#will probably make a new tag for reflection maybe IDK

[masonsystem]

i will be thinking and commenting on this more later i will but its just that for the past few hours im just sooooo ??????? at godot's character im... what was his deallll i dont 😭 hruehfjdksafhjk LIKE I REALLY NEED TO REREAD A BUNCH OF THINGS and look back at it im??? like i dont know. ive seen some ppls comment and its like... no i cant.. agree that. mia's ex-bf who was pseudo-killed by my pseudo-ex going ahead and killing mia's and maya's estranged mom necessarily signifies the end of generational trauma like no i dont..... THINK THATS. RIGHT???!?!?

#i will gush abt this trilogy at a later date im reminiscing rn and well i had a lot of fun! phoenix is definitely a protag ill never forget #but this ending is uhmmmm. What...??! #aa lb #will probably make a new tag for reflection maybe IDK #also i was hoping the ending would touch a bit more on my bestie maya. but um... it didnt very much #i guess ill only find out if she becomes a master or not in 2026... woahwhahahha

[underdark-dreams]

Hey idk if you only write Tav x character but I am STARVED!!! Starved I say! For Karach x Dammon content. It just makes so much sense and as someone who remained platonic with Karlach I still wanted her to get some action and seeing how Dammon was RIGHT! FUCKING! THERE! It makes sense that they could maybe hook up and he’s been invested in helping her too and huuuuuuuUUUUUUUUH.

I know you like writing about them tieflings so if eventually if you are able you could write the two of them going at it like the touch starved babies they both are (Karlach for obvious reasons and Dammon bc he’s probably focused on his work most of the time).

I’m still shook over your Rolan x Tav fanfic you wrote and I can’t wait to see what you write in the future!

Dammon x Karlach [Explicit]

Touchable

"Damn I'm good. And you, you're...very touchable." An infernal blacksmith and a Blood War veteran walk into a bar. Who would have guessed that Dammon is a natural when it comes to handling fire?

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Gentle Angst, Sweet/Hot

Word Count: 3,460 [Read on AO3]

“Of course, you’ll need to install it yourself.”

"Of course, of course—can’t touch the giant flaming woman," Karlach grinned at him. 

Dammon often noticed that Karlach smiled when things made her sad. He remembered the moment well, remembered each time he'd been given an opportunity to help tune that engine of hers.

Their most recent conversation stuck out with particular pain in his mind.

He'd spent many late nights burning the candles down in his room as he sketched and diagrammed and theorized. No matter how many sheets of parchment he filled, Dammon kept arriving at the same awful conclusion.

Even with his niche skills, he was all out of options for Karlach. She could either return to the sustaining fires of Avernus, or live on this plane however long she could manage before her engine was snuffed out.

Dammon couldn't even calculate whether she had years left or only months. Somehow, that made it so much more terrible.

Karlach took the news with superhuman optimism, the way she approached most things. She thanked him with tears in her eyes for at least giving her back the chance to touch and be touched. For that, her first hug in ten years was his. 

Hopefully it wouldn't be the last, Dammon found himself thinking, as her warm body pressed up firmly against him. She wasn't the only one who was long overdue for some physical affection.

Dammon had always thought of her now and then as he worked in his forge. Usually it was idle and passing, wondering whether her infernal parts were giving her any trouble. 

But lately, it was hard to shake her from his mind at all. Had she found someone to finally take to bed yet? Surely so, with how many years she'd be confined to unwilling celibacy. 

It embarrassed him to admit, but he fervently wished it could've been him. He wasn't much more than a humble smith, and she was practically the city’s hero at this point. How many times had she saved his own life? He'd lost track.

All these thoughts ran through Dammon's mind from where he sat at the bar of the Blushing Mermaid. As he surfaced from his reflection, the din and noise of the place pressed against his ears again.

Not as reputable as the Elfsong, perhaps, but it was closer to his forge. And it was easier to be left to yourself when all the other patrons were already piss-drunk.

"Hey, soldier!"

A friendly hand clapped his back, causing Dammon to nearly choke on his pint as Karlach slid into the seat beside him.

"Sorry," she said with a grimace, but her eyes were sparkling. "Gods, am I glad to see you."

Dammon wiped his mouth in surprise as she swung her very large mug up on the table. "You too, Karlach," he said with a genuine smile. It was like the very strength of his thoughts had conjured her. She looked better than ever.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he admitted. "I thought you'd be out enjoying the new you."

"Fucking someone's brains out, you mean?" Karlach finished for him. Dammon found her bluntness unbelievably attractive.

"To be honest that's why I'm here," she admitted, and rubbed her neck with a hand. "Camp's a bit awkward at the moment. I may have made a pass at Wyll that wasn't, er…enthusiastically received. Think I scared him off a bit," she finished ruefully.

Very much Wyll's loss, Dammon thought to himself. What he wouldn't give.

"Well, you picked the right place for drowning sorrows," he told her aloud. As if on cue, there was a loud chorus of booing as an empty glass went hurtling across the room to land on the low stage, where the half-orc lute player promptly lobbed it back into the crowd with a shattering crash. Dammon raised his arm out in demonstration of his point; Karlach was already cracking up.

"Fucking missed this city," she laughed, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. They each took a generous drink of ale.

But Karlach wasn't distracted for long. "I just wish, you know?" She sighed. "I wish I could be with someone who understands a little bit. Sex is fabulous on its own, but I want everything, all of it."

"What's stopping you?" Dammon asked her, wondering what it would take for her to see him as a very viable option.

"So many things," she said. "I appreciate what you've done for me Dammon, please believe that I do, but…I still feel more machine than Karlach." 

"I'm pretty handy with mechanics, you know." Dammon was flirting with her despite himself. He couldn't help it; she was so radiant and lovely as she sat there close beside him.

Karlach finally glanced over at him, and he saw in her eyes that she'd caught it. 

"You must know I like you," she said, her voice low but intense. "Dammon, I like you so much. But you're so lovely, and I'm—" She gestured a hand down her front. "—This. Wild, unstable. What if I end up, I don't know, hurting you somehow?” She looked at him with a pained expression. “A guy like you deserves someone tender, and I'm not sure that's me."

All traces of joking were gone; the air between them had grown serious in a second. Dammon's heart thrummed strong against his ribs, and he reached for her fingers before he could stop himself.

"Maybe forget what you think I deserve, and listen to what I’m saying." He shook his head at her. "Karlach, you talk like you're some kind of monster. So you've got an infernal engine in your chest. And sure, you're tall as hell. But I mean, you've got plenty of—you're not short on any of the—" He was casting around for a gentlemanly way to describe her curves and realizing that it probably didn’t exist.

"Spit it out," Karlach teased him. But her expectant expression made his face grow warm.

"I just wish you wouldn't talk down about yourself like that," Dammon explained. "You're very womanly, and plenty desirable."

"Oh," she said, taken aback. Her free hand fiddled with the handle of her mug. "That's…no one's ever said something like that to me before."

What a damn shame that was. Dammon watched the doubt and confusion work over her features. How long had she thought of herself as nothing more than a tin soldier? He'd fixed what parts of her his hands could tend, but something in the way she saw herself was still broken. 

Dammon squeezed her fingers under his. "Karlach, there's so much about you to love. That I love. You are…an incredibly beautiful woman. Don't you know that?"

Karlach stared at him with wide eyes; her face looked somehow younger and softer. For a person so sure of everyone else's worth, she seemed so blind and unsure of her own.

"I am?" She asked, so quietly it broke his heart a little.

Dammon could only think of answering with a kiss. He leaned in with a careful tilt of the head, eyes on her mouth—in the last second he was elated to feel her lean forward to close the distance.

He would've honestly, truly believed that there were sparks between them. There was the fiery warmth of her skin, but Dammon also felt a tingling jolt between their lips that had nothing to do with her heat. His insides sung at the feeling of her lips moving over his with just as much urgency as he felt.

Dammon pulled her face deeper to him with a hand at the back of her neck. As his tongue explored her mouth and sought hers, he felt one of Karlach’s palms rest against his thigh. He could have choked on the desire that rose in his throat at her touch.

They both pulled away at the same instant.

"Your place?" She prompted, breathless.

"Mine," Dammon agreed. It was only a few minutes away, and though his bed was cramped even for one, he expected they wouldn't be sleeping much.

Dammon dumped some coin on the bar in a rush before they made their way outside. The cool breeze through the streets made him realize just how flushed and heated his skin was. His arm sought Karlach's waist beside him as they walked, and a thrill went through him at how lovely it was to finally hold her close. She seemed to feel the same.

"Gods, I can't wait to ride you," she said huskily. Dammon tried to keep a grip on his composure; her brazen eagerness made it very difficult. He settled for pulling her into a quick, heated kiss as they continued on. 

The two of them practically stumbled over the dark cobblestones of the entryway in their haze, both buzzing with impatience and expectation. By the time his nervous fingers had finally made work of the lock to his quarters, they were on each other before the door had latched behind them.

Karlach's leg hitched up over his hip as she devoured his mouth. Dammon's hand gripped behind her knee at once, holding their bodies steady against each other, kissing her back with sheer years of pent-up enthusiasm.

"You're strong," Karlach said as she surfaced, sounding pleased and surprised at once.

"'I'd hope so, after throwing around that hammer so long."

"You can throw me around." After a pause she added, "That's an invitation."

"I got that," Dammon grinned, absolutely smitten with her, and captured her lips again.

He guided them both toward the far end of his room and tumbled over her when they reached the mattress. His hands grazed the edge of her shirt, desire muddling his understanding of how to undo the many buckles and straps.

She took more pity on him than he deserved. Almost before he could blink she had freed herself of all her clothing, laying back naked before him on his bed. Pale, dim moonlight from the window illuminated her figure.

She was extraordinary.

Dammon quickly tugged his shirt past his snagging horns, wishing to feel her skin against his as soon as possible. Even before his head was free, he felt Karlach’s fingers helping with his pants, tugging them down past his hips and sliding them off onto the floor.

He hovered over her as they gazed at each other. The promise of bare flesh against flesh was almost overwhelming, now they were here. Dammon leaned down to place a tender kiss on her lips and then descended to explore her neck. 

