#I think it's because I struggle with the kind of helmet design that gold arm and gold mask has

[4ce160-art]

I think I'm getting the hang of the art style (ish), I've given up on trying to draw the eyes show-accurate for now lmao-

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 4

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of blood and injury, cursing, alcohol consumption Summary: You and Mando choose Sorgan as your place to lay low, only to get wrangled into a risky job. Notes: I didn’t post last week, so have two chapters! Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme​​ @beskarhearts​​ @dincrypt​​ @honey-hi​​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​​ @red-leaders​​ @zoemariefit​​

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

The next few days passed in a haze of planning and training. You helped instruct the villagers in hand-to-hand combat alongside Cara and firearms training with Mando. When Cara asked why you happened to be proficient in both skills, you told her that working with the clientele you did occasionally necessitated self-defense. That was true enough.

After a day or two, however, you decided it was best to leave the blaster training up to Mando. You focused on assisting Cara, who was good company, and joined the crew that was constructing barricades and digging trenches.  

It was irritating to feel a tinge of jealousy at the comfortable way Mando interacted with Omera so soon after meeting her. She was beautiful and clever, welcoming and kind. You understood her appeal. Still, despite yourself, you were annoyed by their borderline flirtatious interactions.

You could practically feel Mando’s heart drop when Omera was the only villager to raise her hand when he asked the group who knew how to shoot. He looked like he might actually be in physical pain as he watched her hit the pan she was aiming for over and over in quick succession during target practice. He was visibly tense, holding his shoulders back uncomfortably far as he regarded her, deeply impressed.

You were honestly even a little nettled by easy relationship that had developed organically between Cara and Mando. Their connection was strictly platonic, but they acted like they’d been friends for years. 

Why is it so different with me?

Both of these developments were irritating, but what really drove you to avoid Mando was your frustration at yourself. This wasn’t the plan. You weren’t supposed to get invested or attached—both because you’d part ways soon enough and because you were witnessing Mando get attached to someone else.

It was easy enough to limit your interactions with him during the day. You spent what little spare time you had playing with the kid and the gaggle of children that followed him around to squeal at every adorable flap of his ears, or wandering through the forest. You always stayed closed to village, but it was relief to get some time alone. As nice as it was to have regular company—something you’d wanted for so long—you also missed some aspects of your solitary existence. It was simple and comfortable. It was what you knew best.

***

At night, you made sure to stay away from the barn as long as possible so Mando could have plenty of time to eat and do whatever else he did with his helmet off.

Each night, you would approach the barn after dark had fallen, making sure to stomp loudly up the steps. You’d stand off to the side of the doorway and knock, waiting to hear the telltale sound of beskar dragging across the wooden windowsill and the subsequent hiss as he fit the helmet back over his head.

The fourth night, however, when Mando arrived back at the barn in the early evening, he stopped at the doorway.

You had stacked every box, crate, and stray item in a line down the center of the back half of the room to make a barrier that was as high as your shoulder. You’d hung a sheet across both sides, so you each had an enclosed space.

“I know it doesn’t fix it, but I thought it might make you feel better? I promise not to get up with out warning you... I know you’ll probably keep your helmet on anyways, but I have to imagine sleeping in it is killing your neck, and since you won’t let me figure out somewhere else to sleep, this is the best I could come up with,” you stopped rambling, punctuating the end of your sentence with a decisive nod.

“Thank you,” he said.

You were relieved—and slightly surprised—when later that night, after darkness had fallen and you were tucked under your blankets, hovering on the edges of sleep, you heard a hiss and a thunk, which you registered as him removing his helmet and setting it on the floor. It was slightly harder to fall sleep knowing that Mando was only feet away from you, helmetless.

The warmth that blossomed in your chest at this display of trust stayed with you well into the next day.

***

The next night, after a long day of training, you were back in the barn, getting cleaned up before bed. Mando, having just entered, was untying the knot in his cape. The kid was standing in his crib, tiny hands gripping the bars, watching you and Mando with eager curiosity.

Seated on a crate, you pulled the necklace that was tucked under your shirt over your head, preparing to wash the sweat and grime of the day off you. You leaned over to stow it in a tiny zip pocket on the outside of your bag, when you felt a tug on the thin gold chain. You looked down at your hand, thinking the child must have tottered over when you weren’t looking. But, looking up, you saw that he wasn’t near you. He was still standing in his crib, and he whined at you, his tiny hand outstretched. He seemed concerned, his eyes squinted and forehead wrinkled in concentration.

You looked from the necklace in your hand to the kid and back.

“What the—?”

You glanced at Mando. He was watching you, the cape he was folding frozen in his hands. He dropped the cape and strode over to the crib to grab the child, hugging him tight to his chest. He turned to leave the barn, walking to the doorway. The child struggled against him, until his big ears and eyes appeared over Mando’s shoulder, a tiny hand stretched toward you again.

Curious, you opened your hand and straightened your arm, offering the necklace on your palm.

The baby’s face wrinkled in concentration once again. Mando was almost out the door when the necklace jerked out of your hand and flew across the room. The chain hooked on one of the kid’s tiny fingers. He grasped it, and the purple crystal at the end of it clinked distinctively when it collided with Mando’s pauldron. Mando stopped dead in his tracks.

Your jaw dropped. Mando whirled around, adjusting his grip on the child so he could see the necklace clutched in his tiny hand, the pendant swinging back and forth like a pendulum. The baby was cooing and wiggling his ears in triumph. His other hand grabbed at the crystal.

Mando’s entire demeanor shifted in the space of a second. He stopped breathing and crossed the space between you in a few long strides, raising a hand to point a threatening finger at your chest.

“You can’t tell anyone.” The anger in his voice failed to conceal the fear underneath it, even through the modulator.

“I won’t.” You were absolutely bewildered by this development, but you’d never do anything that would endanger the child.

Mando stayed frozen like that, his hand outstretched. In his arms, the child tittered and cooed, examining the object clasped in his tiny hands.

“Mando, I promise. I won’t.”

He nodded, dropping his accusing hand, and looked down to gently extricate the necklace from the three-fingered hand it was wrapped around. You could see the reflection of the baby’s huge, imploring brown eyes in Mando’s visor. The baby let out a frustrated huff in protest and began to whine in earnest when Mando successfully disentangled the necklace.

He thrust it back into your hand, turned on his heel, and left.

The Mandalorian has a baby... Jedi? And he does not want to talk about it.

***

After two weeks of preparation, the day finally arrived. Tension was high among the villagers as the final arrangements were made. The plan was reviewed, and finally, the sun began to set. You and Mando headed back to the barn to gear up.

It only took a few minutes for Mando to grab all he needed. Slinging his rifle across his back, he walked toward the doorway and paused. He turned around to face you.

“We’re headed out. You’ll make sure the kid is safe with the others?” he asked.

“Of course. Be careful out there.”

“You too.” He gave you a curt nod and swept out the door.

You gathered what you needed, delivered the child to the building that was designated for children and a couple caretakers, and took your place with the villagers behind one of the barricades. You shared words of reassurance with those around you.

The night passed in a blur of adrenaline. You had been put in charge of one of two groups of the villagers who were capable of fighting. Omera led the other. Mando and Cara attacked the raider’s camp, drawing them out of the forest. The Klatooinians rushed the village, purposefully funneled to the open space between your group and Omera’s by the barricades, and the AT-ST stuttered into view shortly after.

The villagers were roughly trained soldiers, but in the end, it was enough to scare off the Klatooinians—especially once Mando and Cara managed to lure the reluctant walker into the trap, incapacitating their largest weapon.

Halfway through the fight, your blaster jammed, so you traded it for one you took off a dead Klatooinian. It was large and awkward in your hands, but it did the job well enough.

When the walker fell and the remaining Klatooinians turned tail, the villagers began to cheer, letting their guard down immediately. Mando and Cara disappeared into the woods after the retreating raiders to clear out any stragglers.

You scanned the dark scene from where you stood behind the krill ponds to ensure that every Klatooinian had left. When you turned back toward the village, you noticed an injured raider, who had been lying on the ground, lurched to his feet. He started towards Omera, who was kneeling beside an injured villager, tending their wounds, with her back to him. As he stood, he pulled a long knife from is belt.

