#this is so beautiful i shed metaphorical tears in my heart

[starlitangels]

Distractions

This didn't go the direction I was expecting it to, but you know what, I'm 100% fine with that! I missed Avior so much 1.7k words

—

I sat down heavily on the stone floor of the cave. Back pressed to the wall, I drew my knees up and rested my forearms on them. I hung my head and sighed.

Despite the fires burning all over the Hellscape, everything seemed dark to me. The air was thick with smoke and screams, but it seemed heavier than ever, pressing down on me from all sides. No one’s coming to save us, and nothing we’ve tried has worked. The thought spun around and around my head, crowding in with all the others vying for attention.

I’m not sure how long I stayed in that position, fighting off the metaphorical black cloud descending over me.

“Starlight?” Avior’s voice piped up over the din. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “I… I’m at my wit’s end, Avior,” I replied. “There’s no way out. I can’t keep fighting this place. I don’t—I can’t—we’ve tried everything. We’ll never get out—I just—” I shook my head harder. “I’m exhausted!” My throat felt like it was going to close and my eyes burned with tears I didn’t want to shed.

Avior leaned against the wall beside me and slid down it until he was seated next to me. He held out one hand in my direction. I took it. He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Close your eyes,” he repeated, louder.

I did. My eyes stung from the smoke. Closing them came with some relief.

Avior squeezed my hand tighter.

Music started to fill the cave. Gentle piano and strings. Soft at first. Quiet. Almost a lullaby.

Cutting through it, the rib rattling resonance of a cello playing low entered the score.

The music built. A crescendo.

It drowned out everything. The roaring fires. The shrieking winds. The whipping smoke. The endless screams of the dreamlike projections of tortured souls. All the noises of Hell drowned under the music.

The cello and piano pushed everything out of my mind and heart. A cleansing of my soul. A high violin stabbed across the rest with a sharp, precise, beautiful continuation of the melody. Breath eased in and out of my lungs better than I’d been able to while we were here.

The music was crystal clear, and yet it was fuzzy like a nostalgic memory.

It forced my despair out of me.

“How are you doing that?” I asked Avior. Barely louder than a breath.

“Sonal magic,” he replied almost as quietly. He let go of my hand and started running his fingers over my back gently. Tracing random shapes and patterns.

“Wh… why?”

His fingers paused. I opened my eyes just enough to peek at him. Only to discover him already looking down at me.

“You’re breaking, starlight,” he breathed. “And I don’t know how else to save you.”

“Save me?”

“If you shatter here, I fear there will be nothing I can do. I can’t let you lose yourself to this Hell.” His fingertips, feather-light, dusted across the ridge where my neck met my back. “I love you, my starlight. And I will do whatever it takes to get you through this. I swear.”

I moved and buried my face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around me.

“Tell me how to help you. Please.”

I clung to him. “Distract me. Please. Talk to me about something. Anything.”

He ran his hand up and down my spine. “Okay. When we get out of here—and we will get out of here—how do you want to design our dream home together? Are you content with an apartment? Do you want a house? Pretend money is no issue. Where are we going to live? What will it look like?”

I blinked, thinking hard. “I… I want a cottage. Out in the woods. We can have peace and quiet.”

“Keep going.” Avior went back to tracing the mindless shapes on my back.

“I’m not much of a green thumb but I wouldn’t mind a little garden. Some flowers, maybe some fruit-bearing plants or vegetables.”

“Sounds so beautiful. What else?”

I took a deep breath, letting the music that was still filling the air keep cleansing my soul of despair. “An open kitchen for us to dance in together. A fluffy rug that looks like the night sky in the living room. A bedroom with enough space for you and me.”

“What about a claw-foot bathtub?” Avior suggested. I nodded. “Queen or king bed?”

“King. You’re too tall for a queen.”

He chuckled. “Most demons are tall,” he said. His fingertips trailed up and down my spine. “Can I use glow-in-the-dark paint to put constellations on the ceiling of our bedroom?”

“Please do,” I said.

He hummed. His voice vibrated almost as much as the cello’s low line still playing. “When we get out of here, there’s one thing I think I need to do fairly quickly.”

“What is it?”

“Inchoate demons and Concubi rarely take charges. It’s easier not to for Desire Demons. And for Inchoates there’s not usually much of a point. But I’m going to legally Claim you as my charge. Other demons will leave you alone if I do.”

“What… what does that mean? Being your charge?”

“It means a few things, in demonic society. First of all, it means that other demons aren’t allowed to feed on you unless they want to have a problem with both me and the Chorus. A human with a Claim can’t be fed on without permission of the demon who laid the Claim. Other demons can detect it. But it’s a magic that only demons can detect. A human wouldn’t even notice it, empowered or not.” I opened my mouth to ask a question, but Avior kept going. “A Claim can be laid on unempowereds too. It’s not anchored to your Core or anything, before you ask.” I smiled.

“What else does it mean?”

“Some demons take a Claim as meaning they have to take care of their charge’s emotions, to a certain degree. Particularly with Empathy and Serenity Daemons. They see a Claim as a duty to foster the feelings they can feed on in their charges. Most demons and daemons—both spellings—choose charges who are already predisposed toward the emotions they feed on. It’s easier that way. Serenity Daemons find people who tend to be calm. Empathy Daemons’ charges either need someone to help them be happy, or are already happy more often than not. Sadism Demons who take charges often find people who already have… malicious tendencies.” Avior cleared his throat. “And it’s a good thing that there aren’t many Sadism Demons, comparatively, considering there really aren’t a lot of humans with sadistic tendencies that linger longer than a flash in the pan in a moment of anger.”

“Except maybe politicians,” I muttered sarcastically.

Avior snorted like I caught him off guard. “Yeah, except maybe politicians,” he agreed in the tone that said he was humoring me.

“So what does it mean for an Inchoate to take a charge, considering you can feed on anything and don’t need specific feelings?”

He inhaled through his nose. “Not much more than no other demon can feed on you without your permission and mine. Although, to be honest, if you’re fine with another demon feeding on you, I doubt I’d have a problem with it. But, you being my charge also means that legally, I’m allowed to keep you safe from any other demons who get any funny ideas. And if another demon violates my Claim on you, then I’d be able to seek restitution.”

“Restitution? How does that work?”

“Starlight, trust me just this once to not answer your question because you really don’t want to know.”

“Avior—”

“Please, my love. Just trust me. I’ll remind you, though, that demonic society functions on fundamentally very different morals than human society. Demonic ‘restitution’ can get bloody, quickly. And that’s all I’ll say.”

“Wait—so if another demon violated your Claim and you weren’t okay with it… you could get in a fight?”

“It’s one avenue, yes. And probably the more common one.”

“Yikes.”

“Like I said: different morals.”

“No kidding.” I blinked several times, processing that information.

“Hey,” Avior said softly. “Is it working?”

“What?”

“The distractions.”

“O-oh. Yeah.” I smiled. He returned it, gently, and snuggled me closer to his chest. “Can… can I trouble you for something? It might be too much magic to sustain for long.”

“Of course. Whatever I can do, my starlight.”

I moved a hand so I wasn’t holding him and projected a small illusion. “This teddy bear was given to me when I graduated high school and started going to the academy. He took a lot of my stress. I always held onto him while working on projects that were frustrating.”

Avior studied the illusion, reaching a single finger as though to touch the little velvet bow tie stitched to the teddy bear’s neck. “What’s his name?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.”

I looked away from Avior to the projection. “Doug. I thought it would be a silly name to make me smile but… through the long hours of studying for school… he just became my little Duggie.”

Avior kept studying the illusion. “Do you know what he’s made of?”

I shook my head. “He’s really soft but that’s all I got.”

Closing glittering gold eyes, Avior heaved a heavy sigh.

And a very good replica of my teddy bear popped into existence on my outstretched hand. I clutched the plushie close to my chest immediately and burrowed back into Avior’s with my face. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He went back to running his fingers up and down my spine. “Of course, my starlight,” he replied.

The soothing motion of Avior tracing my spine and the comforting firm plushness of Doug in one of my arms helped the tension ease away. Avior’s music shifted from a symphony to drown out the despair into a lullaby to soothe and relax. I felt my breathing slow, matching Avior’s.

Before I knew it, I fell asleep for the first time in months.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl

#redacted asmr #fic #Redacted Avior #Redacted Starlight #redacted audio #Starlit Fic

[hamsterclaw]

Berlin

My contribution to the Autumn Leaves collab hosted by the lovely Justine @bangtansmauyeondan. Banner by the very talented Dani @persphonesorchid.

Hoseok and you have tried to make it work but you can't. And yet you can't be without each other either.

Pairing: Hoseok x F! reader

Genre: Espionage AU, smut, angst

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: Sexually explicit scenes, swearing, mentions of blood and guns

His lips are shaped like a heart and he looks like he’s pouting even when he’s just thinking, like he is now.

You straighten out the furl in the collar of his jacket. He stops moving for a moment to help you.

The afternoon sun is fading, light catching his long eyelashes, revealing the brown of his eyes, casting his skin in golden tones.

Why is he so beautiful even now, when you should hate him?

‘Done?’ he asks, and you realise you’re just staring at him.

Before, he would never have wanted to move you along from looking at him.

Before, he’d actively sought your attention.

Before Athens, and Basel, and the series of unfortunate events that was Verona.

You were jokers to even consider dating.

Part of you wishes you’d gone straight to fucking instead.

But no, romantic Hoseok had said he wanted to do things the right way.

You two, of all people, should know there’s no right way, not when you spend your days carrying out morally dubious tasks in the interests of political stability.

Morally dubious? Is that the euphemism for criminal these days?

Hoseok nudges you, a little harder than he has to.

‘Two men, crossing in front. I’ll meet you at the clocktower, Alexanderplatz.’

‘Half an hour,’ you agree. The bigger of the two men eyes you, and gracefully, Hoseok cuts in front of you, taking the route you’d intended to take, and the big man with him.

You weave your way through the crowds of people. The cold burns your lungs, the icy wind makes your eyes tear up.

Even worse, you feel a trickle of rain on your skin.

You love Berlin, but you hate Berlin in October.

You put your hood up and check on your tail.

It was really Hoseok and his shenanigans in Verona that had made you both a target of one of the most powerful arms dealers in Italy.

Sometimes you wonder if you’d sided with the wrong team working for Interpol.

Because the other side always seems to have bigger goddamn guns.

Sighing, you duck into an alley. It’s lazy, you know, but you have no desire to flee through Berlin when you could just disarm your tail and have enough time for a coffee before meeting Hoseok.

Your supervisor, Yoongi’s voice pops into your head, and belatedly you remember him reminding you that you have two strikes left.

You also remember railing against the impropriety of using sports metaphors to describe how close you are to being put on enforced leave.

Damn it.

You slip into the kitchens of a bistro, smiling apologetically at the staff as you make your way through.

You take a moment to get your bearings at the front of the restaurant and re-orientate.

There’s no way you’re going to let Hoseok beat you to Alexanderplatz. Even if you have to forego coffee.

You dip down into the subway and shed your coat, handing it to a busker. Perhaps they’ll get to enjoy the shearling lining more than you’ve had a chance to.

You’re five minutes from Alexanderplatz. You duck into a coffee shop and order two coffees, keeping an eye out for your allocated follower.

He’s nowhere to be seen.

You swipe a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from a table and get your coffees to go.

You turn up at the allocated meeting point with time to spare.

Hoseok arrives a full minute after you, and you try to keep the smugness out of your expression.

‘Coffee?’ you ask.

Hoseok accepts, and you notice his knuckles are cut and bruised.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise we were resorting to brute violence to get away,’ you say, conveniently leaving out that you’d considered the same.

‘He made a rude comment about your ass, actually,’ Hoseok remarks.

‘How chivalrous of you to defend me,’ you return.

‘I actually agreed with him,’ Hoseok says, mildly.

You’re hurt, but you know better than to let it show. Apparently your skin is still thin when it comes to Hoseok.

‘He said, an ass like yours is wasted on menial espionage.’

‘He’s a gentleman and a scholar,’ you say. You sip your coffee and shiver a little.

‘Where’s your coat?’ Hoseok asks.

‘Gave it to the needy,’ you reply.

‘It’s too cold to be out there without one,’ Hoseok says, frowning.

‘Are you volunteering to take me shopping, Hoseok?’ you ask.

He doesn’t smile.

Around you, the sun’s setting, giving way to the artificial brightness of early night.

You finish your coffee. ‘Well, as much as I always enjoy our little chats, I have a man in Vienna I have to meet.’

‘I’m heading that way myself,’ Hoseok says, falling into step beside you.

You get adjoining seats on the train.

There’s barely anyone else in your carriage.

You look out at the stretches of dark, the cityscape giving way to forest.

You’d rather be looking at Hoseok and his heart-shaped mouth.

You catch him staring at you.

‘What happened to that velvet dress you were wearing that night?’ Hoseok asks.

You know exactly which dress he’s talking about.

He’d peeled it off you with his teeth, used the straps to bind your hands together and had made you cum twice before he let you loose.

Or was it thrice? You feel an answering thrill in your bones at the memory of it.

You shrug. ‘Probably the same thing that happened to your velvet tux,’ you reply.

The tux you’d blown him in right after he’d made you cum twice. Thrice?

You stare at his hands. You want so badly to touch him.

‘Hobi,’ you say, suddenly, before you can stop yourself.

He waits, and you search his eyes for an inkling of how he feels.

You’ll take anything. Hell, at this point, you’ll take the hint of anything.

All you see is sadness.

Eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake outside Nuremberg, and he’s gone.

He’s left you his coat, another piece of him.

You think you’ll always want more.

***

Not for the first time, you rue the fact that you’ve never seen Hoseok’s real birth certificate, because you are convinced that his middle name is ‘Idiot.’

Jung Idiot Hoseok.

Hobi Idiot Jung.

You crouch against a low wall, watching as your once-lover strides confidently into the fray.

He almost manages to bluff it, you’ll give him that.

Unfortunately there aren’t many Interpol agents of Korean descent as ethereally beautiful as your beloved.

You’re not too worried until the AK-47s come out.

Damnit why do the other side always have better guns?

You run in and grab Hoseok.

He goes with you only to get you out of harm’s way.

Perhaps a part of him loves you as deeply as you love him?

No time for that now.

Hoseok, now leaning against a wall when he looks like he needs a stretcher, coughs a little blood away from you.

You stare in dismay at the blood on the breast of his new coat.

‘God damn you Hoseok,’ you swear, calling for help.

‘Just got this,’ he complains, breathing shallow, complexion ashen.

There’s a light rain falling, mixing with your tears as you wait for help.

‘You probably won’t die from this,’ you tell him, voice trembling.

‘Probably not,’ he agrees.

‘What’s your middle name? Is it ‘Idiot’?’ you ask.

His smile is wan. ‘Areum.’

You know immediately what he’s referring to.

‘Not a bad name,’ you say, cocking a brow at him. ‘It might have been a boy though.’

The sirens drown out what he says next.

***

It’s been two months since you left your love to be resuscitated and nursed back to health by capable strangers.

You know he left hospital after two weeks.

You know he’s recuperating somewhere.

Yoongi’s hinted that it’s somewhere close to you.

You look for him in the crowds of Oia even as you try and tell yourself you aren’t.

You’re on your third beer, lazy in the sun of your balcony. ‘Go on, Yoongi, just say it.’

You’re in the middle of a particularly delicate negotiation between two rival Greek families, but right now? You’ve got the night off and are trying to convince Yoongi to talk dirty to you in his astoundingly sexy voice.

‘Unprofessional,’ scolds Yoongi.

‘Ooh, I can go with that. Can you tell me I’m a bad girl?’

There’s a scuffling, then a yelp.

Then Jung Hoseok’s voice, smooth as silk.

‘You’re a bad girl, my love.’

You burst into tears.

***

You avoid the eyes of the men you’re serving in the private room. You’re not here to by eye-fucked by anyone unless they can give you what you’ve been instructed to get.

There’s a stir, a straightening of jackets, a general improvement of postures, and you assume this is where the fun begins.

To your delight, the newly arrived alpha of the pack is a woman. She eyes your cleavage and you shoot her a cheeky grin.

Behind her, a man prepared to die in his loyalty to her. Tall, stone-faced, impassive. You know the type.

Next to him, a familiar heart-shaped mouth, straight shoulders, and a height that fits against yours perfectly.

He doesn’t waste any time, patting the empty seat next to him invitingly.

You expect him to move the hand he’s carelessly left in the middle of the seat, but he doesn’t.

He squeezes your ass, and it’s better than a hug.

You’ve missed him so much.

You’re listening as discussions are had, loose plans are made, but really you’re mainly aware of Hoseok’s hand under your ass and the warmth of his body next to yours.

He hasn’t spoken to you directly at all apart from a brilliantly disinterested eyebrow raise when he asked your name for appearances.

Hoseok clasps your arm, leading you out of the club and into a waiting car.

He says nothing to you until the hotel door closes behind him.

‘There are hidden cameras in here,’ he says, lips so close to your ear you shiver with want. ‘Apart from in the bathroom.’

His lips graze your skin, teeth catching your earlobe.

‘Can you pretend not to love me?’

His words hurt but you want him anyway.

Hoseok shrugs off his jacket, tosses it at the floor to cushion your knees, and sits.

‘Go on, show me how much you’ve missed me,’ he says. His tongue pokes into his cheek.

To your surprise, when you unzip him, he’s already so hard he makes your mouth water.

His eyes darken as you curl your hand around him and lick a sloppy stripe up his cock.

‘You know how to do it better than that don’t you?’ he asks. He takes your hand, palm out, and spits on it.

You take him in your mouth. You’ve sucked his cock so many times by now that the slide is easy, the feel of him familiar.