Karlach’s arms clutched him eagerly as he kissed along her soft, warm skin. When he made his way down to her chest, he placed lips tenderly above her breast where the soft ticking of machinery resounded. It may not be a flesh and blood heart, but its rhythm was no less dear to him. She let out a soft, low hum.

Dammon wished he had more patience to linger. But instead he pushed his body down between her thighs, glancing up to check in on her for just a moment. Karlach watched him with a pained expression, lips parted—as if afraid he might not follow through with what his movements suggested. 

He wouldn't be teasing her for one second tonight. Dammon leaned down and ran the warm flat of his tongue up over her center.

His head was jerked slightly to the side as she grabbed at one of his horns with a moan. He didn't break from her, only licked at her steadily, smoothing and spreading her wetness up and over her soft folds. 

Even after all the work he'd done to cool her, she was still molten hot under his tongue—he thanked every god in the universe for his natural resistance. His lips closed firmly over her clit, sucking the spot as his tongue rolled her side to side in an achingly slow rhythm.

"Holy fuck," she panted from somewhere above him. "Holy fuck, Dammon—"

He curled one arm under and around her thigh, used thumb and index finger to spread her better for his mouth. He released his lips’ suction with an obscenely wet sound, replacing it with the circling pad of his thumb. She was delicious, but he sought to taste her deeper.

Dammon's tongue plunged deep into her cunt, so far that his nose pressed against where his fingers worked against her clit. 

Karlach cried out and squirmed violently under his mouth. Dammon's arms held her firm, angling her hips up and open against his searching mouth. His tongue thrust over and over unto her unbelievable heat as he tasted the sweet center of her, felt her satin walls constrict around him with each nudge of his tongue.

By now his own erection pressed painfully into the bed under him. He only shifted a little and continued on. She had so much more time to make up for, and Dammon was determined to be the one to satisfy her.

It wasn't long before Karlach's thighs were trembling against his ears. "Please," she whimpered desperately, nails clutching his hair to hold his face against her, as if begging him not to stop. He wouldn't have dreamed of it. His mouth worked her over with more enthusiasm than ever, swirling and sucking against her hot folds.

When she came around his tongue, the rush of her heat burst against his mouth and gushed out from her core. Dammon thought he might come just from the way her legs clenched desperately to keep his mouth working over her. He lapped up her sweet release faithfully with his tongue, even as his ears took in the far sweeter sounds of her shuddering, gasping moans.

Only once the twitching waves of her climax were receding under his lips did he glance up over her to see her face. 

Karlach’s eyes were closed, an expression of transcendent bliss painting her features. As he watched her pant through parted lips, her eyes opened slightly to look down at him where he still hovered between her thighs. He knew the lower half of his face must be dripping with her climax.

With a guttural sound, Karlach’s legs gripped around his middle to pull him just to where her arms could take over and guide him up over her. Dammon gathered himself just in time to land with palms braced on either side of her.

“Wait—” Dammon started, wishing to clean himself up first, but she was already pulling him into a kiss. She licked across his lips, tasting herself on him, before her tongue demanded entry into his mouth. He yielded more than willingly.

His painfully hard cock grazed her thigh as he moved over her. Karlach groaned into his mouth; the vibration of her lips against his sent yet another rush of blood to his throbbing length.

She broke away with a fresh glint of arousal already building behind her eyes. “Inside,” she directed him. “Right fucking now.”

Dammon needed no more encouragement. With fingers grasping under her back, he firmly lifted her body up and over his lap. The way she landed over him pressed her still-dripping heat against the underside of his cock. A trembling groan escaped him at the sensation. Nevertheless, he gathered himself enough to scoot back against the headboard for support.

Before he could fully prepare himself, Karlach’s hand had guided his tip between her folds. In the next motion, she descended down around his whole length at once.

“Fuck,” Dammon gasped. He wished he could find something more eloquent or romantic to describe the feeling, but his mind was wholly overwhelmed by the fiery warmth that gripped all around his cock. He could even feel her walls still fluttering against him from her recent climax. His fingertips dug into the flesh of her hips.

They crossed glances as she sat still to take him for a moment. Karlach’s eyes shone with desire and excitement, and something almost like love. One of Dammon’s hands slid up along her spine, dipping her neck down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. He felt his mouth shaking slightly against hers.

“Every time alone, I imagined this,” Karlach breathed against him as they parted. 

Dammon thought he might unravel completely at her words. He leaned back against the hard wood behind him, eyes taking in every beautiful inch of her flesh, inviting her to do whatever she wanted with him.

She accepted the offer wordlessly. As her fingers clasped behind his neck, Karlach rocked her hips up and down over his length. He felt his jaw go slack at the feel of her heat surrounding him, taking him, over and over and over—

Dammon’s grip dug into her hips to add more force with each of her rhythmic thrusts down onto him. He gazed up at her with pure adoration as she took him. The feel of her warm skin against his lit a fire in his chest; his cock throbbed against the hot, squeezing silk of her walls.

“You’re so beautiful,” Dammon gasped before he could think. It was the truth, and she deserved to be told it—she deserved everything. He held her tight on his lap as took him, chasing her next release. Karlach’s hips faltered for a moment, and he realized she was already close.

Dammon felt her thighs trembling against him and pushed his back up straight to hold her closer as she rode his length. His palms pressed against her back, strong forearms circling and supporting her as she started to come apart yet again.

And she did—with a shuddering quake, Karlach grabbed his shoulders and let out a jumbled cry that was some mix of obscenities and his name.

She was incredible. Dammon watched the agony and ecstasy on her face as long as he could bear, as she rode out her second orgasm onto him, as her tight heat gripped and pulsed relentlessly around his cock. In the next moment his eyes squeezed shut as he was thrown wide to the delayed force of his own release, his hands spasming against her back as stars burst bright behind his eyelids.

After a long moment filled with nothing but the sounds of them keening and panting against each other, her chin dropped over his shoulder. Dammon felt her arms circle to grip around him tight.

As he listened to her breathing slow, she began to shake against him again. 

This time it was from the quiet sobs that heaved up from her chest. He held her head against the crook of his shoulder and stroked her hair as her tears flowed, feeling the droplets splash against and roll down his back.

Karlach cried from joy, blessed relief, aching sadness…from the pain of so much lost time and the knowledge of her limited future. It wasn't fair, none of it, and Dammon didn't know a single thing to say that might ease her burdened heart. 

Engine or no, she had more heart than anyone he'd ever known. He could only hold her to him tight as could be.

Seeking to comfort her further, Dammon worked his hips down the bed with her seated on him and tipped their connected bodies gently backwards. She collapsed without resistance on top of and against him. At least he could support her for a while, even if it was just with his silent body. 

After a little while, Karlach raised her head to look at him. Her face was streaked with tear tracks, but she was trying to smile through trembling lips. "I'm s-sorry," she choked out.

Dammon’s heart couldn’t bear it. He silenced her at once with a kiss. "Don't apologize to me," he whispered to her as he broke away, "or to anyone, ever."

He gathered her back up in his arms immediately. Karlach didn’t protest, only rested her cheek against his chest with a shuddering sigh. Dammon was vaguely aware of the sheen of sweat cooling all over his bare skin, but with her warm body nestled back up against him, he was more than comfortable.

Dammon pressed his lips to the skin of her forehead. He closed his eyes to focus on the way his heart beat against her chest; the steady hum of her body reverberated against him in response. Despite everything, the sound was dearer to him than he thought possible.

“Ready to go again?” Karlach asked suddenly. 

Dammon chuckled low in his chest, feeling the delayed ache in his limbs and realizing a bit late that the night’s exertions had only just begun.

“Give me a few minutes,” he requested with a lazy smile. “We’ve got time.”

#i love them i love them i love them #pls someone tell me their ship name #karlach x dammon #dammon x karlach #kardammon #bg3 karlach #bg3 dammon #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #infernal metal #heartforge

[softie-rain]

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Pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Sejanus Plinth

Tags: possibly ooc - takes place two years before canon - coryo is weirdly nice - idk guys this is so lovesick and fluffy I'm not used to it

Summary: Having a crush on the handsome boy you share classes with has got to be the most embarrassing thing to happen to someone. Like, seriously: how do you hide it without failing? Or, Sejanus Plinth is caught staring at Coriolanus Snow during class.

Notes: inspired by the headcanon @incorrect-pipravi sent, which you can find here. Was supposed to be a small drabble and instead ended up 2k words (which is shorter than what I usually write anyway.)

Also damn I haven't posted my writing on tumblr since FOREVER it's been ages fr. So this is your reminder that other than bitching about coryo and sej I also write

you can read it on ao3 here

Sejanus kept staring at his reflection in the mirror, fixing his hair. He wasn’t one to usually care about his looks, as long as he looked decent enough to go out in public. But lately he felt like had to be at his best, even going as far as thinking of wearing his favorite sweatshirt (the blue one Coriolanus gave him for his fourteen birthday, he had been the only one to show up at the party he had organized), but the weather was definitely too hot for that one. Besides, the uniform was mandatory at the Academy.

“Sejanus, why are you still here? You have to hurry if you don’t want to be late!” His mother entered the room, looking at him with worry. Sejanus turned with an apologetic look.

“Don’t worry ma’. I’ll be fine.” He said. Mrs. Plinth nodded and walked over to him, patting him on his back.

“You look perfect, darling. I’m sure this secret girl you seem to like so much will adore you!”

“Ma’!” Sejanus heavily blushed, gently pushing his mother away in embarrassment. The old woman chuckled, smiling at her son.

“There’s no need to be ashamed of it. Everyone has their first crush at some point.” She said, trying to reassure her son. Sejanus wanted to laugh. Of course his mother didn’t know. There was no way she could have found out on her own, and he never said anything. She was convinced Sejanus was in love with a girl from the Academy, and he surely wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to her that said girl was actually Coriolanus Snow.

He wasn’t sure his ma’ would have minded actually. She thought Coriolanus was a good boy, and even his father appreciated him. Yet Sejanus had never told them the truth, and he wasn’t going to. Whether out of shame, or fear, it didn’t matter.

Sejanus shook his head, ignoring his mother’s comment. “I better get going now or, as you said, I’m going to be late. See you later ma’.” He said, waving at her as he walked out of the apartment.

