#everyone should listen to maintenance phase

[failfemme]

you listen to a podcast about like the myth of the obesity crisis, right? what was it called again? it sounded good! (sorry if I'm mistaking you for someone else lol)

yeah, that’s me!!! the podcast is called maintenance phase, and it is so good!!!! (obvs cw for talk about fatphobia and dieting and etc.)

#a huffpost article about the myth of the obesity crisis has been circulating on here and that’s actually by one of the hosts #everyone should listen to maintenance phase

[raediation]

For a while I’ve wanted to write a fairy tail about a kingdom obsessed with using glamours to change their appearances, but the great secret is that the magic comes at a great cost to their vitality. Their princess, having watched her mother succumb to the glamour’s negative effects, refuses them. The mage who creates the glamours puts a curse on her so that an embodiment of her insecurities follows her around, whispering to her, wearing her down so that she gives in. She, instead, decides to leave on a quest to find a way to lift the curse.

Her name is Wenmarie.

#my art #fairy tale #anti fatphobia #antidiet #body posititivity #it’s a not so vailed allegory for beauty standards and unhealthy expectations in the name of being healthy ie thin #like i listened to the phen fen episode of maintenance phase and how a diet drug gave people heart attacks even though those same people #were told to lose weight to that they didn’t get a heart attack and i was like hmmm a magic pill that makes you thin but could kill you… #sounds like the makings of a dark fairy tale to me #everyone should listen to #maintenance phase

[notjusthespongenextdoor]

the absolute game of telephone that is the 'daily recommended caloric intake.'

like in the 90s the FDA decided that they wanted to provide nutritional advice to consumers, so they looked at USDA food consumption surveys where women said they consumed between 1,600 to 2,200 calories a day, men said between 2,000 to 3,000, and children 1,800 to 2,500, so overall a range between 1,600 and 3,000 which is already a pretty big range--and then you have to take into account that this is all SELF-REPORTED data, which almost always results in UNDER-REPORTING of calories. On average people report eating ~25% less calories than they actually do (except for restricted eaters which tend to be more accurate or over-report.)

so you're already dealing with skewed data. adding the average 25% in to the caloric range you get a 2,000 to 3,750 calorie range, so 2,000 is the LOWEST amount of calories anyone in the united states eats daily (except like, babies?), and keeping in mind that the lower range was from the category "women," the under-reporting was probably more severe for those numbers since women are pressured to eat less food.

so anyways, taking this already skewed range of numbers, the FDA wanted to pick just one single number for their nutritional recommendations to make the information as easy as possible to understand, so they picked 2,350 calories which is a reasonable ~average between 1,600 and 3,000.

but after taking public comment on this number, they ended up changing it to 2,000 calories for a variety of reasons, one being that it's easier to use. and even after all of this--the FDA never intended this to be universal advice for anyone. they just wanted a good number to use to communicate general, broad concepts about nutrition.

so we went from a skewed survey that reported a 1,600 to 3,000 range that was statistically more likely to be a 2,000 to 3,750 range, the FDA took an average of that skewed number, and then rounded it down to be more even and ended up with 2,000

and now everyone these days is getting the idea drilled into their brains that they should be eating no more than 2,000 calories a day to maintain their weight, and likely recommended to eat even less if they're "overweight" or "not physically active."

So we're, on average, already starting from a 30% deficit, and encouraged to push it lower and lower.

Calories are bullshit eat food make art

Why does the FDA recommend 2,000 calories a day? (warning for still encouraging weight loss at the end 🙄)

Homeodynamic Recovery Method, Doubly-Labeled Water Method Trials and Temperament-Based Treatment ("people eat on average 25% more than they think they do (or report that they do)")

Maintenance Phase: The Trouble With Calories (i just think everyone should listen to this Podcast tbh)

#spongesound.txt #calories cw /// #this was supposed to be a short post #but i wanted to make everything abundantly clear

[righteousness-and-tea]

Hello! Can I have Celestia, Kirumi, Kyoko and Junko (non-despair) male Ultimate Musical Actor? It's just I'm on my third Hamilton phase and it's been on my mind a lot!

Hi anon! This is so cute. I'm a fan of musicals as well, Hamilton is wonderful! A recent favorite of mine is the musical movie Moulin Rouge-- Ewan McGregor is an incredible singer. Sorry for the delay, work has been quite the drain on me :/

-Mod Celeste

Celestia Ludenberg, Kirumi Tojo, Kyoko Kirigiri and Junko Enoshima with a male! Ultimate Musical Actor s/o:

Celeste:

-She has always loved the dramatic type, so you two get along well. Of course, she'd have a love for theater.

-Though, she listens to a lot of opera so she might not be as familiar with some of your favorite shows. Luckily she's always willing to watch!

-Celeste always brings you a bouquet of roses to give you after your performance.

-Stage makeup is something she actually knows a lot about. Since her aesthetic is so high maintenance, she uses a lot of the same products you might.

-That also means she's cool with doing your makeup before a show. Honestly, she likes to pretty up her boyfriend.

-I could see her really liking the Beetlejuice musical.

Kirumi:

-She's a cultured lady, so she actually has a lot of knowledge on popular musicals. In fact, it's a pastime of hers to see local productions.

-That's how you met: and after your show, she insists on you using her maid services.

-She loves hearing you sing while she's tidying up. It brings her comfort.

-Kirumi will make you the most wonderful costumes. She uses the best materials and always monograms them for you.

-She'd probably like something classic, like The Phantom of the Opera.

Kyoko:

-Your ability to act is what draws her in. Actors have always been fascinating to Kyoko because they have to put on a facade. She wants to see past that.

-Because she's shy, if you use any of that charm from stage on her, she will shut down. In a good way though, haha.

-Surprisingly, she likes to sing... but only when nobody is around. She'll remember the songs you rehearse.

-Somehow she always gets front row seats to your shows. It's believed she has blackmailed Byakuya, who she says should be a patron of the arts.

-Kyoko would enjoy a tragedy in my opinion, so West Side Story comes to mind.

Junko:

-Similar vibes! Fashionistas and musical actors both have a certain pizzazz, so you two fit together very well.

-Though... her singing voice is terrible. She will duet you just to hear you laugh.

-She's the type that would become friends with all of your cast mates, because she'd bring you all coffee and snacks.

-Junko brags about how cool you are to everyone she knows. Poor Mukuro has heard all about her sister's epic boyfriend since day one of your relationship.

-Heathers energy. Need I say more?

#danganronpa #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa fluff #mod celeste #junko enoshima x reader #kyoko kirigiri x reader #kirumi tojo x reader #celestia ludenberg x reader #junko enoshima #celestia ludenberg #kirumi tojo #kyoko kirigiri

[churutu]

You Should Be Proud of Being an Introvert

Photo by Cassie Boca on Unsplash

It’s Saturday night, and I’m home alone.

While the whole city around me is probably out partying, I’m in my room listening to my favorite lo-fi playlist on Spotify, snacking on some popcorn, and typing away on my computer — it might sound like a wasted Saturday night for most of you, but let me tell you, I couldn’t be more in my element.

Don’t get me wrong, I would go crazy if I never got out of my house, but in this stimuli-filled world, I can only stand so many hours of social interaction before I feel completely drained and need some me time to recharge my batteries. The same is true for university, for example: While I enjoy attending certain lectures and seminars, I still perform better on my exams if I’m able to prepare by myself, which is why the silence and calmness of my room are much appreciated. Even when it comes to work, I have no problem following orders, but most of the time I’m better off doing things on my own anyway.

I’ll just go ahead and say it, I’m an introvert.

As I write this, something feels off and the same question keeps on popping into my head: Why should I even have to convince people that being an introvert is a good thing?

The problem is, in Anaïs Nin’s words, that our culture made a virtue of living only as extroverts.

In today’s society, introversion is often seen as an undesirable trait. Even I myself, as an introvert, used to think that way. As a teenager you could often catch me staring at the extroverted kids, thinking, why can’t I be like that?