“Omera!” you yelled. She looked around at the sound of her name and exclaimed when she saw the man charging her, only a few feet away. Her hands scrabbled along the ground around her, trying to locate her blaster. The other villagers in the vicinity, caught off guard, froze and watched in horror.

You fumbled with the safety on the unfamiliar blaster in your hands, feeling slow and awkward. Fuck.

You sprinted forward to position yourself between Omera and the Klatooinian, catching him off guard and meeting his face with the butt of the heavy blaster. He growled in pain, closing his eyes for a moment as he reeled back, slashing the air blindly with his blade. You took the chance to kick him in the stomach, putting all your weight behind it. He doubled over, but managed to throw out his arm as he stumbled backwards, just as you were drawing your leg back. You cried out in pain as his blade bit through the meat of your calf.

Omera, who had recovered behind you, shot the raider before he hit the ground.

You staggered back, breathing hard, and sat on the ground abruptly, gritting your teeth at the sharp pain. He’d cut deep into your muscle, leaving a laceration as long as your hand. Bacta would fix you well enough, but it hurt like a bitch. It was bleeding freely, thick droplets of blood running down your shin into your boot. Without thinking, you ripped your shirt off over your head, leaving you in just your breast band, and wrapped it tight around your calf to staunch the bleeding. Several villagers rushed over to help you, but you waved them off, reassuring them that you had it under control.

Omera knelt beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Thank you for having my back,” she said genuinely.

You smiled at her and covered her hand with yours: “Anytime. Thanks for having mine.”

You heard the familiar clank of Mando’s armor behind you. He must have finished flushing out the nearby trees. He crouched next to you.

“What happened?”

“Knife wound. Not bad. I’ll be fine.”

Blood was rapidly soaking through the thick fabric of your shirt. Okay, I might need stitches.

“You need stitches,” Mando said, verbalizing your thought.

“Yeah.”

“I can do those for you,” Omera offered. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you nodded.

She threaded a hand under your arm to help you to your feet. You started to get up.

“I got her,” said Mando, waving Omera away. She moved back.

You were too focused on the stinging pain of your leg to process what he meant. Mando got to his knees and leaned forward to slip an arm under the crook of your knees and one around your back. You flinched at the feeling of the cold beskar on your side.

“Mando, I can walk,” you protested, surprised, as he lifted you. You instinctively wrapped an arm behind his neck, while your other hand held tight to the shirt around your calf.

“You’re losing too much blood.”

His chest plate was cold against your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You were surprised when he turned in the direction of the barn where the two of you slept, instead of toward the structure that had been designated for medical care. On the way there, he poked his head into the room where the kids were hidden. The child chirped happily up at the two of you from where he was seated in Winta’s lap. Satisfied, Mando turned to carry you the rest of the way to the barn.

If you weren’t exhausted and in pain, you’d probably be more acutely aware of how exposed you were in just your breast band in his arms. You would probably be enjoying the easy way he was carrying you.

He stepped onto the porch in one stride and strode inside, setting you down gently on your blankets. You lay back immediately, bending your injured leg to keep the pressure steady with a tight grip on your shirt. You closed your eyes, trying to not focus on the pain. You heard Mando rummaging around.

“My med pack is in my backpack,” you said. “Will you hand it to me?”

But when you opened your eyes, you saw that he already had his own med pack open on the floor next to you.

“I have anesthetic bacta spray. I’ll use that first so you don’t feel the stitches.” He held up an aerosol can to show you.

Knowing how expensive that was, you protested: “No, no, save that for something more serious. I’ll be okay. I’ve had stitches before.”

“It’ll be easier for me if I know I’m not hurting you,” he insisted, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

“I can handle it.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? Yes, I can. I’ve done it before.”

“Will you just let me do it?” he asked, exasperated.

“Are you okay though? Don’t you have any injuries?”

“No. Beskar,” he replied, tapping his chest plate. “Just let me do it,” he pressed with an imploring head tilt.

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly. “Thank you.”

He moved down to your calf, taking the shirt gently from your hands. When his fingers brushed yours, you registered that it wasn’t a glove you felt—his hand was bare.

You closed your eyes again, trying not to fixate on the feeling of his bare skin on yours. Plus, you still weren’t sure if seeing his bare skin would somehow violate his Creed.

He peeled back the fabric slowly. You winced.

“The worst of the bleeding has stopped,” he said, using the shirt to wipe away the drying blood on your skin. “I’m applying the spray.”

You nodded vaguely, then hissed through your teeth at the sting of cold spray on your leg, but the effects were immediate—the pain disappeared instantly, completely.

“Ah, fuck, I forgot how good that stuff is. I got so used to getting patched up without it.”

He let out a grunt of agreement. “Stay still.”

“I will.”

You glanced down at Mando, appreciating how out of place he looked, his large metal form crouched over your leg, administering precise medical care with careful movements.

Feeling like you were in good hands, with the pain gone, you let the fatigue overtake you. Your eyes drifted closed.

Sometime later—you weren’t sure how long in your hazy state—you felt Mando move beside you. You opened your eyes, and he was on his knees by your shoulder, his gloveless hand hovering a couple inches above your arm like he wasn’t sure whether or not he was going to touch you. You gave him a sleepy smile, and in a sudden movement, he lowered his hand the rest of the way down to your bare shoulder.

I guess it isn’t against the Creed to reveal your skin to someone else.

“I’m done.”

“Thank you,” you replied, reaching up to pat the hand on your shoulder. You kept the gesture brief, concerned that your touch might prompt him to pull his hand away.

He didn’t.

His hands were softer than you were expecting.

“Rest,” he instructed. “I put water next to you.”

He stood to leave, the weight of his warm hand retreating with him.

You tried not to overthink how tender Mando had been with you. You didn’t want to process what it meant or the fact that it sort of left you swooning. Though, maybe that was the blood loss.

As you drifted to sleep, you thought about what the future might hold. It was a relief that the fight was over and the village was safe, but it also meant your job here was done and it would soon be time to leave Sorgan. You weren’t sure what this meant for your partnership—if you could really even call it a partnership—with Mando. Would you go your separate ways now?

It wasn’t until the next morning—when you were examining the precise row of stiches on your calf—that you realized, with great dismay, you’d exposed the scar on your chest to Mando, Omera, and a handful of other villagers.

***

The following evening was a celebration. The entire village stayed up late into the night eating, talking, and drinking in the long hall.

After dinner, you were five shots into a drinking game with Cara when Mando rejoined the two of you. You were drinking a clear liquor, something stronger than spotchka that you didn’t know the name of.

Mando sat down stiffly across from you, watching the two of you howl with laughter over a joke he’d missed.

“I was just here half an hour ago. How are you both already drunk?”

“We’re efficient,” said Cara in a mock-serious tone.

“You want to play, Mando? I could get you a straw,” you offered.

He tilted his head, and the sassiness of the gesture made you cackle.

Cara laughed heartily, slapping her hand on her thigh: “I guess that’s his way of saying he can’t handle his booze.”

“What exactly are the rules of this game?” he asked.

“We stopped worrying about the rules awhile ago,” you admitted.

“So who’s winning?”

“Me!” you declared, reaching for the half-empty bottle once again.

“I don’t know about that,” said Cara, skeptically, snatching the bottle and unsteadily pouring two more shots. She handed one to you.

“Maybe you guys have had enough,” Mando said, reaching out to take the glasses from Cara.

“Maybe you’re not the boss of us,” you sassed, knocking his hand out of the way and tipping the proffered shot down your throat. You were drunk enough that it didn’t burn anymore.

“We’re celebrating, Mando!” Cara proclaimed before she downed hers too, and you both laughed at the long-suffering sigh that Mando let out.

A woman that Cara had been spending most of her free time with sauntered over to your table and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Cara smirked.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” she said, standing and taking the woman’s hand.

“Have fun,” you said, winking.

“You too,” she shot back.

You turned to Mando: “Welp, looks like you’re my new drinking buddy.”