After the short drive to the Academy he ran up the stairs rushing to get to class, even if there was no need to. They had assigned seats, he knew he'd end up sitting next to Coriolanus either way. But he also wanted to chat before class started, and Coryo always seemed to arrive awfully early, for some unknown reason.

When he finally got in the room he smiled upon noticing the curly haired boy with his head down in the textbook, probably revising for the lecture of the day. Coriolanus was a perfectionist like that, always studying, making sure everything he did was excellent, especially when it came to the Academy and his studies. Sejanus was pretty sure he had never failed one single class.

Clemensia Dovecote hadn't either, but she didn't put in half the effort Coriolanus did. Coriolanus Snow always worked much more than what was required, sometimes Sejanus wondered if it was because he wanted to be better than everyone else. Or maybe he just craved academic validation.

Either way, Sejanus thought it was extremely attractive. When he was always so carefully focused in class, and Sejanus so carefully focused on him. The way he'd bite his lip when he tried to get a particularly difficult subject, his small frown when he didn't understand something. A barely perceptible one, that he tried to hide to not show that he was confused but that Sejanus could see anyway. If he paid as much attention to the lesson as he did to Coriolanus he'd probably ace every class he took.

But Coriolanus was much more interesting than whatever Mrs. Click could ever blather about, right?

“Morning Coryo.” He greeted him, sitting next to him.

“Morning.” Coriolanus replied, without looking up from his book.

Sejanus bit his lip, trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going. “What are you reading?”

“History of Panem.”

“You don't need to revise, I'm sure you'll do great as always.” Sejanus told him, smiling, thinking he'd complimented him. But Coriolanus sighed.

“That doesn't mean I'll stop studying for the exam.” He replied coldly, probably annoyed Sejanus interrupted him. So he nodded and left him to read, at least until Professor Demigloss arrived and started his lesson.

Sejanus tried to pay attention, he really did, but his eyes were drawn in as if by magnets to Coriolanus’ beautiful blonde curls that so gracefully fell on his face. Sejanus observed as he moved them away, his blue eyes focused on the board in front of him. He also noticed as Coriolanus started chewing on his pen while listening to Demigloss’ - rather boring - explanation.

Sejanus found himself wondering what it would have been like to kiss him, to have those lips on his. Would he have bit down on Sejanus’ lips the same way he was biting down the pen? Would he have been rough, or sweet and soft?

He always assumed Coriolanus was a rough lover, but he couldn't know for sure, maybe he would-

“Mr. Plinth, I believe the board is here and not where Mr. Snow is sitting.”

The professor's voice made him snap out of his lovefool trance, and Sejanus’ head immediately turned to face Professor Demigloss, who looked rather annoyed. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he knew he was probably the same color as his Ma’ tomatoes when they were mature. He muttered an apology and looked down at his notes-less book, too embarrassed to meet anyone's eyes.

He could hear his classmates snicker, and he knew they wouldn't easily make him forget this. But, gosh, the worst were Coriolanus’ eyes on him.

Sejanus could basically feel his gaze, burning like his stare alone was setting him on fire, and he wanted nothing more than to get up and leave the room.

The rest of the class went on painfully slowly, Sejanus could have sworn it lasted hours. As soon as Demigloss dismissed them he instantly got up, packed his bag and left, ignoring Festus calling for him and rushing out before anyone else could make fun of him. Especially Coriolanus.

Truthfully he didn't think Coriolanus would. He never joined in with the others - especially Festus and Arachne - when they talked about him behind his back or made fun of him, ever since they were kids, so he didn't see why he'd start now. Either way, Sejanus couldn't stand the confrontation to test his assumption.

He tried to ignore Coriolanus the best he could the rest of the day, and he thought he managed. But then Coryo stopped him at the Academy entrance, right when he was about to leave once all of his classes were over.

“Sejanus? Can we talk?”

Sejanus shrugged, trying to play it dumb. Maybe if he pretended nothing happened Coriolanus would forget about it. “S-sure. About what?” He said, praying his voice didn't sound as high pitched to Coriolanus as it did to him.

“Uh, the history project we have to do? I thought maybe we could work on it together.”

Sejanus sighed in relief, covering it with a cough. He cleared his throat before raising his eyebrow. “History project?”

Coriolanus nodded. “Yes. Professor Demigloss talked about it today in class. Or were you too busy staring at me to pay attention to him?” He asked, grinning.

Sejanus started blushing, his eyes widening as his mind tried to come up with some excuse or at least a way to get out of that situation. His palms were getting sweaty and he could feel the panic rising up in his chest. “Oh, uhm, no. Obviously, I was listening. I was-”

“Sej relax. I'm just teasing.” Coriolanus interrupted him, his grin only growing wider. “So? What do you say about the project?”

Sejanus thought it was weird how Coriolanus didn't seem to mind it, but definitely didn't complain. If his friend was cool about it, then he was going to be as well. He nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Of course.”

“Great. It's due tomorrow so the sooner we start working on it the better.” Sejanus gave him a short smile, agreeing with him.

“I'd suggest going over at my place, but the cleaners are around today. They’re usually very invasive, I don’t want them scooping around while we study.” He explained, sounding annoyed. Sejanus nodded, understanding his problem. He had the same struggles with his own cleaners, though usually they left him alone when he asked.

“It’s okay, I get that. Maybe we could study at my place then?” He suggested, trying not to blush again at the thought of him and Coriolanus alone in his bedroom. Coriolanus didn’t seem to notice his struggles at keeping his cool and nodded, mumbling a ‘sure’ before following Sejanus outside where his driver was waiting for him.

Sejanus spent the drive to his house in silence, hoping his mother had gone through with her plan for the day and was out shopping. He wanted to avoid any awkward meeting between her and Coryo. But of course, when they got into his apartment, there she stood in the kitchen waiting for her beloved son. “Sejanus? Is that you?” She asked, walking over to them. Her eyes slightly widened in surprise when she noticed Coriolanus with him. “Oh! I didn’t know you were going to have friends over. Hi, Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus smiled at the woman. “Hello Mrs. Plinth. Sorry for intruding.” He said, giving Sejanus’ mother an apologetic look.

“Oh nonsense. I was about to leave anyway, I need to buy some new clothes for little Sej here.” She said smiling. Sejanus felt as if his skin was on fire at his ma’ words, and he could see in the corner of his eyes Coriolanus trying not to laugh.

“Okay well me and Coryo will be studying in my bedroom, see you later ma’.” He said quickly, wanting to get out of that situation as soon as possible. Once they got to his room they immediately started working on the project, neither of them wanting to waste any more time. Coriolanus shared his notes with Sejanus since he had taken none during class, too busy staring at Coryo.

The evening went on uneventfully, they spent most of it on the books with one snack break where Sejanus offered Coriolanus the cookies he had baked the day before, which the blonde boy seemed to most definitely appreciate considering the eager way he was eating them.

Sejanus was sitting on his bed while Coriolanus was at his desk, leaning on the chair. They were almost done with the school work when Coriolanus spoke. “Why were you staring at me?” Sejanus blushed and dropped his pen on the floor, immediately picking it up as if the falling object could have been a new source of embarrassment for him. “Earlier, in class.” He added, as if he needed a reminder of what Coriolanus was talking about.

“Uhm…” Sejanus didn't know what to say. He avoided the subject all day. He knew it was impossible for Coryo to forget about it so quickly but he wasn't expecting him to bring it up now either. Especially since he had sounded fine with the situation that morning.

Coriolanus must have noticed Sejanus was rather uncomfortable, because he immediately specified, “I'm not making fun of you for it. I'm just curious. Did I have something on my face?”

He was smiling, but Sejanus wasn’t sure it was meant to be a joke. More of a light comment to put him at ease. Though he didn't work he appreciated the effort, so much he thought Coriolanus deserved the truth, or at least half of it. Sejanus had never been good at lying anyway.

“No, nothing like that. Honestly? I was looking at your hair. And your eyes.” He confessed, avoiding the other's gaze.

Coriolanus frowned. “My eyes?”

“Yeah. They're very… blue. And pretty. It's like staring at the ocean, or the clear sky. Sorry, I know it's dumb. Just got caught up in my thoughts I guess.” Sejanus mumbled, drawing doodles on his hands as he tried to fight the urge to ramble out dumb excuses that would have led Coriolanus to realize he had a crush on him.

He had just admitted he thought his eyes were pretty, could it get worse than that?

Fortunately he didn't have to find out because Coriolanus simply nodded and dropped the subject. Sejanus didn't say anything either, but when he raised his eyes again and saw Coriolanus bouncing his leg nervously under the desk he could have sworn he saw his cheeks growing red, though he was clearly trying to hide it.

Sejanus smiled and looked down, going back to check his notes, when Coriolanus spoke again. “I like your eyes too.” He said, catching Sejanus by surprise.

“They're this dark brown color that gets lighter if you observe them under the sunlight. They look like milk chocolate chips.” Coriolanus commented, never once switching his position or raising his head to look at Sejanus as she talked. “I love chocolate.” He said, and it was clearly the end of their conversation on the matter.

He loves chocolate. He loves my eyes.

The thought kept playing loud in Sejanus’ head as he tried hard to stop his blushing, failing miserably. Maybe that day hadn't been so terrible after all.

#snowjanus #snowplinth #sejanus x coriolanus #coriolanus x sejanus #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

[kitkatpancakestack]

It's a bit early for the requisite new years post but I feel like I never srsly reflect from one year to the next. And this year I just ... Idk, I want to. I felt like I finally "woke up" this year. I've truly realized that my life has been spent in survivor mode no matter how much progress I thought I was making. For the first time in my life, I realized I didn't have to be that poor little traumatized kid trying to disappear so she didn't draw attention to herself, I didn't have to constantly justify my existence, that i can't go on forever being so fucking angry over a household and a life I couldn't control . I dont have to do all that anymore. I cant. I want a life that's my own so fucking bad. I want to give that to myself. I want to be a good friend, a good family member, a good doctor, a good partner, maybe even a good mom one day. It took me almost thirty years to realize the door to the cage was open the whole time but I'm finally crawling out. No way I can articulate this well, but, I know a lot of you get it. And I'm a little tipsy so that's probably the only reason I can admit this in the first place lol.