Luckily, that’s not the way I look at it anymore, and I’m here to tell you why you shouldn’t either. To be completely honest, I’m quite happy with the person I’m turning out to be, and I believe it was, to a great extent, my introverted self who made me the man I am today.

We think before we speak

I admit it, we don’t talk much, but is that really a bad thing?

As introverts, we usually feel less comfortable talking, so we take our time before we actually decide to do so. But think about it, if we’re not talking, that means we’re listening. If we’re not talking, that means we’re choosing the right words to properly express ourselves. If we’re not talking, that means we feel there’s nothing worth saying — we like to focus on quality, not quantity, so that when we do talk, we actually add value to the conversation.

My grandmother used to say that I rarely spoke during arguments, but when I did, it was like my words slapped everyone in the face.

Put differently, if you think before speaking, you can carefully pick and choose what you say, which then allows for your words to have a bigger impact. Now don’t get me wrong, talking a lot isn’t necessarily the problem,talking for talking’s sake is — or, as Stuart Wilde puts it in his book “Silent Power”:

“Most people talk too much, and what they do say is often just noise or irrelevant gibberish designed to keep themselves entertained.”

The ability to just shut up and listen allows us to do more than just thinking before speaking, though:

We make deep connections

Yes, our social circle is probably smaller than that of an extrovert, but remember, quality, not quantity.

I recently watched a TedTalk by Dr. Raj Persaud,”The Psychology of Seduction”, and out of the 16-minute talk, there was something that I found particularly interesting: Dr. Raj explains how there are three “phases” to a relationship — attention, interest, and maintenance. Apparently, extroverts are better at catching the interest and attention of a potential lover, introverted people, on the other hand, are better at maintaining the relationship.

While Dr. Raj’s seduction tips were probably developed with romantic relationships in mind, I think the theory applies to any type of connection between two human beings.

As introverts, we often have a harder time making friends, let alone flirting with someone we find attractive, but the few times we are able to take down that interest/attention barrier that extroverts can so effortlessly walk through, the bond we create is long-lasting and, dare I say, indestructible. Some of the closest people to me are childhood friends that I now rarely see, others I met randomly through life and hang out with almost daily — but regardless of the frequency with which we see each other, regardless of how, when or where we met, I know I can count on them at any time, for anything.

I can count these people on one hand, and I wouldn’t have it any other way — I don’t need, and to be honest don’t want, a bunch of mere acquaintances to hang out with every time I have nothing better to do:

We feel comfortable being alone

We’re not socially awkward, we’re not antisocial, we’re not lonely — but we’re comfortable even with no one’s company but our own.

Our society is pretty much built by extroverts, for extroverts: At school they push you to come out of your shell, at work they highly encourage group brainstorming sessions; the world pretty much teaches us, from a very young age, that we must become more extroverted. While there isn’t anything inherently wrong with any of that, you can’t deny that, as a society, we’ve lost a basic yet foundational capability, being alone with our thoughts.

In his Pensees, philosopher Blaise Pascal wrote that “all of humanity’s problems, stem from man’s inability to seat quietly in a room alone.”

I don’t know if I fully agree with such an extreme statement, but I definitely get Pascal’s point: Most people nowadays can’t even fathom spending a Saturday night at home.

Yet here I am, Saturday night, talking to you through my computer, writing, and listening to music, all by myself. I’d be lying if I said I stay at home every day and night of the week, but I do find myself craving more alone time than most of my peers — as an introvert, I have a preference for more quiet, minimally stimulating environments, which is why I’m not only comfortable, I actually enjoy seating quietly in a room, alone.

Bill Gates, for example, is living proof of how introverts enjoy and actually thrive during their alone time: He is arguably the most successful introvert on this planet, and from time to time he likes to have what he calls “think weeks”. 

Matthias Reumann

 wrote a great article on them, but in short, a think week is a week in which Gates decides to go off the grid, separate from civilization and just reflect and ponder on different subjects, like the future of technology.

Who would’ve thought, Bill Gates, the co-founder and chairman of Microsoft, an introvert:

We make great leaders

Unexpected, right?

I don’t think there’s a scientifically-proven list of qualities needed for great leadership, but if I asked you to come up with one yourself, what would you write down? It would probably look something like this: Assertive, talkative, sociable, action-oriented, confident — extroverts are usually regarded by society as natural born leaders, and honestly, I can see why.

I can see why, but are they actually right?

According to the data, not completely: In 2012 Susan Cain published a book called “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking”, and the whole second chapter was pretty much dedicated to debunking this myth. As she puts it:

“Extroverts are routinely chosen for leadership positions and introverts are looked over, even though introverts often deliver better outcomes.”

The numbers speak clearly, our world population is equally divided: Half introverts, half extroverts, give or take. Still, according to a study presented by the Wall Street Journal, only 5% of midlevel managers are considered introverts, the number goes down to 3% when it comes to executives, and as low as 2% for top executives.

As you can see, not many introverts get to those leadership positions, but the few who do, tend to deliver incredible results.

Elon Musk, Warren Buffet, Mahatma Gandhi, Rosa Parks, Abraham Lincoln. Whether it be running a company, a country, or a movement, these names have had a massive influence in their respective fields, and they are/were all introverts.

According to Cain, the secret behind these quiet leaders’ successful leadership, can be boiled down to two main factors:

By nature, us introverts, tend to get extremely passionate about the matters that interest us in life. Passion for our work, a cause, or a mission, allows us to gain expertise, inspire trust, and make alliances — in other words, when the people we are leading feel that commitment, they too get inspired and fully invest themselves in that work, cause, or mission.

A less romantic, yet fundamental aspect of quiet leadership, is our ability to listen: “Introverted leaders tend to solicit ideas from other people and listen to those ideas and use them, so there is not as much of a brain drain”, said Cain in an interview with WorkHuman Radio.

Before I let you go, I’d like to clear one thing up: This is in no way, shape or form an attack on extroverted people.

I just thought it’d be nice to, for once, praise all the introverts out there.

We are used to being told that we should talk more, open up more, go out more, but I firmly believe that thinking more, pondering more, and reflecting more, is equally as important.

So, to all my fellow introverts out there, keep being yourself, and remember:

“Spend your free time the way you like, not the way you think you’re supposed to.” — Susan Cain

#introverts #introverted #extroverted #susancain #cain #weird #leadership #silent #alone #lonely #loneliness #talkative #calm #introversion

[sunshinesolars]

India's Best Solar Solution in Goa Will Help You To Save Your Money

Electricity is very important to us, but it greatly harms the Earth. It can sometimes make us sick. So everyone should use solar power to fix everything.

A solar panel is a piece of equipment that uses solar energy cells to turn light from the sun into power. PV cells are made of materials that release electrons when exposed to sunlight.

Solar energy doesn't affect the environment like electricity. Solar panels make a building's energy label better, and for new buildings, they are the most cost-effective way to meet energy-saving goals.

If you live in Goa, you should know about India Best Solar Company in Goa, Sunshine Solar Solution. You get the best solar power for your home from them.

About sunshine solar solution

Since 2015, Sunshine Solar, a full-service firm, has been responsible for installing solar panels in Goa. They are committed to providing homeowners and businesses with the most positive experience possible with solar energy, beginning with the system's design phase and continuing through installation and ongoing maintenance. Their one-of-a-kind value offering is that they provide comprehensive solar solutions from beginning to end, which include consultation, engineering, permitting, installation, and continuing maintenance. They want to make it as simple as possible for people to switch to solar power and reduce the amount they spend on their monthly energy bills. They aim to have the entire state of Goa run on solar energy, from homes to businesses.

Why Choose Solar Power?

The major benefit is that it is a clean source of electricity that can be used repeatedly.

The environment benefits from solar power.

With solar energy, your home can get off the grid.

Solar power can use land that isn't being used.