You love the weight of him on your tongue, the push of him at the roof of your mouth.

Hoseok grips your shoulder, grunting as you swallow him down.

His other hand undoes the button on your blouse, cups the weight of your breast, thumb over your nipple.

You always just seem to fit his hand so well.

Your arousal is pooling between your legs, making you feel uncomfortably wet as you suck him.

Hoseok swears, loud, emphatic, then he’s pulling you off him, grip tight on your arm as he drags you to the bathroom.

‘Turns out I’m the one who can’t hide,’ he tells you, voice strained.

There’s not much talking after that, just his mouth on yours, kisses all over your face. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, lifts your skirt just enough to tug your panties off.

He lines himself up, waits until you look up at him, turned on and desperate.

You cup his face. ‘Hobi,’ you whisper.

‘I know, baby. I know,’ he soothes. He pushes into you then, letting you get used to the stretch of him, waiting until his arms are trembling with effort.

He’s holding you so tight you can barely breathe.

His rhythm is jerky, unlike him, but it’s enough. You keen with the pleasure of it as your orgasm hits, and you realise he’s cumming too, spurting against your walls, deep groan ripped from his chest.

‘You left me,’ he says, and it would sound accusing if he wasn’t still fully tangled up with you, hips braced between your thighs.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ he says.

He smiles at you then, lips pulled into a smile that makes you long for him even though he’s still inside you.

He pats your hip. ‘Where’s your weapon?’

‘Hard to explain away,’ you say, shrugging.

Hoseok pales. ‘If I hadn’t been there – ‘

‘I would still have slept my way out of trouble.’

Your words are brutal, it seems brutal to compare what’s just happened between you with meaningless sex.

Hoseok slaps his gun into your palm, the same palm he spat in earlier.

‘I don’t have anywhere to put it,’ you tell him.

‘That’s not my fucking problem,’ he seethes. ‘You’re not walking out here without my gun or me, as protection.’

‘I’ll take the gun,’ you say, sullen.

Hoseok’s laughter is rusty, like he hasn’t laughed in a while. ‘Stop being a brat.’

‘I’ll attract more attention with a gun,’ you grumble.

Hoseok slips his jacket over your shoulders.

You don’t want to leave him.

‘Can I stay?’ you ask.

You know it’s a mistake as soon as the words leave your lips.

‘Y/N,’ he sighs.

You can’t look at him, it hurts too much.

You turn and leave his hotel room.

You leave his jacket and gun just outside his door.

They’re just more pieces of him, when you want all of him.

***

You’re outside the Blue Church in Bratislava, trying to catch your breath after running from the explosion.

If you end up dying here, you’re going to throw yourself into the Danube.

The deep slice in your side throbs like a son of a bitch, perhaps you can find a vet to stitch you up.

You would laugh if any of this was remotely funny.

You’ve lost your phone.

You wish you’d taken Hobi’s gun when he’d offered it to you.

You wish you’d taken Hobi when he’d offered himself to you.

The water seems so far away but you can just about see it.

You just need to keep walking.

***

Your new friend Jungkook is relentlessly friendly and kind, full of the goodness of the human spirit.

You want to show him how nasty the world can be and how much he’d like it but you keep holding back.

It’s not his fault he hasn’t yet seen the dark flipside of modern civilisation.

Jungkook frowns over the sparseness of your living room in Geneva.

‘Can we go shopping together?’ he asks.

He asks the same question every time.

The truth is, you don’t know if Geneva is for you.

You hadn’t bothered to get in touch with Yoongi, and by extension Hoseok, after Bratislava.

For all you know they think you’re dead.

For all you know they don’t care.

You think of the last time you saw Hoseok, how you’d practically begged him to let you stay.

How you’d left his gun and his jacket and how you’d immediately regretted it.

You want all of him, it’s true, but you’ve never said no to pieces of him before.

If that’s all he can offer you, can you make do?

You suspect the answer is yes.

You don’t think the answer’s the same for him.

Jungkook nudges you. ‘Come on we have to get ready for work.’

It’s funny how you fall back into things that are familiar.

You’re serving hors d oeuvres at some society do with some minor celebrities with Jungkook.

There’s a thrum of excitement through the air as the guest of honour arrives.

You lift your tray, and nearly drop it as he comes into view.

Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful skin.

A dark grey suit, cut exquisitely.

If he were to open his mouth you know his voice would make you weak.

It’s Min motherfucking Yoongi.

He spots you just after you’ve spotted him.

You’re already walking towards him, tray held out.

He accepts a blini with a polite incline of his head, a flick of his eyes to an alcove.

You accept his invitation.

He waits until you reach him with two glasses of champagne.

‘So, you’ve done it,’ he says.

You look at him, confused.

‘You’ve finally broken Jung Hoseok.’

***

He doesn’t look broken to you, you think, as you watch Hoseok walk confidently into the room and greet a group of similarly confident and polished men.

Yoongi had told you that Hoseok had been distraught after you’d gone dark after Bratislava, two months ago.

He’d single-handedly taken down the Pitovci enclave in Lamac, who ironically had nothing to do with your disappearance.

He’d put out an alert on anyone who fit your description at hospitals, police stations, embassies.

Thankfully the alert hadn’t included vets.

The stitches had been a little coarse but you’ve healed well.

You’re turning to leave when Yoongi shakes his head.

‘No. You’re going to stay and show him how alive you are.’

‘He’ll kill me,’ you protest.

To be honest, wild horses couldn’t drag you away.

God, you’ve missed him so much.

You drink in the curve of his cheekbones as he smiles, the devastatingly sexy set of his jaw, the familiar tilt of his head.

Your vision blurs as your eyes fill with tears.

You realise he’s facing your way, and hurriedly, you dry your tears so you can see him better.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

‘He really did think you were dead,’ Yoongi murmurs. ‘It was all that blood.’

Hoseok’s coming towards you now, heedless of the way everyone he passes turns towards him,

Your almost husband, once upon a time, is still as beautiful as he ever was.

He reaches you, puts out a hand to cup your face.

His voice is raspy when he speaks.

‘I hope you know that I’m going to spank you silly for this little stunt you’ve pulled.’

‘Not even a hello?’ you ask. You can’t help it, your voice wobbles.

You just want him to hold you.

Yoongi sighs, impatient.

‘Oh,’ he says, voice heavy with significance. ‘Looks like my best living operative, Jung Hoseok, got caught in the crossfire at a mafia-linked assassination.’

‘Guess he really went off the rails after Y/N L/N’s unexpected death in Bratislava.’

Hoseok’s hand curls around your wrist, tight.

Yoongi leans close to you. ‘Good to see you’re alive, Y/N. I hate weddings, so please don’t invite me to yours.’

‘How about we name our firstborn child after you?’ Hoseok offers.

Yoongi says, straight-faced, ‘I bet he’ll be a handsome bastard.’

‘Will you be ok?’ you ask Yoongi.

Hoseok’s already putting his coat over your shoulders, curling his arm around you.

‘I’m not sticking around, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Yoongi replies.

He pulls out his gun and fires a single shot, at the ceiling.

You all get the hell out of there.

***

Jung Hoseok’s profile is a thing of beauty, you’ll never get tired of looking at him.

His teeth are sunk into his bottom lip as he undresses you, brow slightly furrowed.

You grab his hand as he grips your buttons.

‘I got a vet to sew me up last time, it’s not pretty,’ you warn him.

His eyes snap to yours, and his jaw clenches.

You’re worried those teeth in his lip are going to draw blood.

He tugs your silky blouse off, and stares at your new scar for so long you start to feel self-conscious about it.

Then his hands are on your hips, turning you over so smoothly it takes a moment for you to realise you’re across his lap, ass up.

His hand lifts your skirt up, exposing your ass, your panties.

His hand works your ass, curling over your flesh, squeezing so hard you yelp.

He sighs.

‘This,’ he says, voice calm, quiet, ‘is for letting me think you were dead for sixty four days.’

Your head turns just as his hand lands on your ass with a loud slap of open palm on skin.

‘Hobi!’ you cry, outraged.

You’re trying to scramble up, but he holds you tight.

‘This,’ he says, ‘is for not telling me you were in trouble.’

He pulls your thighs apart and spanks you again. He completely ignores your stinging flesh and runs his fingers over your cunt.

You clench helplessly as his fingers leave you.

‘Hobi,’ you cry again, and it’s more of a sob. Underneath your belly you can feel his cock hardening.

‘This,’ he says, ‘is for not taking my help when I fucking offered it to you.’

His third spank makes your panties flood.

You pant. ‘Hobi, Hobi, please.’

‘Please what?’ he asks, voice harsh.

‘I wanted to stay with you,’ you cry out. Tears are spilling out your eyes now, sliding down your cheeks.

Hoseok pulls you up to face him. ‘Then stay,’ he tells you, furious. ‘When have I ever told you no?’

You stare at him, eyes wide, until he pulls you close to kiss you.

‘I’ve tried living without you,’ he tells you. ‘It’s no good.’

You want to talk to him, but you want his lips on you.

Hoseok kisses a fevered trail across your jaw, down your neck, nipping at your skin as he goes.

‘Hobi,’ you say, and he stills.

‘I love hearing you say my name,’ he tells you. ‘Fuck, I didn’t think I’d hear it again.’

You’re frantic now, driven half-mad with the feel of his lips on you.

‘Hobi, get inside me,’ you tell him, spreading your legs for his hips.

Hoseok grunts, tugging his briefs off, slipping into you in one motion. He groans, deep in his chest as he bottoms out.

He fucks you hard, and you can’t tell if he’s angry still or if he’s upset.

His hand squeezes your ass, his other arm bracing himself by your head.

You shift your hips to meet his thrusts, and Hoseok swears.

‘I’m not going to last,’ he warns you.

‘So don’t,’ you taunt.

Hoseok laughs, darkly. ‘Don’t worry your pretty little troublemaking head, my love.’

He leans closer, biting your earlobe. ‘I’ll make sure you cum first.’

He does.

Afterward you’re curled in his arms.

He runs a hand across your bare ass.

‘So what do we do now?’

‘You promised Yoongi a child,’ you point out.

Hoseok grins. ‘I’m gonna need a minute before we can go again.’

‘I have minutes,’ you offer.

Hoseok leans across you, chain dangling from his collarbones as he reaches into the pocket of the jacket he tossed on the floor earlier.

He passes you a jewelry box.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs. ‘I got it in Berlin.’

It’s a sparkly ring.

You snap the box shut.

Hoseok says, patiently, ‘If you want me to knock you up you’re going to need to marry me.’

‘Let me think about it,’ you say, teasing.

Hoseok laughs. ‘Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.’

He frowns. ‘Neither are you.’

#bts smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #btscarnivalnet #bts fanfic #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic

[fatuismooches]

greetings, miss smooches ~

hello hi dearest!! i hope all has been well for you today <3 if not, i hope this lengthy and i mean lengthy ask can manage to bring at least a smile to your face.

on the ninth of june this year, i discovered your blog again through your very first installment of your kabukimono series. i never had the courage to send an ask until recently, and my dumbass realized i never followed your blog.

it's a little surreal to believe that it's been so long, i remember being a wee seventeen year old back in 2022 gushing over every kuni piece you published, then i read your masterlist on my birthday, and was swoon since then. it's a shame that i never had the courage to reblog your works at least, but i suppose it's better late than never ~

i saw your post today morning regarding your kabukimono series and i would like to present mindful:

first of all, your last two chapters i did read and HAH! I WAS FUCKING RIGHT ABOUT WANDERER'S BEING BITTERSWEET — cough. excuse me.

but absolutely yes omg. a lesson in forgiveness had my heart reeling because the sweetness of kuni still remembering both little and big things about his dearest beloved almost made me shed a tear which is natural because they were lovers but fuck me sideways that combined with the bitter reality that reader isn't able to remember neither do they remember the past the two shared. i can just about imagine him, after the encounter he had with reader in the cafe, he wonders if he'll be able to make things right, wonders of he deserves a second chance to love you like he used to and... ugh. i hate him. i hope he gets microwaved. ( lies aya loves him way too much )

the bonus lesson, a lesson in the heart — shut up because getting MARRIED to kabukimono is literally fucking everything. that lesson had me giggling and kicking my feet and smiling from ear to ear like come on?? kabuki is literally the husband of all time and i just wanna lay down in the puddle of tears i metaphorically shed reading that lesson :( the way he was just kissing reader so lovingly and talking about how grateful he is for you, how much his life has changed thanks to your wonderful presence like .. fuck. i need a moment

there is so much more that i could honestly say about the last two installments to your series, your series as a whole is something i will never shut up about. such a hauntingly beautiful piece of work and i adore everything it tackled; from the delightful to the depressing and everything in-between if you hyper analyze it like i do — it's surreal to see it come to an end, but it makes me all the more proud to be one of the people who discovered it early, stuck around to read it because it was that enthralling to me.

you rarely ever find a kabukimono fic or any kuni fic in general that's set in a more fluffy and domestic atmosphere ( until shit goes down hill ) and i think that's what adds to the haunting nature of it, something so beautiful and simple can at times be taken away too soon by the hands of fate.

i am so happy for you, smooches. so happy and so proud to see you come this far, and i cannot wait for not only future installments for the other harbingers, but just in general a lot more to come from you <3

if you do start on that dot series, make sure to take your time and write it at your own pace! you are a busy individual, and i hope you get the much needed break you deserve now that the kabuki series has come to a close.

take care lovely, remember to stay hydrated and treat yourself to whatever you crave! be safe, and i will see you when i see you <3

— signed, ayame.

AHHH HI AYAME!! <3 This ask is SO SO SO SWEET ahhh thank you so much it really did put a smile on my face!! Damn i can't believe you've been around for so long 😭😭 I'm really glad you were able to make your way back to me. It's super sweet to hear how much you like my Scara works ❤️ BUT YEAHHH YOU WERE RIGHT I just felt like it being bittersweet for Wanderer would be the perfect ending. Yup the sad things happened and there's nothing he can do about the past, but the future is always waiting for him. Especially when you're there with him now. AND OMG THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THE STUFF KUNI REMEMBERS WITH YOU 😭 I was literally going back to the previous lessons to try and find the best memories to incorporate with Wanderer. And yeahhh he definitely wonders if he's worthy of another chance with you :( He already blew the first one and turned into this kind of person so does he really deserve you? I imagine he's a bit stiff and perhaps even a bit quiet around you which is really strange? I mean he's silent around a lot of people except he always has a few scoffs and mean things to say but around you, he doesn't do much of that. It takes a lot of nudging from Nahida to get him back to normal.

I'm glad you feel the same way about marrying Kabukimono 😭 It's literally the SWEETEST thing ever omg he'd be over the moon every single day even though the wedding is months away. He's like. beyond excited to marry you. I just know he tries to be the perfect fiance for you in every way possible. He has a little notebook with tips from the villagers and Niwa. *gives you a tissue and a hug*

AHHH EJDEDENDJW shit you're hyping me up too much Ayame 😭❤️❤️🥺 I don't know what else to say beside thank youuuu I'm beyond overjoyed that this series means that much to you 😭😭 It does make me really sad to see it end because i truly enjoyed writing it but. I'm satisfied and I'm glad i gave reader and Wanderer a happy ending :))

AND YEAHHH i think fluff for Kabukimono is in limited quantity so I'm glad i could add to it!! i think adding fluff before angst is a really good way to build up the sadness. Because you see how lovely and simple life was before things changed and it just hits harder since you now know things will never be the same again... </3 once you know how good things used to be, it's hard to accept the opposite.

Once again thank you so so much Ayame <33 I hope you continue to enjoy my future works. Whenever i write Scara I'm going to be thinking of you now. Please make sure to take care of yourself as well okay? ❤️💗💗💗🫶

#smooches talks #moots: ayame <3 #cried tbh #UR SO NICE. this was so nice and fun. #biggest scara fan tbh (once again ur theme ate)

[3-2-1-lesbian]

“It doesn’t matter how happy you feel, or how well your life is going, there will always be some days when your heart feels too heavy for your body. And you wish you could simply exist without it. Without the overbearing sentiments that ultimately make you human. And you have to sit down and remind yourself that it’s okay to feel. That you were put on this earth to risk your heart. To break and rebuild. That answers don’t appear simply because you beg for them. That despite the storm within you, everything is just as it is meant to be. That there is still time to love yourself. There is still time to improve. That no matter how hopeless you might feel when you fall asleep, you will ultimately be greeted by the morning sun. By life around you. And it will not stop just because you’re tired. And that - it not putting itself on hold - is probably one of the greatest gifts it could ever give to you. Because while you might never believe otherwise, it is teaching you how to survive in a world where nothing is as permanent as you’d like it to be. By forcing you to wake up, it is reminding you that there is life beyond what you feel in the moment. There are things you can control. There is purpose. And that is why you don’t give up. That is why although you may constantly say you’ve had enough, you never really have. Because somewhere deep within you, you also know this to be true. You know that there are too many beautiful sunsets you have yet to see. There is laughter you have yet to hear. There are beautiful, hazel eyes you have yet to stare into. Food you have yet to try. Music you have yet to enjoy. Hips you have yet to touch. Lips you have yet to kiss. Friends you have yet to hug. Borders you have yet to cross. Places you have yet to explore. Lessons you have yet to learn. Metaphorical mountains you have yet to climb. There are still worlds ahead of you. Ones that you are secretly dying to experience. Ones that keep you sane, willing and trying in the subtlest of ways. Ones that manage to whisper, “Hold on for a little while longer, this will all make sense”. And so I allow the Universe to align. I allow it to pull me and push me in directions which I’ve never favoured. I allow it to tear me away from all that once brought me comfort. I resist no change. I am constantly embracing it. I am learning to sit across Life at the coffee table and say, “Hit me with everything you have”. Hit me and watch the word resilience come to life. Hit me and watch me flourish. Watch me shed layers upon layers of skin. Watch me face every injustice, every disaster, every tornado that plagues me - with absolute grace. With greater knowledge each time. Hit me and watch me terrify this world through my honesty. Through my pure intentions. Through my selflessness and my desire to love even when others hate. I will not allow this world to turn me cold. To dim the fire that burns within me. I will not allow my circumstances to turn me hard. I am soft. I am so fucking soft. And at one point, I genuinely believed that meant I was weak. That I would not survive, but simply find myself continuously crushed; overwhelmed and haunted by feelings of unrequitedness. But my God, was I ever wrong. For because I am soft, because I am unwilling to allow the cruelty of this world to bitter me, I am strong.”