I try not to lay into all my shit here but I know sometimes my issues/personal fucked up headspace bled over thru the year. Anyway @evcndiaz @sabitchhh @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @merriestdiaz @rewritetheending @fleurdebeton and others as well—even if I've forgotten to tag you in my tipsy haze I haven't forgotten your kind words—you guys really tethered me down when I just had nowhere else to go, nobody else to turn to. If I saw you in person you'd get the biggest, tightest, longest hugs ever recorded. i know the world is especially shitty rn, but I just wanted you guys to know you really kept one person out in the world afloat when it was bad, and I'm most thankful for you guys this year.

I hope the next 12 months are gentle, I hope they're kind, I hope they're courageous and hopeful. I hope I can give to others what you guys gave to me.

Love y'all.

♥️

#k spirals #personal #happy new year

[raccoonfallsharder]

idk if u remember string cheese anon but hi, it's me

honestly I might just send asks occasionally when I do mundane things that I think rocket would have interesting reactions to because I'm bored :P

I think he'd find coloring books really weird at first but then secretly do urs when u aren't looking (and if he's anything like me, he would see one of those "adult" ones that's needlessly complicated with the patterns and despise it for doing too much, but maybe he wants it to be complicated. it's overwhelming for me tho lmao)

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ STRING CHEESE NONNIE. how could i possibly forget you? please. you inspired some of my most delightful imaginings in the last few weeks and i am grateful for your presence in my asks!

no pressure but if you DO decide to send mundane things you think rocket would have an interest in, i would be eternally delighted

as you know, of course, rocket didn't really get a childhood. even the lovely memories he might've had playing tag with lylla & teefs & floor are more bittersweet than nostalgic. so when you tell him that coloring is relaxing and meditative and that it reminds you of being a little kid, he just blinks at you, and scoffs, and goes about his day.

but he pays attention. he watches you. and you seem to really enjoy it. and rocket doesn't like to miss out, so after you go to bed one night, he flips through your coloring book and opens your box of crayons.

they smell weird. waxy. he likes the feel of the fibrous paper wrappers under his fingers, though.

maybe if he had torn out the pages he'd ended up coloring, you wouldn't have noticed his additions so quickly. or if he'd just been more normal about his coloring. but rocket's style is too meticulous. unique. the colors he chooses don't always make sense - how d'you know? you ain't been around the universe long enough yet to say what's weird an' what's not, he reminds you smugly when you confront him. on the other hand, you realize that you have no idea what the high evolutionary did to his eyes. maybe he still can't see red - or maybe he sees more colors than a terran human like yourself could even dream of. either way, each stroke of color is deliberately applied. in fact, rocket's probably one of those people who adds more detail into the pictures: makes the boring humans look like other lifeforms he met once, or changes their clothes to reflect something he saw one time on a space station out in the lumyra system. i imagine he's actually really good at drawing in a particular, precise sort of way - he maybe hasn't consumed a lot of narrative or conceptual art, but he can glance at a mechanical diagram and flawlessly recreate it years later.

in any case, he's realized you're right. there's something relaxing about it - pulling color out across a soft sheet of paper. changing it. making something of it. it's liberating. it's freeing. he can do whatever he wants. go wherever he wants. he particularly likes it when you bring out older coloring books - the waxy smell has grown on him, combined with the scent of the shabby-soft, faded paper. he likes the simpler images over the more complex ones, too - but mostly because it leaves him more room to create what he wants on the page.

next time mantis stops by, she brings some coloring books that quill had sent along from terra. you and rocket pour over them, exploring each page. after he's done with captain-shit for the night, he takes a break from the new ship he's been building to sit with you and color in the common area.

it ain't like being a kid again, he tells you one night, thoughtfully.

you blink over at him. what?

coloring, he says. it ain't like being a kid again.

you wait, looking over at him while he thoughtfully selects another crayon.

being a kid was bein in a cage, he tells you quietly, turning his eyes back to his page and pressing the waxy tip into the paper. he doesn't look up.

this is like flyin.

#string cheese nonnie #rfh asks #rfh headcanons #rocket raccoon #colorin time #rocket raccoon headcanon #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket raccoon fanfic

[lifesver]

𝘒𝘕𝘖𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘎  𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙  𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘕𝘌𝘙  𝘞𝘌𝘓𝘓  𝘊𝘈𝘕  𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠  𝘔𝘈𝘒𝘌  𝘞𝘙𝘐𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘎  𝘛𝘖𝘎𝘌𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙  𝘈  𝘓𝘖𝘛  𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘐𝘌𝘙.

NAME :  kels

PRONOUNS :  she/they/he

PREFERENCE  OF  COMMUNICATION : ims on here are fine, im kind of bad at discord until i know people better, but i prefer to talk to my pals on discord obvi

NAME  OF  MUSE(S) : leland mckinney, tommy jarvis, jake park are most recent. but we were also out here for a long while w richie tozier and five hargreeves.

EXPERIENCE  /  HOW  LONG  (  MONTHS  /  YEARS? ) : oh god uh........... it really goes back to something like 2013? like i started in oc rp groups on and off mostly, i think i didn't get into actual tumblr rpc until maybe 2018? and w leland well we have been out here since last may agjsdk

BEST  EXPERIENCE : honestly like... as much as i sometimes still get embarrassed trying to explain [scare chord] Tumblr Roleplay to people outside of this particular circle, it's been such a large part of my enjoyment online for years and years. i've met some really close friends here, i've done some of my best writing here. and a lot of it is just the ability to bounce off my friends and their huge brain ideas. collaborative writing, to me, is just so much more fun than doing it alone. i really like taking one character and getting just way too deep into who they are, i like learning and picking things up from the variety of other writers on here. improving my writing from reading what my super talented friends do... and in particular this last year has been probably??? one of my most positive rpc experiences in a long while. having people jump into the tcsm rpc, making new friends, and putting together just completely off the shits wild aus and whatever. idk! my creative brain loves to go stupid mode in the paint. and besties we have written some good fucking horror narrative on this stupid website.

and also i'm cringe and i'm free (:

RP  PET  PEEVES  /  DEALBREAKERS :  i'm kind of just chilling like i really am very much non-confrontational in this space because it's... for fun. it's just imaginary internet collaborative writing hobby. mainly i just don't need passive aggression of any kind. i believe that you kind of get back what you put in on this kind of space, so make it comfortable for yourself, be kind to others, and understanding as often as you can be. if people aren't hurting anyone, let them vibe in their own space. not everyone has endless time anymore for rp, so don't make it weird or take it personally when people take time to get back to you about plots, or if they never get time. soft and hardblock as you need to to make your space chill for You it's just never that deep

MUSE  PREFERENCES  FLUFF,   ANGST  OR  SMUT : we like a bit of everything in this house (except anything remotely usfw goes to usfw shadow realm blog). like be serious i am always in the horror rpc for the angst and suffering and exploration of trauma but that needs to be balanced out by fluff and gentle vibes. [loudly into the megaphone] its about LOVE and HORROR-

PLOTS  OR  MEMES :  i like both! i think it's easiest to get things rolling with just whatever memes thrown my way and vice versa. i love plotting stuff out, but sometimes that takes a bit of existing in each others rpc space for a while. so i can be sort of slow w building dynamics, but i do like to!

LONG  OR  SHORT  REPLIES : i don't mind either, it's kind of refreshing to switch between the two, more rapid fire stuff is nice esp to start with, though i am known to be insane in the reply lengths for some prompts once stuff is plotted out.

BEST TIME TO WRITE :  i'm a morning person it's very cringe

ARE  YOU  LIKE  YOUR  MUSE(S) : idk if much really? but i do bring a sort of idiot jock(joth) energy to the function at times. i def project on him on the emotions side i think. and truly whoever i write at a given time reflects a bit on me bc hyperfixation go brrr

TAGGED  BY  :   did steal this from tsari thank u legend TAGGING  :  hands u it

[softbobamilktae]

Pretty Girl

Pairing: Idol!Taehyung x Model!OC

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: body insecurities...like a lot of them, and probably slightly suggestive? They directly mention sex at one point idk

Summary: Zelda's stuggling with liking herself again, and Tae makes it his personal mission to make her feel better. Cue twenty minutes of him just loving on her.

Some days, time seemed to tick by slowly when Zelda sat at home.  She was used to the crammed and busy hours of the modeling workday, so the single task of taking care of a household – or condo, in this case – was simply hard for her to get used to.  Dinner didn’t take all day to make, so what was she supposed to do with her time?  Most of the rest of the girls worked or were otherwise busy taking care of their own places, and in the case of Astrid, she still lived on the other side of the world.  So, what was Zelda to do with her time?

On top of all of this, she had two burdens hanging over her head.  She’d gained weight, which despite what Tae told her, she was still mightily insecure about because of how she’d been chastised for it before.  Despite this, she still wanted to model.  She missed modeling.  It fed some innate hunger in her for positive attention, and in the years she’d spent in the industry, she’d concluded that the only way to do that was through her looks.

It was silly, really.  She had lots of friends who adored her, but every time she made a new friend, she feared they’d leave her.  Even Tae.  She knew deep down that she’d found some real friends, but it had been a long time running that she’d been told she was too ‘odd’ to be friends with.  She’d tried to dial down her personality for a while, but she’d realized that felt worse than people telling her she was weird.  So, she was back to square one.  The fear of losing friends while simultaneously being unwilling to sacrifice herself.

On the bright side, clothes could always mend an aching heart.  For her, at least.  That didn’t really mean buying clothes, though.  It meant going to all the high-end stores and trying things on just because she could.  Of course, she could’ve bought them, but she’d always been a bit of a nitpick when it came to clothes she’d actually wear.  Sure, she’d model clothes of all sorts, but when it came to everyday life, there was a very small selection of things she felt comfortable in.

This only meant one thing – Tae’s phone was always pinging with new photos she’d taken in the dressing room.

“Hate the texture, but it’s pretty at least.

“I wouldn’t wear this out of the house, but maybe for you?” paired with a winking emoji.

“I might buy this one.  Pretty flowers, right?

“I think this one would look better on you, honestly.

“Date night?

“This one says I’m stealing your jacket by the end of the night.

“I hate sequins.  Hate.

“I think this one would look better over a swimsuit than as an actual dress?

“Again, stealing your jacket.