Less electricity is lost when solar power is used.

Solar power makes the grid safer.

Sunlight is a free way to get energy.

Features of sunshine solar solution 

Innovative new technology for the best solar panels available today.

●        They sell and occasionally repair wind generators and hybrid solar energy systems.

Their services are reliable and reasonably priced.

Install solar panels to the highest standards.

The building's energy efficiency is increased without any negative effects.

Complete system customization ensures optimum ROI.

The solar panels they install last a long time and require little upkeep.

Assurance in the upkeep of your property.

The Sunshine Solar Solution is also useful for charging electric vehicles.

The first session is on the house.

Not only do they provide free domestic current and EV charging, but they also have a staff of pros with a decade of experience in the sector.

24-hour customer service.

When you talk to them about their stuff, they listen to you.

Conclusion

We need to use solar power to save the Earth. Sunshine Solar Solution India Best Solar Company in Goa. They have great features for you. Their services aren't very expensive so you can pay for them. Also, they gave excellent service, and the best part is they treat their customers with very kindness.

Also read:- Solar energy company in india

#solar energy company in india

[deathlygristly]

The 25 year old brain thing really annoyed me and got to me when my only context for it was just people yelling at me for having gotten married at 21, but then I saw bigots yelling about it in the context of trans kids. That was a whole other level of weird and scary and wrong.

I've tried reading people's thoughts on it and thinking it over myself, and I still don't understand why so many people feel so emotionally attached to a pop science headline.

I've been listening to the backlog of Maintenance Phase episodes about everything wrong with nutritional and health science studies. I wish I could find a podcast like it for neuroscience, with fun cool hosts who go into depth about what's wrong with various neuroscience studies and the cultural and economic motivations behind the unthinking adoption of pop science headlines.

Search engines suck so much these days that I have to find podcasts and Tumblr bloggers who seem to have good sources and to be educated in their field to learn anything, and then I ask the spousal person for any books I hear about if his library has them.

It's really weird though. Like I've seen a group of people who also got married early or their parents got married early and everyone involved is still happy with it decades later get together and talk and they have to do a whole disclaiming ritual of "Of course I realize it's a very rare exception and the loud judgy angry people are all very correct that no one should ever think about doing anything until they're at least 35."

At least online, anyway. The spousal person says two of his coworkers at his library also got together young and are still happy and that they had a nice conversation about it and how happy they are that they found their person early.

Like I will say that at my current age I understand the decision to set an age limit of 35 for president in the constitution, but having incredible power over hundreds of millions of people is a very different thing than just making your own choices and living your own life the way you want to. And it's not foolproof, obviously, as people at any age can be extremely bad leaders who should have never had that power over others. Reasonable age limits are a sort of necessary but insufficient dealing with imperfect reality compromise thing like that.

The obsession with age is so weird and I don't get it. And if I try to talk about why I don't get it people just get really mad at me. I wish they would calmly and politely explain their experiences and how their life led to their beliefs about age and we could talk it out, but that doesn't seem to be possible. Instead they just get mad that I tried to calmly and politely explain my experiences and how my life led to me feeling like I was capable of choosing to get married when I did.

[brettbowden]

Develop A Race Day Routine

Whether it be a single race or a regatta, you need to develop a race day routine if you want to be successful. This is not only for those in Fantasy land at the back of the boat but everyone onboard needs to be included. This ensures that every crew member understands their position, duties and what is expected of them whilst they are racing. FREE Book - Instant Download There are 4 main phases of the race day routine. 1. Pre-Race - Review the starting schedule. - List your goals for the days event or for each day of the regatta. - Make sure that you have the correct number of crew and maximum crew weight to match your rating certificate, - Have a list of pre-race jobs and who is assigned to them such as sails, rig tune, gear, navigation and weather to list a few. - Have a schedule and stick to it. This builds morale, enhances the leaders integrity and respect. - Set the boat up for days race prior to leaving the dock. 2. After Leaving the Dock - Develop A Race Day Routine - When heading out to the course have a crew meeting and review goals which gets everyone's head in the game. - Having a team uniform is great to build teamwork and also shows professionalism. - Ask for and listen to and if necessary act on crew comments and even consider changing positions if the team believe it is beneficial. - Go over safety procedures and refresh the team on where equipment is stowed and who is the go to person in different scenarios. eg Man over board. - Practice upwind and downwind maneuvers for at least 30 minutes. - After the practice and at least 10 minutes prior to your starting sequence take time to rest, stretch and chat amongst the crew for final comments related to the race. FREE Book - Instant Download 3. During The Race - Stick to the game plan. - Each team member needs to be conscious of where they are positioned with regard to balance of the boat. Should they be inboard, outboard, fore or aft. - Make sure they are low and not blocking anyone's view. - Keep chatter to a minimum and let one person speak at a time. - On a boat with a very large crew, appoint a spokesperson for each major position and only they should communicate with the afterguard. - Contain excitement when in front or behind, yelling on the boat only serves to unnerve everyone. - Play the averages and be consistent as that is what wins races, not taking a flier or making a "go for gold" move. - Continually update observations on where your competitors are, how you are going against them and changes in the weather and sea conditions. 4. After The Race - Pack the boat up and stow all gear and sails. - Make a list of any maintenance issues that have arisen during the race and where time permits attend to as many jobs as possible. - Have a crew de-brief and make notes about what has been learned. - Before leaving the boat, let everyone know when the next race is and find out who is available. - As a team, head to the clubhouse and catch up with fellow competitors, its amazing how much you can learn from talking with them. FREE Book - Instant Download

Read the full article

#sailboatracing #sailfaster #sailingcoach #sailinglessons #SailingSkills #sailingtowin #sailtowin #yacht #yachtrace #yachtracing

[toppsychedelicassistedtherapy]

An Overview of Ketamine Therapy

Ketamine therapy is not covered by health insurance. A single session of IV ketamine costs between $350 and $650. Some insurance companies are investigating ketamine treatment and some even cover it. Patients who have found this treatment to be beneficial hope that the situation will change shortly. In the meantime, they will need to pay for the treatment out of pocket. This article provides an overview of the process of undergoing ketamine-assisted psychotherapy.

After a few minutes of ketamine treatment, the patient is monitored by medical professionals for two hours. The duration of this observation time depends on the individual's condition and the facility's policies. Patients can read, listen to music, or watch a movie during this time. Whatever activity they choose, they should be suitable to their mood and level of anxiety. While undergoing ketamine treatment, it is a good idea to plan to have someone drive them home as they might feel disoriented afterward.

Ketamine treatment is not suitable for everyone. It is not approved for people with severe mental health conditions such as bipolar disorder. Patients with unstable cardiovascular disease or active psychosis are not advised to undergo ketamine treatment. There is no standard way to determine if ketamine is safe for you. If you're thinking about trying it, make sure you talk to your psychiatrist before you start it. Otherwise, the procedure can cause more harm than good.

While ketamine is not approved by the FDA for treating depression, it does have some benefits. It reduces inflammation in the brain, which is linked to mood disorders. Ketamine also facilitates communication between different parts of the brain. While the effects of ketamine are transient, a side effect of ketamine treatment may persist for several days. If you experience any unsettling side effects, let your doctor know immediately. For more info, check out this related link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Counseling_psychology.

It is a relatively new treatment for depression. Since it was approved by the FDA for use as an anesthetic, it has been used in the treatment of psychiatric conditions, such as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), chronic pain, and bipolar disorder. Ketamine treatment is only available at a few specialized clinics in 12 states and it is not covered by insurance. It is not a substitute for any form of therapy but can complement it.

Many countercultural therapists began administering ketamine treatments in the early 1990s. One of the most famous advocates of ketamine treatment is psychoanalyst John C. Lilly. Known for his sensory-deprivation tanks, he also experimented with human-dolphin communication. While he stopped using ketamine for treatment after 1985, he was addicted to the drug. Lilly died in 2001.