He sat silent, helmet following Cara and the other woman as they left the hall.

“Oookay, then. I’m going to bed.” You slapped your palms onto the table and pushed yourself up. 

Mando followed you as you stepped out into the cool night.

“Where’s the kid?” you asked.

“Asleep already.”

“That’s good. Babies need sleep.”

“He’s fifty.”

You turned to Mando, spluttering, “Fifty?!”

“Different species age differently,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, no shit... Still, that’s crazy. You have a fifty-year-old toddler. Your baby is older than you...I mean, I assume so. I don’t know how old you are. If I had to guess, I would say... Is that rude? I probably shouldn’t guess...”

Not paying attention, you started wandering in the wrong direction, and Mando laid a guiding hand on your lower back.

“Come on,” he sighed, directing you toward the barn.

You pushed out the loudest, most dramatic sigh you could muster, and he looked down at you.

“That’s you. That’s what you sound like. You looooove sighing, you know that? It’s your favorite thing, second only to the kid. You might like it even more than the kid, actually,” you mused, making yourself chuckle.

“You’re a chatty drunk,” he observed.

“Everyone is chatty compared to you, Mando.”

He grunted.

“What are you like when you’re drunk? I want to see that. Do you even drink?” You stopped walking, and he did too, visor trained on you.

“Sometimes.”

“I bet you’re a nice drunk.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, no, I know so. Because secretly you’re a nice not drunk person so I bet you’re an extra nice drunk person.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that your usual verbal filter was completely gone. Oh well.

“Is that right?”

“Yep, you pretend to be all scary with your sexy voice and your blasters and your bounty hunting and your fire bracelet and your shiny outfit, but really you are soft, and you love babies and helping people and carrying injured friends.”

“My sexy voice?” He titled his head suggestively.

“Really? That’s what you took from that?” You hiccupped. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what your voice sounds like. This is the way.” You hit him with your best Mando impression.

He chuckled.

Your mouth fell open, and you pointed up at him, incredulous. “You laughed.”

“I did.”

“Well, don’t do it too much or I might start to think that you’re a real human being under all that.” You gestured at his beskar.

“We wouldn’t want that,” he said, and you both started walking toward the barn again.

“Look at you, making jokes.” You tripped slightly, and Mando steadied you.

“My boot is untied,” you announced, flopping onto the ground unceremoniously to tie it.

Mando set his hands on his hips and leaned down to watch you.

You held a palm up to him. “Before you do it, I’ll sigh for you,” you said, letting out another exaggerated exhale.

He crouched down in front of you and batted your hand away, pulling your laces tight to knot them.

“You’re trying my shoe,” you said stupidly.

“Yeah, because you’re taking too long.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know. I am perfectly capable of getting back by myself. You can go to bed.” You waved dismissively in the direction of the barn.

“I’m not going to leave you out here drunk and alone.”

“See.” You tapped a finger against his chest plate. “Soft.”

“I guess so.”

“Andddd, I think you still feel the need to babysit me because you don’t trust me.”

He looked up at you. “That’s not true.”

“Convincing.”

He shook his head and stood up. You reached out both hands, and he gripped them, pulling you to your feet.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, replacing his hand on your back.

“Oh, it’s good. You make very tiny, very neat stitches. I was impressed. I assume you’ve had lots of practice.”

He hummed.

You hiccupped again.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” you scowled up at him. “I’m not even that drunk.”

He pushed your shoulder lightly, and you stumbled.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

“Proved my point though.”

Putting all your weight behind it, you shoved his arm as hard as you could in retaliation. He didn’t falter. Taking a different tack, you snaked a hand under his arm and tickled his unarmored side. He leaped away from you.

“WHY!?” he grunted.

“You’re ticklish!” you announced triumphantly.

“No. I’m not.” But he was careful to stay more than an arm’s distance away from you.

“Yes, you are! But don’t worry, I will take your secret to my grave,” you promised solemnly, placing a hand over your heart. “It wouldn’t be good for business if everyone knew the greatest bounty hunter in the parsec could be bested via tickling.” Your voice cracked, and you dissolved into giggles.

Mando halted and turned to you, putting his hands on his hips again.

“Oh, Mando, lighten up. I’m just teasing you.”

In two decisive steps, Mando closed the distance between you, crowding you backward. You looked up at him, surprised, unable to get a read on him. “I didn’t mean—.”

In one swift movement, he hauled you over his shoulder.

“Hey!!”

He chuckled and tightened his hold around the back of your thighs. You surrendered quickly, going limp. His pauldron dug uncomfortably in your stomach, but otherwise, it wasn’t so bad.

“That is the second time you’ve laughed in the last five minutes. Are you feeling okay? Are you sure you didn’t sustain some sort of head injury yesterday?” you asked.

“Pretty sure, but I’m starting to think you might have.”

“Hilarious. You know, I could still tickle you like this,” you threatened, trailing a hand down his side.

“Not if you don’t want me to drop you,” he warned, jolting you slightly to demonstrate.

You huffed. “You can’t just cuff me or pick me up any time I’m inconvenient. That’s not how friendship works.”

“I think it works well for us,” he said as he climbed the steps to the barn.

***

The following two weeks were a period of peaceful recovery and restoration. You, Mando, and Cara helped the village return their home to normal—disposing of the dead raiders, breaking down the AT-ST, taking down the barricades, filling in the trenches. Every day, as there was less and less to do, you wondered when Mando would broach the topic of leaving. You had a feeling he, like you, was also putting it off for as long as possible. You were enjoying the easy routine you’d fallen into, spending time with the kid, Mando, Cara, and Omera; you’d happened into a community and were loath to leave it.

You were seated on the porch of the barn, watching the clouds roll slowly across the sky, when you noticed Mando making his way over.

As he walked toward you, you admired (not for the first time) the way the soft, green light of Sorgan danced across the surface of his beskar. You looked him up and down surreptitiously, wondering if he’d always worn such an elaborate outfit or if it had evolved over time. You knew the armor at least had been replaced. But had he always worn a cape? And like three layers of clothes? And the sash-like bandolier? You weren’t familiar enough with Mandalorian culture to know if they strapped all of that on as kids or if they donned the armor at a certain age...or how any of it worked.

Your eyes paused at his middle. Weren’t utility belts usually worn lower, on the hips? Not cinched closer to the trimmest part of the waist? It did seem to secure the softer part of his armor that covered his stomach, so maybe it had to be positioned there. The idea that Mando had thought about his silhouette when donning his armor was absurd... but something told you that it was not impossible. Honestly, you hoped the belt was just as much for fashion as it was for function because that was too funny. The man wears a cape... it is definitely possible that more than one part of his outfit is both aesthetic and practical.

You definitely weren’t complaining. You enjoyed the view.

You wondered if he fully understood the nature of his effect on people. He was acutely aware of how intimidating he could be; he wielded that advantage liberally and expertly, but you were unsure if he was aware of his appeal. It wasn’t just you who was drawn to him in that way—Omera, for one, was immediately taken with him. And you saw how others in the cantina that first day, or in the Sorgan public house, or even here in the village trailed their eyes down his body when he wasn’t looking.

Your face burned slightly at the memory of telling him he had a sexy voice. You were grateful you hadn’t admitted anything more embarrassing, and that he hadn’t brought it up again. To your relief, that night of joking with him had shifted things slightly—he’d been a little more relaxed around you since.

Mando walked up the steps and leaned on the wall of the barn, joining you on the porch. He glanced down at you.

“How was your patrol?” you asked.

“Good, no sign of any raiders.”

You nodded and let silence hang between you for a long moment.

“That fight was too much action for a backwater town like this though—word travels fast and it’s been a couple weeks. We should cycle the charts and move on.”

Your eyes found the child, who was seated amidst a group of children in the middle of the village. He looked so happy, giggling and playing outside in the sun. Krill flopped on the ground around him.

“I know you’re right, but the idea of taking him away from this place is... hard to think about. He’s so happy here.” You nodded your head toward the baby.

Mando heaved a sigh. He stared forward as he said, “I’m leaving him here. Traveling with me—that’s no life for a kid. I did my job, he’s safe—”

You were shocked.