“What do you think of this one?”

Tae smiled after picking up his phone and scrolling through all the messages.

“You look pretty in all of them, sweetheart.  Are you going to buy any of them?”

“I bought four of them.  The price tag on the last one made me want to cry, but it was too pretty.”

“You shopping for that photoshoot we talked about doing?”

“Haha…no.  I got bored this afternoon.  I’m running out of time-consuming dishes to make.”

“I see.  We need to have a baby soon so you have less time on your hands.”

“Tae!”

“I’m kidding.  Unless…?

“I’m coming home in half an hour.  We have a date with my camera, ok?”

Zelda grinned at her phone.  He was so persistent.

“Ok.  See you then.”

◇◆◇◆◇

There was something different about being styled when your husband was the one pinching at your sides and setting his hands on your shoulders to turn you towards the mirror, but Zelda wasn’t sure what was so different about it.

“All right, what do you think?  Pretty enough to walk the runway?”

Zelda grinned at her reflection in the mirror. “Definitely.  I don’t recognize this dress, though?  Where did you get it?”

He shrugged, pulling his tie off as he walked towards their closet. “I bought it on my way home.  I thought I should pick something out for you to wear if we’re going to do an actual photoshoot.”

“Oh,” Zelda breathed before looking at herself in the mirror again.  The man had great taste.  It was a mostly white dress, and it was flowy in all the right places while still keeping her shape. “It covers my belly well.”

Tae popped his head out of the closet and looked over her frame. “You’re right.  It does.  I erred when picking that out, then.”

She laughed, a bit embarrassed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I think your stomach is cute.  I shouldn’t have bought something that hid it so well.”

He stated it as if it were something obvious, and then he went back to digging through their closet for his own outfit.

“Tae, I told you before that you don’t need to lie to me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s ok….”

“Of course, I don’t.  I’m not going to lie to you and say that I don’t like how soft your belly is.  I’m not going to say that you don’t make the best pillow and that I don’t enjoy just patting your stomach.  Didn’t you tell me once that you liked it better when I didn’t have abs?  So why should it be any different for me?”

She hummed. “I don’t know.  I just don’t particularly like the way I look, so I don’t see how you do either.”

He emerged from the closet a moment later, pulling his shirt on as he did so. “I find you very attractive.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against hers. “Look at that pretty girl in the mirror.  Those pretty eyes.  This pretty nose,” he tapped her nose. “And these pretty lips.” He kissed her cheek, being in such a position that he couldn’t kiss her on the lips.  He poked her sides next. “And look at this pretty body.  I know girls who would love to have your body.  There’s something here for me to hold onto, too.” He squeezed her waist then. “What’s not to love?”

She smiled shyly at him. “I….”

“Sweetheart, I don’t understand what you don’t like here.”

She shrugged. “I dunno.  Everything?  My chest is too big, my hips are too wide.  You already know I don’t like my stomach.”

He leaned closer to her, this time nibbling on the shell of her ear. “And I’m sure you know how much I like that you’ve gained weight.  You weren’t eating enough before, sweetheart.  That’s why you were so tiny.  And that’s not good.  You know that, right?”

She nodded hesitantly, tears biting her eyes.

“Don’t you remember how bad you felt then?” He nuzzled his nose in her hair, doing his best to not sound like he was chastising her. “You were always crying.  You didn’t feel good, I know you didn’t.  Was that really worth it to have that body?”

“No,” she admitted quietly.  She was staring at the floor now as she played with her fingers. “I like how much better I feel now.”

“Mhm.  I bet you do.  Anything else you’ve noticed has changed?”

She shrugged. “I’m happier now.”

“Are you?”

She nodded. “Part of it is because I don’t feel so lonely anymore, but most of it is because I’m not starving all the time.”

“Do you enjoy that?”

“Yeah.”

“Another thing?”

She cleared her throat, still avoiding eye contact with him. “It hurts less to sit down.”

He chuckled quietly. “It hurt before?”

“Yeah.  I didn’t have enough cushioning….”

“Anything else?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“That’s ok.  Can I ask another thing?”

She glanced up at him in the mirror. “Yeah.”

“How do you feel about your looks now?”

She settled her eyes on her own figure this time, and she had to admit how warm inside it made her feel to have Tae cradling her against his chest, no matter how embarrassed she was that he had to have this conversation with her.

“I…can you talk about what you like again?”

“You name something you like first.”

“Um…I have pretty arms?”

He nodded, reaching up to squeeze one of said arms. “You do.”

“You say something now,” she requested quietly.

“Hmm…” his fingers ghosted over her body as they traveled up and down for a few moments.  Finally, he settled his fingers against her stomach and wiggled them ever so softly, making her squirm. “I still think your belly is so pretty.” He smiled. “Ok.  Your turn again.”

She settled her hands over his to keep him from tickling her again as she considered herself.

“My hair is nice.”

“Oh, it definitely is.” He buried his nose in her hair again. “Such pretty curls you have here.”

She giggled.

“I know you said you don’t like your chest…but I like it.” He lowered his voice. “A lot.”

She poked at his hands that were still settled around her waist. “You just like squishing me, don’t you?  I see your goal here.”

He grinned. “You caught me.  I like having a soft and squishy wife.” This prompted more waist squeezing from those fingers of his. “Ok.  You’ve gotta say something else you like now.”

She sighed. “Do I have to?”

“Zel….”

“Ok, ok, ok.  Fine.  Um.” She stared at herself for a long spell of time, this time taking notice of the things that Tae had pointed out.  She had to admit that while she didn’t like them, she did like how much he did.  It felt so right for him to enjoy those parts of her that she wasn’t even upset that they were there anymore.

She finally cleared her throat. “I like my eyes.”

He nodded, as if her observation had been the most obvious one in the world. “Another one now.”

She pouted. “You’re not going to say one?”

“Nope.  I need you to say another one first.”

She seemed slightly agitated by this, furrowing her eyebrows as she stared at herself again.  A few moments passed before she shook her head. “I don’t know, Tae.”

“Ok.  Just look at yourself as a whole.  You’re pretty, right?”

“I…am.” She reasoned finally. “Just…not as pretty as I feel like I should be.”

“What can we do to fix that?”

“Makeup…would help.”

“Would it?”

She nodded, feeling less insecure about her body now and more about her face.

“And after we fix that, will we need to fix something else?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.  I…I don’t think I’m going to be 100% happy with myself by the end of the day no matter what we do, Tae.”

He hummed, resting his lips against the crown of her head. “How about we stop looking in the mirror for now, then?  We can head out and take some pictures, and I can do all the looking at you.”

She smiled softly. “Ok.  I think I’d like that.”

◇◆◇◆◇

She loved it even more than she’d expected to.  Tae, ever her hype man, was convinced that she looked absolutely stunning from every angle, and despite the fact that she knew she’d disagree with him once she saw the photos, she let his words make her feel good anyways.

Before they left, she’d insisted on taking a few of him, too.  He was always gorgeous, especially today with all the kind words he’d fed her heart.  Maybe she needed a little something to remind her someday of everything he’d said today.

“See, look at that one,” he grinned, showing her one of the photos he’d taken as they walked back to their car. “Stunning.  It’s a wonder how I got to marry someone so beautiful.”

And she had to admit…she absolutely glowed in the photo.  He’d been saying something to her when he’d taken the photo, she knew that much.  Whatever it had been, it had made her light up like the noonday sun.  She had the biggest grin on her face, and the lighting was doing her all sorts of favors.

Tae grabbed her hand and swung it as they walked along. “This is fun.  We should do this more often.” He glanced down at her. “I especially love having you as my muse.”

She smiled, her face flushing.  She didn’t even know what to say to everything he was saying today.  He was just full of sweet things to say today, and it was making her bones melt.  She knew how amazed he was that he’d gotten to marry her, but she felt even more privileged than he.

The compliments didn’t stop once they got home that evening.  They’d run out of time to make dinner, so the two of them sat on the couch eating takeout.  He’d insisted that she sit on his lap while they ate despite how this complicated things, and then the two of them had headed to their bedroom just to lounge around for the night.  The two of them had ended up in barely any clothes as they prepared for bed, and this led to even more compliments spilling from Tae’s lips.

“Look at this pretty tummy.” He buried his face against said tummy.

She giggled, rubbing her fingers over his scalp. “I love you, Tae.”

He grinned, turning to look up at her. “I love you too.” He patted her hip.

“You’re very touchy today.”

“Well, my wife is feeling insecure about her body, and I need to let her know that I think it is a very pretty body.”

“You think so?”

He gave an “mhm” that sounded more like a purr, making her giggle again. “What do you think about making a baby tonight?”

“I dunno, Tae…do we really need one of those right now?”

“I think so.  I’m looking forward to a miniature you running around our place.  We’ve gotta have someone to fill these bedrooms.”

She laughed. “I think the likelihood of any of our babies looking like me is very low.”

“Nah.  If we have enough of them, surely at least one of them will look like you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“We won’t know until we try.”

This earned another laugh from her. “Do you actually want to make a baby, or do you just want to have sex?”

He clearly had already thought about this, because his answer was immediate. “Both.”

“I see how it is.”

The two of them were silent for a few moments before Zelda spoke again. “Thank you for today.  You made me feel a lot better.”

“Did I?”

“Mhm.  You made me feel very pretty today.  I haven’t felt that way in a long while.”

“Really?” he asked, frowning. “I need to compliment you more often, then.”

She shook her head. “It’s ok.  Today you just…it was so nice, Tae.  Thank you.”

He lifted his head off her stomach before climbing to the top of the bed so that he could lean over her.

“You know I always think you’re beautiful, right?”

She stared up at him. “I know.  You’ve made that very apparent, even if not with words.”

“Good.  I always want to make sure you know.  I married such a pretty girl; I can’t just let her forget how pretty she is.”

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones. “And I married the most darling man.” She was close to tears now. “You make me feel so adored, Tae.  Thank you.”

He grinned and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “You don’t need to thank me.  You’re so easy to adore.”

That was all it took to get the tears flowing. “Am I?”

“Definitely.  You’re the most adore-able person in the world.”

She grinned widely, trying to ignore the tears streaming down her temples.  He reached up and brushed one of those tears away before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re so, so pretty.  I don’t know how someone didn’t snatch you up before me.”