The initial phase of ketamine infusion therapy involves six infusions spaced out over two to three weeks. A follow-up maintenance phase involves booster infusions, as needed. The  ketamine for depression near me offers major benefits to people with persistent depression, even though it also has potential side effects. Although ketamine infusions are administered sub-anesthetically, there are still some mild side effects that may occur. These include dizziness, floating sensations, and fuzziness of vision.

[mkstrigidae]

when you accidentally get mad enough to write a whole ass essay in the tags and tumblr is like 'that is too many tags' and deletes 2/3 of it for no goddamn reason like excuse me i had a POINT I WAS MAKING HERE 😡

#text posts #i'm mad about the wellness industrial complex now #tl;dr #it's predatory and selling a non viable solution to potentially desperate people who our medical system has failed to properly serve #pls go listen to the podcast #maintenance phase #it is the only thing that soothes my angry soul when i see someone talking abt celery juice or healing crystals or goop #i will fistfight the CEO of goop in a parking lot #paltrow talking about how she 'broke down and ate bread' during the pandemic makes me INCANDESCENT with rage #this industry is at best ineffective #and at worst actively harmful #i do not blame people who are seeking answers in the wellness industry bc it is extremely hard to be a person these days #and society is a mess and everyone is experiencing the anxiety that the fractured system causes #the medical system has failed a lot of people #and they should not be demonized or mocked for searching for answers outside of a system that has caused many of them harm #but the wellness industry preys on these larger cultural anxieties #esp with the pandemic #and sells products that have no basis in evidence or science #just to profit off of the people that society has failed #i'm a lot of fun at parties #this isn't as coherent as i normally am #but the JIST IS THERE #gwyneth turn on ur location i just want to talk #who the FUCK can afford shit like celery juice anyways #it's purely for an aspirational class trying to show moral superiority through purchasing power #and yet #none of it is fucking sustainable #pls just go listen to maintenance phase #mike and aubrey are the only thing preserving my sanity rn

[villainess-supremacy]

headcanons of the four lords celebrating pride for the first time with their s/o

notes: you told them that it's pride month and asked if they would like to celebrate with you. none of them have ever celebrated pride before. I made the lords and s/o queer because I can

type: sfw, gender and sexuality of the s/o are not specified

tw/cw: slight mention of alcohol, blood, lgbtphobes

requests: open

Alcina Dimitrescu

her daughters have mentioned pride month before, but she's not sure what it entails exactly

you gladly explain it to her in detail!

she loves the idea since she is fruity herself loves celebrating for such a wonderful reason

you being part of it makes it so much better

and a whole month?? she's in

she would love to go to pride events with you, but she's afraid other mortals will be scared of her due to her height so you decide to just have your own celebrations in the castle

you love watching movies together so you show her all of your favorite queer movies and shows

you bought a pride flag to hang up below the balcony in the entrance hall

she loves the smile on your face when you proudly look up at it

"maybe we should extend pride to be all year if it makes you this happy, my love."

she already regularly gives you presents, but during the entirety of pride month she additionally leaves little gifts for you in your shared bedroom, the kitchen and all of your favorite places in the castle

and that daily

if there is any queer owned shop you like she will literally buy their entire stock

if there are any charities you mention she will gladly donate in your name and give you the certificate as a surprise

she realizes that something about June just makes her want you even more in general, in the private chambers, whichever is up to you wink wink

as a surprise she decides to make a special wine without blood of course named after you and your sexuality/gender if you use labels, but in fancy Latin words

she loves to drink, but of course watches over you so you don't have too much

mortals don't process it as well as she does...

if you come across any lgbtphobes and are noticeably saddened she will be there to distract you right away

everyone who dares to make her love sad will feel her wrath! be ignored since they're not worth her time

but if she finds out that anyone in the village doesn't support you or anyone who is part of the lgbt community, they will be forced asked to vacate their home

she will pamper you and shower you with her love even more

you once jokingly say "be gay do crime and turn maidens into wine" and she makes it her new motto but she's serious about it

Donna Beneviento

she knows a couple things about pride since she reads a lot, but you're so excited to tell her about it she simply lets you talk

you'd love to go to pride events with her but she's too shy and tends to have anxiety attacks when around too many strangers so she sends Angie instead

afterwards she will gladly listen to both of you tell her all about it!

she has her own collection of books that have queer characters in them which she never told anyone about before you and will read all of them with you if you like

there will be regular dates picnics while Angie takes care of the house

she's a cottage core sapphic and pride month brings out that side of her more

she has made dolls for you before, but this time she makes one that looks just like you

it has a pride flag embroidered on the top above the heart

of course you love it!

you're so glad that she accepts every part of you

she will make one of herself with a similar outfit and a small pride flag as well so she can set them up in couple settings

ever since she found out about online shopping it has opened up a whole new world for her so she will definitely get both of you matching outfits or jewelry from an lgbt owned shop

you love doing arts and crafts together so you suggest making bracelets for each other, either color coded or with letters

Donna's house has a flagpole she hasn't used in decades, but for you she'd gladly call for maintenance if it turns out it's unusable after all these years to hang a pride flag

anything to make you happy!

if there are any lgbtphobes bothering you or your friends, she will be right there to comfort you and won't hesitate to send Angie and her other dolls she can control to deal with them

even if you tell her that it's fine and she should just ignore them she's great at distracting you so you wouldn't notice until it's done oops-

since she has no portable device that can access music streaming platforms, but knows the password to your phone she decides to steal it for a bit and makes you the softest playlist that you since then often play for comfort

Salvatore Moreau

he has spent decades almost completely separated from humans so he has no idea what pride month means, but instantly agrees to it because he loves you so much

he will agree to anything that makes you happy

you both sit down and he looks at you with puppy eyes while you tell him all about pride

he loves the idea of celebrating a group of people you both are a part of

he thinks you deserve your own month to be cherished and celebrated!

he may be a little awkward with expressing his feelings, but he sure knows how to prepare a romantic dinner

with mother miranda needing all of the lords a lot to assist her, he usually barely has time to prep food, but for pride month he does his best to cook for you every single day

part of his usual outfit is a cape to cover his back and a type of crown made out of bones and rope

he's not the best with his hands, but he makes a crown for you that resembles his anyway because you're his queen/king/majesty

you love it so much!

you want to give him something in return so you go to the village and visit the shop you know is lgbt owned and get him a custom necklace with a fish pendant that has your initials engraved

he literally bursts out in tears because he is so touched :c

when you started dating he initially was scared of what you would think about his giant fish form, but you turned out to be really impressed and love it and since you'd be tiny compared to him he suggests taking you on an adventure of sorts

meaning you sit on his back while he swims around the lake which is like a roller coaster ride but more wet

he leads you to a hut you never visited before and he shows you treasures he has collected when he was still mortal

he starts making a list of things you could do and stays up all night to complete it but ends up with so many activities and ideas to celebrate pride you'll have to extend pride month... by possibly years....

if he hears about anyone being mean to you he'll just encase them into the blobs of gooey mass he can make but you don't need to know about that, pride month or not

he has always wanted to propose to you so he might be able to work up the courage to hint at it by the end of June

Karl Heisenberg

of course he knows about pride month!

he knows more than you might think

he isn't considered the rebel child for no reason

in the past he has done some celebration for himself, but it was never anything too special

he thinks it's no fun alone and his experiments servants aren't much fun

sure he could program them, but unless it's to attack something they're not really... party animals

since he has you now he'll gladly give it another go!