“Your job, Mando? Your job was to turn in an innocent child for a bounty, and you knew that was wrong, so you didn’t. After that, he became your responsibility, not just a job.” The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them.

You looked away from him, suddenly cold. He said nothing.

“I don’t understand you. You flip flop between being heartless and being caring. How do you go from saving him to leaving him in some random village? He’s attached to you. Please, explain it to me because I don’t understand.” You made no effort to hide the venom that was seeping into your voice, as every frustration you’d felt toward Mando over the last couple weeks bubbled to the surface at once.

You looked up at him. His helmet was trained on your face.

“He’ll get over it. We all do.”

You glared up at him.

“Why don’t you stay here with him? You could settle down with Omera. You know she wants you to stay.”

“She asked me to stay, but I don’t belong here.”

“You could if you wanted to. Don’t pretend like you don’t have a choice.”

You stood and walked away, leaving him on the porch. You couldn’t stand to look at his infuriatingly blank mask for one more second.

You stomped all the way to the forest’s edge and passed under the cover of the trees. You walked until you reached a clearing surrounded by chest-high berry bushes and began to pace back and forth.

What is he thinking?

How could he do that to the child?

How could he just leave him like that?

You knew it didn’t make sense that you would have a say in what happened to the kid, but you couldn’t help the fact that you’d grown attached to them both over the past several weeks. You wanted Mando to be the man you suspected he was—soft and kind-hearted. You didn’t want him to confirm that the moments of selflessness had been outliers, and he was really the ruthless bounty hunter that he looked like on the outside.

But...he was right that his life was not the best life for a child. You thought about your own lonely, unsettled, nomadic existence—not unlike Mando’s. Except, his life also included regular violence in a way that yours hadn’t in a long time. His life would be even worse for a child than yours.

And it made sense that he wasn’t willing to abandon his entire way of life, everything he knew to stay on Sorgan. That was a lot of ask of anyone. He didn’t ask for this.

You’d come out here to calm down but had only made yourself more irritated now that you’d come to the annoying conclusion that Mando was probably right. You huffed.

The threatening crunch of twigs off to your left brought you back to the present moment. You crouched amidst the bramble of berry bushes.

You watched through the tangle of branches as a figure made their way carefully through the forest. They were carrying a long rifle, their face concealed in a mask.

A bounty hunter. A tracking fob blinked in their hand.

Who is their target? The kid? Me? No, it can’t be me. The fob isn’t beeping fast enough. Mando? Cara? Probably the kid. The thought made your heart squeeze.

You stood silently to follow, keeping a safe distance behind them.

The hunter stopped at the edge of the forest, where the view of the village was clear, and set up the sniper rifle on a boulder. You waited to see where the sight was trained before making your move.

Sure enough, the scope was aimed at the baby, who was sitting on the ground beside a krill pond with Winta. Omera was standing in the water, submerging a basket, beside them.

You rushed forward, raising your blaster to the back of the hunter’s head, and pulled the trigger. Birds screeched and took off into the sky in response to the sound.

You smashed the tracker fob under the heel of your boot before rushing back to the village, knowing the ringing shot would have incited panic.

As you sprinted back to the village center, you spotted Mando. He was standing close to Omera, one hand placed reassuringly on her shoulder. The child was held tight in his other arm. Winta was hugged against her mother’s stomach. They looked like a family, the way they were huddled together.

When Mando saw you, he dropped his hand from Omera’s shoulder.

“What happened?” He looked you up and down, inspecting you for any signs of injury.

“There was a hunter in the woods. I took them out. They had a fob for the kid, Mando. They know he’s here,” you panted.

Neither of you spoke, sharing a moment of mutual understanding. You reached over to lightly stroke the kid’s ear. He cooed up at you.

“What does this mean?” asked Omera.

“It means that he isn’t safe here,” responded Mando. The pain in his voice was clear, even through the modulator.

Omera reached out for Mando’s hand, and he took hers for a moment, squeezing it gently before letting it drop.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He nodded stiffly. “Me too.”

You and Mando both turned to head to the barn at the same time. As you walked beside him, you looked over to find his helmet trained on you.

“I—uh, I owe you an apology. This would be a great place for any child to grow up—safe, loving. I get why you wanted to leave him here. I’m sorry that he won’t be able to stay now.”

Mando reached his hand out, as if to touch your arm, then thought better of it and let it fall to his side.

“You know, I actually did turn him in for the reward,” he admitted. “That’s how I got enough beskar for the new armor.” He gestured at his chest plate, hanging his head slightly, ashamed.

You looked at him, eyes wide in surprise.

“I regretted it right away and went back for him. That’s when I ran into you. Or, I guess, you ran into me. ” He let out a small huff of a laugh.

You grimaced, remembering the pain of slamming into his back.

“I understand why you were mad,” he continued. “But, I didn’t want to leave him here. I’m still trying to work out what’s best for him, but I know it’s not staying with me forever.” The thread of grief in his voice was pronounced.

You nodded in understanding, wishing you could somehow help him carry this profound responsibility. You weren’t sure how to express that, or if he wanted to hear it, or if it was your place to say it, so you settled on something else: “He’s easy to get attached to.”

Mando scoffed, “You’re telling me.”

You smiled at him, and you couldn’t be sure, of course, but you felt like he was smiling back at you.

***

You said your goodbyes and readied yourselves for departure. While you hugged the kids and packed your things, you thought about your next move.

A stubborn, cold part of you wanted to tell Mando to drop you off at the closest planet with a major port. You didn’t like that after just a few weeks, you were getting emotionally attached to the pair. It would be easier, safer, less complicated to return to your solitary existence. Plus, your continued presence added to the risk they already faced. That wasn’t fair to either of them.

The quieter, more truthful part of you wanted to stay with him and the child. It was a relief to not be alone all the time, but this was supposed to be a loose, short-lived alliance, not something that made your heart squeeze slightly when you thought about eventually going your separate ways.

You told yourself you’d wait until he brought it up, see what he wanted, and go from there.

You, Mando, and Cara stood at the speeder, ready to leave. Everyone in the village was there to see you off. After a few final goodbyes, Mando and Cara jumped into the speeder. You handed the baby to Mando.

You were about to grab the edge of the speeder to haul yourself up when he reached down to offer you a gloved hand. You accepted. The gesture didn’t surprise you—he was generally polite by nature. What did surprise you was the steadying hand that moved to your waist as you stepped carefully over crates and supplies to find a seat. He squeezed your side gently before letting you go.

***

You had prepared yourself for a conversation that never came.

As you were leaving the atmosphere of Sorgan in the Razor Crest, Mando turned to you to ask, “What are you thinking for our next move?”

He flicked some switches and pressed a few buttons on the console, and a holo-map of the area flickered into view in front of him. A constellation of planets hovered before your eyes.  

***

Chapter 5

[isitbussinjanelle]

Raya and the princesses (This is a modern AU)

“Alright, follow me you two.”

A storm trooper leads Namaari, and Raya threw the business of ‘Oh My Disney!’. With Raya and Namaari being the newest Disney princesses, they now had to accompany the other prior princesses in their dressing room for online Disney events. For Raya, this experience was out of this world. With the song ‘Let it Go’ playing in the background while Star Wars ships zoom across the sky along with dumbo, she was overwhelmingly excited. She felt like a kid in a Candy store.

For Namaari however, this was something she struggled to find enjoying. Namaari loves peace and quiet when she has it and will often spend her time reading a book or reading a Fang legend to a bunch of Fang children when she doesn’t have sparring sessions or piles and piles of Fang documents and contracts to sign. Namaari followed alongside the storm trooper while keeping her hands very close to her sides to avoid touching one of the happy square-headed people roaming around. Namaari also happened to be claustrophobic, so this wasn’t helping whatsoever. But when Namaari took one glance at Raya beaming with enjoyment and her eyes glowing, she decided that maybe enjoying her time there wouldn’t be terrible.

“OMG NAMI!!” Raya yelped. Nami was one of Raya’s many nicknames for the fang princess.