“None of them were you,” she replied simply. “No one wanted me, but you did.  You wanted the grumpy girl who would barely talk to you.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “You were the one girl who didn’t put on a show for me.  You were just you, no matter who I was.”

She smiled, pulling him in for another kiss. “You wanna make that baby now?”

This is part of the Dad!BTS series that can be found here

A/N: and hence…Zoro was born. Ahahaha I spent like 98% of this fic melting into the carpet so excuse me while I go attempt to reform myself or however you treat melted candle wax.

It would be greatly appreciated if you reblogged the story if you liked it!

Taglist: @jiminie-and-his-pinky-finger @jinnie-forthe-winnie @thornedswan @kookstempo @fly-you-dam-fools @aianloveseven @armys-dna

#taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung imagines #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenarios #Taehyung oneshot #Taehyung x oc #taehyung x reader #bts one shot #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts taehyung #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fic #bts x reader #bts x oc #bts #bts angst #the joys of parenting

[dangerously-human]

Looks like birthday celebration with the Bible study bunch is probably going to be a beach day - well, a beach weekend for whoever has the time to stay overnight, but that might just be two of us again. I'm getting different pieces of this from everyone, probably because this is not a group that excels at making decisions, lol, but regardless, I'm so charmed that my friends put in the effort to try to plan something for my birthday, that's so sweet! They didn't have to, I could have put something small together, but they love me and they knew I hate planning things and love birthdays and they decided to tag-team making 30 something special. They have all also heard me sighing in bliss and echoing "I'm so happy here" like a broken record the entire time we've been at the beach previously, and happyflapping the whole drive down and outright sprinting to the water and twirling around like a preschool ballerina in the ocean, so. This weekend is a potato party with my old work friends, which former work bff is planning (that's her gift to me every year and I love her for it), and I took Friday off work so I'd have time for any last-minute errands or cleaning or other tasks to make my house welcoming and presentable - I guess this is also a very belated housewarming of sorts, since bestie is the only person from that crowd who's even been here before - but it's overall way less stressful than it would be if I had to figure things out myself, and removing myself from the invite process makes it so much less embarrassing to ask people to celebrate me, you know what I mean? My actual birthday I share with my grandmother, so I'll get to see family that night for her birthday dinner, and that's awesome. Not sure what I'm doing during the day; took off work then too, of course. In my last job, I liked working on my birthday, because that meant seeing my friends and wearing a tiara all day, and we had a big tradition of decorating desks and sending cards around for birthdays, which I loved. Here, I don't have those kind of relationships - good collegial ones, but not deep personal friendships - which is life when you mostly work remote and you're not a bright young thing spending your entire life at work to establish your career. That's the price of boundaries, I think, and the work/life balance is worth it, it's just different. This is also the first year of grad school that I don't have class on my birthday, woohoo! So maybe I'll go for an early morning hike again this year, and... idk what else. Write, possibly. Talk to people I only get to talk to twice a year, on my birthday and theirs, which is honestly something I relish annually, it makes me grateful to still have that connection, however tenuous. And probably spend some time in prayer and reflection as I enter a new decade. We'll see. I'm so unbelievably blessed, is what I'm getting at here. And I'm excited: 8 more days! Soon!!

[raremikey]

Stupid little ramble about pete/mikey etc read if you dare

The whole pete mikey summer of like thing has been taken way too far and while this isn't particularly new, i want to just talk about it.

Idk how controversial of a take this is but p/tekey (censor for search) should be kept in fan spaces. I remember when Chris had that insta live where he talked about his friendships with pete and mikey and tbh the chat was actually horrible. Maybe I simply had too high of expectations but I expected more people would've been respectful. So many people just filling the chat asking if pete and mikey were together. I remember Chris talked about how our (fans) idea of how the whole summer of like thing went is different to real life, and basically that the truth would probably be disappointing. And he's right. Our perception of sol is largely based on fan speculation. In truth, we don't really have solid proof. Pete never came out and said "ya me and mikey fucked in 05". Our view of sol is largely based on things like lj posts and them sharing clothes and other stuff.

I keep seeing people taking it all way too far. I rbed some posts about this earlier but ppl who think that a lot of fob songs are about Mikey need to realize that not only are they reducing the meaning of the lyrics to being about mikey, but also mikey is not in fact the only person important to pete. Because yes making silly posts about bang the doldrums is fun (genuinely such a good song can we all collectively acknowledge that) (also its even funnier that it was written for fucking shrek. There is another timeline where bang the doldrums was in shrek) but dude. Saying all of ioh and a bunch of other assorted song are actually about mikey is just untrue. Pete as a songwriter puts a lot of layers and different meanings in his songs, and with ioh specifically, the lyrics reflect some of the struggles pete was dealing with at the time. Others have brang this up as well, but id just like to add that petes songwriting isn't acknowledged for being really amazing and innovative. There are a lot of factors as to why and I've rbed other posts that talk more about this. But i want to say that people further minimizing petes songwriting by simply saying his songs are about mikey are just doing harm, whether or not they mean to or not. Being silly about bang the doldrums is one thing but saying songs like I've got all this ringing in my ears and none on my fingers are about mikey is :| dude (sorry first song that came to mind)

Joe mama😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

And above all. These are real people. You may be thinking "well you post weird stuff about mikey you have no room to talk" and that's a whole other can of worms but doing things like commenting under pete or mikeys or ppl associated's posts asking about p/tekey or tweeting at them or tagging them or generally attempting to directly ask or bring it up to them. Yeah thats fucked up. Constantly bringing up something that happened 17 years ago to p or m is not gonna make them talk about it. Asking them or publicly speculating about their sexualities isn't gonna make them talk about it either. From what I know, Mikey is not comfortable publicly disclosing his sexuality and frankly it isn't our business. Just in general stuff like shipping etc needs to be kept in fan spaces. I'm not anti p/tekey or anything obviously. I think it is fun. I feel like generally how people characterize the relationship and m and p in general (ex. How they are written in fic) is more based on fan knowledge than real life. Like how ppl characterize mikey as either a sexmaster or shy nerd, but obviously irl I'm sure mikeys personality can't be put in a box like that. It's like the way a lot of fans see band dudes is more like a fictional character than a person. I know that personally, i see a divide between the fan interpretation of mikey (basically the way we as fans characterize him based on the info and speculation we do have) and irl mikey, who we (im guessing) do not know personally. We don't know about his private life.

Basically people go too far and take the whole gay pete mikey thing too seriously and i dont like it. But i am just some rando on the internet so others may see it differently. Idk. Just my thoughts

But thats a theory... a game theory 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

#admin

[bleachbleachbleach]

Chapter 059

One last post about loving this chapter and then I swear I’m moving on! My goal is to make it to chapter 80 by the time TYBW premieres, LOL. But I think it’s glorious that the last time we see Renji he’s a howler monkey trying to murder Ichigo in the streets of Karakura and then we cut to Soul Society and the first thing we get is Renji traipsing through the halls of 6th in a floral yukata and bearing thigh. @recurring-polynya mentioned in the tags on this post that we get a completely different vantage point on what Rukia and Renji’s relationship is in a different context (even if that context is ‘in jail awaiting execution; haven’t talked in 40 years’). The ribbing about Renji’s new position as VC coupled with off-duty leisurewear is just subliiiiiime.

On that note, we also learn in this scene that shinigami get days off (because I mean, you never know! we have no idea what this ‘Soul Society’ place is at this point!). And idk I love that Renji has been in the 6th for all of a few months but he’s already letting it all hang out, lol. It just makes me more curious about what Byakuya and Renji’s relationship even is, because I can’t imagine Byakuya enjoys the idea of his VC wandering the halls of the 6th in a state of dishabille, even on his day off. Maybe no one outranks Renji but Byakuya, so no one can snitch on him. XD But then, Byakuya was pretty cool with Reni Renjiing it up in Karakura, so who knows what goes through that man’s mind. I’m pretty sure their trying to kill each other improved their relationship substantially, but part of me is willing to believe that it was more chill than one might have expected beforehand, too. Maybe chill isn’t the right word, but also like. They were already wearing funny hats together and committing murder in the streets. Besties. 

Anyway, Renji seems pretty sure that Byakuya wouldn’t really let Rukia be executed and surely he’d pull strings for her and that would be that. But Rukia’s of a different mind. And it occurs to me that this might be the first time Renji actually has any clues as to what Rukia and Byakuya’s relationship has even been this entire time? Like, he knows Byakuya cherrypicked her, and then whisked her off to social strata unknown. But what was that actually like? I imagine Renji really only had his imagination to fill in the blanks.

The phrase I highlighted in purple on the JP pages above is あの人 (ano hito), which just means “that person.” As you can see, it’s repeated many times across these pages. That level of repetition might just be The Way Things Are in Japanese grammatically/aesthetically, I dunno; but given that there’s only like 50 words on a page to begin with, it still feels kind of insistent to me. This repetitive construction isn’t reflected in the Viz, which mostly translates it as “he.” (I suspect because saying “That person” in these sentences in English sounds bananas.)

After mentioning Byakuya by name at the start of the conversation, Renji continues, that person is your brother, you know. He’s not gonna watch you be killed. 

And Rukia counters, No, you’re right (he won’t). That person will kill me. I know well what kind of man that person is. That person has not looked at me even once.

Again, I think it sounds less weird in Japanese to refer to someone as “that person” than it does in English. (Sometimes wives also refer to their husbands as such, so it doesn’t necessarily have to sound as estranging as the phrase tends to in English). But I also feel like there’s something to the number of times its used as a stand in, and the way Rukia takes Renji’s phrase and challenges the assumptions he makes about what Byakuya will do for her.

This is probably the first time Renji’s really gotten any sense of what Rukia’s life with Byakuya has really been. He assuredly has not gotten anything about it from Byakuya. I wonder if it also makes Renji think about his own relationship with his new captain?

#kuchiki rukia #abarai renji #bleach language #bleach manga #bleach reread 2021 #bleach カラー

[big-maggots-writes]

Writeblr introduction

Hello i'm Maggots, i write and this is the introduction to me and my writings

About My writing

I read a lot of different stuff but tend to gravitate toward the sick and slightly twisted stories, i love a good going nowhere reflection and lots of short stories about horror and nothing at all, but it all ends in love anyway. i also love a good romance, but it has to be sick in some way, it cannot be normal, otherwise it isn't fun to read.