he'd love to go to pride events with you, especially if you go to drag shows

he didn't know about them before you made him go to one

something about them fascinates him so much, he's more excited than you

he's not really into cooking, but nothing will stop him from making you a nice breakfast in bed

you always love watching him work on his machines because he likes to take off his shirt when he's hot seeing him do what he loves makes you happy

so he decides to gift you some robots to assist you with your everyday endeavors

it's not really necessary but of course you appreciate the gesture

it means more time to spend with him after all

he once sees you with a keychain that has a pride flag on it so he paints it on one of his machines that he uses more often

mostly he will end the day by having a drink and dancing with you

it's a celebration, so celebrate he will

if you're more in the mood for chilling on the couch he won't say no to watching some queer shows or movies

after working on his machines he has a way of just melting into your arms

if he sees you smile at certain scenes in movies he might attempt to do the same with you

of course you notice, but you definitely can't complain especially if you smile on purpose at the spicier scenes

anyone who will come between you and happily celebrating pride will be visited by Sturm banned from his factory and getting anywhere near you

he likes to name his subjects so he will start naming them after all of your favorite queer historical figures, activists and famous people in general

any smile he can get out of you is a win

a win for the gays you might say

when he was younger he may have had a phase of spraying graffiti around the village so you're not surprised when he goes around his factory and writes "be gay do crime" on several of his machines and doors

#hc #headcanon #lady dimitrescu #re8 #resident evil village #resident evil #resident evil 8 #alcina dimitrescu #re: village #re #karl heisenberg #re heisenberg #heisenberg #donna beneviento #re beneviento #angie beneviento #lady beneviento #re8 beneviento #re moreau #salvadore moreau #moreau #four lords #happy pride 🌈 #pride

[wildhannimal]

It's really important for people to listen to this podcast.

BMI is a huge hoax!!! Please don't buy into the fatphobic panic based on ratings that make no sense.

Hanecdote time:

How does the BMI actually play out when treated as a fact of medical science? Not just in clinics and hospitals, which the podcast describes, but (in my case) the schools?

I learned about the BMI in middle school gym class and it was a downright traumatic event for some of the kids in my class, especially the girls... but I only know that looking back as an adult. When I calculated my BMI, I was proud to be categorized as "underweight."

Everyone praised me for being skinny as a child. Middle aged women used to express envy over my figure. And they still do. In the elevator of our corporate office. At family gatherings. In shopping malls. Even if I tried not to internalize the praise for my size when I got older, society hammers this stuff into your noggin from before you should even have to consider your own attractiveness. Compliments are almost a threat. Be careful or you'll end up [gasp] fat! [dun dun dun]

And of course for the other girls in my class, some of them were clearly embarrassed to share that they were in the overweight category.

One girl in particular (who was pretty average in terms of our grade) shared her score and my classmates were surprised. We 11-year-olds didn't view her as a "fat person" whatsoever. It probably made us shift our perspectives in order to limit the scope of what "acceptable" bodies look like. After all, adults know best and data is data... at least as we were taught by the freaking BMI calculator. It's not even real, I'm so mad for all the little girls (rather, all kids) whose self-images were so distorted by it. That other girl ended up telling me to "eat a burger" as a bitter-but-not-malevolent joke a few years later in high school. I'm mad that I felt superior for something as natural as a child's body. The BMI day deeply affected us.

People still don't realize that the BMI is extremely flawed with a dubious history. Listen to the podcast right now for details, please. Bodies are unique and there's no way this simplistic "calculation" means anything about your health, your beauty, your value or your life. It's just another tool to divide us into artificially constructed ranks.

#bmi mention #bmi #weight loss #lose fat #fatphobia #body image #body neutrality #health and wellness #exercise #Spotify #body mass index #maintenance phase #podcasts #podcast recommendations #I heard this a few weeks ago and it keeps popping back in my mind

[cheesydoesitstevie]

Unlikely Trio

Summary: Reader ends up on an Elevator with Bucky and Sam. 

Warnings: none really. Maybe a little violence. Not sure what I was going for with this. Was inspired by an Asian ad. 

Something inside you was dying for some excitement, anything to break up this mundane routine you had fallen into. The bell dinged as the elevator stopped prematurely a few floors before the lobby. Calm classical sounding music played softly throughout the gold decorated elevator. The doors slides open and two large men stepped in. Both of them were dressed pretty casually yet they looked as if they were headed somewhere important. They seemed familiar, you weren’t quite sure where you had seen them before. They definitely weren’t movie stars. You needed a better look but didn’t want to be caught staring.

One quick glance wouldn’t hurt, study as much as you could within a few seconds. Your eyes lit up and something snapped in your brain. They were the Avengers. Well what was left. You remembered something about Sam Wilson aka the Falcon taking over as Captain America and his partner was Bucky more well known as The winter soldier. Sam nods at you and smiles awkwardly. You bit your lip turning to look down at the floor before a crazy thought pops into your head. You pull your hood up over your hair. Unsure of why this was essential to your idea. Timidly you turn towards Bucky, he looks you up and down while Sam’s face contorts displaying his confusion in his eyebrows.

“Can I join you guys?”

“Sure. Just follow my lead.” Bucky replied facing back towards the doors.

“Wait. No! Absolutely not!” Sam looks at Bucky like a parent silently scolding a child.

“What?” Bucky asks with a shrug his tone indicating that he doesn’t see what the big deal is.

“C’mon man. She’s a civilian.”

“I have pepper spray and a knife.” You hold out the knife as the pepper spray dangles from a keychain that’s wrapped around your wrist.

“See Sam, she has a knife.” Bucky holds his gloved hands out as if he’s showing off the knife in a showcase.

Sam quickly becomes more annoyed, not sure why Bucky is humoring this clearly insane young woman. He looks her over before shaking his head and trying to ignore his idiot partner. Through gritted teeth Sam tries to speak so that only Bucky hears him.

“Dude, we’re after Zemo right now. It’s not the time to play adopt a civilian.” Bucky pretended to ignore everything Sam said.

You hold the knife and various ways that you had seen on Tv, Bucky only encourages you more. He pulls out his own knife and begins to twirl it around. You watch in awe as he flips it up with his right hand before catching it in his left.

A gruff sigh of disapproval leaves Sam’s mouth as you and Bucky compare knives. He tries to teach the same twirling technique he just showed you. You drop the knife a few times, each time Bucky caught it mid air just before it hit the ground. The elevator slows and the number lights up. This is where the guys are getting off. Sam shoots Bucky one last warning glare before moving to exit the lift.

“It was nice to meet you...”

“Y/N.” You say extending your hand to Sam. He shakes it politely and then turns to leave.

You feel little pang of sadness strike your heart as you watch Bucky’s frame move through the doorway. Soon the doors will close and the most exciting moment in your life will be over. Bucky looks back and nods his head towards the hallway. The feeling of butterflies shoot through you. You struggle to contain the excitement that is surging through your veins.

“Stay behind me.” Bucky whispers pushing you gently behind him.

Sam walks a few feet a head. They’re closing in on the target. The hallway is long and with cheaply painted white walls. A few large windows cast a natural light on the eerily silent and empty hall. Its the middle of the day but suddenly the feeling of a dark and creepy abandoned building starts to creep up over skin. Pebbling it in goosebumps as the hair on the back of your neck starts to stand. You weren’t sure when Bucky had grabbed your hand, now that you were aware of it made you feel a little better. Your fingers lightly squeezed his hand feeling your own heart beat thump in your chest as the sound of blood rushed through your ears.

Bucky turned to side slightly glancing at you through his peripherals. He nodded and pulled you closer to his back. He used his other hand to put one finger over his lips. You understood the message and nodded. Swallowing quietly in anticipation about what was going to unravel here.

Sam paused outside of a door that read 201. He looked up signaling for Bucky to take the same position on the other side of the door. Sam made eye contact with you and his face flushed with anger. He cursed Bucky under his breath. Bucky seemed to be un-phased by anything going on with Sam.

Everyone grew quiet listening for life on the other side of the door. The news could be heard softly playing in the background. A mans voice muffled through the television murmured on about events going on in New York City. A clanking of dishes let Bucky know that Zemo was definitely home.

He nodded to Sam, letting go of your hand and slipping his gun from the back of his pants. Sam turned like he was about to kick the door in. You drastically yet silently shook your head no and both men paused to see what the problem was. Bucky was curious while Sam grew more and more impatient with whole charade.