[driaswrld]

and when i tell you that i genuinely thought nobody would like this fic and that you commented on it and reblogged it made me cry, because i'm super emotional today, what then ??

you're an angel, dria, i swear you are !! (tell me a jjk character and i will write a cute little piece about them as soon as i can for you, dearest. IT'LL BE CHEERY AND CHRISTMASSY, I PROMISE)

WDYM U THOUGHT NO ONE WOULD LIKE IT ITS SO GOOD????

i actually shed a few tears reading that because it was such a raw piece and everything in it flowed so beautifully even the dialogue fit so perfect

and dare i even BEGIN TO SAY the metaphors and foreshadowing from the beginning were not lost on me — desert in a flood, the biblical allusion along with toji's character flaws being trimmed down to a T it was so good i read the first few lines and put it down before i picked it up again

LIKE WTF MAE 😭 i could FEEL the emptiness of that apartment from the words alone and it just reminded me sm of the thing nobara said once about having seats in her heart reserved for only a set number of ppl and i kept thinking, reader has been holding her chair on her shoulders knocking on the doors of toji's heart AND STILL

i actually wish i could write my term paper ab this😭😭 AND I WILL REREAD IT bcus i know im not doing your work justice with these face value takes alone— but really mae it was utterly beautiful and internally flawless i loved it <33

#★ MOOTIES #AND AND i'll request smth soon dw my love!! #(your ask box is my refuge anyway😭) #EVEN THOUGH U CONTINUE TO CLAW MY HEART OUT WITH ANGST #ily mae <33

[wkemeup]

I very rarely cry at fics, and I mean rarely. But In Every Lifetime.. damn girl I shed at least 5 tears. The way you write is always so beautiful, and I loved the way you described Bucky's heart on the floor and left behind 💕 another masterpiece

thank you!!! that was one of my more favorite metaphors I've used in recent fics, so I appreciate you saying that!!

#inbox #in every lifetime

[lordabovehelpme]

Know That I Love You- Din Djarin x Reader

This is chapter four (and the final chapter) of my Forget Me Not Series. 

A/n: Hello everyone. Yes, I know I had one more chapter planned before the epilogue, but I just really liked how this one ended and I thought it would work best with the series. Thank you everyone for your support and kind words as I have been writing this. I have had a blast creating this series and it is really all becuase of you lovely people. I hope you guys enjoy this ending and shed as many tears as I did writing it. Thank you again for making my life as a content creator that much more special. I love each and every one of you. 

Summary: After a long month of no memories, you and your husband have one last idea. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why did this happen to you? Why has your brain just decided to block everything from you? It’s been a month. A long seemingly never ending month since the last time you remembered something.

You and your husband have tried everything. Foods, music, scents, literally everything. And yet, nothing.

The first week was alright. Your memories, so far, have been spaced out by about a week. So the three of you just went about normal life. But then week two hit. You started getting antsy, excited for the next new memory. What new thing would you remember? Would it relate to Din? Or Grogu? The possibilities were endless.

As each day passed, you started getting more and more stirred and thrilled. Even the stoic mandalorian started to pick up on your excitement. Every night he would ask if you had remembered anything or if anything throughout the day had sparked something. But the answer was always no.

Your hope started to waver and deplete towards the beginning of week three. By the end of the week you found yourself questioning why. Why when you were making so much progress it would end so soon? Why would the world offer you so much hope only to rip it away again?

It is now week four. You’ve given up. It’s like someone took a knife and cut from your heart to your stomach, leaving it open and deep. Your heart seizes as you look at your husband. Not only is this hard for you, but for him too.

Currently, you’re on the way to a planet called Sorgan. Din had said that they had contacted him and needed some help with supplies. You had asked him if you knew this planet. He explained that you’ve only been a few times and that he tries to keep tabs on this planet. So he said that the first day might be a little overwhelming as the village will recognize you. But he assured you he’ll be right beside you.

He’s always right beside you, supporting you and making sure you’re okay. The firm strong hand on your back that assures you that you’re safe; both physically and metaphorically.

As if he can feel your gaze, he looks over his shoulder at you. Those warm compassionate eyes sparkle as they silently ask you if you’re okay.

You nod at him, although it’s a melancholic nod. He offers you a smile before turning back towards the world outside the ship.

***

That’s weird. You can hear birds chirping from outside the Crest. Sitting up, you find yourself alone in the bunk, no Din and no Grogu.

Wrapping the blanket around you, you stand and pad through the hull. Oh, you must have landed on Sorgan in the night. That explains everything. The containers of supplies Din brought for them are gone and he’s not even here.

After getting dressed, you finally emerge from the ship. Laughter bubbles around the village as children run around with one another. People are out in the water with baskets and wide smiles. The buzz of insects and songs of birds go right along with the various conversations held between people.

You scan your surroundings, searching for the shiny armor of your mandalorian. Ah, there. Near the front of the houses and huts stands your husband with a woman. She is absolutely beautiful. Long brown hair that looks so silky and smooth. Her kind eyes as she smiles up at the mandalorian.

They look cute together.

The thought comes out of nowhere, but you can’t deny the truth it holds. You watch as they converse, and your heart sinks when she reaches out and grabs your husband's bicep, that sweet large smile and gorgeous sparkling eyes. But it hurts even more when he does nothing, he doesn't even flinch.

Jealousy burns a hold right through your chest and you hope she can feel it. Mustering up your confidence, you walk over and grab his other arm.

At the sight of you she releases his arm and her shoulders drop. But she lifts them back up so fast you start to question if it actually happened.

“Hello cyare, did you sleep well?”  He wraps his arm around you and pulls you into his side.

You look right at the woman, making eye contact before turning your gaze to your mandalorian. “Yes, but I would have woken up better if you were there.” You put on a show, sticking your bottom lip out in a pout and you try to make your eyes as wide as possible, batting you eyelashes in a silent plea.

He chuckles and squeeze your waist in apology. “I’m sorry, I planned on coming back to you but I got held up.”

You hum out some sort of forgiveness before turning back towards the woman. “Hi, how are you? Do I happen to know you?”

She smiles. “Oh yes, I’m Omera. You do know me, or well you did know me.” She gasps as she catches her mistake. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes widen in fear as she looks up to meet your husband's gaze. “Please, forgive me. I meant no offense.” She dips her head in an apologetic bow, distress written all over her features.

“Oh no, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” You realize just how petty you had been to her. Jealousy really does cloud one’s mind. Smiling at her you assure her that you had just started off on the wrong foot. She nods and smiles back at you.

***

The two of you walk back to the Crest for lunch. The mandalorian sits down on a container while sliding his helmet off. “Cyare, I was thinking.”

“That’s never good.” You say it over your shoulder while preparing the food rations

He glares at you, but you don’t miss the glimmer of amusement in his eyes as you turn back around. “Maybe we should try going to a medic to see if there's some medication or something. They have a really good one here. That’s also one of the reasons I wanted to bring you here.”

“Oh.” You hand him his bowl of soup before sitting down next to him. “That sounds good.”

He looks at you, checking for your facial expressions. “Are you sure? You don’t have to make the decision now, I just wanted you to start thinking about it.”

You meet his eyes and your hand moves to cup his cheek, your thumb running along the skin beneath his eye. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He slightly leans into your touch and his eyes flutter closed. Smiling, you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. “Thank you for caring.”

His eyes open and nearly knock you over with how much adoration they hold. “Always.” He tilts towards your hand so he can press a kiss to your palm. “Always cyare.”

***

He holds your hand as you walk over towards the hut where the medic lives. “Do you want me to go in with you, or do you want to go by yourself?”

That makes you stop and think. It would be easiest for him to come in with you and hold your hand. But what if you learn something that you don’t want him to know, let alone yourself to know. You’d rather break the news to him than for a medic to tell the both of you.

“I think I’d like to go by myself.” His visor tilts down towards you. “But you can come if you’d like. I know this is just as hard for you as it is for me.”

He squeezes your shoulders before bringing you into a hug. “No, you go cyare. But, please…” his voice falters and the vocoder cracks, “please be okay.” Those last words are barely even audible.

You look up at him and slide your fingers under his helmet, stroking his prickly jaw. He leans down and presses his forehead against your own. Water falls onto your fingertips and he pulls you closer to his chest. “I promise.”

He nods his head and grips your wrists, lifting your hands just enough so he can press a kiss to each finger. Then he releases them as you lean up to kiss his helmet. He gives one last squeeze to your skin before letting you go into the hut. As your shape disappears behind the door he almost follows you, but he knows better. So he just takes one last glance before walking away.

As you walk through the door, you are instantly met with the strong smell of sanitizer and medicine. There are a few chairs to your right, they onlook the various machines and curtained-off sections.

A kind looking older woman emerges from a separate room. “Ah yes, I heard you would be here soon.” She gestures for you to follow her into another room.

“You did?”

She chuckles, “Yes, your husband was very adamant that I see you.”

“Oh.” You can’t fight the smile that breaks its way onto your face.

She sits you down on a chair before scanning over your body. You watch her eyes, but from her years of experience, she doesn’t let you in past her usual kindness.

The longer she scans and the more she writes on her clipboard, the deeper your heart sinks. You start to play with your shirt, running the worn fabric through your fingers. Anxiety bubbles it’s way up as you answer her small questions.

Finally, after what seems like days, she claps her hands together and rests them on the messy clipboard. She looks down at her notes one last time before raising to meet your terrified gaze.

She gives you a weak smile before speaking, “Now, hon, remind me how everything has been going.”

You take a breath and start your story. You begin with how you woke up, unsure and terrified of where you were. Then how kind and loving your husband has been. You tell her, in earnest, how exciting it was to have the first memory. How happy and joyful the two of you were. The shared kisses in glee. And then you tell her about the rest. Memories of your wedding, of your life, of your love. Your face lights up the more you tell. A smile grows wide as you tell every detail you can.

But it only lasts a second, because then you move onto the last month. The pain you felt everyday having to tell him that you, once again, had not remembered anything. You tell her of how excited he looked every time you begin a conversation, a hope you would bring him news of your past life. You tell her how you could only stand there as his eyes softened and his shoulders slightly slumped when you instead brought him news of disappointment.

“And now I’m here.” You finally finish.

She takes one long deep breath, her eyes flickering to look outside the window. Setting the clipboard on the counter, she moves her chair closer to you and reaches out to wrap her hands around your clasped ones.

“Hon…” Her voice already tells you this is news you won’t like, “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes widen, hoping that she is just sorry for your story. Begging the downtune in her voice to just be from her old age.

“I checked everything, multiple times, and I’ve come with only one answer for you.” She squeezes your hands, giving you one more smile. “You should continue to slowly gain more memories.” She hesitates. “I’m afraid to tell you, but you’ll never fully regain your memories...”

Suddenly everything goes silent. You can see her mouth moving, but you can’t hear her. A piercing ringing blares in your head. Your chest seizes and it’s like you're drowning. You can’t get any air in even though you can feel yourself wheezing. The medic grabs your shoulders as you start to fall forward. You bring one hand to lay where your heart is.

It hurts.

She helps you fall to your knees as you stare down at the floor, trying to ground your body. It feels like hours have gone by and yet it also feels like it’s only been seconds when arms wrap around your frame and the warm familiar scent of your mandalorian fills your nose. Through watery eyes you look up to find his helmet staring at you.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the curtain close and soon your husband's face is revealed to you. His eyes frantically move over your features. Your hands blindly grab hold of whatever they can as you try to tell him you can’t breathe.

He says something to you, but it falls on deaf ears. You grab his hand and place it around your neck, trying to plead with him to help you. He seems to understand as he grabs your face between his hands and leans forward so your vision is filled with him. He breathes in through his mouth and his exhale fans over your skin. Nodding at you he does the same thing. You try to mimic him, breathing in the most air you can even as your body protests. He keeps doing the exercise with you and slowly your breaths become smoother and easier.

Sound starts to come back and you begin to hear his loud inhales and exhales. Closing your eyes, you now realize just how much water falls from them. His thumbs reach for your eyelids and pull them open. “No, don't do that. Stay with me. I can’t see you like that again.”

You can hear him! But why can’t you close your eyes? Your head tilts and he seems slightly shocked that you understood him.

“It’s too similar to that day. Just please, keep looking at me.”

Now that you’ve slightly calmed down, he pulls you sideways into his embrace, settling you on his lap. His arms wrap around you and slowly rock the two of you. Your eyes never leave his own and although you should want to shy away, you don’t.

After a good few minutes of his quiet shushing and comfort, words start to come back to you. “She,” your voice is gruff and scratchy but you need to tell him, “she said I’ll never get them back.”

Now that you’ve said it, it’s all become too real. Your greatest fear now a reality.

“I-...” You gasp as your tears start to fall again. “I’m sorry.”

He looks up towards the ceiling, the hands that were rubbing your arms stop. Great, he hates you.

“I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment. That I’m not even half of what I once was.” Your breathing starts to quicken and more tears fall. “You should just leave me. Let me go so you’ll never have to see me again, never have to be reminded of what once was. Or even better, find a new wife. I’m sure Omera would jump at the chance.”

At the sound of her name his head snaps down to look at you.

“I hate to admit it, but the two of you look so good together. She’s perfect for you. All pretty and kind. And she has memories. I’m sure she has lots of them. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.” You hiccup and try to scurry out of his embrace, but his arms hold you still.

“It’s okay, you can let go. I’ll just walk right out that door and we can both go about our lives. You’ll never see me again.”

His hand slowly reaches towards your face, his fingers beneath your chin, lifting your head to look at him. When you do meet his features, you’re met with sorrowful eyes and a small frown. His eyebrows furrow and his own tears fall.

“Never. Never say any of that again.” He leans forwards and touches his forehead to your own. “I don’t ever want you to leave. Just because you will never remember some stuff doesn’t make you any less of who you are. I fell in love with you, not the memories you have.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips. “You’ve never once disappointed me. And when I look at you I don’t see some old version of you, I see a strong…” with each word he presses a kiss to your lips, “beautiful, smart, woman who I am so lucky to be able to call my wife.”

He leans back so he can look at you. “I don’t ever want to see you leave. If you left me I would have nothing left to live for.” His hand grabs your own and squeezes, “You are my whole life, my whole world cyare. As I have always said to you, ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, par gar cuyir ner kar’ta.”

His fingers trace circles on the back of your hand. “I know you forever. Forever cyare, not when you forget me, not when I get annoyed with you, not even when I want or decide. Forever and always. Until I die, and even after that, I will know you for you are my heart.”

He brings your hand to rest on his chest, above the armor that covers his heart. “You’re here. Right here, nestled and tucked away. You walked into my life and right into here, and if you leave, it’ll just be a big empty promise of what was.”

“Tell me cyare, tell me you understand what I’m telling you. That you understand that I love you more than you could ever believe. That you are never and will never be a disappointment to me.” His eyes flicker over your face as you nod.

“I understand.” Your voice is weak and quiet as you process all he told you. You fall forward and tuck yourself away in his neck. “Thank you. Thank you for loving me even when I’m at my worst.”

“Cyare,” his hands trail up and down your spine in a well oiled motion, “love is not easy. It is made to be tested, to be fought for, and to be weak at times. But it is something that does not die simply. It is everything beautiful and everything painful in this world. It stays with us longer than we could ever desire. Once it has a firm grip, it never let’s go. Just as I will never let go of you. Know that I will always fight for and protect our love.”

You nod as you weep into his shoulder, tears of pain, happiness, and most of all… love.

Because even through all your insecurities and the harsh voices in your head, you know deep down that he loves you.

And you know, that just as he will, you’ll fight for and fiercely protect this love. Since you could never truly let him go.

There is a reason the universe has let you gain back the memories you have. Each one is special and holds a reason. And the biggest reason being to show you that the love the two of you hold is pure and true. Just as when, or if, you ever remember any more, they will be the world’s way of telling you that the two of you are special. The two of you have something that many wish and will try anything for.

Because love is a powerful force.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue

Well, there is the finale. Don’t worry- in a few days I’ll have the epilogue posted, but for now... thats it. 

Again, I just want to thank everyone who has been reading and rebloging my content. You guys have made my life so much more wonderful. 

I love you all so much, Lordy :) 

Masterlist 

Taglist: @ficthots​ @along-the-lines-of-space ​ @jedi-jesi​ @coldlilheart​ @remmysbounty​ @t3a-bag​ @all-along-the-resolute​ @impala1967666​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​

If you want to be added/removed from my taglist- just give me a holler and I’ll happily do it! :) 

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #forget me not #forget me not series

[bisexualcrowley]

Undercover

Pairing: Harry Hart x Fem! reader

Summary: While doing surveillance at a gala, Y/n and Harry's identities are threatened to be uncovered and they take to a rather intimate method of hiding their faces

Content/warnings: smutty themes? nsfw, fluffy stuff, cursing, suggestive themes, semi-public foreplay/teasing, making out, Merlin’s still alive bc i want him to be

Word count: 3,729

“A Gala. In the middle of winter, this means I might have to fight in heels, is this really necessary Merlin?” Y/n sighed, glancing out at the light drifting of snow that had begun to flutter down from the sky. Its not that she had anything against winter, the woman mused to herself, just that it makes this sort of work so much more difficult. 