“What? What is it?” Namaari said frantically.

“It’s THE buzz light year! THE BUZZ LIGHT YEAR NAMI! Can we please go say hi? I wanna give him my best impression of himself,” Raya said with pleading eyes.

With Namaari being Namaari, she obviously couldn’t say no, because its Raya for Christ sake.

“Ofco-,”

“No. You both are already late for preparation for the ‘Which Disney princess are you’ quizlet. Let’s go.” Barked the storm trooper. Damn, who spit in your congee? Raya wondered.

Raya looked back at Namaari with a, can you believe this asshat, Kind of look. Pursed her lips and rose her shoulders in a, it is what it is, kind of look. Namaari and Raya were great at reading each other like this. They did it all the time when they had fights.

After a few more stops with Raya’s stalling, and more of the storm troopers eyerolling (which you couldn’t tell because of his helmet but it was obvious), they eventually made it too the ‘cast members only’ section. There they found Nick wild, Grumpy the dwarf, tinker bell, and hei hei.

“Ahh ha ha, so these must be the new princesses,” Nick walks towards the trio of the storm trooper and the Kumandran princesses. His words trail off as he looks at them both up and down.

“I gotta ask- no poofy dresses? Whats that all about?” Nick asks, direction his attention towards raya, then Namaari.

“Nah, dresses make it way harder to beat Nami at sparring,” Raya responds as she shifts her wight to her right leg and crosses her arms in a cool way.

“Please- like you’ve ever beaten be binturi,” Namaari blushes and mimics rayas arm cross. Nick gags at the mini flirting session.

“well, gotta hand it to ya princess- I think I like you more without the dress. I guess I owe Flash 10 bucks.” Nick says as he sticks a lollipop in his mouth and puts his shades on and walks away.

“Did a fox just try and flirt with me?” Raya laughed. Namaari was a little mad that anyone except her would talk to Raya flirtatiously, but brushed it off.

“You two are running short on time. You, go through that door, and you through that one.” The storm trooper points at two doors that are directly across the hall from each other. Namaari and Raya find this odd, especially because they’re both princesses- shouldn’t they be in the same room?

Namaari goes off through her door while Raya is ushered by the Storm trooper to go through hers.

“What an ass.” Raya mumbled to herself.

The Moment Raya looks up, she is bombarded with the smell of perfume, and sweet sounds of angelic singing. Raya looks around at the beautifully designed room. She stares over at the other women in the room, primping each other’s hair or mingling amongst themselves. She straightens her hat. She saw one princess playing jump rope with two others. But the jump rope was…hair? Raya was confused. Raya begins to “walk” over too where the other princesses are but struggles to actually move her legs because she’s not great with people. Especially because she hasn’t had much interaction with them for 6 years. She starts rehearsing in her head good things to say to someone, like compliments, and asking, “How’s the weather today?”. Small talk. Raya hated the concept.

She eventually builds up the courage to stop standing in her own embarrassment and walk over to the princess area but fails as she lands back first on the floor. She slipped in something.

The princesses immediately notice this because Raya was quite dramatic about her fall when she did. She groaned in agony as a beautiful princess rushed towards her.

“Oh! Are you okay? I am truly sorry. Raja must have peed on the floor again. Bad kitty!” The princess scolds her giant cat- tiger that lays on the long blue couch. He cocks his head in confusion when he heard his name. He ignores her and licks his left paw.

“OMG. Are you the new princess? Guys! She’s the new princess!” Another princess rushes over. This girl has wet curly hair with a black and white pig by her side. All of the other princesses file in over Raya. They all begin to clap whilst a princess begins to sing angelically in celebration.

“FINALLY! I’ve been waiting for another badass warrior chick to show up. Sick sword girl! Where’d you get it” A girl with short straight black hair grabs raya by the arm and walks with her around the room.

“oh- thanks! It belongs to my Ba.” Raya says as the puts one arm behind her head in nervousness.

“Whats a Ba-“ A princess with long read hair and rosy cheeks asks with a head cock. She’s cut off by the next princess.

“Holy crap! How are you’re arms so muscly??” One of the princesses asks as she squishes raya’s biceps, which makes her highly uncomfortable. Raya begins to back away from the large crowd of girls- which was a mistake.

“Um- yeah I guess so…you should see My girlfr-“ Raya is cut off when she trips over something on the ground and lands on something warm and fury- Raja.

Raja growls and purrs at raya, but then begins to lick her because he senses her fear. Raya leaps up.

“Gah! Don’t hurt me orange serlot!” Raya exclaims as the goes into the sideways feat position on the ground.

“Raja, play nice!” Jasmine says. Raya couldn’t tell it was here as she was rolled up for the sake of her life.

“What’s a serlo-“The same princess from earlier who asked what a Ba was asked. Shes interrupted once more once an unexpected guest makes an appearance.

“Ride Like the wind ya big fur-bug!” A girl with curly red hair flys’ around the room on- Tuk Tuk? He was here! Meredith nocks over a bunch of chairs and startles Raja.

“Fur-bug? TUK TUK!” Raya gets up in relief to finally see a familiar face- a face with a big wet nose. Tuk Tuk stops rolling and galops over to Raya, much to Meredith’s disappointment. All of the other princesses share an “aww” as Raya nuzzles Tuk Tuk with her nose.

“Boo! I was having fun ey? He sure is quite a ride tho. Ought to give the lad that.” Meredith said as she shoulders bumped Aurora. Aurora clears her throat and steps away from Meredith slightly.

“Glad to see you bud!” Raya said. All of the other princesses gather around Raya and tuktuk, who are still near the door. She never got to get fully settled in after being bombarded with questions and perfume.

“Now lady’s, I think it’s about time we all gave the new gal a proper introduction.” Tiana says with her hands on her hips, gesturing her statement towards Mulan and Cinderella, who were the main ones who asked Raya questions. They both giggle in agreement.

All of the princesses introduce themselves and show raya their power if they have one, or just tell her about their past and how they became royalty. Raya listens to each of them in awe but gets distracted during a few of the short speeches only to be wondering how Namaari was doing in the other room. She hoped Namaari was okay. They last few minutes mostly consisted of years and uh-huhs from Raya’s side as she listened to all of the princesses’ backstories. After a while, the very last princess told Raya about her backstory.

“And that’s how I saved the world with my good friend Maui, shape shifter, demigod of the wind and- “Moana goes on but gets cut off.

“Okay but for real, for once just say Maui and drop the formalities.” Anna groaned with impatience as she twirled her red strands of hair.

“Hey, I gotta give my man his credit. Put some respect on his name, you know?” Moana says all hyped up. Mulan screams “PERIOD” from across the room as she sharpens her sword. Pocahontas rolls her eyes at the childish ness.

“Period is so old now Mulan- no one says it anymore,” Pocahontas says.

“You right you right… SHEEEEEEESH” Mulan says as she connects two fingers to the crease of her forearm. She bits her lips and widens her leg stance. Moana dies of laughter at this.

“Maui does that all the time and its so fricking annoying,” Moana says. Raya laughs at all of this; she felt like she almost found her place. Raya loved making others laugh and enjoyed doing it in the form of 10-year-old boy humor. She was glad that these girls matched her energy.

“Guy’s, were kinda getting off track- New girl. How did you become a Disney princess? Who’s your prince? Or were you already born into nobility?” Tiana asks as she brushed Rapunzel’s long gold strands.

Raya pursed her lips. She hated speaking in front of large crowds. She was never the best at presenting school projects in her child days and doesn’t enjoy it now either. One of the many reasons why she is in no hurry to become Chief of Heart. Raya suddenly notices all eyes on her. Oh shit, they actually want me to speak? Fuck no-

“Um…” Raya starts. “Well, I guess I was born into nobility. My father is chief of my homeland Heart, a land in Kumandra,” she said nervously as she looked down and played with dead skin on her finger.

“And as for a prince- I don’t have one? I have a girlfriend named Namaari whos’ a princess of Fang, another land in Kumandra…” Raya noticed all of the princesses staring at her in awe and interest. Even belle put down her book once the Heart land princess mention a female love interest.