Pulling yourself up on Tiptoes you whispered into Bucky’s ear. Bucky nodded agreeing that was a better idea. He waved the gun towards Sam indicating he wanted Sam to go back to his previous position. To everyone’s surprise Sam did and waited for his cue.

Bang. Bang.

The room behind the door fell silent and everyone seemed to hold their breath listening waiting for a response.

“Maintenance.” Bucky yelled through the door. There was a moment of silence everyone seemed to be holding their breath. 

“I didn’t call for anything.” A mans voice echoed from the other side of the door. He was close enough to be heard but not close enough to touch the door. Sam considered he might be armed and waiting for them to kick the door down.

“We’re checking all the units. Some of the pipes burst.” Bucky called out again. They were met with another long silence before the door lock clicked and slid out of place. Zemo peeked out behind the chain lock of the door.

Bucky gave minimal effort in kicking the door in. The chain snapped as if it were made of paper, pieces exploded everywhere as the door slammed Zemo backwards into the wall. His nose and head were bleeding now. He still tried to run but Sam was on him quickly knocking him to the ground.

You watched from the busted door frame as Sam pinned the man down. Bucky slapped some high tech looking cuffs on the man and pulled him to his feet. As they passed by Zemo gave you a quizzical look. It wasn’t out of place. You were the one in a situation you should of never been in. Unsure of what to do you followed them as they moved Zemo down the stairs.

They went down past the lobby and headed towards the floor that led to the parking garage. The car was red and fast, leaving minimal space in the back seat. Bucky stood holding onto Zemo looking at you and then at the back seat. Sam rolled his eyes gesturing that the obvious answer was to ditch you. Bucky figured out his own plan and unlocked the car. clicking the trunk open. Zemo tried to resist but Bucky easily shoved him into the trunk. 

Zemo’s complaints were muffled through the car yet the still echoed in the concrete garage. Bucky escorted you to the back seat while Sam gave him the death glare. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“Waiting to leave.” Bucky shrugged tossing Sam the keys before ducking into the drivers seat. 

“Where do you live?” Sam asked being done with the whole situation he was eager to get rid of you, so he could go home and be alone. 

“Oh, I live-” 

“She’s coming with us.” Bucky intervened knowing that you lived in the building that they had just plucked Zemo from. Sam let out a big sigh pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You live on the upper floor of this apartment complex don’t you?” You said nothing and remained seated in the back.

“Fuck it!” Sam said throwing his hands in the air before he started the car and slid into reverse. 

“She’s your responsibility.” Sam warned Bucky he was not going to be liable for anything that happened to you. 

“She’s not a cat.” 

“Well you sure are treating her like one.”

“It’s just us at the Avengers complex we could use another person there.” 

“I kind of wish I was the only one there.” Sam and Bucky continued to fight like a married couple. You watched amused from the back having more fun than you thought you would going on this little adventure. 

The drive was long as you went from one side of New York out to the more rural part of New York. At some point you had dozed off in the back seat. You woke to Bucky gently shaking you awake from the open door. 

“We’re here doll.” You clumsily stepped out of the car, taking the hand that Bucky had offered you. 

The place was more stunning than you could have ever imagined. Never in your life had you seen such a high tech and expensive place. The design of the whole building was unique with the large Avengers symbol in front and a huge helicopter pad to your right. 

“We have to take Zemo somewhere. we will be back.” Bucky lead you into the building.

Bucky started to head back out. Thats when you realized you were standing in the middle of the Avenger’s living room. You sat down on the couch taking a deep breath in. How many times had they all sat here, laughing and talking. Did they watch movies or shows together? What is a show they would of all agreed on?

Silence filled the air and the place seemed unbelievably large. It would definitely be easy to get lost. You thought about how sad it might be for Bucky and Sam. Everyone they used to live with her was now gone. You heard the stories about Captain America, Ironman and Black widow. The thought of them all not being here now set a deepness in your heart.

You wondered where Wanda was, it would of made sense if she stayed here with them. Either way you wanted to take full advantage of being a guest here while it lasted. You decided to explore respectfully. Setting up simple rules for yourself. No searching any bedrooms and don’t touch anything in the labs, just look. That is if you could get in most places.

You had so many questions yet you didn’t want to bring up anything that would be a sensitive subject for Bucky or Sam.

#Bucky Barnes #sam wilson #Falcon and Winter soldier. #Sebastian Stan #anthony mackie #The Avengers #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hey I read your oxygen loss scenarios and I absolutely loved them, even if they made me really sad at first, but I still love them entirely! If you're still doing them, could you do one with Fort Max?

Thanks a bunch! Angst with a happy ending is kind of my favorite thing in the world, so I'm glad others feel the same! It absolutely works well with our big Maxy boy!

Here's the other posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: You're Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Fort Max

·Somehow, he's fallen for a being so small they fit in his cupped palms, and yet the two of you fit together so well he can't complain. Though he's a tad bit overprotective, you don't mind at all, and understand what drives the behavior even if he doesn't say it. What matters is that he's improving, and adores you so much every little activity is better in his mind when done with you, even just chilling and managing his security reports. That's why you're on his desk at the moment, relaxing on the human sized furniture he occasionally uses as paperweights when you're not around. Every so often you'll look up and find him glancing your way with a loving expression just visible through his attempt to remain neutral, after which point he'll dart his optics back to his work and pretend he's been busy the whole time. You can't help but think you're the reason he can't get much done.

·In addition to his filing reports, he has his monitors open at all times, each of which feeds him the security information for the various sections and systems of the ship. Most of the time there's nothing to report, save for hijinks going wrong or an experiment accidentally knocking things offline, yet he's always quick to respond. The rapid reactions to potential threats has put him on surprisingly good terms with Red Alert. Thus you're none too alarmed when he sees something unusual on one data feed and immediately gets to investigating, his large digits tapping away for answers while he vocalizes his thought process. Curious as always as to what might be the source of the issue, you move in wordlessly and are placed on his shoulder without having to ask. Having you watch him work always makes him feel quite proud after all.

·Initially the issue appears to be a simple bug in the programming of the communication systems, an inconvenient but none too hard to fix dilemma. Seeking out the source however, he finds none of the expected signs of an internal miscalculation, and before you can ask what's wrong he's messaging the bridge with a full alert. You listen as an audibly erratic signal forces him to keep things brief; emergency defense units and protocols need to be scrambled now, the ship is suffering an encrypted hack and a physical assault is undoubtedly inbound. While you feel instinctive fear at every word, somehow being in his presence and seeing him take command lessens that to a remarkable extent, for not much can get through your partner when he's on alert. Unfortunately for him he's anything but unafraid.

·When the line inevitably goes dead, he actually struggles to recall the next phase of his crisis response plans, as having you right beside him makes doing anything but protecting his delicate partner seem insignificant. Only by reminding himself that protecting you requires him to protect the ship is he able to get moving. Double checking your position on his shoulder, he clarifies that you'll be going to the nearest secure zone before he heads off to check various rendezvous points, as the crew is trained for this and the silent alarm has already been triggered. As you settle in on the broad expanse beside his helm, he just manages to grab the last of his spare weapons before a cataclysmic tremor rocks the ship. An audible rumbling through the ship blocks out all sound as you briefly tumble through the air.

·Catching you in a mad dash, he bombards you with questions as to possible injuries before you can clarify that you're fine. Tragically the relief on his face isn't something you get to enjoy for long. A second metallic rumble through the Lost Light turns his expression to a scowl. The enemy must have snagged them with a kind of anchor, he surmises, which no doubt means they'll be boarding in very short order. He needs to get you out of here now. Knowing that high stress situations can exhaust him in ways he's still not used to, you hold one of his digits tightly from your place on his palm. You're ready, you assure him, and you know he's going to be just fine. It works in the smallest way. The two of you draw strength from shared reassuring smiles before he leaves the safety of his office to start moving.