The year had been tough enough already, having lost Harry to Valentine, getting Harry back, the whole issue with the Golden Circle, and the constant stress was getting to Y/n, the smallest thing now able to piss her off, and unfortunately for her, this latest mission seemed to be more than a small thing. “C’mon Y/n, i know we all could use some rest but this is important, the target is threatening to release catastrophic amounts of classified government information. I’m not asking you to be on the front line here, I just need you and Galahad on the sidelines, more as surveillance and backup than anything else.”

Y/n had been less than impressed with Merlin’s words, wanting to stay as far away as possible from field work until she had gotten a decent amount of sleep, but her ears perked up at the mention of her best friend and previous partner at Kingsman.

“You’re letting Harry in the field again?”

She asked, surprised at the man’s words. “I thought you said he wasn’t ready yet, after the problems he had while working alongside the American agents.

“Not fully, as i said, the two of you will just be keeping tabs on him from the crowd, not making contact unless absolutely necessary.” Merlin must have picked up on Y/n’s eagerness to work alongside Harry again and allowed himself a slight smile as he spoke, sliding the paperwork across the table to the younger agent. “This place is fancy, i mean really fancy, you’re gonna want to look your very best. Go over his papers today and be here dressed and ready at 20:30 tomorrow. And I mean it, y/n, be dressed to kill, in more than just the metaphoric sense”

Most of her annoyance having melted away at the mention of Harry, Y/n agreed, taking the papers and shaking Merlin’s hand before turning on her heel and jogging down the hall of the Kingsman offices, hoping to find her friend. Luckily Y/n didn’t need to search far, finding him in the actual tailor section of the building being fit for a tuxedo.

Y/n caught Harry’s eye in the mirror in front of him and she shot him a grin, leaning casually against the door frame. “Lookin’ good, Galahad. Excited to be headin’ back into it?” She asked, affection shining in her smile at the sight of Harry Hart suiting up for battle once again. 

It was no secret among many of the Kingsman agents that Y/n had fallen hard for the man, her feelings becoming clear to them when Harry was shot as she had broken down in tears at the news despite being one of Kingsman’s toughest agents, however she did manage to keep the secret from Harry himself, terrified of losing the relationship they already had by revealing her feelings only to find that they weren’t reciprocated. 

Eggsy and Merlin, of course, had required a fair amount of bribery to be convinced to keep their mouths shut, finding the whole situation more than amusing and wanting nothing more than to spill the beans to Harry, whom they were fully convinced shared y/n’s feelings. Y/n didn’t crack though, and eventually the men had settled on the childish teasing of Y/n and placing bets on who would make the first move. Eggsy had put 50 pounds on Y/n cracking first, but Merlin put his money on Harry, having said something about Eggsy underestimating the woman.

At the moment, despite her refusal to share her feelings with Harry, Y/n feared that Eggsy was going to be the one to win the wager as she felt her heart beat faster at the happy smile Harry had offered her in return.  “Looking forward to be working alongside you again, Y/n, it’s been lonely without my partner”

Y/n felt her face heat up at the compliment, but determined not to let her resolve fail she once again held back the words she wanted so badly to tell her friend, instead choosing to push herself off the doorframe and saunter over to Harry’s position in the center of the room.  “So... A gala. Haven’t done one of these together in ages, have we.”  Y/n’s hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, still not having broken their eye contact through the mirror. “It has been a while, although luckily, I never forgot how to dance”

Y/n’s confident exterior faltered at his words, tilting her head to the side and eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “We have to dance?” She asked, voice coming out far quieter than she had hoped. Harry let out a very ungentlemanly laugh at her shock, turning his gaze from the mirror to meet his friend’s eyes properly. “I’d assume Merlin didn’t tell you for this very reason, y/n” He chuckled. “We’d stick out too much, standing in the middle of a ballroom. To draw the least amount of attention to our position, we’re gonna have to dance”

Y/n froze for a moment, weighing her options. On one hand, she thought, I’m dancing with Harry. On the other hand, i’m dancing. In public. What a terrifying thought, i should just tell Merlin i won’t do it. But if i don’t do it, i don’t dance with Harry. 

She squinted slightly, fighting herself for which option was better, but in the end decided that the upside of pretending to be Harry’s date outweighed the negatives in the situation, and after another moment of hesitation, Y/n nodded, nervously drumming her fingers on the man’s shoulder.

“Alright then. If we’re gonna dance, we’re gonna do it right. I’m gonna go find a dress, i guess. See you tomorrow, Galahad” Y/n breathed, a hint of humor making it’s way into her words as she went on, which to her luck Harry picked up on, and replied with an exaggerated salute, earning him a giggle and smile from Y/n before she slung on a coat and took off again.

Lucky for her the London streets were nearly empty, most seeking cover from the bitter cold within the comfort of their homes, and the trip to her own home was quick for Y/n. Almost immediately upon arriving, she threw open the doors of her closet, flicking through hanger after hanger of clothes that Merlin would be less than happy about her wearing to such a prestigious event. It appeared that luck was still on her side, however, as Y/n paused, pulling out a dress previously hidden behind a thick winter coat.  It was beautiful, a slim gown of deep green velvet with a loose, plunging neckline and thin black straps with a shimmering gold woven throughout, and y/n smiled, knowing it would be perfect for the following night.

The next day passed quickly, Y/n having to study the target’s file, shower, do her hair and makeup, fit a variety of concealed weaponry on her person, and what felt to her like a million other things, and it felt like no time at all before she found herself outside the Kingsman Tailor shop, glittering heels clicking along the icy sidewalk leading up to the building. Y/n reached for the door handle, shivering slightly in the cold but was met with the door swinging open in her face, Merlin staring down at her with Eggsy, Tequila and Harry behind him. 

“Y/n, you’re late, c’mon, there’s a car waiting in the back, c’mon lets go” Merlin ushered her along, the group rounding the building to find a black towncar waiting in the alley. It took a bit of maneuvering to fit everyone into the vehicle, coats bunching up in the small space, but eventually the group situated themselves in a somewhat comfortable fashion, and they were off.

The drive was longer than Y/n had expected, but no time was spent relaxing, having found herself rather distracted by her body being pressed against a very well dressed Harry, the cramped space forcing her leg to shift up onto Harry’s so that she was sitting partially on his lap, a position that had the both of them blushing furiously and Tequila chuckling from Harry’s left. 

Hoping to distract from the uncomfortable and unfortunately mildly arousing way she was seated, Y/n leaned forward to peer past Harry and raised an eyebrow at the American agent, who in return mimicked her expression, which brought a mix of annoyance and amusement to the still blushing woman.  “Mind if i ask why Harry was forced into the middle seat? Last time i checked, i’d fit a fair bit better” Y/n asked, Harry humming in agreement with her statement.

“Why, you wanna sit on my lap instead?” Tequila smirked, earning a snort of laughter from Eggsy and Merlin in the front seat and a glare from Y/n, where Harry shifted uncomfortably and blushed harder.

Y/n’s snapped back, but her retort was cut short at the feeling of the car slowing to a stop and Merlin leaning over the drivers seat to run over the night’s details one last time. 

The plan went smoothly from then, Eggsy and Tequila positioning themselves near the main doorways and Merlin settling himself behind a computer, leaving Harry and Y/n to shed their coats and make their way further into the ballroom. A string quartet was set in the middle of the north wall, playing what y/n recognized immediately to be a slower rendition of the seal lullaby, and she fought the urge to twirl around a couple times, instead smoothing out her dress and holding out a hand to Harry.

“Well Mr. Hart, may i have this dance?” Y/n spoke calmly, careful to avoid appearing overly enthusiastic so as not to draw unnecessary attention to the pair, but the warmth shining in her eyes was undisguisable to Harry, who took her arm with a smile and led her to their position in the ballroom.

The image of the two Kingsman agents settling into a graceful mix of a waltz and a simple slow dance was reflected off the marble floors, creating what would have been a beautiful photo had there been a photographer near them and y/n relished in the moment, hand clasped with Harry’s, his hand pulling her waist to his as they swayed to the music.

Harry caught Y/n’s eye as he caught her after a spin, a grin breaking through his character that made her heart flutter. The song slowed to it’s end and the couple for the night paused, the taller figure dipping y/n and freezing, their faces inches apart. Y/n felt her breath hitch in her chest, heart pounding at the intimate position they had paused in.

Her eyes met Harry’s again, the latter panting slightly, his pupil dilated and face flushed red, and dear god it turned Y/n on. Biting her tongue to hold back what would have been a rather humiliating moan, she rested her weight into Harry’s arms, allowing herself a second to catch her breath. As the next song began, Harry shook himself out of whatever state he was in and pulled y/n back up against him, resuming the dance like nothing had happened. Y/n, still flustered, tried to distract herself by shooting a glance towards their target, who had moved from lingering by the side entrance to scanning the crowd from a nearby refreshment table.  As the song reached a peak Harry spun y/n around again, but this time around her heel caught on the seam of her dress and she stumbled, accidentally turning away from her partner. Quickly righting herself, Y/n returned to her previous stance, but not before making brief yet intense eye contact with the man they were watching.  “Shit... Merlin do you have eyes on the target? I might have just fucked us over” Y/n’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, eyes blown wide with horror at the prospect of ruining Harry’s first real taste of action since the Golden Circle incident.

“Hang on, hang on, don’t abort mission yet” Merlin muttered through her earpiece, y/n hearing the clacking of keys as the older agent fussed with the security cameras

“Fuckin hell, Galahad, Y/n, he’s coming your way. Hold your position, we don’t blow your cover unless we’re 100% sure he knows who you are. Keep dancing, but don’t let him see your face” 

Merlin’s voice cut across the earpiece again, and by the way y/n felt Harry's shoulders tense she knew he heard the message too.

“Shit, what do we do?” she hissed back, watching her partner risk a glance to the left and finding the target moving smoothly through the crowd, eyes set on the couple.

“Keep dancing, stay inconspicuous for as long as possible, if we’re lucky he’ll just pass on by. Now i’ll say it again, don’t let him see your bloody faces.” Merlin’s voice was low, and Y/n couldn’t stop the nervous feeling they caused from setting in as she watched the man grow nearer out of the corner of her eye.

“Merlin i don’t know what you expect us to do here if it’s so imperative we don’t move from this spot, we can’t just-”

Y/n tuned out Harry’s urgent whispers as a solution came to mind, eyes widening at the ridiculousness her own mind had come up with, but not seeing a better solution she shushed him, placing a finger over his lips.

Harry looked confused but went along with it, cocking an eyebrow in silent questioning and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze as the man drew closer, nearly close enough to get a good look at the pair, and y/n knew she had to make her move.  With a quick whisper of “forgive me for this Harry”, Y/n brought her hands up to cup her friend’s face and pulled him into a kiss. Harry froze momentarily, his jaw tensing in shock before he followed her lead and returned the kiss, their lips moving against each others perfectly in sync and y/n couldn’t keep herself from sighing into the kiss, unconsciously pressing her body closer to his. 

Harry deepened the kiss, his hands moving to thread through her hair and a vague thought reminded Y/n he was just helping to conceal her face, but it was shoved quickly to the back of her mind with a particularly passionate movement from Harry which she met enthusiastically. Her hands inched upwards to tug at his perfectly styled hair, which earned Y/n a low moan against her lips, and she pressed closer again, unconsciously slipping her leg between Harry’s. She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and all thoughts of what they were there to do flew out the window, one hand clasping at the collar of his tuxedo’s jacket and the other cupping his cheek, pulling his face down to her own.

Feeling bold, Y/n made a move to nip at Harry’s lower lip but before she had the chance, they were interrupted by a more than amused Eggsy clearing his throat beside her.  The pair flinched in surprise and pulled quickly out of the heated embrace, leaving Y/n wiping speared lipstick from her face and fixing disheveled hair, Harry somewhat discretely adjusting his clothing to hide the now quite sizable bulge in his trousers with a deep blush across his cheeks and Eggsy watching from the side, eyes tearing up from the effort of holding in his laughter.

“Merlin says good thinkin’, Y/n. The two’ve you were a bit busy to notice but Tequila got the guy, he went down nice n’ quiet, we’re supposed to get to the car as soon as possible” Eggsy had a shit eating grin plastered across his face as he spoke, which only got wider when Y/n gave Harry an awkward smile, which he returned briefly before shoving his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.

Snickering, Eggsy escorted the pair through the crowded room and through a series of side doors, which after a seemingly unnecessary number of hallways led to a back exit where the towncar that had brought them to the gala was waiting. Dreading what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation with Harry, y/n winced at the thought of how inappropriate her actions towards her friend were, and she moved to open the passenger side door but was stopped by Eggsy once again, who flung open the door and threw himself in next to Merlin, who quite to her displeasure shared Eggsy’s smirk. 

Y/n’s eyes locked with his, silently pleading to switch seats but her weak attempt proved to be in vain as Eggsy winked and pointed over his shoulder to the back of the car, where Harry was already seated.  Y/n glared at Merlin but didn’t argue, and took a deep breath before sliding into the car, which to her luck was no longer so cramped due to the third agent having stayed behind with the target. The space was still smaller than she would have wished, but the cover of darkness provided a touch of comfort that y/n was endlessly grateful for. 

Shadows crossed across her legs as the car rolled into gear, Merlin driving out of the alley and beginning the long journey back to the Kingsman headquarters. Y/n sighed, leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes, hoping the cold glass against her skin would help to drown out her racing thoughts.

Much to her dismay, however, they had been traveling for less than ten minutes when Eggsy turned around, leaning over his chair with the same wicked smile stretched across his face as he had worn before.

“So, you two had some fun t’night, didntcha?” Merlin let out a snort of laughter from beside him, Eggsy nodding his head suggestively between the pair in the backseat. Too tired to come up with a snarky reply, y/n simply rolled her eyes at Eggsy, and went back to working up the nerve to say something to the uncharacteristically silent figure seated beside her.

The realization that Harry was rarely this quiet around y/n outweighed her fear of confrontation, concern for her friend pulling her focus from Eggsy to the older man, and she turned to face him.  Harry was sitting stiffly, hands clasped in his lap and head straight forward, but he must have been watching y/n out of the corner of his eye, as he looked to the side to meet her eyes when she turned from her position by the window to look up at him. 

In that moment, the car was silent aside from the low rumble of the engine, the tension between the two growing from tolerable to an absolute peak, hanging thickly in the air between their bodies.  It was thick enough, apparently for Eggsy to pick up on it, and with a chuckle about “giving you two some privacy”, he pressed a button beside his seat that caused a black divider to come up behind him, separating the front from the back of the car and leaving Y/n and Harry in silence.

Both Harry and Y/n stayed frozen in place, faces turned to each other and her eyes locked on his. Hesitantly, y/n placed a hand on Harry’s knee, a motion that years of friendship had taught him meant she had a lot to say, but didn’t yet know how to say it, and Harry nodded, the silent exchange sharing more than words would be able to.

“...I... I’m sorry, Harry, i shouldn’t have...” Y/n’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as she spoke, trailing off as the words caught in her throat. 

"No, y/n, it was my mistake, i just...” Harry's voice faltered as well, fingers coming up to fuss nervously with the strap of his eyepatch, a habit y/n had noticed Harry picked up when he felt flustered.

Neither of them knew what had happened; one moment they were sitting in silence, y/n’s hand on his knee and tension high, and the next moment y/n found herself being pulled into Harry’s lap, her hands once again tugging at his hair as they met again in a heated kiss.  Her dress had hiked up to her hips at this point, allowing Y/n to straddle her lover properly, and this time she didn’t hesitate to grind down against him, Harry’s hands coming to grip her smooth hips as she rubbed her barely covered sex along the bulge in his trousers, both letting out groans of pleasure at the friction.

Harry’s fingers trailed down y/n’s body as they made out like horny teenagers in the backseat, moving from her hair down to cup her covered breast, and down further to trace along the slick fabric of her panties. Y/n whimpered at the touch and moved to return the favor, her own hand coming to palm at his cock through his pants, at which Harry gasped and yanked her down onto his lap once again, hips thrusting up to grind against y/n’s cunt.

She moaned against his mouth once again, pulling away for just long enough to strip off Harry’s coat and unbutton his shirt before returning to her position on his lap. The two were so caught up in the moment that they didn’t notice the car pulling up to the curb and stopping, however they did take notice to the door flying open and the flash of a camera, followed by Eggsy’s delighted voice and a deep laugh from Merlin.  Embarrassed, y/n quickly tugged her dress back into place and slid out of the car, holding out a hand for Harry to take as he climbed out, looking as red faced as y/n felt.

“Go on, buggers, we took you to Galahad’s place. I’ll find out who won the bet tomorrow, go have some fuckin’ fun.” Eggsy laughed at their dumbfounded expressions at his words, but chose not to respond, instead returning to his seat beside Merlin who drove off a few seconds later, leaving two very sexually frustrated agents on the sidewalk. 

“Well then... Wanna take this inside?”

#harry hart smut #kingsman smut #kingsman imagine #kingsman fluff #harry hart x reader #harry hart imagine #harry hart fluff #wlm imagine #fanfic #oneshot #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman harry

[thatsassyhufflepuff]

Hello!

It is currently past midnight. I decided to make a post where I’d put all my favorite Dramione quotes so I can look back on them and squeal. That’s all.