“Yeah…We kind of went from enemies to lovers. She sorts of stabbed me in the back when we were kids and caused our world to face 6 years of apocalypse,” Raya Gained some confidence s=once she realized her audience was enjoying her story. “But eventually I had to realize that maybe putting my faith in Namaari was the only thing that could save us. Kumandra. When the druun, which was the cause of the apocalypse, was closing in on me, Namaari, a baby named Noi, A buff winter soldier named Tong, and one hell of a cook named Boun, I decided that the only way to get us out of there was to use the one thing sisu wanted us to do; trust each other. I put my faith in Namaari, and she came through. And she has ever since.”

Raya finished. She looked around to see the other princesses gathers around her on their stomachs with their chins on their hands like little preschoolers.

“Woah.” They all said.

“Damn girl! That’s some powerful shit!” Mulan said as the rapped an arm around Raya’s shoulder in approval. Mulan was slightly taller that Raya, about Namaari’s height. Raya smiled sweetly as the other princesses Hollard in agreement.

“So how did you find all of these people? Noi, Tong, all of them?” Jasmine asked. She was sitting on her magic carpet with Raja purring by her side.

“Oh! I kinda scooped them up with me along the way. You see, I had to travel to each of the four kingdoms, Fang, Talon, Spine, and Tail to get these gem pieces that would save the world. I found Boun in Tail- He was my getaway driver-“

“From whom? Were the druun chasing you?” Elsa asked eagerly.

“Namaari. Namaari was chasing after me because…Actually, I had no idea why. Before she was chasing me, I had just gotten a Gem piece from Tail. Namaari showed up out of no where all of a sudden and mention something about the dragon scroll that I stole from Fang, which was useless to her which makes me wonder why she needed it; She was also holding my hair pin which is also kinda odd- “

“I KNOW WHY! SHE LOVED YOU RAYA WERE YOU BLIND? WHY ELSE WOULD SHE KEEP YOUR HAIR PIN THINGY?” Belle jumped up in excitement. She felt like this was some kind of good book.’

“Nah, it wasn’t love. I think Namaari wanted to get RIPPED TONIGHT-“Mulan shouted as the fake flexed her arms.

“RIP THAT PUSSY AYYEE!” Moana moved her arms and hips to copy the Tiktok trend. Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned at the immaturity. Raya was Hot red and covered her face to hide it- did Namaari actually like her at the time? I guess it would make sense, seeing as how Namaari always called her Dep la, which meant strangely beautiful.

“Ladies! Let her finish!” Tiana snapped. Raya could tell that Tiana was the mom of the group.

“Anywas, after I found Boun in Tail, I picked up baby noi in Talon, where she conned me- she faked cried so she could steal my gem piece,” Raya shook her head in laughter at the memory.

“That baby new what was up.” Pocahontas chimed in.

“I eventually caught her and her gang of Ongis and helped her earn some honest loot by helping me get the gem piece from the chief of Talon.” Raya concluded.

“We took Noi with us and went to spine, where tong captured me and sisu, and the gem pieces. Tuk tuk, Boun, Noi and the Ongis thankfully came to our rescue, but that was exactly when Namaari showed up in spine.” Raya said.

“Yes! More Namaari moments! Did you guys kiss?” Moana asked eagerly.

“Oh, they totally did more than that moana.” Mulan said with her eyebrows quirked and her arms crossed.

“Shut up! We didn’t do anything! She actually beat my ass.” Raya should choose better wording.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” All of the princesses squealed, except for Meredith, who was busy trying to stop tuk tuk from eating cold beignets Tiana had made so they could go on another joyride.

“NO WAY. NO WAY. YALL DID? SHE DID? PERIOD NAMAARI AHHHH YESSSS!!” Mulan was jumping on the couch in happiness. Raya was blushing so hard that she had steam coming out of her ears.

“Uh, g-guys? If “Beat my ass” means what I think it means, then I think Eric might have beaten mine last night…” Ariel said with a blush. Mulan, moana and Pocahontas had their jaws wide open. Cinderella had her hand over her mouth to try and hold back her laugh.

“ARIEL! YOU NAUGHTY GIRL! I DIDN’T KNOW ERIC HAD IT LIKE THAT! WAS IT GOOD THOUGH?” Moana asked loudly, hoping eric would hear from across the hall. Ariel nodded. Ariel was known at the innocent one of the groups, so this was a huge shock to everyone.

“Same Ariel! Naveen gave it to me good last night if you know what I’m saying…” Tiana said as she poked her lips out. Moana and Mulan couldn’t help but squeal. Raya was on the ground dying laughing with Pocahontas at what Tiana said.

For the next few minutes, the girls all went on rants about their sex life, except for the ones with know love interest. They laughed a whole lot that day. Raya felt lightheaded the entire time she was there due to laughing.

Eventually, the girls decided to settle down and all watch the Lion king. Mulan made the popcorn, while Belle gathered the drinks. Raya had never seen the lion king before because this was her first time actually watching a movie with friends. The movie was great, but the loud commentary about the movie made by mostly moana and Mulan was even better, and the other princess agreed to this with laughter. During the Hakuna Matata scene, Mulan played Timone, and Moana was Pumba, while Raya tried her best to copy Simba’s lines for the mini skit.

“WHEN HE WAS A YOUNG WART HOG,” Mulan sang badly.

“WHEN I WAS A YOUNG WART HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGGGG!” Moana sang worse, which made the other princesses laugh.

The other princess enjoyed this. Raya didn’t that much, because she had to eat jello and pretend it was the bug Simba ate in the movie.

“WHAT IS THIS TEXTURE?” Raya shouted with a mouth full of goo. Jasmine died laughing from Raya’s response, along with Aurora.

“EAT IT YOU PUSSY!” Mulan shouted, breaking character.

All of the girls got emotional during the, can you Feel the Love tonight song. The all sang in harmony, except for raya because she didn’t know the song. Raya did however cry during the scene where Simba and Scar fought on pride rock and Simba almost died multiple times.

“NO NOT SIMBA!” Raya shouted at the screen.

“Don’t worry, he lives.” Meredith shouted from across the room, still trying to get tuk tuk up.

Raya Couldn’t help but enjoy the time she had they’re with the princesses. She felt at home. Obviously not like Kumandra, for that will always be her home, but she felt like she found her people. Namaari usually tool Raya’s jokes to seriously, or just pinched her the bridge of her nose and chuckle when Raya mad 10-yearold boy humor. Raya was just finally glad to find some girls who were wild like her.

After the movie ended, the girls clapped and cheered.

“Hey, didn’t when have a Disney princess quizlet to attend?” Elsa asked. Everyone else shrugged and ignored it. They actually didn’t have anything to attend, because as we know, ralph broke the internet, so nobody was able to go online and take the quiz.

“Quick question for you Raya- Is Boun Single, I mean, a man that can cook; that’s what I need” Moana said as she pointed to nothing.

“Preach.” Mulan commented.

“MOANA BOUN IS 10- DID I KNOW MENTION THAT?!” Raya said. All of the other girls busted out laughing.

“…I mean…A six year age difference is that-“

“MOANA OF MOTONUI!” Tiana shouted as she threw a pillow at moana. The other girls couldn’t help but laugh. Raya was going to have a fun time with these girls.

Credit: @gioistrying

[science-lings]

OC Masterlist

Quick intros for my OCs as I’m going to write about them and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Rosalia Scarlett Dawn AKA Rose- 

My main girl, healing powers, the MCU version of her was recruited by SHIELD right after she got her first PHD after she was caught studying alien biology, takes her a while to become an actual superhero as her healing powers were hard to convert into anything that she could put on the field, with help from her anti-hero/ villain nemesis who she has had sexual tension with ever since they shared a dorm in medical school but then she became unethical and ignorant of the people around her ergo turning into a bad guy. Rose is usually good and wholesome but she has a dark destructive side that was awoken after her nemesis used her powers on her. Rose is selfless to the point of not taking care of herself because any time spent not helping people with her powers is time wasted in her eyes and she tends to take medical cases that no one else can, usually pertaining to other powered people, aliens, magic illnesses, etc. 