·As usual, he's not really afraid for his own sake as he moves through the hallways, due in no small part to his massive size and strength. For you though, he has to at least admit to himself that he's terrified. Hearing and feeling the tremor as intensely as he did means it must have come from somewhere uncomfortably close by, and that means the likelihood of encountering a threat in the next few minutes was remarkably high. The intensity of Cybertronian combat made such an occurrence not unlikely to be fatal for squishy little you. Yet as he recalls the closest potential drop off spot he can secure you at, he can't help but think on his role as a protector of this ship and how his responsibilities seem divided at the moment. While he has to keep you from harm, the same is true of the crew, and he can hardly ensure your safety if the ship is compromised...

·The decision to take the route he settles on is one not made easily, but it still feels proper. By going a less direct way he can check on multiple key locations only a little out of the way, helping to ensure that protocol is being followed and that the enemy isn't overwhelming their defenses. He can get you somewhere safe, while protecting you and the rest of the crew at once. It doesn't feel ideal, but he has to do his job, right? You can't be safe without the ship, unlike a Cybertronian who can at least endure the vacuum of space and even has a fair chance of surviving a planets fiery atmosphere... Primus, he can't handle thinking about those things. Focusing on getting you to safety along with everyone else is what he has to think of instead, especially with the sensation of your tiny body so warm and delicate in his palm, which he tries to also draw comfort from.

·As you trust him above all else, you don't ask any questions as he moves through the ship, sneaking as much as a bot of his size can in the open hallways. You're hardly scared for your own sake with Fort Max holding you close to his spark. In fact, the world beyond doesn't seem scary at all from this perspective. Being such a massive bot equals out to a rather strong spark, and as close to it as you are, you can feel it humming even now. It's kind of like a miniature sun with how warm and alive it makes you feel. Silly as it sounds, you do believe it feels stronger than when you first met him, as if the healing he's done since has made his very spirit grow brighter. For the sake of that hard earned recovery you hope everything goes smoothly today. It's enough to make you hold on to him a little tighter, just to convey your support.

·Eons of training prevent him from being taken by surprise, but he feels far from prepared as he detects enemy movement down a hallway. The aliens are large, numerous, and well armed. Regardless of their intent to take prisoners, he knows he can't let them go, as the mere possibility of them hurting even a single being on this ship is too much for him to take. Knowing they have to be taken care of is unfortunate with you in his care, as he doesn't want you to see him in combat. But... he trusts himself enough not to take it too far, a realization that makes it easier for him to whisper a warning and secure you in a tiny maintenance hatch, from which you will be safe and hopefully won't observe much. As soon as you promise to stay put he takes off to end the threat as quickly as he can.

·From your spot the chaos of battle is mostly the noises that reach your ears, but through them you're still able to recognize Fort Max as the imminent victor, if only because the fight is so one sided he hardly has to make a sound. It still makes you curl up in the little shelter and hope for it to be over as soon as possible. Yet the darkness of the maintenance shaft makes worrying a tad bit difficult... in fact, it makes you oddly tired. Exhaustion you didn't even notice is suddenly weighing you down, making the battle seem so far away and insignificant, all despite how clearly you realize now isn't the time to sleep. Perhaps the rush of all this has simply worn you down?

·Max finishes off the batch of enemies quickly and without a trace of the usual thrill of battle. He doesn't want to enjoy combat the way he once did, or feel the way he used to when he was at his worst and tearing foes apart actually felt good... As soon as the last enemy is down he returns to you, actually thinking he made the right call for once in checking key locations like this, for now this batch won't be able to hurt anyone. Though his usual luck shows through when he returns and finds you extremely groggy, to the point that even as a bot without medical experience he knows something is wrong, and he scoops you up immediately to start looking for injuries. You react amicably to his concern and assure him you're fine, but your breathless tone gives away that something is obviously affecting your respiration. In a series of horrifying realizations he connects the dots.

·The ship being hacked must have affected everything, including the life support systems you need for the air to be breathable, which he should have considered as a possibility from the very beginning. Without a moment to spare, he tucks you close to his chest and charges towards the medical bay. It's painfully obvious to him now that he made the wrong decision. He should have prioritized you over everything, should have anticipated there being additional threats, should have done a million other things... Hearing your weak reassurance only makes it hurt more. Unable to comprehend what's going on and not getting anything from him but whispered apologies, you just try to stay awake to support him as he runs through the ship at full speed. The only thing that stops him is an ambush from a full legion of enemies, though thankfully he still has enough of a grip to shelter you when the energy weapons start firing. Your tiny form is shielded by the impenetrable armor of his curled body as he briefly retreats to secure you once again, but this time his charge into combat is anything but controlled.

·From a little cubby you watch him unleash total vengeance on a horde of unprepared combatants, his incredible strength reducing enemy weapons and bodies to shreds without a trace of hesitation. Yet as you slip from consciousness there's no fear in your heart. Only sadness, for his sake and your own, as his resurfaced trauma tears into him yet again. It's worse than that though, he blames himself almost more than the enemies he tears apart, because protecting you was supposed to be his job. He'd told himself you needed the ship secure to be safe, but had he even considered the air you needed to breathe? It should have been obvious. Fighting somehow dulls the pain, as if the little rush of every kill helps his processor subdue the ache, and as the enemy needs to die regardless for their crimes against you he doesn't hesitate to go all in. The heated blur of battle overtakes him so completely he almost doesn't realize when he's joined by backup Autobots on his security team until there's not an enemy left to kill.

·Your last conscious perception is his face as strong hands lift you gently, followed by muffled instructions to get you to the medical bay. Some part of you knows he won't rest until every threat on the ship is dealt with, and you're correct. As you're whisked away to the medical bay, he takes no prisoners as he initiates his defense, rallying the gathering bots to annihilate those who would have turned them into a quick profit. But with every blow, he can only think of you. As he's cheered on by his fellows, he can only think of you. At the final declaration of victory and the rebooting of the systems, he can only think of you... Not even knowing the medics saved you and that you'll fully recover assuages his guilt. If anything, as he washes the blood off his servos and forgoes the festivities to sit by your bedside, he's certain he's never felt more like a monster...

·When you wake up there's a lovely warmth all around you, coupled with a gentle hum through the air that you know has been there in the past. Open eyes let you see a familiar wall of a chest, and through the oxygen mask you happily whisper Fort Max's name, making the hulking bot twitch in surprise as he looks down to you. It's with a smile you realize he was dozing with you shielded beneath his tented form. Remembering the haze of chaos and danger, you reach out to him as he offers a gentle hand to adjust the blankets laid loosely over your small body, but despite the fact that you're both okay you only see sadness in his optics. At your first prompt he lightly deflects with a sad smile. At your second his face falls and the whole ordeal comes tumbling out of him, with particular emphasis on how he failed to protect you when it truly mattered, something that impacts him so greatly he sheds a few tears as he lays his head in his hand.

·Heart breaking at the sight, you quickly point out the multiple times he charged into battle for you, though he counters by recalling how savagely he killed his enemies in front of you. It was the kind of brutality he'd thought himself beyond, but if he isn't, how can he be safe for you? It takes all the strength you have to sit up and firmly request his attention. At what point, you ask, were any of his actions not in some way motivated by the greater good? Even if he didn't know everything that was going to happen, did he once abandon you? Of course not, because he's a good bot, and you know he is. Before he can bring up one more point about his perceived failure you remind him that he's come impossibly far, enough that no setback today could undo his progress, and that you're so proud of him. As the weakness forces you to lie back and he leans in with concern, you smile and point out that everything he's done has been to the benefit of others, whether it be you or the crew. For once he can't argue. Curling protectively around you once more, he decides to let himself be happy that you're safe, shaken but reassured by your faith in him. More than anything, it gives him faith in himself.

