pass through it, if she can decipher the bizarre messages that keep appearing in her life.

I love Kristin Cashore's Graceling novels, so I'm curious about this.

8 - Jennifer Lynn Barnes - The Grandest Game

Seven tickets. An island of dreams. The chance of a lifetime.

Welcome to the Grandest Game, an annual competition run by billionaire Avery Grambs and the four infamous Hawthorne brothers, whose family fortune she inherited. Designed to give anyone a shot at fame and fortune, this year's game requires one of seven golden tickets to enter. With millions on the line, those seven players will do whatever it takes to win.

Is this series a little silly? Sure. Is it a lot of fun. Yes. Kind of like a grown up Westing Game.

9 - Margaret Owen - Holy Terrors

third book in the Little Thieves series - which on the surface is a heist story about what if the protagonist of the Goose Girl was the servant not the princess. And at it's heart is about recovering from trauma and loss, and learning how to let yourself be someone different. 

tagging @lemonlyman-dotcom, @ladytessa74, and @strandnreyes

#book recs

[sirenoma]

I continued watching Foster's Home, and currently stopped at episode 10 of the second season (I will watch the next episodes of course).

Remember when I said the authors realize what they do, how they do it, what limits they have and what limits they can get around? Well, at the beginning of this season, they went wild. The candy drug allusion, the Big Lebowski (one of the episode named as "The Big Lablooski") and Donald Trump reference, fucking Bendy, Cheese (I expected worse, but overall he's just silly, nothing more) and THE SIXTH EPISODE OF SECOND SEASON - THIS IS JUST THE PICK.

It's the exact moment when you realize that the writers of the cartoon are trolls, and squeeze so much Spanish embarrassment out of a common misunderstanding, so much cringe, that it was definitely purposeful to have exactly those emotions in the viewer.

Plot of this episode is simple: Frankie thanks Mac at the beginning of the episode for his help with the paperwork at Foster's Home, and goes on friday night with her friends.

By the way, this is the episode with the two beautiful and atypical Frenky's looks.

This is simple and hot tho, I understand why everybody likes draw her like that on artworks.

Mac, on the other hand, takes the thanks as a love compliment, and the next day Frankie says she fell in love with the guy (of course it's not Mac or Blue, or other two appearing characters, this is an other guy, that's probably understandable, but I'd like to clarify things in this post) last night, and it begins... Basically there's conflict based on the misunderstanding of Frankie's words and "who is the Frankie's boyfriend by the way" between Mac and Blue, and the characters that appears in episode. And then in a middle of episode or near to the end of it - the next location of the episode happens. I wanted to break and blow up a wall of my not so imagination home from Spanish embarrassment while watching this whole episode. It's not bad, it's just... YOU FEEL THAT. You feel like everything's slipping into the wrong place. Authors really captured that feel, when you see stupids who misunderstood things and awkward shit happens.

(when awkward shit happens - I recommend you to wear a heavy armor helmet, example portrayed on this picture, tank is optional, forest isn't necessary)

You thought this episode is gonna be cute or not so cringe? Well FUCK YOU, WE WILL DESTROY YOU IN AND OUTSIDE! This episode is "really goes hard". The authors are geniuses and trolls for making me quite suffer from cringe or feel this ULTRA awkwardness. Good job... I guess?

Maybe I'm just too sensitive for awkward and cringe moments and things in films, cartoons, videogames, media, especially with the characters that I like. Sometimes I realize that I'm somehow sensitive to awkwardness in media, and I start curling up in a bucket because of the cringe. I'm trying to cope with that awkward stuff, and I started successfully to cope with it recently, but this time - cringe beat me.

And that's not bad! It shows that authors know how to make you feel the way they want to, and they can be proud of their job (but cringe is still with me).

So that's why I'm going to continue watching Foster's Home (I would anyway).

#foster's home for imaginary friends #currently watching #frankie foster #cartoon #2000s cartoons #cartoon network #craig mccracken