Roses Intro Sheet  - SHIELD & Hydra

Andromeda Starling- 

Roses endgame girlfriend, shapeshifter, in the MCU she accidentally used a Hydra spaceship to escape the planet as her parents were both scientists involved with that kind of thing. She didn’t really think it through and she ended up on a skrull refugee planet where she crash landed and had to be enhanced to save her life. She’s not good at teamwork and tends to be a loner as she’s afraid to get close to people. She hates being bossed around and work with other people. She can do most on her own just fine. She hates having to admit she needs help with something. She’s a pretty decent pilot and prefers swords over guns. If she likes someone enough to become attached, she get’s very protective and even a bit clingy but that rarely happens. 

Andromeda’s Intro Sheet - Andromeda Portrait - Simple Lesbians - B&W Portrait

Adisa Crow AKA Doctor Plague-

Roses nemesis, she was subtly jealous of Roses powers so she secretly tried to recreate them, instead the outcome gave her powers that could reverse other’s powers against them and make normal people ill. She became a virus in every sense of the word and even tech malfunctions around her. But her powers affect herself a little, making her go a little crazy over time and more willing to do fucked up things in the name of science. Yes she wears a plague doctor mask that helps her powers not affect herself. Her powers also heighten her negative feelings and only give her relief when she uses her powers on other people as it hates being restricted. She’s given up on being free of it and has embraced her role as a super-plague. It’s actually kind of sad really... 

Adisa Crow Portrait - Nemesis Tension 

Phoenix AKA Maat (Matt) Ramses-

Necromancer goth mom, grew up an orphan with the sorcerers of Kamar Taj as her parents were wakandan sorcerers who died protecting the reality and the ancient one sensed her magic potential, however she wasn’t great at the normal magic that they tried to teach her. She had to steal forbidden books about necromancy to really get a hold of her powers. She left the sorcerers and found others like her, connected to death, and she made a family. but eventually she would have to investigate her roots in wakanda and it may not be pretty. She inherited her parents relics, a gold sword with a hilt of wings and a gold helmet based on the helms of the egyptian pharaohs. Maat didn’t quite work as a vigilante, she just was drawn to people that needed her help and she literally can’t stop herself from intervening when humanity can be so terrible. Anyway she hates cops and abusers and rapists and all that and she does her best to help the people that they hurt. 

Phoenix Portrait  - Open Helmet Idea - The magic relics

Diana Schmitt-  

Trans girl mutant who can control and melt metal and glass, making her own weapons on the fly and using debris to her advantage. Her left arm and her right leg were frozen off by anti-mutant extremists and she makes herself prosthetics with her powers made of glass shards that she can use and layers of different kinds of metal with the outside being gold because she likes the aesthetic. She’s covered in scars from the torture and from her own forging projects. She loves making things and does her best to be positive and kind to other people but trauma is still trauma and superheroes aren’t known for going to therapy. She has PTSD and gets triggered by excessive cold and dark places. She has to learn to confront her pain and move beyond it, while also going to therapy and stuff. 

Diana Portrait - Pride Month Portrait - Early Intro Sheet

Guinevere Kaimana-

literally a mermaid who spent several decades under the water as a hermit and has water powers and electric eel levels of electric powers. (until she’s at her most powerful but still not more than like some thunder in a tropical storm, she can’t like summon lighting to strike people or anything.) In the MCU she’s a mutant who left after her mutation out of fear of rejection and in my fantasy version of my OC universe she’s a pirate mermaid princess. She figured out how to temporarily turn her tail into a tail shaped skirt and tattoos on her legs similar to fishnet tights. She can’t stay human for very long and when she’s human she has to be fully hydrated or she could die. She has an enemies to competitors to friends to lovers with Diana and it’s a very slow burn. 

Gwen Pride Portrait - mermay

Alexandria Iriklitis- 

Superhero therapist with a magic voice. Her singing can manipulate the emotions of anyone that can hear it, even through recordings and microphones and stuff, and eventually she can use it to control objects around her through levitation and even destroying the area around her if she’s emotionally charged and loud enough (which happens when she goes temporarily deaf and thinks that she can’t responsibly use her powers anymore.) She has to be very careful with her powers as music is already made to affect peoples emotions but with her powers, any miscalculation can be destructive. Someone may have bad memories of a happy song and elevate those bad feelings. So she usually depends on non-lyrical songs and her own improvisation skills. In my fantasy OC universe she’s a magic bard that’s drawn to chaos and flirts with everyone because she’s a bard. She tries not to use her magic voice to make people do things they don’t want to do, she tries to not rely on it to get whatever she wants. 

Alex Portrait

Artemis Dawn-

Roses non-powered sister who is a SHEILD agent that struggles with living in her sisters shadow. They go through an arc of repairing their relationship and get to the point of being very close and killing for each other. Artemis specializes in sharpshooting, martial arts, and disguises. She uses makeup and clothing and wigs to completely change her appearance to a point where even the people that know her best won’t recognize her. In the fantasy AU universe she dresses up as a man to become a knight after being shamed out of her princess status. She’s a badass and deals with a major inferiority complex and has to prove that she’s just as good as her superpowered sister. When hydra takes over shield, she has to save her sister from their clutches and causes Roses first power burst that kills the hydra agents by forcing their bones to grow together to turn them into grotesque body horror statues. Fun. Artemis has a cold hard exterior but softens up around her sister and it confuses her colleagues to no end. Not many people knew she could smile outside of a role. 

Artemis Portrait

Unreleased art under the cut!

Gwen without face paint and weird colors, yes her lips are blue all the time

pride drawing for Rose

Phoenix and Diana as part of a mass drawing of my ocs that I gave up on but I liked the way they both looked in it so here it is now.

old headshot when i wanted to experiment with Roses mask

angry freckles

minor oc, i do actually think i posted it but I haven’t made enough about them to know what I want them to be besides absolutely bangin with their character design

COMMISSIONS I’VE HAD DONE OF THEM

Andromeda by tinymintywolf

Anthro Rose by scriiblesbymarti on insta i couldn’t find them on here oof

Spider-rose that I won by emkayoh

rose icon by tinymintywolf

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “Sparking Joy” (Rated G)

Summary:

Kurt wants to Marie Kondo their home, but Blaine is struggling with how to deal with things that 'spark joy'. In the end, Kurt discovers that Blaine's method might be the best. (1966 words)

Read on AO3.

Thunk!

Blaine startles in his seat when an object drops out of nowhere and lands heavily on the living room floor. He’d been spending a relaxing morning and most of the early afternoon catching up on the latest issues of Variety!, his daughter Tracy hanging out with him, watching re-runs of Total Drama Island on her phone. He’s embarrassed to admit that, till that moment, he didn’t know what his husband was up to. Kurt usually spends his weekends designing new outfits or hitting up second hand stores, searching for inspiration.

Seeing Kurt standing in front of him, hands on hips, staring as if expecting an answer to an unasked question, Blaine realizes - not this weekend.

At Kurt’s feet sits a large cardboard box, edges white, corners worn from age, lopsided due to a decade sinking into the carpet at the bottom of a closet.

Blaine looks at the box, then at his husband, eyes glued to Blaine’s face.

“Uh … what’s going on, honey?” Blaine asks.

“It’s April 6th, darling.”

“Yes, it is,” Blaine agrees, looking over at his pre-teen daughter, who shrugs and goes back to her iPhone screen. “And that means …?”

“Today is the day we said we’d Marie Kondo the heck out of this place!”

“Oh.” Blaine nods, recognizing the reference vaguely in his confusion. “Yeah. Right. We’re … Kondo-ing our condo.”

“I knew you’d forget!”

“I didn’t forget. I just … didn’t exactly remember until now.”

“You promised you’d help me with this! This place is turning into a hoarder’s paradise! Lifetime is going to break down our door any day now and put us on TV!”