✨✨✨

1. “You love fighting with me just as I love fighting with you, that’s why we do it so well.” He smirked down at her and pressed a kiss to her lips. “This house is just as much yours as it is mine, I’m sorry I made you feel anything less than that.” His thumb traced the edges of her lips before she reached up and took his hand in hers.”

2. “Hey, hey, none of that.” He gently admonished, “Granger, I can’t tell you whether or not we moved in too soon. I can say that this feels right, waking up with you, going to bed with you, even cleaning up all the hair you shed in the shower- how are you not bald? I am convinced your hair has magical properties all on its own-'' He grunted when she smacked him in the side. “What I mean is Granger, I want you for a long time, longer than I’ve ever wanted anyone else if I’m being honest. I’d have been kidding myself if I thought falling in love with a swotty pain in the arse Gryffindor would’ve been easy.”

Transformation

happy_valley

—

1. “Expecting a challenge--some tired but emphatic refusal to take Muggle medicine--I braced myself for the inevitable argument. He turned his head to my hand resting on his shoulder, kissed a knuckle, and went back to sleep.

I didn't stop shaking until I reached the Boots.”

2. “and given how I feel about you, you'd think I'd do everything in my power to ruin your marriage. Having him believe it was you acting on his behalf, seizing an opportunity that was tailor-made for him will not get me what I want. Sadly, the opposite is also true. I know you don't believe me, but I actually thought making him happy would make you happy.”

3. “I am not most women," I pointed out. "Hence the slapping."

"No, I admit they broke the mold when they made you. That's why I'm absolutely madly in love with you. Head over heels. Dizzy with desire. Crazy--”

4. “He shrugged and his mouth flattened into a line. "It's been a grim few months. I'm only human. Have I told you that I love it when you're stern with me? Your mouth gets all prissy and adorable. Like you've eaten a sweet lemon. A silly metaphor but somehow apt." He pursed his lips”

5. “Someday I hope you'll look at me, and I won't see that half-second of disgust with which your gaze always greets me. Anyway, it's not true. I want you because I love you.”

6. “He kissed me on the forehead and then despite his previous admission, he wrapped me in an embrace, his breath hot against my ear. "I love you. I know you don't believe me, but I do. And aside from the fact you are beautiful and smart and articulate and sexy, most importantly, you're the only person I know who has the guts and determination to stop me from becoming my father."

The Politician's Wife

pir8fancier

—

1. “After what felt like a lifetime and at the same time a split second, they parted, gazing into one another’s eyes with the passion they both felt. Hermione’s eyes implored him to say what she wanted him to say – that this wasn’t the end, that they would have another chance, that he wouldn’t give up – but he couldn’t lie to her. He would never lie to her.”

2. “Hermione just stared at the floor, biting her lip and feeling as though every dream she had ever had had been crushed. Maybe it had. “I wanted to save you,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze. “I wanted to save you.”

Draco stepped forward, taking one moment more to touch her face with the back of his hand and memorize the deep brown of her eyes. “You did,” he said simply.

And there was no more to be said”

3. “Draco didn’t let her finish. His hands cradled her head as he kissed her, softly as first just like the night before, and then harder, with more passion and intensity. She returned the kiss with everything in her might, trying to say what she wanted to say – “I love you” – without words”

4. “She wasn’t going to give up though. Hope was in front of her now, and she had almost been afraid that such a thing was lost to her forever. Draco may have given up on saving himself, but Hermione wasn’t about to do the same. She loved him – that she knew for sure – and she was going to make sure Draco got his second chance.

She’d die before she let anything tell her otherwise.”

5. “I’m not leaving without you,” she said firmly. He didn’t reply, just set his mouth in a firm line. She wished she could make him feel what she felt – a certainty that this wasn’t the end for him, that she was going to fight until her last breath to give him the freedom he had suffered for. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to cradle his face in her hands and tell him that they would make it to the end together.

“This is your time, Hermione,” he said, reaching out and taking one of her hands in both of his. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“It’s your time, too,” she said, and she hoped she sounded as confident as she felt. “This is your second chance.”

6. “Draco gave her an imploring look, gripping her upper arms and forcing her to look right into his eyes. “Hermione, you know how I feel. I’ve never told you, but you must know. So when I tell you that dying for you and your cause and my cause is the closest I’ll ever get to being whole again, believe me.” He paused, reaching his hand up to push the straggling bangs out of Hermione’s eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Hermione Granger, and I can never thank you enough. So just let me help you in the only way I know how.”

7. “Hermione could feel tears forming in her eyes, and she quickly reached up to pull Draco into her arms. He held onto her tightly, trying to memorize every detail of her for the last time. When they pulled away, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked into her warm brown eyes. There’s never enough time for us.”

8. “You may not have forgiven yourself,” Hermione whispered to him, laying her face against his shoulder as he shook with sobs. “But we already have. One day, you’ll learn to see yourself the way we do.”

Bittersweet and Strange

UndiscoveredQueen19

—

“Hermione, I love you." She didn't smile, she didn't say anything back either. She just kept looking up at him. He wondered she even heard him. He knew it was wrong to say it in this moment, but he didn't know if either of them would survive. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now. But I love you. So much." He kissed her forehead.”

A Future Uncertain

LightsWrites

—

“Suddenly, Draco laughed, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Well, I guess it’s the least I owe you.”

He leaned closer to her, looking straight into her eyes, and she suddenly felt the urge to draw back and run away. She made herself sit still.

“I love you, Hermione. I think I have for a long time,”

Seven Years and a Day

Dark Rose

—

“She was half expecting him to just walk through the door but Draco surprised her when he suddenly turned around and returned to her side. She lifted an eyebrow but before she could say anything, Draco drew her into a hug.

“Goodnight.” His whisper tickled her ear.

She could barely return his hug when Draco pulled away with an impish grin. She knew he knew she was going to think of him for the rest of the night. ‘Darn it. Bloody Draco Malfoy.”

A cornucopia of noncoincidences

muffin_reverie

—

“Draco..." She felt a little uneasy.

"I love you." He had said it before, but the words had never sounded so fierce. "I won't let him hurt you.”

Alternate History

Furare

—

“You’re beautiful and compassionate and funny and… I know you probably hear it all the time but you’re brilliant and I plan on telling you that every bloody day. You make me want to buy a shop and sell potions and make my own way in this world doing something I love and something I excel at, but it’s more than that it’s… it’s…”

She waited him out.

“It’s bells on a hill with you, Granger.”

Bells on a Hill

HeyJude19

—

1. “Draco opened the door the rest of the way and pulled her into his arms; he held her tightly as if he would never let her go, as if he could push all the hurt away. She could feel his heart beating and its constant rhythm soothed her, as did the steady rise and fall of his chest. Gradually her sobs slowed, then stopped. She pulled away from him, wiping her eyes.

"Do you want us to stay?" he asked quietly. She shook her head, and he tilted her chin so their gaze met. "Hermione, will you be okay today? Tell me the truth. I hate that we're leaving you alone today."

She looked into his eyes and saw deep concern and worry. "Yes," she said weakly. "Thank you."

Draco wrapped her in his arms again, then released her and leaned down and kissed her forehead. "See you soon." He turned and left her standing there before he lost the ability and the resolve to leave.”

2. “Harry scrunched his nose in distaste. "How can you watch that rubbish?"

"It's actually really good, Potter."

"Whatever." Harry studied Hermione. She looked so peaceful that it hurt him to think of what was ahead for her, for all of them, really. "She's beautiful."

Draco looked at her as well, and without thinking about what he was doing, said, "Yeah, she is.”

3. “Hermione scowled and continued to hit him, but stopped yelling. Draco carried her into the house, up the stairs, and into her room. He set her down on the bed. She tried to get up; he grabbed her wrists and held her down.

She struggled, but when she looked into Draco's eyes, she saw they were wet. She lay still, holding his gaze.

"Don't make me Immobilize you."

She nodded. He released her wrists and took one of her hands in his. "I promise to come back, if you promise to stay," he said softly.”

4. “He kissed her with everything he had, all the fear, longing, pain, and joy he felt. He kissed her because he was scared to die, and he too wanted to see where this would go. He kissed her because of the secrets he kept from her, willing her to trust him, to believe him, to know that he would tell her. He told her he loved her, he would do anything for her, would die for her, would even try to live for her.”

We Learned the Sea

floorcoaster

—

1. “You are mine, Hermione, I don’t want anyone mistaking you for single again or even thinking of trying to coax you away from me.” He laid his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Granger…Hermione…I love you.”

2. “The look of shock on her face matched his own. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even realized that he had those feelings for her, that he would recognize them as such. He was in unfamiliar waters and suddenly scared to death. He meant them, he loved her, and it terrified him because he had never loved anyone before.”

Something In the Way She Moves

Snapes_Godess

—

“Draco leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and nuzzled her nose.

“Take it. Take my heart, and take the remainder of my soul as well. You can even filet my heart and crush my soul if you wish. It doesn’t matter, since in actuality, they’ve probably been already yours to break for a very long time.”

5 am, waking up

mysterious_intentions

—

“The deflated bits of his countenance inflated with her admission, until he felt as though he would float through the air. Moving his hands along the curves of her sides, he pulled her flush against his chest. "I love you, Hermione."

The admission left him in a single breath, causing Hermione to arch her back so that she could look him in the eye. She searched his depths, seemingly inspecting for any sign of deception. Finding none, a smile spread across her face. "I love you, too.”

I Carry Your Heart

TheMourningMadam

—

#draco malfoy #harry potter #draco fluff #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #dramione #draco x hermione

[dykeninthdoctor]

let’s talk about c!wilbur and taste by sleeping at last, aka ava talks about his favorite song + character for a couple thousand words 

to preface this, i’ll say this. this is almost where i want c!wilbur to go, rather than where he is now, but it is all based in where he is now, and everything we have seen so far. this is where i hope, and trust in cc!wilbur, that his character will go.

(after the cut, everything is /rp /dsmp unless otherwise specified)

i am alive. i am awake. i am aware of what light tastes like. the curtains drawn, the table set; i want to be. i want to be at my best.

“i am alive. i am awake.” guys,,,guys. he’s alive! one of the things i have noticed thee most about revivedbur’s most recent scenes is that...he’s alive! like. he’s just. he’s happy to be alive. he wants to watch the sunrise and relish in the feeling of rain against his skin, or at least that’s where he needs to get to. he needs to simply live. 

“i am aware of what light tastes like.” this is very much along the same lines as to what i just said, but it also comes down to healing. light, in taste, represents healing, and love, and wilbur needs to learn the taste of love again.

when it comes to “the curtains drawn,” in the context of wilbur, i think of a theatre. he has always played a character. his clothes are not his clothes, they are a costume, and his face is not his own, it is a mask for his acted emotions to dance across, and his life is not his own, it is a three-act play in which he is the villain; he is the character that he thinks others want him to be. the best line i’ve ever read to sum this up is from the lumineers’ cleopatra, and that’s “but i've read this script and the costume fits, so i'll play my part.” with taste, the curtains are drawn. to me this means they are closed, and wilbur has finally burned the script he’s been following for his life, he is free of the narrative and he has stepped off the stage. 

and with “the table set,” i just. tables are symbolic of family, often, and of union, where you come together, and i hope that that is in wilbur’s future. i want to see him bake with niki, and i want to see him eat dinner with phil, and i want to see him throw an apple to tommy before tommy even needs to ask for food. and i want him to feed himself, in love and in healing and in nourishment of this newly-revived body he has now. 

“i want to be.” guys. GUYS. i’m going to go insane. he wants to be. he wants to exist. he does not want to act anymore, he does not want to play a part, he wants to be. please, please, please, c!wilbur, get to this point. please. 

AND THEN. “i want to be at my best.” NOT ONLY DOES HE WANT TO BE. HE WANTS TO BE AT HIS BEST. AND YET IT IS A PROGRESSION. FIRST HE MUST LEARN TO BE. THEN HE MUST LEARN TO BE BETTER. BUT FIRST, HE MUST SHED THE COSTUME, SHED THE PART, AND BE. ONLY THEN CAN HE BE BETTER. i’m gonna chew drywall. 

okay. next verse here we go: 

it’s bittersweet, it’s poetry. a careful pruning of my dead leaves. it’s holy ground, a treasure chest. i’m on my knees and only scratch the surface.

okayyyyokayokayokay. “it’s bittersweet, it’s poetry. a careful pruning of my dead leaves.“ it’s bittersweet! it’s bittersweet!!! healing is always bittersweet. it hurts, to let pieces of yourself go in order to grow, but it is necessary, and sometimes things aren’t perfect, but it’s poetry! it is poetry as well. it’s beautiful, because you’re healing. it’s a careful pruning of his dead leaves! for things to grow, the death must be removed, and so too must wilbur clear the relics of his past that remain in his mind. he is so attached to the past, in many ways, and he needs to move on, he needs to prune his dead leaves. 

“it’s holy ground, a treasure chest.” sleeping at last is amazing at framing humans as sacred beings. the holy ground is wilbur himself, his own mind, his own body, that he needs to learn to take care of again. he is worthy of love, full of things that prove himself so, and he needs to learn that too. 

and then! “i’m on my knees and only scratch the surface.” he is only beginning to heal! he is only at the surface of this ground that he has broken in beginning his healing process, and there is so much more to come. i think the visual of this line is really interesting too, when you pair it with wilbur’s limbo being somewhere where he clawed at the walls as a plea for escape. and rather than it be that, he is now digging into himself, breaking down his mental walls, in order to heal, something we know he needs when we look at eight and learn that he needs to let people in to be able to heal, and the only way he can do that is to let down his walls. another neat thing about this! is that during “a deck of cards with a green smile on them,” when wilbur begins building the walls to their new hq, he is literally building walls dividing himself and tommy. physical storytelling my beloved :]

okay!! chorus time :D

like fists unraveling, like glass unshattering. we’re breaking all the rules, we’re breaking bread again. we’re swallowing light ’til we’re fixed from the inside

okay so this entire verse is about healing, and the different layers to it, the different things you need to do to heal. first, it’s “fists unraveling,” it’s letting go of your anger, it’s letting go of the past, and it’s unlearning everything you have learned up to this point, because you do not need to be angry anymore, not at the world, because it isn’t necessary to healing. this is also, in some ways, less of c!wilbur and more of his loved ones’, niki being the one who first comes to mind. wilbur’s loved ones need to unlearn their anger towards him, and wilbur needs to learn to let go. the visual aspect of that as well, contributes to letting go; when your fists unravel, you are releasing what you have been holding onto for so long. 

and then we come to “glass unshattering.” this line is so interesting, ryan o’neal’s lyricism my beloved. it’s not glass being put back together, it is glass unshattering, the very inverse of glass breaking, as if the actions are being undone, not simply pieced back together but undone. and in the context of wilbur, he not only needs to make up for what he has done to hurt others, he needs to prove he will not do them again, because he can’t undo those actions! he did them and he cannot change that! but he can undo it in the future, by not doing it again. it’s a fun line to interpret especially because glass...can’t unshatter. it’s an impossible action. he cannot undo what he has done but he can prove he’ll never do it again. 

and thennnnn we’ve got “we’re breaking all the rules.” guysssss, remember what i said about c!wilbur needing to step off the stage to begin healing? not only that, he needs to directly go against the script that he’s written. he needs to break the rules of the confines he’s trapped himself in. he is not a villain, he is a person, and he needs to tear up his script. 

“we’re breaking bread again.” OKAY. OKAY SO. SO. i’m a big bread person. bread is everything to me. bread is love!! food itself is just. pure love!!! one of the purest forms of love you can get!! someone has made that for you and it is imbued with love!! they said here this is a piece of me for you to consume!! a piece of my love, for you to have inside of you!! this is a good compilation post to sum up how i feel about bread, but when you bring wilbur into it? again, it goes back to the symbolism of the table, and how he just. needs to heal his relationships. it’s “we’re” baking bread, it’s togetherness and it’s family and it’s consuming a food that represents love, together. he needs to break bread with his loved ones. (i would also love to see him bake with niki. might expand on this one.)

and then we go from that line to “we’re swallowing light ’til we’re fixed from the inside.” like i said, food is something that someone has made and they have said ‘this is a piece of my love for you to have inside you.’ love is light, and love is food, so food is light, and swallowing light? it’s swallowing love, it’s swallowing the purest forms of love you can get and it is stitching you back together from inside. wilbur needs that. 

out of the woods, out of the dark, i’m well aware of the shadows in my heart. i want to feel tectonic shifts. i want to be. i want to be astonished. i want to be astonished. so i propose a toast:

"out of the woods, out of the dark.” wilbur has been trapped in his own mind for so long, quite literally with his limbo taken into account, and more metaphorically with his own mental spirals that he, so far, has been unable to break out of, but in the process of healing he will achieve that. out of the woods tends to mean out of the worst of it, and i think the wilbur we see genuinely already might be. he will escape the darkness of his own mind, he has escaped his own limbo, his personal hell, and he’s out of the worst of it. he has a long way to go, but he’s out of the woods. 

with “i’m well aware of the shadows in my heart” it’s so wilbur it aches. it’s like. wilbur’s mind, and mental state, is so very complicated, and he is not aware of the impact he has on others, not entirely, but he also is, because he accepts the role of villain wholeheartedly because he thinks that’s what he deserves from the shadows in his heart, but i think in doing so, he still doesn’t realize what it means for his loved ones. it’s just. he’s so complicated. he knows of his own “evilness,” his shadows, but he doesn’t know of his hurt and pain and trauma because that’s buried even deeper than these created shadows, they are the real shadows, and for him to heal, he needs to become aware of those.