Love always finds its way into my stories, because everything ends in love for me, but usually there's some sort of betrayal in there as well as being lied to and not trusted, but my MC always survive because i need them to make it :)

i write a bit of everything, but recently a bit of horror, and sci-fi, also some vampire thing and currently also doing a little fanfiction.

i have a really hard time writing in third person, so even if i started in that it ends in first-person POV because im just built that way.

About me

Comma's, it's a no for me, i'm not very good with them and i just kind of sprinkle them in, call it an author's special style of writing

i kind of only write when i get the urge which somehow correlates a lot to how the moon is looking in the sky (exp. i got around to writing this during the new moon, and also worked on my story and the world building, which i also did during the last new moon, idk how this works but that's fine by me)

what else do i do: i draw, paint, sing, now also wood carving (with powertools i'm not patient enough for knives), jewlry making, to some degree sewing, repeatly tried crochecting (it does not stick), plants, Reading (uh duuh), embroideing, i also attempted to make some pigments, dancing, a lil piano and cooking. im gonna end the hobby list here otherwise we'd never end.

i made this blog because i wanna get some Writeblr friends that i can tell about my WIp and know about theirs and like give feedback and get, but also just to have some friends who also write.

My WIPs

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

Wip 2 - Sci-Fi

Currently writing the first draft and fleshing out the world.

What's it about??

it's about a girl who was raised by people who'd never raised on like her, but did their best within their cultural capacity. she's not finished and exploring the universe she realizes as much as she knows she doesn't even know herself. On her adventure she finds her past, or the past she could have had, had it not been for her mother, and who was she? what really happend when she was a kid, who was actually the bad guy and who made sure she survived? all these questions and only one way to find out...(i have to write it, goddammit )

tag's i'll use for this one: Wip 2 / Wip 2 scifi / Sci-fi

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

Ah… shit - Fanfic

Parring: Obi- Wan Kenobi x Anakin Skywalker

Current state: first draft and sort of figuring out ow to get from A to B, start made but i want to rewrite it, good thing is i know what i want the end to be, now i just need to flesh it out.

What's it about

Anakin likes to tinker, and make stuff, but maybe Obi-Wan wouldn't find it good that Anakin kept making little somewhat useless trinkets, instead of focusing on his Jedi training.

Tags for this one (i probably won't do a lot of tags here): Ah shit / ahshit

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

And i guess that's it for now, maybe more will come, we'll see...

#writeblr #writeblr intro #Maggot writes

[krockat]

hi i was randomly reading tags late at night on videos, and i saw yours you added onto https:// www dot tumblr dot com/krockat / 726501511214022656 a while back asking for the source of the music and not sure if you ever figured it out so apologies if you did, but its part of the ost from the anime black butler, not a game! but if someone did use it in a game i hope you find it too!

ouffh..... anon........

see... in that post in those very tags you speak of.. . I.. i did promise i would give plenty praise and love to those who would help solve my mystery.....

and you did nothing wrong anon.

you are a beacon of light, a shining example of a person just randomly going out of their way to be a nice little light-shedder-on-er-er, while prev just doing some'n simple n pleasurable (as pleasurable as the mixed crockpot of reading random strangers tags Can be) for themself.

but.. lemme tell you.... this is rough news.

to have a rare glance of something so similar to this great (i mean no, the quality of said game itself might be questionable, but a great soundtrack and alternative Weirdness and nostalgia of a seemingly never discussed old playstation game relic of my memory lossy past - it is despite it all quite great a) mystery -

it was so hopeful and enticing!

and then i learned.. and then i learned.. it was actually from my number one enemy-anime Black Butler!!

you see, black butler and I have history.

apart from it being a creepy show where two adult demons thirst for a child boy (that for some further context also had an unfairly banger ost that deep inspired my youth), it was, infact, and here comes an actual Real trigger warning for the content ahead:

.

.

warning you, here it comes! the tags will have what specific triggers this is about.

.

.

a tool used in grooming me.

so, while i really am grateful for your kind message and explanation - to find that this music that was so similar to what i remember from the soundtrack of the game - was actually from that show? Oh real unfortunate. just realllll unfortunate.

lemme tell ya when i woke up to read i got a notif w the beginning premise that someone had figured out this mystery song - meaning also maybe the coveted mystery game?

even barely awake and conscious as i was, and just really there initially wanting to check what time it was, because my alarm certainly hadn't called yet and the darkness seeping from my curtained window spoke of other promises -

and when then i ofc immediately opened that shit up and was left face to face with the reality of KROCKAT ENEMY-ANIME NUMBER ONE - ?

oh i knew it was gonna be a special kind of day.

so, sorry for no earlier reply but i was put into a certain state of reflection these last couple days.

and it's been interesting, actually

which might sound a tad bit morbid to those inclined,

but well you know us Aquarius Suns(TM) Hahoo - who often find morbid and sad stuff fun and entertaining to think about and toss and turn around like an old sausage in a corporate bodega hot revolver grill. just a lil interest in that

it actually got me to get into a creatory headspace. thinking about all that shit.

so yea pretty good now, but the first hour of gripping w that? yeah. idk how or that i would or could or would want to explain perhaps why or how or in what way that little fact did affect me.

but. you've still done me a great service. and i intend to make good on that reward i did promise whoever would solve my inquiry.

thank you you kind little folk! very very nice of you to come in to my ask and give me answers! you seem like a nice type.

...

but yes a post this long and involved (?) does got to have an end, and one useful trick to end things you don't know how to end is to put music at the end of whatever it is.

now, Best ending would be to have the music of the Actual game's ost i was talking about. but i still don't know what the game is.

Worst ending is probably just that bl*ck b*tler song that baited me (yes i am now "blurring" it out as this is the end part of the post that's meant to end as a reprieve)

and not to say that would necessarily be a bad way to end the post. hells, it might be the interesting (♒🌞) way to conclude this post.

but i think i will just leave you with this.

(sorry that it is a link to spotify. and that it is a from a corporate-y compilation album. and w songs i haven't vetted. i had no choice in what release it was. do you still like me)

(here also comes a youtube link. )

[image ID:

Black and white picture of Swedish jazz singer Monica Zetterlund - on a youtube thumbnail and link to a video upload of her singing the song "Att angöra en brygga".

end image ID.]

#tw grooming mention #tw csa mention #krockat answers anons #anti black butler #krockat krockar #idk how to tag black butler so ppl can block that tag - but not have fans of it have it in their tags n open myself up to shit from em. #also i rly don't know what my anon tags or asks tags are lol. i don't remember. #also haha to be clear with the astrology joke #- i like to use astrology as a for-fun personality test and sometimes day-to-day vibe advice for my own self. i am fine about it #and no i don't just laugh or schadenfreude at people's whatever else misery - more like that its often a stimulating topic and interests me #to talk w ppl about their shit. and of plenty at/w myself and my imagined blorgbos or whatever. #<writing that cause i know it's the internet and ppl like knife-at-throat-ing ppl when its a sport to assume the worst. #also to be clear - that video visually is just that still image. not of her performing the song. was unsure how or if i should word that in #the image ID. seemed too much. #oh shit now that i have written an image ID after already writing all these tags on mobile - damn it. #image described #also i am tired of this post and having it actually be any good now (which i dont think it is at this point) but idc. #better to just post the beast than not at this point. right #man these tags are too serious overall than what i did w the post. like I said. ♒🌞so to me it's fine to be silly w it #also the song I chose just cause it has a whimsy while also being very vibey and dreamy and jazzy. and there's inherent silly w its namesak #and also more specifically and esp because it's one of the main songs I've been listening to lately. so it's just a glampse into my state #i would explain the lyrics (them being in swedish and all) at a request. otherwise this posts just too long and idc :D #att angöra en brygga #monica zetterlund #my music tastes #long post #also yea i didn't give anon the full promised compliment hoard or wtvr tf I said in those og tags - but i just wasn't feeling it! #you gotta match the vibe of who you're talking to - right. what point is there to just ham it and no one wants to have ham at the table.

[chasingpj]

𝐜𝐨𝐳𝐲

pairing: percy jackson x gn reader

requested?: yes

warnings: implied sex, and uh, that's it

category: headcanons, fluff, established relationship

one thing that’s never changed between you and percy is that no matter how old you get, you’ll always be the playful 13-year-olds when you first met at heart

some nights felt like you’re just unsupervised children causing havoc in your shared apartment in new rome

there’s this running inside joke between the two of you that you guys can never sit through an entire movie without getting distracted

sometimes you're interrupted by the restlessness of wanting to do something else and other times, you get distracted doing, ehm, wink wink other things

either way, you guys have never gotten through more than 40 minutes of a movie in one sitting

one night, you thought you were going to change that for good

you had set the goal to watch mulan in its entirety without stopping

but then you became a factor in your own demise

you watched through, maybe, the first ten minutes of the movie before you said, “you know what would make this better? a blanket fort.”

percy raised an eyebrow at you, taking in the small living room before turning toward you

“you, y/n, are a person full of great ideas.”

his finger booped your nose softly, and he gave you a boyish smile that made your heart skip a beat

as you jumped up from the couch, you began listing all the things you needed: snacks, the fairy lights in your bedroom, dining room chairs, pillows, and every stuffed animal you have in your place

“yes, sir/ma’am!” percy said before running off to help you collect the materials

it doesn’t take long to put everything together after you established the blankets over the dining chairs and the back of the couch

you laid down blankets on the floor, fluffed the pillows, lined your space with stuffed animals, and decorated everything with fairy lights

by the time you peered into the fort, percy was already covered in blankets and cuddling with a squishmellow

“i’m a little jealous of puff the penguin right now,” you joked as you crawled in, joining him under the blankets

percy gave you a dopey smile, tossing the squishmellow to the side before pulling you into his arms

he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “you’ll always be my favorite squishmellow.”

you snorted, finding what he said to be super corny

you don’t tease him though and instead, you pull him into a slow, almost feather-light kiss

the sweetness of the kiss made your cheeks radiate with heat and the husky hum that vibrates from his throat sends your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies

somehow, through the haze of the intimacy, you remembered what you were supposed to be doing,

and that is watching mulan

you wiggled in his arms, reluctantly pulling away as much as his hold allowed

“the movie,” you reminded him

percy looked at you through the dark lashes of his half-lidded eyes, “oh... right.”

he gazed over at the opening of your cozy fort as if he was about to move

then he just waves his hand, plopping his head right back onto his pillow.