#transformers #maccadam #idw #lost light #ll #tf #mtmte #more than meets the eye #fort max x reader #fortress maximus #fortress maximus x reader #fort max #human reader #self insert #my writing #my asks #anon #prompts

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV.  Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking. 

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight. 

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

 “How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them. 

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier. 

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck. 

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing. 

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm. 

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.” 

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies. 

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.” 

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray. 

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity. 

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other. 

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food. 

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall. 

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act. 

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought. 

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl. 

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer? 

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever. 

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before. 

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower. 

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness. 

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him. 

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace. 

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.” 

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap. 

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.” 

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.” 

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real. 

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her. 

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight. 

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars​​, @greatcircle79​​

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x y/n #din djarin #grogu #peli motto #fan fiction #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fan fiction #star wars smut #mandalorian smut #smut #din djarin smut #cw smut #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x y/n #mando/reader #mando/you #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #lunar fic #baby yoda

[sgtbradfords]

"Sorry, were you sleeping ?" with Chenford ?

Love your writing

Thank you for the prompt anon, I hope you enjoy! :)

Tim Bradford’s Thursday shift had been one of the longest he had experienced in a while. Not that it was a hectic night, especially for a Thursday but it all started after he had dismissed his officers on the nightshift to hit the streets.

“Hey Sarge, got a second?” Officer Amelia Hatch asked as she walked to the front of the room, the room clearing out as everyone went their own way. “That kid from that domestic the other night, can I contact the school, see if she will talk to me or maybe the guidance counselor?”

Tim sighed, “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, the kid doesn’t need to be bottling that shit up.”

“I think she would have talked to me the other night, but the mother pulled her away before I could ask any questions.”

Tim took a second to think before giving her advice, his lips forming a thin line, “Swing by the elementary school near their address tomorrow after shift, see if that’s where she attends and go from there. But Hatch, don’t blame yourself if she has no intentions of talking now.”

“Understood Sir.” The officer told him before walking away.

Tim had a pile of paperwork in the metal basket on his corner of his desk that grows by the minute that he knew he needed to get a start on, but being a man of few habits, he had gotten in the habit of visiting booking just after the start of the shift.

“Evening Luke, any regulars in yet?” He asked the intake officer who was typing away at the computer behind the counter.

“Not yet Bradford. But there is a full moon and a bad batch of drugs going around.” The officer spoke, never looking up.

Being the nightshift Sergeant of the Mid-Wilshire prescient of the LAPD, Tim had gotten to know his fair share of regulars, the junkies, druggies, and the few prostitutes that frequented one of the three holding cells.

“Great.” He mumbled under his breath. When you work in law enforcement, you always keep track of the moon cycle, the brighter and full phased the moon was, the crazier everyone got. Though it is not a proven fact, it is just a well-known fact that you learn comes with the job. “Let’s get those in, processed out soon, the quicker the better.”

“Wreck on I-10, van’s stuck in traffic. According to radio traffic they should be here within the next thirty or so minutes.”

Tim was about to thank the officer for keeping him updated when a loud disturbance stopped him, the door of the garage flying open.

“I didn’t do shit, you motherfucker!” yelled the man that was being escorted through the door.

The Sergeant moved closer to assist, the man fighting the two officers every step of the way.

“Harper, you good?” Tim asked, grabbing onto the other man’s upper arm.

“Fine. Found this one defacing the side of the church on Harrison Avenue, drunker than a skunk.” She told him as she secured him to the bench.

“You bitch, I told you I had to piss! You can’t prove nothin’.”

Nyla rolled her eyes. “There’s footage on the camera in the alley and on my vest.”

“You fuckin’ lyin bitch.”

“Enough.” Tim glared. “Get him booked, then throw him in the drunk tank to sober up.”

Nyla nodded as Tim walked away, heading back to his office.

He sat down behind his desk, keeping an ear open on the scanner that sat in the corner of the bookshelf in his office. He picked up the reports, reading them one by one as he began sorting through the pile in the basket, checking, filling, and signing the reports filled out by his officers. The report in his hand was particularly captivating when the shaky voice of Officer Hunt came over the radio.

‘7-Adam-22. Shots fired at my location. Suspect gave chase but is now in custody. Roll back-up and EMS.’

Tim stood, grabbing the keys for his shop out of the top drawer of his desk. The rest of the evening was spent documenting the crime scene and making reports before he headed to the hospital, checking on the suspect and now patient, the man getting stitched after cutting his leg while hopping over a fence. Tim made it back to the station thirty minutes after his shift was intended to end, preforming the daily maintenance on the shop before he made his way inside, heading for the office of the day shift’s Sergeant, Wade Grey. He brought the other man up to speed, filling him in on what occurred overnight, by the time he was done updating his fellow superior it was well past eight in the morning and Tim was dead on his feet.

Tim hastily went to the locker room, changing out of his uniform and back into his normal clothes before heading out of the department. He was lucky that he only lived twenty-three minutes away (on a good day) from the department and for a Friday morning, his commute was harmless besides the lingering effects of the morning rush hour traffic.

He pulled the vehicle in, parking his truck in the drive, reaching over for his duffle bag from the passenger seat before he exited the extended cab. He pulled the ring of keys from his front right pocket, unlocking the wooden door as he made his way inside, disabling the alarm system before reengaging the security system as he kicked off his shoes. The silence of the house had always been strangely comforting, the quietness enveloping him as his sock clad feet padded through the dark bedroom, heading for the bathroom. He tiredly stripped of the clothes, throwing them into the hamper before he walked back out into the bedroom, blindly grabbing a pair of black boxer briefs from the top drawer of the dresser, sliding them on before he pulled the covers back and falling into bed.

He stretched out, laying on his stomach, an arm under the pillow and one over his head, sleep claiming him within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, the comfort of the memory foam mattress with the coolness of the multitude of pillows creating the perfect combination.

The dream he was having was one he wanted to stay in forever, the scene his dreaming brain had concocted was perfect, the sunset hitting the woman in front of him, casting her in the hues it was projecting.

“Lucy, I-“

Lucy smiled as she stepped forward, moving towards him. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She grinned, staring at him the sounds of the ocean before them began fading into the background as she leaned in, the buzzing in his ears growing louder.

“What the hell?” he mumbled in his dream as the image began to dissipate.

The buzzing of his phone bringing his sleep addled brain back to reality. There were only four people that could get past his do not disturb settings, and out of the four of them he could immediately eliminate two.

“Hello.” He grumbled into the phone, sitting up as he let out a yawn.

“Tim! You are not going to believe this. Wait- shit.“ she said as the sound of shuffling came through the receiver. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”

“No I wasn- actually yeah, I was.”

He could picture Lucy grimacing on the other end. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I forgot that you worked last night, and that tonight is your night off. I got my days mixed up. I’m just- I’ll just hang up now.”

“Lucy.” He sighed, laying back onto his pillows. “What did you need?”

“It’s not important, I can just tell you tonight wh-“

“Luce, I’m awake now, might as well tell me.”

“Are you sure?” she hesitated as he grunted on the other end. “Ok, so remember me telling you about that high-speed chase we had the other day on I-10? The whole thing is about to get weirder…”

Tim grunted, listening as she continued in her story, her voice becoming softer and softer the longer she spoke and before he knew it, he had fallen back asleep, lulled by the sound of her voice.

“Tim? Babe?” she asked, smiling when she heard the even breaths and soft snore coming from the other end. She ended the call, placing her phone back into her pocket as she made a mental note to make it up to him when she seen him after shift tonight.

Working on two separate shifts and trying to maintain a relationship was difficult, sometimes they would call the other, forgetting that they were likely asleep. Other times, one of them would stay awake for the other, long after their shift had ended, just to catch up. Tim and Lucy have always been a different couple but when all the pieces fall into place, it makes the perfect puzzle.

#the rookie fic #tim bradford x lucy chen #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #chenford #fanfic