“i want to feel tectonic shifts” goes hand in hand with “this is my sunrise.” he wants to experience the world around him again, to be alive, to feel the earth under himself and the wind against his face. he’s alive and he wants to feel it. and shifts, internally, he wants to feel those too!! he wants to grow. 

“i want to be,” i’ve already talked about, and this time it’s paired with “i want to be astonished.” not only does he want to be, to exist, to be at his best, he wants to! experience life! with all the awe he once felt! wilbur at his core is so very loving, and he wants to feel that for the world again. and it’s repeated twice! awe can come, not only for the world, but for the people he loves. 

which leads into, “so i propose a toast:” this line goes directly into the chorus, and it’s so specific. a toast is an acknowledgement, a celebration, something i imagine that wilbur used when they won their independence, or before the election, or even in pogtopia, the night before they went into battle. and this time, it’s a celebration of simply. life. of healing. of mending. ryan o’neal, the songwriter (aka sleeping at last himself) said that “Because food builds and rebuilds our bodies, I liked the idea of raising a glass to healing broken relationships, and trying to be at our best. There’s so much vulnerability required to rebuild a relationship, and to just try harder...” this is what the toast is to. 

chorus again:

to fists unraveling, to glass unshattering. to breaking all the rules, to breaking bread again. we’re swallowing light, we’re swallowing our pride. we’re raising our glass ’til we’re fixed from the inside. ’til we’re fixed from the inside.

and then the bridge: 

we’re nothing less than a work in progress, sacred text on post it notes. we only speak of a world in pieces, let’s make a map of what matters most, where every fracture is a running river leading us back to our golden coasts. here’s to showing up:

these are my Favorite lines of the whole song so. aaaa

we start off with “we’re nothing less than a work in progress” which is. everything c!wilbur needs to learn. he plays his roles, he acts the part, but he doesn’t understand that he’s allowed to be imperfect, that he’s allowed to continue to grow. wilbur is stagnant, in a way, that while he moves from “role” to “role,” first the idealistic general and then the quietly-traumatized president, and finally the unhinged villain, he doesn’t let himself just be. a person, he doesn’t let himself be in progress! and additionally, since it’s a “we,” he needs to learn that other people are not stagnant either. tommy is not the same as he once was, no one is the same as they once were, as everyone is in progress, and wilbur needs to learn both of those things. 

AND THEN. “sacred text on post it notes.” GUYS. HUMANS ARE SACRED. THEY'RE SACRED! but they are also messy and imperfect and so, so, fallible, they are post-it notes with scrawled handwriting scattered across the wall that is their life, and sometimes post-it notes will fall off, and sometimes they will be written in pen rather than pencil, and sometimes they are written so messily they cannot be understood, but they are sacred and they are messy and those things coexist and god does ex-gifted kid c!wilbur need to learn this. 

“we only speak of a world in pieces.” this is Such a cool line when you consider that the dream smp is made up of complicated perspectives that only the audience is privy to, and the characters are so limited! their world is literally spoken in pieces, especially with the lack of communication. it’s a neat line in meta form, and when applied to wilbur, i think it’s part of the same mentality. it is “we,” and he needs to learn to not only speak of this world with himself, but with others, in order to “make a map of what matters most.” he cannot rely on only the pieces he has, and he must speak with others to glean the pieces that are just as important. map making in itself is a neat metaphor, it tends to mean a direction one could take, or getting more of a full picture in that you’re seeing the whole world (or whatever the map has been made of), rather than just what’s in front of you. in order to make this map, wilbur needs to talk, and begin to understand what does matter, because his concept of that, right now, is skewed. 

“where every fracture is running river leading us back to our golden coasts” is soo vivid, and to me it like. it feels so much like l’manburg. l’manburg was their golden coast. and l’manburg is gone, but its people aren’t, and l’manburg was always about the people. and now, these people are all broken, they are fractured, but they are healing, and in their healing, those dynamic rivers, they will find their ways back to each other, and l’manburg, its spirit, will live in them again. 

 the transition into the chorus this time, is no longer a toast, not explicitly, but it is an acknowledgment “to showing up” and c!wilbur needs to show up to therapy. but also, showing up simply means being present, not only for others, but for yourself, and it is one of the first steps to healing, so, in a way, this is a very non-linear song about c!wilbur’s journey. 

then there’s the chorus again:

to fists unraveling, to glass unshattering. to breaking all the rules, to breaking bread again. we’re swallowing light, we’re swallowing our pride. we’re raising our glass ’til we’re fixed from the inside. ’til we’re fixed from the inside.

and that’s it! if you made it this far, i’m kissing you in the forehead. thank you so much for reading, c!wilbur enthusiasts i’m holding your hands. 

#c!wilbur #wilbur soot analysis #dsmp #wilbur soot #c!wilbur soot #i have been working on this for the past two days this is why like zero other posts have been rb'd #good lord my brain hurts #aven.txt

[writefightandflightclub]

Marching far away (Din Djarin x reader)

Summary: some things are more potent in their absence. Din misses you, but before he can let go, he has one more promise left to fulfil. PURE ANGST with eventual comfort.

Author’s note: this is me breaking the tin can man’s heart for a spell. Sorry? Also, this is only my 2nd Din fic and I’m insecure, pls validate me? Or, come join me to simp, okay? (This has Cara in it- was written b4 the G*na drama)

Word count: 3k, oh hell. Was meant to be a blurb. Kriff it. I have no control.

Warnings: strong themes of grief, death of a loved one (reader). Hints of depression + trauma linked to that. A mess of angst and metaphors, tbh. Brief mentions of wounds, blood -not too graphic.

GIF: stunning, and from @qviism​

The Mandalorian has awoken to many recurring thoughts in his time, most of them unpleasant. For many years, Din was jolted awake by memories of his parents, their love imprinted on him like a brand which never stopped burning. Yanked from sleep by a noise and grasping for his helmet before he grasps for a weapon, so that everything he is built of -everything he has promised to be- cannot be unmade. Rising to worry; to thoughts of what he is missing and fear of what might be taken away.

Nowadays, he awakes to thoughts of The Foundling. And, Din always, always awakes to the lack of you.

Some things become more potent in their absence. Din knows this. He knows it deeply. Never is the warmth of the sun craved more acutely than in the depths of a dead night. Din certainly finds you more potent in your absence. He finds himself wearing the memory of you like a perpetual perfume, clinging to his body and refusing to be scrubbed clean. Even when he has shed the heavy layers of beskar, in the dark and the solitude, the ghost of you still lingers there, enveloping his skin like a shroud.

Sometimes, Din wonders why he must always bear a weight on his body. A weight over his heart, like this, even when he’s stripped down. Still, like the armour, you are a vow he bears willingly. The only thing worse than bearing this would be losing you entirely. And losing you entirely, would be worse than losing his creed.

Din’s creed is immeasurably heavy.

You are heaviest. Immeasurable.

This morning, as the weight of you settles on his chest, Din stirs.

He peels his eyes open for another day of folding rituals into his seconds and minutes and hours until they become his Way of life. Another day of folding all of the promises he made to you into his heartbeat, his sinews, his bones, until you become a part of him.

As soon as he awakes, he longs for sleep again. Din isn’t sure he can take it any longer -watch yet another day blaze without you by his side. To admit that something fresh was possible would be to let you go. To extract “you” from “him” would be like trying to tear out his own skeleton and keep his heart beating. You are inextricable. Unforgettable. All he can do is hold on to you with every fibre of his being.

This morning, as the weight of you threatens to pin him down to the bed for another day, Din is relieved to find the sound stirring him is Cara, rapping on his door with a characteristically heavy fist. He is relieved not to be alone. He is relieved that today -especially today- Cara can help bear some of the weight of you. He hopes his burden can be made just a little lighter. Prays it can, for he doesn’t know how much longer he can carry you. Still, he is not ready to bury you. Not yet.

Not yet.

Din misses you. He misses you so badly. This is how you are able to cling to his body like perpetual perfume. To weigh on his breast. This is how you’re amongst every layer of him, from armour to bones. Because Din Djarin wears you like a creed. Because he chooses you, every day, and he folds you into the layers of him. The vows, the promises, the rituals. Until you are his way of life. Or, the lack of you is; some things are just more potent in their absence.

A dead body is heavier. Heaviest.

“Din? We gotta go.” Cara states perfunctorily through the door, cutting through Din’s spiral. “There’s some caf on the floor for you.”

Din’s face softens gratefully, the simple morning ritual a reason to crawl out of bed. This is how he gets through the day. One ritual at a time until the sun goes down.

“Din! Are you ready?” Cara asks, rapping on the door again when nothing but silence greets her.

Ready? Is he? He’s never ready to face another day without you. It always kicks the feet out from under him. You always tackle him in those first moments of the morning, before he can put his armour on over the cracks. You always attack him when he’s most vulnerable.

“Yep. Coming.” Din responds, his rough voice grogged by tattered remnants of sleep.

He reluctantly reaches for his armour. He stumbles into the refresher. He dresses himself, layering himself in ritual. Binding himself in his creed until none of his cracks are visible and he is shining like the glint of dawn over a horizon. Until he appears whole and unbreakable. If he didn’t have his creed to bind himself in, Din may have fallen apart altogether.

Din shuffles towards the mirror, where he has your necklace pinned. A pendant with an emblem of a sun, rising over mountains. With each new day, he repeats the mantra which has become familiar to him.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

It’s a promise. A promise to remember you. He says it into the mirror, to a face that you never even saw. He repeats your name under his breath, folding it into the air filling his lungs. Each breath becomes a ritual. A habit of breathing, for you. For the Foundling. For Cara. Maybe, eventually, for himself.

Din keenly downs the strong, bitter caf before cloaking his face inside his helmet. Today, he resents the helmet, just a little. Wishes he could show the cracks, instead of his smooth dome of beskar, just for once. But weakness is not a luxury Din Djarin is used to being afforded. Strength is part of his code.

Din shuffles lethargically, quietly to the cockpit of the Razor Crest, trying to minimise the heavy thud of his boots. It’s early. Early enough that even The Foundling is sleeping. It’s still dark outside too, stars littering the skies up above like spilled sugar. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so tragic, he thinks -so haphazard.

Din had used to believe that stars aligned. That there was some order to the chaos. He had believed that most wholeheartedly when he met you, by complete chance. But now... now he simply believed they were a mess. That fate was cruel. That all was chaos. That the universe was nothing but spilled sugar.

The Mandalorian places a gloved hand on Cara’s shoulder and she turns, arms folded and her face already awash with tears, eyes littered with stars too. Angry stars, like fate has been cruel to her as well. She misses you, too.

Cara smiles thinly, caught-out in her grief but pleased that he’s up, and Din lowers himself into the pilot’s seat with a heavy thud, manoeuvring the craft up and away. There is no time for comfort. He knows he needs to make the canyon before sunrise. Has to watch the daybreak peek over the mountains. It’s what he promised. So, he flies in silence, Cara quiet too.

It all seems eminently doable to Din… until he lands the ship. Until Cara takes his hand and attempts to lead him out of the craft before the glowing embers of day set fire to the sky. Then, suddenly, the interior of the helmet tastes like salt, his wet tears of grief lining the insides.

“Din,” Cara says, her voice tinged with panic. “Din, please. The sun’s coming up. We can’t miss this, you understand?”

“I can’t do it, Cara. I can’t do another day without her,” he rasps through the vocoder, his voice a patchy rumble like an old stuttering engine.

Cara hasn’t seen Din breakdown like this since it had first happened. No-one has seen it. Even now, his voice is the only clue that he is broken. His armour may be smooth and unblemished, but the Mandalorian is cracked from within.

His pain travels through his body, though, becoming more visible. Din curls his spine and his shoulders in on himself, his body sagging under the weight of you. Under the weight of this. His gloved hands clench and dig into the arms of his flight console.

Din wants to run. Wants to turn the Razor Crest around.Wants to be weak, after so long beign strong.

“Din, you promised her.”

Promised? Promised?

“I promised nothing,” Din snaps at Cara, launching himself from his seat, his voice gruff like the snarl of animal. Like teeth tearing a chunk out of her. “She died before I could promise her a damn thing.”

Cara squares up to him, ready to suffer his outburst, but the fire leaves Din as quickly as it came. He’s simply a wounded animal lashing out. Even as Cara’s chin tips up at him, Din is falling to his knees on the floor, his head bowed into his gloved hands.

“Din,” Cara soothes, dropping to the floor with him and clutching his hands in hers, gently peeling them away from his helmet. “Din. Hey.”

Din’s voice is barely audible when he speaks again. “I wasn’t there at the end, Cara. I wasn’t with her.”

The Mandalorian finally tips his head up and meets the mercenary’s eyes. He finds them swimming with pain. With pity. Din hadn’t been there at the end. He couldn’t even hold you. He wasn’t even there to tell you that he loved you. That he would have married you. To tell you all that he would have promised and vowed to you.

Cara had been there, at the end, so Din supposes it’s a cruel thing to wish for. Especially as he can see from the distress in Cara’s face that she is replaying it. That her face contorts around all the details she left out so that Din didn’t have to know exactly how you suffered. Especially as she chews on the omitted details and prepares to smooth them with kind, white lies to ease his pain.

“Well, I was, Din. I was. And I told you what she said, yes?”

Cara had been the one to convey your dying words to Din. Had come back to the Mandalorian with your body in her arms, her hands stained red and her cheeks stained with glassy tears. Cara had been the one to hold Din as he yelled into the sky. As he crouched over you and blood bloomed through his gloves as he pressed his hands to your flowering wounds. As he took a boot and then his fists to the exterior of the Razor Crest. She had been the one to soothe him, and remind him of the Foundling and all he had left to live for as he dropped to his knees, just like this. Cara had told him what you’d said, with your last breaths. As you expended your last moments folding Din into your bones. Into your heart. Punctuating your story with him.

“Tell Din... I love him. And... m-make sure he watches the sun c-come up.”

“I told you what she said, but did you understand it? Did you understand what she meant?” Cara searches the T-shape in Din’s helmet as if she could truly read it, no longer holding back her own tears.

“She knew, Din, you tin-head. She knew every damn promise you would have made to her,” Cara says, clutching Din’s hands more tightly in her warm grip. “In her final moments, she was thinking about what her Mandalorian would need. Her man would need to know she loved him. Would need something to believe in -something beautiful. He’d need the promise of a new day. And a friend by his side to get him through the night. So, Din, there’s no kriffing doubt she knew you loved her, because she knew exactly what you would need to survive losing her.”

It was symbolic, Cara knew, but you understood Din. You understood his need for rituals and symbols. You wanted him to watch the sun come up, and you wanted Cara to make sure he did so again, even after the longest and darkest of nights without you. 

Din leans forward into Cara’s shoulder as if all of his tendons have suddenly been cut. He hadn’t realised how badly he needed to hear his friend’s words. But you knew that he would need her.

Of course.

Even when Din thought all the promises has been lost, you forced him to look ahead to the promise of a new dawn; a new day, one day at a time. It was about marching forwards, with whatever rituals he needed to get him through. Like watching the sun come up over the mountains. For you, for Cara, for the Foundling. Until he could do it for himself too. 

As Cara moves to wrap her strong arms around Din in comfort, suddenly he raises himself from the floor as quickly as he fell, until he is standing above her. Her brown eyes find his as she rises to meet him.

He extends his hand to her, and instead of taking it, she simply looks at him, a soft smile blooming at the corners of her mouth.

The only time Cara had known Din to take the helmet off was when he was horrifically wounded. And he’s so horrifically wounded now. She knows exactly what he needs.

“Why don’t you go out alone, Din Djarin?” Cara asks in a soft, earnest voice. “Why don’t you feel the sun on your face for a little bit? I’ll give you ‘til the sun hits that second peak, then I’ll be right out, okay?”

Din doesn’t speak; can’t speak, at such a kind gesture from a friend who knows him too well. Who knew you just as well. Din can’t find the words. All he knows is that he suddenly feels so much… lighter. He brings a gloved hand to the side of Cara’s face and dips his beskar dome forwards, gently touching foreheads with his friend in gratitude. She gives him a soft smile and an encouraging nod, and the Mandalorian shuffles out of the craft alone, his heavy boots dragging through the dirt. He faces the mountains. Faces the beautiful view across the canyon and collapses into the dirt, parking his butt and sitting cross-legged at the cliff edge.

The sunlight spills over the horizon, the light finding him and daybreak gleaming off of his armour; at first, Din reflects it back like he doesn’t want to know. Like he wants to remain in the darkness. But then, ever so slowly, he reaches his hands up towards his head and slips his helmet off, baring his face to a new day. Feeling the warmth on his skin. The light dancing in his warm, caf-coloured eyes. And he smiles. He smiles while thinking of you, for the first time in a long while.

Din is here because it has been a year. A year since you died.

In that time, it hasn’t grown any easier. But, today, Din is here with Cara to remember you. He wants the carry the memory of you with him forever, but he doesn’t want it to be so heavy. He doesn’t want to only remember you in death, even if you died with such honour. He wants to let your memory be something that can dance around him. Dance with him. Maybe even march along beside him. That’s how he wants to remember you; with joy, because that’s what you gave him, before you gave him grief – if only he would remember.

Din takes a few deep breaths and allows his soul to be stilled as the sun rises through the craggy, oranged peaks in front of him, drying the tears from his cheeks like the brush of a lover’s fingers.

He repeats the words under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.

That’s the thing about rituals. They mean something. They’re never supposed to be passive. They’re a way of life, folded into the seconds and minutes and hours of each new day. Folded into your heartbeat, your sinews, your bones.

Din looks out at the beautiful scene in front of him, and his smile spreads wider even as fresh tears threaten at his eyes. This time, they ball, but don’t fall. They twinkle in his eyes like stars blazing. Like suns.