“eh, we can watch it later. i’m more interested in you.”

“but... don’t you want to find out if mulan brings her family honor?” you joked

“of course she will. when does a disney movie ever have a sad ending?”

you were ready to prove him wrong, but you couldn’t come up with an example at the moment, “fine, i guess you’re right.”

percy’s lips that rest against your forehead curl up into a smile, and he gives you another groggy hum, “so, let’s just stay here.”

his thumb caresses your cheek before it slid down, taking your chin in its hold to gently tilt your head back

percy is quick to connect your lips once again, not giving you much time to study the fondness in his expression in the white hue of the fairy lights

the kiss you share increasingly becomes lazier, the heat and comfort of one another making the both of you sleepy

percy eventually pulls away to yawn and you smiled, amused as he mumbles a suggestion to take a nap

it hadn’t been your intention to nap here but after reflecting on the long week of late nights studying for the midterms that just passed, you figured you and perce could use a nap

with your face nuzzled against his neck and percy’s strong arms around your body, it doesn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep

… so much for watching a movie

masterlists taglist: @xxyrr @nct127bee @mochabreezeee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @Slytherclaw-kitten @zhethugisa @-thatgirloverthere- @sanovr @passionswift @nanskidoodle @idk-bye-no @ilvermornyidiot @all-hailreyna @blackpopcorn @autmngirlworld @sunkissedskin1328 @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @hajigayy @aleksanderwh0r3 @drayshadow @tonyedwardstarkk @londoncherry @ashookykooky @lotusnegra666 @loverstyless @t0xicmuse @ohmydamgods @jordannfields @tomriddles-wh0re @pixietilly1924 @amy-writes-blog @muted-mayham @shawkneecaps @cbmelody @dreamerball @earthtokace @thehighladyofday @theverydramaticcabbage @lala-llama123 @tootsdoll @slytherindaughterofposeidon0 @black-rose-29 @somekidnamedkai @possiblylostchasecousin @silver-gemini @vodkavanity @hamdehlesmis @shadowsndaisies @cami05sworld @does-anyone-hear-me @scarlets-widow @sol-the-salmon

if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

#percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson fic #percy jackson × y/n #my writing #pjo #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson and the olympians fanfic

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher  higher  higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything  shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #king of cups #mandalorian smut

[delphines]

I was tagged in some creator-specific tag games by @samanthamulder @usermurdocks and @fionagallaqher (thank you all!!). The games are different, but similar, so I kind of merged them into one. I'm tagging everyone mentioned in this post, but as always only if you want to! And feel free to adjust the prompts/rules however you like.

Part 1: List 10 sets by other creators from 2021 that got under 1k notes

First of all I'd like to encourage everyone to check out my end-of-year shoutout post, where I listed my favorite sets by all my mutuals in 2021. Here's 10 more lovely sets, in no particular order:

txf 4x10 timestamp roulette by @samanthamulder - I’m obsessed with this coloring and the typography is so elegant

pacific rim set by @usermurdocks - I’ve never seen this film but wow, the coloring is stunning!

lucifer s6 episode titles by @lenakluthors - every gif really captures the energy of each episode and I love it

jafael set by @janevillanueva/@mulderscully​ - this set single-handedly got me to rewatch jtv, it’s incredible

wlw set by @marysberry - the blending is gorgeous!

hailey upton set by @hillaryscotts​ - I don’t go here but I’m in awe of the blending and the yellow/gold colors

deckerstar set by @lucifersmorningstar - the lyrics are absolutely perfect for them and the blending and coloring is just amazing

chloe decker set by @bishmonts - stunning typography and blending, and perfect choice of scenes!

deckerstar relationship development by @fionagallaqher - it’s so beautiful and I can’t tell you how excited I was to see this in my notifs

aurora & lucifer morningstar set by @samcaarter - honestly some of the best blending I’ve seen, that second gif with the photo frame is so clever

Part 2: Content creator 2021 wrapped - list your own creations according to the prompts

I’ll put this part under a cut:

4 creations of which you’re proud. These are goals you scored. Nothing to do with notes.

MSR in txf s1: my first time putting multiple gifs on one canvas

Charlotte Richards: I’m really proud of this one, I think it looks nice and I had a lot of fun making it

Deckerstar tropes part 1: I liked the typography on this and I think it adds to the comedy of the scene (also I promise I’m going to continue this series soon lol)

Lucifer seasons: I made this right before Lucifer ended for good and I’m happy I was able to make something that reflected my love of the show

3 creations others loved. Include the one that one that got most notes, great comments, or the classic ‘how dare you!’

Howl’s Moving Castle: my post with the most notes from this year

Amenadiel & Chloe: I’m so happy this one got notes, Chloe and Amenadiel’s relationship makes me so emotional. And this is the post that got the classic ‘how dare you’ haha

Bi Chloe: glad to see others love our bi queen

2 creations that stretched you as a creator: style, colouring, blending, text, etc. include the one that should have got more notes.

Legends of Tomorrow: this took so long and I do wish it had gotten more notes, but I’m just happy with the way it turned out

Rory’s wings: coloring this was difficult and I could probably do better now, but I was really proud of it at the time

1 creation of yours that you find most aesthetically pleasing to the eye and self AND 1 creation that broke and (maybe remade you) as a creator – we all have that one.

Mazeve: I think this one is aesthetically pleasing and I’m proud of it

Lucifer s1/s5 finales: this one broke me, like full-on destroyed me. I was still a new gifmaker when I made this and hadn’t really gotten the hang of coloring. And oh my god. I am a fundamentally different person than I was before I tried to color this, and anyone who’s tried to color either Lucifer s1 or Lucifer 5x16 (let alone both at once) knows why

0 the creation that never was because nothing was working that day.

Idk if this counts, but before Lucifer s6 dropped, I was going to post a mortal!Lucifer gifset based on Lucifer missing his vulnerability. At the time I was so certain mortal!Lucifer was the ending we were going to get and, well… Maybe it’s for the best I didn’t post it lol.

#tag games #gifmaker tag #text post #rambling

[kckenobi]

2021 fic review

tagged by @katierosefun @the-last-kenobi @adaliak and @stolen-pen-name23 <333

total number of completed works: 26 this year i think, between tumblr and ao3!! Not including the orchestra au, which i’ve yet to finish and start posting :)))

total word count: i wrote 165k words this year! And i did include the orchestra au in that one, bc its consumed so much of the time i’ve spent writing during the second half of 2021

looking back did you write more, less, or the expected amount of fic this year?: more, i think!! Because looking back this year has just been,,,so crazy? And i totally expected it to be crazy–i graduated college, moved, started my career, i’m applying to grad school, like i did not expect to have time to write as much as i did during 2020, which was primarily a year of quarantine and isolation lol. Last year my word count was 104k i think. So i definitely topped it!! 

your own favorite story of this year?: it might be On Gravity and Broken Things, my stargazing fic, which i wrote for the Untold Zine so that was pretty cool. Also, maybe Reflections?

did you take any writing risks this year?: writing multichapter fics!! I’d never done it before Bloodlines, bc honestly I was afraid of the commitment lol and couldn’t justify it to myself. But this year, I finished Bloodlines, my fic where Dooku, Anakin, and Obi-Wan get stranded on Tatooine. And I also started a modern au where Anakin, Obi-Wan & company are professional musicians in an orchestra. And that fic is honestly like,,,so special to me. I know none of you have read it yet lol but it’s kept me company during what might be one of the loneliest times of my life (i’m good tho!! just being very independent lol) and that’s just,,,neat

do you have any fanfic goals for the new year?: start posting my next multichapter!! After i finish and edit, of course. But i also want to write wayyyyy more oneshots. I have this annoying mindset that everything i write has to be like, my magnum opus lol, and i think that held me back this year from doing work that wasn’t necessary “moving” so much as just plain fun. 

most popular story of the year? Bloodlines, which is no surprise!

story most under-appreciated? hmm…probably The Thing About Falling, which is understandable lol. I know obitine isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and also this one was high-key me projecting my relationship problems onto fictional characters lol, but it is quite special to me, and i was proud of it

most fun story to write?: probably What I Want lol, where Obi-Wan buttdials Cody when he’s sleep deprived.

most unintentionally telling story: yikes!! ummmm part of me wants to say the one i posted today bc i technically wrote it on new years eve…..that one was…something. But one that i posted in 2021, would probably be What Dreams May Come. I think i mentioned when i posted it that it was,,,basically something that happened to me in real life and i just needed to fic-ify it lol. Both of those are codywan, which is interesting…do i smell projection?

biggest disappointment: hmm i’m not sure if i have any? Except for maybe, idk–you know how as writers we all go through the whole “what if i’ve peaked what if i never write anything good again” nonsense? Yeah lol

biggest surprise: getting to write for 2 zines! (one won’t come out till later this year tho!) That’s just a really cool opportunity to collab with some awesome people.

my favorite part of fandom this year: just getting to strengthen these awesome friendships i have, and make some new ones too. Like its so awesome–how some of these people i’ve now known for almost 2 years, and like?? We genuinely care about and check in on each other the way i do with real-life friends. Which is just awesome, and i love you all dearly.

But also there’s some people here on tumblr who i haven’t even talked extensively with, but who have popped into my inbox to offer me support when needed and that’s just really special too. Like–i mentioned, this year was a lot!! It was dramatic for me!! And every time i’d even mention i was feeling less than stellar i’d have someone–or multiple someones–offering to listen or just giving a virtual hug. And i’m really grateful for that too :) i’ve been so, so fortunate in my dealings online, and i’m looking forward to another wonderful year w/ yall :’)))))

tagging some other lovely individuals, sorry if you’ve been tagged already! @pandora15 @giggles-and-freckles @tessiete @ewanmcgregorismyhomeboy12 @meantforinfinitesadness

#GUYS I LOVE YOU OKAY #tag game #fic related asks