#oops????

[honeybunchesobees]

too focused on dead island 2 i FORGOT MY OWN BIRTHDAY

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALEX CHEN (ME)

[bittersweetnightshade]

reads a soulmate au but periodically shakes their head to signify that the idea of soulmates is flawed and amatonormative

[pittsick]

just woke up from a nap and i realized i haven't formatted the post for tonight's part of kildare's campus killing.... send help.

it might come a little later today guys!!

[f4rgd]

added to aksels backstory and made it more hurtful.

[mydetheturk]

ah fuck let the queue run empty

gonna be random times of the day when i get online and you're getting posts again, sorry lads

[love-overdrive]

Me: oh no! I made a piece of lore that goes against canon in a moment of error!

Me, two seconds later: oh yeah, I don’t care

[loveoaths]

🌹

In the Shadow of the Valley (Padawan!Din AU):  When young Death Watch assassin Din Djarin fails his mission to kill Anakin Skywalker, he expects the Jedi to kill him. What actually happens is far, far worse: Skywalker makes him his padawan.

The lasersword cuts through Galaar blaster rounds and durasteel like silver fish through dark water, yet when the plasma blade retracts and the hilt is shoved against Din’s throat it is as cold as the frigid blue eyes of his target, Jedi Anakin Skywalker. 

“See that button on the side? One push and your head kisses the floor,” the Jedi hisses, digging the hilt in deeper into the exposed skin between helmet and chest-plate. The peculiar pressure from before is back, the Jedi’s magic bracketing his ribs and flooding his lungs with molten iron. Din does not struggle this time — knows the spell is not one so easily broken, not with Skywalker’s large rough hand snarled around his wrists and shoving his face into the temple floor. “Give me one good reason not to.”

Go on, Din thinks, Kill me. I am already dead.

Inside the helmet, bitter tears sting his eyes and sour his mouth, his open mouthed, bruised-breath exhalations rust-tinged and shaky-kneed with pain and fury; but on the outside, where the beskar that is his true face shields him from the world, Din is all cold metal and proud heritage, clad in the silver bones of Mandalore and the Resol’nare, the soul of his people: unshakeable.

He may have failed his mission, but he will not embarrass the Watch, and he will not forsake the Way of the Mand’alor.

Kote at kyr'am.  O'r kyr'am, at kote. At kote, ni slanar.

Din tilts his chin up, defiant and proud in the way only the young can be. He licks his lips, and they taste like war. “Spare me, Jedi,” he murmurs, voice delicate with hate, “And it will be the last thing you do.”

The Jedi blinks, the frozen fury in his eyes cracking with something Din can smell in the air like blood: doubt. His finger hovers over the button. For the first time in his life, he wishes he was not wearing the helmet, so he could spit in the Jedi’s face before he dies. Din closes his eyes, ready for the black to take him and the world to go silent–

And then fingers jam under the lip of his helmet and yank.

Light hits his eyes knuckles-first. He reels, blinking rapidly against the cacophony of unmitigated light, and squints up into shocked blue eyes. Skywalker steps back, the lasersword’s hilt jerking away from skin with only an imprint to tell the tale.

“Kriffing hells,” the Jedi whispers, “You’re just a kid. Obi-wan’s gonna kill me.”

The name means nothing to Din. But the insult of childhood — the very thing the Jedi have denied him again and again — and the shame of unmasking, mean everything. “Me first,”  Din snarls. Before the Jedi can react, Din spits a bloody glob of saliva in his face and tackles their legs, pummeling his knuckles broken into exposed skin like Boba taught him, sending them both sliding across the floor and over the edge of the ruins and into the hungry darkness below.

If he must find his end here at the hands of the Jedi, let it be glorious. 

Kote at kyr'am.  O'r kyr'am, at kote.  At kote, ni slanar. Glory to Death. In Death, to Glory. To Glory, I go.