Maker, he loved you. Loves you. And, Cara must have been right; you must have known he loved you too, then? Because why else would you think he would need this - exactly this, if he lost you?

The Mandalorian watches peacefully until the sun rises beyond the second peak, and, true to his word, he savours the warmth before slipping his helmet back on over his head. True to her word, Cara’s heavy gait kicks-up dust as she approaches, plonking herself beside him on the dirt and looking out across the canyon in gentle awe, suns balling in her eyes too.

After a moment in silence, she bumps his shoulder with her own, looking him dead-on in the T-shape. “I need you to talk about her,” Cara admits. “I know you can’t forget her, but you have to remember her too, Din. That’s how you keep her alive, instead of being haunted by ghosts. Or, that’s how we keep her alive.” Cara scrunches her face up, as if she knows how cheesy she’s about to sound. “Together. You’re not a clan of one anymore, Mando.” 

“I know,” Din says gruffly, his voice lighter than it had been before dawn. He nods his head in agreement. “I know.”

The two friends wrap their arms around one another as the sun rises above the mountains, held together by its beauty, the possibility of a new start, and the memory of you.

Din tugs in the deepest of breaths and lets it go, as if he shrugging off a long-held weight from his shoulders.

Cara is the first to break the silence, looking towards her dear companion. “How about you shimmy indoors, clear out the snot from your helmet and come back with some hot caf? The child will be waking up in a couple of hours. ‘Til then maybe we can enjoy the views and figure out the best stories to tell him about his mama?”

Din rises, like the sun. Somehow looking fresh. He obliges Cara, giving her a moment alone with her memories too, and he wanders into the interior of the Razor Crest. As he retrieves his cup from inside the craft, he repeats his mantra once more under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

Up to now, Din realises, he had been repeating it. But he hadn’t been living it.

Things were set to change today. As long as he remembered you, Cara remembered you, the Foundling remembered you, you were not gone. You were simply marching far away.

Din would have married you. If there is something after all this, if there is anything true about the Force, Din hopes that one day, somehow, he gets a chance to make a whole new vow. Hopes that one day he might get to walk beside you again, and keep walking with you for always. Until then, he will keep marching on. And, most of all, he will remember you, so that if he ever comes across you again, he will recognise you, even if you are marching away.

Folding your name into his breath, Din joins Cara beneath the risen sun to start a new day, with a friend by his side. No longer a clan of one. Not alone, even wihout you.

THE END

Like this? I hope the story brought you some joy and that’s more than enough, especially at this moment. However, if you do have the energy and inclination please do reblog, and consider sending feedback in a comment or ask. (It gets me through the day, ngl).

Want more? Whether you want more angst or need recovery fluff, I got you. You can check out my Masterlist in my bio to read more of my works!  I write for Star Wars and Oscar / Pedro characters. I have more Din and a Cara fic on there too, and plenty of Poe Dameron being silly if you need a cheer up.

Want even more? Just ask if you’re not already and you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list / character tag-lists. Also, you can always check in my bio if requests are open rn if you’d like to see something specific. Request guidelines are at the top of my masterlist. Tagging: @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​  @holybatflapexpert @himbopoes @arabellathorne​ @yourbucky084​ @mandoplease​ @mylifeliterally​ @arkofblake​ @multifandomlife22​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ @justrunamok​ @aisling-beatha​  @mndalorians​

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #din djarin angst #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #cara dune #cara dune angst #star wars fic #mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #gina carano

[habeascoffee]

If it matters to anyone here, sorry for my absence. I got busy and didn’t really think about Tumblr.

Some time ago I posted about being interested in a couple women I work with. Well, I ended up falling for the redhead. (No surprise) The pisser is that she’s leaving the area. Moving, eventually, to NY. It seems she had some interest in me too. It sucks that she’s leaving and I’ve shed tears over this. (I haven’t cried over a person in years) But I support her taking her shot in NY and I truly hope she soars high. She is fully capable. She and I had a conversation about this. I would work with her anywhere, and I told her this. She told me the same thing. And she said that she would drop my name if the opportunity came up. I’m not going to hold my breath, because people say a lot of things they don’t necessarily mean, but I do hope to work with her again. She’s never given me a reason to doubt her honesty.

She’s an amazing person, and her energy is magical.

These last few years have been a sea change for me. It’s a lot to try and write down so I’ll try to sum it up.

I’ve been depressed for a really long time. It’s gotten worse over the years. Cancer really exacerbated it in 2012 and it’s steadily gotten even worse. These last few years have been really difficult. I can’t afford therapy or to fix medical issues (non lethal) that have been plaguing me. But, I’ve been reading and learning about mental health and how to try and right some of the wrongs I’ve been doing to myself.

Being around “Mo” was like bringing an old engine back to life. Her energy put fire back into the old cylinders. She makes me WANT to wake up and shake off the bullshit self-talk I’ve been feeding myself. Switching metaphors: that scene in the third Matrix movie where Trinity and Neo are flying into the heart of the machine world and breach the clouds for a brief moment. The sun fills the cabin of the ship and it’s beauty stuns Trinity. That’s what it felt like when I got to know “Mo”.

There’s so many aspects of this “shake up” that typing them would be a chore. Suffice to say that I want to live a life free from mental shackles. I need to abolish all the poisonous mental/societal garbage I was given as a child and teenager. Garbage people are still trying to feed me.

Therapy: it needs to happen. I need that ear that only a trained professional can provide.

Self-love: that adage about you can’t find real love until you love your self. I used to think, “yeah, whatever, dude”. Now I know it is absolutely true. It has everything to do with being able to accept love from others. Not just go through the motions but actually accepting it as something you deserve because you are human. You have to believe you are worthy, because you are.

I feel really stupid trying to give myself positive self-talk. But if I’m committed to rejecting garbage thoughts, that is also one of them. That feeling of stupidity.

I need these things for ME. Beyond “Mo”, beyond any significant other. I do these things because I want a “Mo” energy in my life. I want to be able to give her (whoever that may be) that same energy back. I want to live in that sunlit space above the clouds, free of the weight of the bullshit.

#personal #me

[unsaid-stardust]

Home is Wherever I'm with You

Even though Luke gained some closure with his mom thanks to his brightest burning star, he still finds himself going to his parents’ house every now and then. 

He doesn’t exactly know why, there’s no thought process behind it. He just gets this pull in his chest every few days that seems to take him to his house. Maybe it’s a part of being a ghost. They do say that ghosts go where their soul latched onto and while Luke always thought his instrument was more attached to his soul than anything else, his house was still a part of him, even if it was small.

The visits didn’t make him feel the way they used to before ‘Unsaid Emily’ was finally seen by Emily. Luke still didn’t feel like he probably should, sad merely for the fact that he misses them. Instead, he felt numb. Which he guessed was better than leaving the house feeling like an anchor was lying down on his chest the way he did before. But, he’d rather feel something, anything. 

He just didn’t expect it to be betrayal.

Luke had poofed into the kitchen and found his way back onto the countertop. He didn’t remember when he started doing that, it was just a thing he always did, ever since he was little even. Alex and Reggie joke that he likes to feel tall, but in reality, Luke feels like it ironically grounds him. 

As he took in his surroundings, Luke realized that he heard music playing. The source? A record player that he had no idea his parents still owned; The Who blasting with “My Generation”. Soon, Luke spotted his father cooking dinner, shaking his head to the rhythm and singing along to the stutters in the chorus. 

Luke gripped the sides of the counter. He had never seen his dad like this. If he had, then maybe there would’ve been more incentive for Luke to stay. And then he wouldn’t be here the way he currently was. He wouldn’t be....no. Luke couldn’t start thinking like that again. Just because his dad was listening to music doesn’t suddenly mean that he had a secret passion for it. 

Luke’s thoughts were thankfully shed away as his mom’s laughter sounded the kitchen. 

“Well someone’s in a good mood,” She commented as she hugged her husband from behind. Mitch smiled brighter than Luke had seen during any of his visits.

“Yeah, I was sifting through some old boxes and found a bunch of our records. Made me think of Woodstock again,” He responded.

If Luke had a heart, he was pretty sure it would’ve stopped in that moment. Woodstock? Like the 3 day music festival that was all about music and peace Woodstock? The festival filled with drugs and alcohol and-and sex Woodstock? 

The festival that was about everything Emily and Mitch stood against as parents Woodstock?

“Oh yeah, those were the days, huh?” Emily reminisced. Mitch hummed in agreement.

“I still remember the first time I saw you in the crowd at the Janis Joplin set. Don’t think I could forget it even if I tried,” Mitch proclaimed. 

“Yeah? I still remember you putting me on your shoulders during Hendrix’s set. You dared me to crowd surf, but for some reason, that’s where I drew the line at that festival,” Emily laughed. 

“You did always know when to quit. Unlike me who thought it would be a good idea to buy our son a guitar so that he would be like Jimmy Hendrix.’ 

Luke froze, the anchor starting to reappear on his chest. His dad....his dad wanted him to be like one of the greats? That didn’t make any sense. 

“Hey, I'm just as much to blame. I thought it would be a good outlet for him. He was always so stubborn, so bottled up, I thought maybe if he couldn’t talk to us he could-- It was--it was just supposed to be a hobby,” Emily explained, her voice starting to give out towards the end. Mitch turned around and brought her in for a hug. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok. We couldn’t have possibly known, Emily.” Mitch soothed. 

Luke felt dizzy. And nauseous. And-could ghosts even feel those things? Oh, well, it didn’t matter, because Luke was feeling those things. And tears were streaming down his face uncontrollably, his body shaking to try and keep it together. But, he couldn’t. 

He brought his sleeve up to his face, trying to wipe away and remnants of tears. He couldn’t go to Julie’s like this. But, he had nowhere else to go, and he definitely didn’t want to be here.

So, he poofed through the tears and landed in the studio of all places. Normally, he’d be more than okay with that, but he just didn’t wanna see--

“Hey, man, where have you been? Rehearsal started like 15 minutes ago,” Reggie interrogated. Luke didn’t stay to entertain. Instead, he just walked away without a word, not looking anyone in the eye. 

He didn’t know where he was going, he just couldn’t stay there. At some point, Luke managed to find solace on the porch swing in front of the Molina’s house, and he crumbled into himself, pulling his knees to his chest, resting his head on top of them. 

How could his parents do this to him? How could they act like music was this terrible thing, the absolute worst thing, their son could get passionate about when they clearly were the ones that passed it onto him?

“Luke?” A soft voice sounded causing Luke to lift his head up. 

Julie. 

Of course it was Julie. 

Good, kind hearted, loving, actual angel on earth, Julie. 

He didn’t want to talk, but that was the thing about Julie. She got him. Because as soon as he looked up at her, she moved to make her way towards the swing, sat down beside him and rested her head onto his shoulder. 

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask what was wrong. Didn’t say his name. Just sat there with her head on his shoulder because she knew him. She knew that’s what he needed. And god, did he need that. 

He needed the smell of her shampoo, peaches on a summer day. He needed the sound of her breathing reminding him that even though he didn’t have a breath anymore, he still needed to follow her rhythm. 

He needed her.

Luke doesn’t know how long they sat like that. The warmth of Julie’s living body radiating onto his own skin, the slight L.A breeze gently pushing the swing they sat on. But, Luke did know, that being there with her made him feel the way he should; Calm and alive at the same time, the way the waves looked after a raging storm. He felt like he could tell her anything, like the way it should’ve been with his parents. 

“My parents...” He broke the silence and Julie lifted her head off of his shoulder so that she could look at him, but she placed her hand on his wrist gently, knowing what he needed. 

“They met at a Woodstock. They....they loved music...” he managed to choke out.

Julie parted her lips, and god if he wasn’t so sad at that moment, he would’ve kissed her. 

“But...if they loved music...why didn’t-why didn’t they love that you loved it?” She chose her words carefully. But, Luke still felt overwhelmed. Because how couldn’t he?

How couldn’t the tears make their way back into his eyes without his consent? How couldn’t his chest feel tight? How couldn’t he lose it?

“I don’t know-I don’t know,” Was all he could manage to say as he shook his head, the tears continuing to fall. 

Julie pulled him back into her, his head burying itself in the crook of her neck, his hands twisting themselves in her hair. 

“Hey, hey. You still got me, yeah? And Alex and Reggie. And Flynn and WIllie. We all love you and we love that you love music. That’s what matters right? We may not be the same family as your parents, but we’re still your family. And you did that all on your own. You found us. Not your parents. Not the universe. Not Caleb. You. And I think that’s something pretty amazing,” Julie explained. 

Luke pulled back from Julie, the tears drying on their own, his eyes finding a home in hers. 

He never thought of it that way. Because, around Julie, he always felt like they were meant to know each other. Like some sort of invisible string tied them together way before either of theme existed. But, she was right. The universe may have placed them in a path where they could find each other, but he was still the one that found her. And Luke was so fucking lucky to have found her. This-bright burning star. This wicked beauty. This wrecking ball of a talent and any and all other metaphors that describe just how amazing she was. 

And not only did he find her, but he found someone that loves him. Truly, really, genuinely, loves him. All of him. Not just his pretty stuff, but the ugly parts too. His stubbornness, his one track mind, and most importantly, his passion. 

Maybe, his soul wasn’t as attached to his literal home, but Luke thinks that the the home he found in Julie Molina made up for that. 

tagging: @moony221b @willexx @littledancersun @blush-and-books @lydias--stiles @romantiquesnouvelles

#julie and the phantoms #juke #Julie Molina x Luke patterson #blame Jillian it was HER idea #salkjdfh #bree writes jatp

[doomonfilm]

Ranking : David Lynch (1946-present)

Film is definitely an art, and yet, it seems to be distinct from other forms of visual art such as painting or sculpture.  Perhaps that is what makes David Lynch such a fascinating director, as he has the ability to tap into the surreal stimulus often found in the most famous paintings and transform it into brain-bending moments on film.  Whether it his fear-fueled fascination with fatherhood present in his debut film Eraserhead, his ruminations on Hollywood society present in Inland Empire, or any of the stopping points in-between, it’s safe to say that David Lynch sits in the rarified air of directors like Ingmar Bergman, Alejandro Jodorowsky and the other few who can turn film into something deeper, more visceral and more meaningful.

With one of the most unique collections of films credited to his name, including a couple of curveballs in the early portion of his career, ranking the films of David Lynch is as perplexing as it is entertaining... so, without further ado, we attempt to climb that hill.  I’m not even going to pretend that I can break down all of the symbolism and meanings of these films, but I can give my honest opinion about them.

10. Dune (1984) For a film that is supposed to be such a science-fiction gem, it’s a bit funny that nobody can seem to make a coherent, entertaining version of Dune.  After nearly 15 years in pre-production hell (and three iconic names attached to versions of the production), the film landed in the laps of Dino De Laurentiis and Ridley Scott, but after another extended period delaying production, Scott bowed out, leaving the door open for David Lynch to step in.  For what it’s worth, he did bring a huge list of names to the project, but the fact that the directing credit for Dune belongs to the throwaway pseudonym Alan Smithee should clue in any perceptive viewer that the project may not be one that Lynch cares to stand behind.

9. Inland Empire (2006) David Lynch isn’t the type of director that revisit ground he’s already covered, which is what makes Inland Empire (the seemingly final film from Lynch) such a confusing choice.  Had this film not been released after a five year gap between it and the stellar Mullholland Drive, another film that focuses on the dark underbelly of Hollywood, fame and the tolls of the acting craft, perhaps it would hit a little different to me.  That’s not to say that the film isn’t good, as it is definitely a slight adjustment from the style that Lynch basically trademarked, but when a director like Lynch experiments on what feels like general principle, it makes experiments that feel like a step backward lose impact.

8. Lost Highway (1997) Technically, you could count all of the Lynch “mystery” films as noir in some capacity, but Lost Highway feels like a direct skewing of what we know as the traditional noir structure.  At its core, the film is a simple murder mystery, but it doesn’t take long for the Lynch signatures to begin appearing in every form from a mysterious, unnamed character to our protagonist literally changing into another person with no base explanation provided.  Perhaps the latter choice was a look into split personalities and the disassociated nature that can come with brutal crimes... as I said before, I’m not here to try and decode the David Lynch mystery.  While Lost Highway serves as a good entry point into the David Lynch catalog, it sits on the back half of the rankings due to no fault of its own... it’s more of a situation where the other mysteries are so stellar, that even the strange seems simplistic by comparison.

7. The Straight Story (1999) If you played a game of “one of these things is not like the other” with the films of David Lynch, it would not be difficult to make a winning choice, as The Straight Story is clearly the most accessible and standard of all the Lynch fare.  What the film lacks in oddness and style, however, is more than made up for in terms of heart and performance.  The use of a lawnmower as the main source of travel allows for some beautiful landscape cinematography, and the sheer force of will exhibited by Richard Farnsworth pays off in spades when he is reunited with Harry Dean Stanton.  If you’re looking for something creepy, eclectic and mind-warping from Lynch, there are plenty of other films to choose from, but if you are looking for an excuse to shed a tear or two, this is the film for you.

6. The Elephant Man (1980) It’s funny to think that if not for The Straight Story, the Joseph Merrick biopic The Elephant Man would serve as the most normal film of the Lynch canon.  This sophomore film dialed back on the abstractions present in Eraserhead, but it brought some extraordinary makeup and costuming to the table, not to mention it gifted viewers with a powerfully moving performance from John Hurt.  Though memorable in its own right, the film really made its mark by tying Raging Bull at the 53rd Academy Awards, garnering eight nominations (and sadly losing in all categories, going home empty-handed).  The backlash for the Academy’s lack of giving The Elephant Man special praise for its makeup effects also led to the creation of a Best Makeup award for the Oscars.  It is quite possible that the combination of shock from Eraserhead in tandem with the skill and prowess shown in The Elephant Man opened all of the creative control doors for David Lynch, as not even Dune could derail his career and artistic oddness. 

5. Blue Velvet (1986) While Twin Peaks is where I first heard the name David Lynch, it was Blue Velvet where I first got a taste of why Lynch was held in such high regard.  The suburban paradise presented in the opening credits is immediately shattered by the discovery of a random ear, and the weirdness rabbit-hole gets deeper and deeper from that point on.  The classic look of the film stands in powerfully beautiful contrast to the extreme darkness of the narrative, and Dennis Hopper turned it all the way up to 11 for his performance in the film.  If Lost Highway serves as the best introductory film for those curious about Lynch, then Blue Velvet serves as a good midpoint to determine how much weirdness, abrasiveness and shock you can handle in a Lynch film.

4. Mulholland Drive (2001) I really and truly do not know where to begin with this insane rollercoaster ride of a film.  The first time I watched this film, I thought I had everything figured out, every mystery solved and every bait and switch identified, but upon repeat viewings of Mullholland Drive, I’ve determined that I either had a brief moment of harmonic brilliance or I was fooling myself.  The film makes sense at its root, if really and truly dissected, but when taken at face value and in real time, it’s almost impossible not to get completely lost in the sheer immersive nature of everything thrown at you.  Naomi Watts is brilliant as the viewer guide through the film, and it’s good that she is so powerful in her lead role and guiding task, because Mullholland Drive is not afraid to get downright bonkers on more than one occasion.  While films about the trappings of Hollywood and stardom are nothing new, I’m hard pressed to think of another film that approaches these in a manner even remotely close to that of Mullholland Drive. 

3. Wild at Heart (1990) Quite possibly the most enjoyable of all the David Lynch films, despite some downright brutal moments of celebratory violence sprinkled throughout.  The combination of Nicolas Cage and Laura Dern is nothing short of electric, and the presence of Willem Dafoe as antagonist is the perfect spark to ignite an already volatile mixture of leads.  The energy level of this film starts on ten and only continues to rise as the film progresses.  If/when I ever get the chance to program theater showings, I am putting this film on a double bill with Natural Born Killers immediately.  While I can’t say that Wild at Heart is my favorite David Lynch film, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that it’s my favorite Lynch film to gush about with other fans.

2. Eraserhead (1977) More often than not, directors the caliber of David Lynch have stunning debut films to their name, and Lynch certainly exploded onto the scene with a gamebreaker in the form of Eraserhead.  Upon first viewing, there is enough “WTF?!” going on to confuse most people, but for those brave enough to watch the film more than once, it becomes painfully obvious that all of the madness and shocking imagery on display is a clear metaphor for Lynch’s fear of fatherhood.  The simple act of taking a fear that resonates with most humans and turning it into the equivalent of a black and white bad drug trip works perfectly, and Jack Nance’s iconic look and performance are almost recognizable enough to know without knowledge of the film.  Eraserhead is one of those films that leaves you different than you were prior to watching it.

1. Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me (1992) In all honesty, was there every any doubt that Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me wouldn’t be in the top spot?  Of all the properties that the David Lynch name is connected to, none of them have even come remotely close to touching the sheer size of the lore and fandom that has emerged from this modern day masterpiece.  The story of the high school princess with deep, dark secrets to hide is not new territory, but the way that Lynch handles it all with Twin Peaks takes the familiar to all new realms of weirdness, including the creation of iconic places and characters like the Black Lodge, the Log Lady, the production mistake that created the infamous Bob, and the eternally iconic Laura Palmer, and oh yeah, the film’s not half bad either.  I doubt that David Lynch ever had any intention of reaching the heights of fame that Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me afforded him, but it would be dumb to think that he isn’t impressed with the magnitude of the world he created based on that single idea for a film.

#ChiefDoomsday #DOOMonFILM #DavidLynch #Eraserhead #TheElephantMan #Dune #BlueVelvet #WildAtHeart #TwinPeaksFireWalkWithMe #LostHighway #TheStraightStory #MullhollandDrive #InlandEmpire

[fan-imagines]

Joe Keery ~Glamour Interview

MASTERLIST

Joe Keery x NeutralReader

Synopsis - You and Joe do the relationship test with Glamour

Word Count - 1.1k+

** Warnings ** none

‘’Okay. For the first part of the video, we’re going to have you each talk without the other in the room. Y/n, you’ll start first.’’ I follow the man, who introduced himself as Mark. Joe and I are doing Wired and Glamour videos today. We’ve been doing interviews all week, everyone was really excited about season two. It was amazing and fun to shoot.

‘’So, I stand here?’’ I ask. He nods, and I stand on the marker. There are about five people in the room. Two of them being camera-men, the other three producers.  

‘’I just need you to tell me how you feel about Joe.’’

‘’Well, he’s my best friend. He’s extremely hardworking and makes me want to work harder, along with everyone that works with him. I’ve had many people that I don’t even know, but they have worked with Joe and they loved him. He’s amazing, and I love him so much. Is that good?’’  

‘’That’s great. If you could send Joe in, that would be awesome.’’ He replies and smiles at me.  

‘’Of course.’’ I open the door and see Joe on his phone.

‘’How’d it go?’’  

‘’Great. They want you now.’’ He kisses my cheek and goes in. After a few minutes, the producer comes out and gets me.  

‘’For your first exercise, you guys will write down compliments then read them aloud.’’ They had us a clipboard with index cards and a sharpie. I write the first things that come to my head.  

Mostly what I said in the beginning of the video, and a few more things. I finish and look up to see Joe is still writing.

‘’Man, this is cheesy, but I mean it.’’ Joe says. I smile at this and continue writing.

‘’You got a lot to say about me, don’t you? Geez, now I feel bad.’’

‘’Yeah. I’m over here writing a novel.’’ He smiles.  

‘’I feel like a butthead.’’ I chuckle.  

‘’Butthead? I haven’t heard anyone say ‘butthead’ in years.’’ He looks up and we hand our clipboards to Mark. We both step on the marks, and they signal for Joe to go first. ‘’Y/n, I think that you are the best scene partner to have on set, and to hang out with.’’ I smile and chuckle.

‘’Aww, thank you. Joe, You have an amazing sense of humor and I never stop laughing when I’m around you. It’s awesome.’’ He puts his hand to his chest and smiles.

‘’That’s what I hope to do. I think you are, Y/n, are the wisest person I have ever met. If you wanted, you could be a world leader.’'

‘’Oh, wow. Hmm, I’ll think about it. I wrote heart of gold. Because, well, you have a heart of gold. You’re super kind. No one has ever said anything negative about you; everyone loves you. You’re a super great guy, and you’re just awesome.’’

‘’What the heck, that’s so sweet. You are a very great friend. People feel very comfortable around you and like, meeting you in one second.’’  

‘’You’re, umm, super motivated and determined at work and I always see you doing such a great job. You’re always super focused, and I always aspire to be like that. Like, make sure that I work as hard as possible cause you’re such a hard worker.’’  

‘’Aww.’’ He comes closer to me, and we hug. ‘’And, you’re obviously gorgeous.’’ He laughs into my hair.

‘’So are you.’’ I laugh once we pull away.

‘’What did you guys think of that exercise?’’ Mark asks us.

‘’It’s very nice.’’ Joe says.

‘’It is. I like getting compliments, I feel like everyone likes getting compliments.’’

‘'Yeah, it’s really nice. It’s also I feel like, very rarely do you stand and look someone in the eye, and give them such a -, I don’t know,’' I chuckle at his loss of words. ‘’Like, oh yeah, you did a really great job, but not meeting their eye. But, to look someone in the eye, it makes a difference.’’ I nod in agreement, and turn back to the camera.

~~~~

‘’For your next exercise, you are going to look at each other for four minutes.’’

‘’Okay. Tell us when.’’ Joe says.

‘’Go.’’ I look up and look into his eyes. We start laughing, but soon stop, wanting to do the exercise correct. ‘’I’m just going to look at one eye, cause I keep going back and forth.’’

‘’I’m looking at that one over there. How rarely, though, do you just look at somebody’s eye, like this?’’

‘’Almost never.’’

After another thirty seconds, I feel my eyes starting to water. Not because I haven’t blinked, but because I’m taking in the beauty of my boyfriend. I think of our first date, first time he said we were dating, first kiss, first scene we shot on Stranger Things, and all the time we’ve spent together. The tears fall from my eyes, and I see Joe smile.

‘’Don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry.’’ He says. I chuckle at him and wipe the tears away. What feels like seconds later, but if probably minutes, the producer tells us that the time is up.

‘’That was weird, but I enjoyed it.’’ I say and turn my gaze from the camera, back to Joe.

‘’It now feels weird to not look into your eyes now. Wow, that was cool.’’ He says laughing.

‘’That was strange, but yes, very cool. I feel like I never really taken the time to just say, I'm going to look at your eyes and try to feel a connection.’’

‘’I feel like when you would start laughing, I would too. Or, like when you shed some tears, I felt my eyes getting watery. It’s crazy how fast my body would react to you.’’ He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me to him.

‘’What made you cry, Y/n?’’

‘’I was just thinking of how amazing Joe is. How we met, first date, and all the other time and milestones we have reached since then.’’ I smile, and squeeze his side where my hand is.  

‘’Aww, that’s sweet.’’ He kisses the top of my head.  

~~~~

‘’Okay, final one. You guys are going to do trust falls on one another.’’ Mark says.

‘’Ohh, this should be fun. I want to go first.’’ I smile. I turn myself and put my hands on my chest as if I'm in a coffin. ‘’I just go straight back, yeah?’’  

‘'Yes, and don’t break the hip.’’ I nod, and get ready to fall. I slowly let myself fall backwards, and he catches me easily, and pushes me back up.

‘’That was it?’’ I laugh.

‘’We’re just beginning. Just had to start somewhere and work our way up.’’ He scoots back more.

‘’Ready?’’ I ask him. He answers, and I fall back again. We go pretty far down this time, but I wasn’t worried, I knew he had me.  

‘’That was pretty good. Let’s do one more.’'

‘'Okay, ready?’’ We go even farther done, and I laugh when he pushes me back up. ‘’Cool, that was so cool. My turn!’’ I say excitedly, and he laughs. He turns himself, and gets ready. He quickly throws himself back, and I panic, but he doesn’t actually fall.  

‘’Send it!’’ I laugh.

‘’Send it!”  

‘’Alright, ready?’’

‘’Yep, go ahead.’’ I tell him.

‘’Now?’’

‘’Yes, go. You’re fine, trust me.’’ I chuckle.  

‘’Countdown.’’

‘’Okay, 3...2...1 go. Joe, go. Joe just go.’’

‘’Now?’’

‘’Yes, now. On go. 3...2...1, go.’’ He falls, hesitantly, and I catch, but have a little bit of struggle when pushing him back. I don’t let him know this though.

‘'Oh, good job, babe.’’ He scoots forward so he can fall a farther distance.  

‘’Thank you. Come one, trust me. I got this. 3...2...1, go.’’ He falls again, but he is too heavy and he falls on me, making me fall underneath him. I burst out in laughter on the ground, and I see the cameraman moving so he can get a shot of us on the ground.

‘'Y/n.’’ He says my name laughing.  

‘’I tried.’’ I continue laughing. ‘’Well, this can be a metaphor. When you’re down, I’m down.’’ I help him up and say, ‘’When you’re up, I’m up.’’  

‘'Good way to save it, Y/n.’’ He hugs me again, and I laugh.  

~~~~

‘’How do you feel?’’

‘’Umm, pretty good. This was fun, and something different to try. I mean, the last one was sort of a fail. You’re bigger than me, and taller than me. Also, stronger, but it was fun. This was an experience.’’ I finish. Joe laughs and turns around. ‘’I don’t know what else to say.’’ I chuckle, and walk off camera.  

‘’You guys did amazing. I’m so glad we got the honor of having you on.’’

‘'Well, when you’re with this one, she makes it easy. Thank you for having us.’’ Joe shakes his hand, and I do so as well.  

‘’Yes, thank you.’’ We both leave the room, and start to walk to another interview we’re having.  

‘'Thanks for being with me.’’ He says and wraps his arms around my shoulders once again.

‘’Thank you for putting up with me.’’ He smiles and kisses my head.  

#joekeery #joe keery imagine #stranger things imagine #strangerthings #fandomimagines #gatenmatarazzo #noahschnapp #milliebobbybrown #dacremontgomery #FinnWolfhard #calebmclaughlin #sadiesink #steveharrington #dustinhenderson #willbyers #eleven #billyhargrove #mikewheeler #lucassinclair #maxmayfield #st #imagines #glamour #glamour interview #trust fall #youtube #actor

[pparkerpoetry]

Where Do You Go?

Full title: When You Disappear at Night, Where Do You Go?  my masterlist ***(Ghostbur, Tommyinnit)***

It was dark and bleak, but the starlight on the freshly fallen snow gave off an unearthly aura of beauty, for surely in a world that was raised in violence and hate, such soft, gentle peace could not find room to exist.

How fitting, then, that a ghost wandered there, in the lonely hills that might have reminded him of the afterlife. He once knew the feeling of snowflakes on his eyelashes, but it was foreign to him now.

He wandered the landscape, searching. Not searching for his meaning, no, but searching for the soul of the boy who slept in the small cabin far away, for while the boy was complete in his waking hours, the heart of the broken child left while he slept.

The phantom wondered why, but he could find no answers.

Discouraged, he returned to the cottage, where a small trail of smoke was the only memory left of the blazing fire that had been started before dusk. The ghost hovered near the fireplace for a moment, if only to reminisce on the heat that he used to feel, before continuing down to where he knew the boy slept.

The mop of blond hair was right where it had been left, small strands of it fluttering as the boy it belonged to exhaled, relaxed and content.

The spirit didn’t know how long he sat there and watched the breathing of that boy, feeling a small tug every time that the chest expanded in a way that he’d never again experience, but it was still dark when the boy opened his eyes and turned to look at the ghost.

His soul returned, all reds and grey-ish blues that used to be so vivid, but now were tarnished and dull. Where had it been?

Ghost and boy stared at each other for a bit before one spoke up.

“When you disappear at night, where do you go?”

It took the young boy some time to answer, for he didn’t truly know where he had been. He knew that he felt like he was home when he was there, though, and often wished that he would sleep just to visit that place again.

He talked, then, about it. “I always start in this field, with lots of flowers and the sun shining down on me. I always have a half-finished flower crown in my hands, and no matter how long I work on it, it never gets finished. I don’t hold it much anymore, but I always feel like I should. Like I have some obligation to it. 

And… There’s someone next to me. I don’t know who it is, because whenever I try to see, they turn away. They laugh when I do that, and it makes me happy. I just feel at ease with them, like everything that’s happened suddenly hasn’t anymore.

When I get up to leave, they don’t follow. 

What happens next varies.

Sometimes everything is a blur but a brick wall, like that’s what I’m supposed to be focusing on. It doesn’t happen this way much, but I like it, because I always have the feeling of a warm hug and the smell of freshly baked bread is always in the air. It’s comforting.

Other times I’m in a room, and the only thing I can see is a strand of orange hair on the ground, like a pet shed it or something. I don’t know what I’m holding, but I feel the weight of something in my arms and I can hear myself humming a nursery rhyme. I feel proud, but I don’t know why.

Most rarely I see a bright light source that’s covered by a black… something, I don’t know what. I’m in this grey tunnel, I don’t know why, and before anything else can happen, it cuts out and I wake up. I always wake up feeling anxious, but when I’m there I feel excited, almost.

My favorite, though, might be when I walk past a tall step and a short doorway that I have to lean down to get through. There’s always a metallic smell, but the colorful bubbles in the air make up for it. There’s a red beanie on a table too,” The boy faltered for a moment. “Kind of like yours.”

The ghost tilted his head. “Are they memories, or just dreams?”

He knew immediately that he’d said something wrong, because the boy turned away and tried to hide his sniffles. 

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. I never do.”

Hurriedly, the ghost tried to comfort the child. “It sounds like a nice place, though. Do those places exist?”

The blond shook his head, “I used to think so, but I don’t think it ever did. They’re just stupid dreams that don’t mean anything.”

The ghost felt a faint tug in his heart, but could do nothing except bring the boy to watch the sunrise with him. They’d do this often, it made them feel like nothing had changed, and they were still the same brothers they had been a while ago.

The colors seeped across the horizon as the pair sat in silence, the cold wiggling its way through the thin layers that they both wore, but the ghost didn’t mind. It was one of the only things he could actually feel.

As they watched the sun come into view, the ghost said, “I think it’s very heroic of you, doing all that you do. I think everyone would be proud of you, if they knew.”

It took a moment to get a response, but it came. “That’s the thing, though. I’m not. I’m no brave hero, I’m not some exciting myth, I’m just some sad, fucked up kid.”

The ghost looked over, and the boy stood up. His eyes were glistening with the tears that he’d never allowed himself to have, but maybe just this once, he’d let them fall.

***

so i’m sure it’s no secret that i use a lot of vague metaphorical stuff, but do you guys pick up on it? Especially in my first schlatt poem (and the seconds series), i had that type of stuff. it’d be really cool if someone did like an overview or whatever its called of some poems, because i don’t know if people are understanding the meaning and thought i put into them. 

anyway thanks for reading, have a great christmas eve!

#tommy #tommyinnit #ghostbur #wilbur #wilbur soot #dream #dreamsmp #fundy #niki #nihachu #tubbo #poem #poetry #poetry kinds i guess #lmanburg #lmanberg #techno #technoblade #i usually dont swear but this is an exception #:P