Blaine scans their stylish but minimally decorated living room – an impressive space that contains two sofas, a coffee table, and a piano. But aside from a slew of family photos on the walls (organized by date in color coordinated frames), there’s little else, definitely nothing that would warrant the label ‘hoarder’. Other rooms are much the same: clothes and shoes in closets categorized by use, subcategorized by season and color; with bookcases and cubbies to handle everything else. “What? Where are you getting that from?”

“I get that from your stack of magazines by the toilet in the master bathroom and our combined army of boxes in the top and bottom of every closet.”

“That’s it? That’s your definition of hoarder?”

“This is box number one of fifteen that you are responsible for going through,” Kurt continues. “Just follow the KonMari method: go through the box and touch every object. If it sparks joy and you can visualize a place to put it, set it aside. If not, thank it and put it back in the box. Once you’re done, put the box in the hall with the rest of our donations and move on to another box.”

“Got it.” Blaine moves from his comfy spot on the sofa to the hard wood floor. “I’ll get on it.”

“See that you do.” Kurt pivots on the ball of his foot and shuffles back to the master bedroom, where he’s been going through his own fair share of boxes to see what sparks joy. Blaine honestly forgot, but he remembers now – he and Kurt watching Marie Kondo explain her method on Ellen, and them reminiscing how they had boxes in their closet they hadn’t opened since high school. In the moment, Blaine was as excited as Kurt to begin. But after giving it thought, he wasn’t sure he wanted to part with anything from his past.

Plus, the whole process seemed incredibly overwhelming.

“Welp, one box at a time,” he mutters, opening the soft flaps. “What do we have in here? Oh … my … God …”

“What is that?” Tracy takes a seat beside her father on the floor as he pulls a thick gold chain with a circular amulet hanging off it from the top of the box.

“It’s part of a costume I wore for an ABBA routine the Glee Club did back in high school.” Blaine shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “It was kind of a bittersweet time because your dad and I weren’t together, but I always knew we’d end up this way in the end. I can’t believe he’d expect me to give this up.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Daddy. Can I have it?”

Blaine stares at his daughter, hand already extended to receive. “Just like your mother,” he says, handing the necklace over since he can’t imagine when he’d ever wear it again. “Subtle as a sledgehammer.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says, slipping the chain over her head. “What else is in there?”

“I think these are … yeah …” Blaine laughs as he pulls out what looks like a fighter pilot’s helmet “… these are all parts of old costumes I wore back in high school.”

“How many musicals did you guys put on?” Tracy asks, rifling through the contents of the box.

“Two. But a lot of impromptu stuff went on in the choir room.”

“I guess.”

“Look at these! My yellow sunglasses! Oh, and my Dalton blazer!”

“Were you a cheerleader?” Tracy snickers, holding up a white and red shirt for her father to see.

“Yes,” he says, snatching it away. “Don’t judge. So was your father.”

“No!”

“Yes, ma’am. He was also on the football team.”

“My Papa? Sorry. Can’t see it.”

Blaine spots a copy of their school yearbook from his junior/Kurt’s senior year. Kurt’s father had purchased a two page spread with pictures of Kurt from kindergarten through graduation. He knows there’s a pic of Kurt in his football uniform in there somewhere. He flips to the back and finds it. “See for yourself …”

Tracy takes the book and squints at the page, looking for any resemblance between the boy in the photograph, so thin that his protective gear amounts for two-thirds of his body, and her Papa. “Awww! He’s so cute!”

“Yes,” Blaine says, pulling out another yearbook and flipping through the pages, searching for another picture of Kurt, this time as a member of the Warblers. He grins, and adds under his breath: “Dirty cute.”

***

Kurt slides another box down the hallway and tetrises it into place. He stands up straight, stretching his sore back as he surveys the boxes he has compiled by the front door. He runs a hand through his hair, wincing when he feels it weighed down by dust. He’s going to have to take a shower before he makes dinner. He’s too hungry to shower, and too exhausted to cook. He could order in, but by the looks of those boxes, he may have accidentally blocked the door. He could ask Blaine to cook, or to move the boxes for the delivery guy, but he’s too bitter to do either. Kurt has spent the whole day tackling the job they were supposed to do together. By Kurt’s calculations, he’s pared down a metric ton of junk.

Blaine has possibly rearranged the contents of one large box. Kurt won’t know until he checks in on him.

Kurt should give his husband a chance to prove him wrong. They haven’t spoken for hours, so he doesn’t know what Blaine has or hasn’t done. But considering he never voluntarily came to the bedroom in search of a second box, he has his doubts.

Kurt trudges down the hall towards the living room. He hears Blaine talking and Tracy giggling, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. When he turns the corner, he’s pleasantly surprised to find Blaine’s box closed up and waiting patiently to take its place by the front door. Kurt smiles, relieved. Blaine did take this seriously after all. Good! But Kurt feels a small pang of guilt. He should have given Blaine a bit more credit. He should apologize.

He hears Tracy giggle again and decides to take a break from working to see what’s so funny. Both his husband and his daughter are sitting on the floor, hidden from view by the sofa. Kurt tiptoes in, but a few steps closer, he stops, crosses his arms, and sighs a long, exasperated sigh. Without saying a word, Kurt goes back to Blaine’s box and picks it up. It’s light as a feather. He gives it a shake to confirm his suspicions, then tosses it aside.

It’s empty.

“Blaine!” he groans, storming back into the living room to confront the man sitting amid a pile of every single item that had been packed in that box, and wearing most of it. “We talked about this!”

“I know,” Blaine says, putting up his hands in surrender and huddling closer to his daughter, hoping for the protection that comes from hiding behind an innocent child, “but I can’t help it, Kurt! Everything in that box sparked joy! It was from one of the best times in my life!”

“Blaine! Those things were from high school!”

“A-ha …”

“No one in the world thinks that high school is one of the best times in their lives!”

“I do!”

“How!? You got jumped outside a school dance, remember?”

“Yeah, but it’s also when I met you!”

Kurt stops ranting. He can’t argue with that. He’s often said that only a handful of good came from having to suffer the hell that was high school, and one of those was meeting Blaine. He has to admit, giving away mementos from that time was excruciating for him. But it had to be done. They have way too much stuff sitting in boxes. Kurt isn’t throwing them in the trash or sending them off to Goodwill. They’re not even giving them away away. The majority of his old costumes and props are being re-homed to the theater arts program at Tracy’s school. The next time the Harvey Milk School puts on a performance of West Side Story or Grease, Kurt will be able to revisit his old costumes and remember the good times.

Obviously, Blaine doesn’t feel the same way.

Kurt can’t be mad. He knows how sentimental his husband is. That’s one of the reasons he loves him.

Kurt looks at his ridiculous husband and their daughter, both decked out in everything Kurt had seen in that box – feather boas, a furry red jacket, Blaine’s old cheerleading top, a black top hat. Spread out around them are the only things he thought Blaine might keep – yearbooks, scrapbooks, journals, all open to various pages, displaying pictures from “the good old” days … and days Kurt didn’t think were so good at the time.

The New Directions the year they won Nationals.

Kurt as Officer Krupke tucked beside a picture of Blaine as Tony.

A candid of Blaine dressed in his cheerleading uniform, hula hooping with Tina in the school gymnasium.

Kurt and Blaine at prom the year Kurt was crowned queen.

Seeing these years of their lives spread out in the open on the living room floor, Tracy’s giggling makes sense. Not only was Blaine rescuing the things he felt sparked joy, he was sharing that joy with their daughter … something Kurt, in his haste to clean before the end of the weekend, had neglected to do.

Kurt steps around the sofa, picks his way through the books and the costumes, and joins Blaine and Tracy on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I guess I’m not good at the KonMari method,” Blaine says, offering a hand to help his tired husband to the ground.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Didn’t you find anything that sparked joy?”

Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s knee and rests his head on his shoulder. He peeks up at Blaine’s face and smiles. “I sure did.”

[muertawrites]

Make It Work (Loki x Reader)

Summary: Reader is Loki's personal seamstress, brought from Midgard to design for him. While making a little something for an upcoming gala, things take a turn and get interesting.

Word Count: 3,200

Author's Note: I've been watching a lot of Project Runway lately and got inspired to write this because of all the posts I’ve seen going around about how Extra AF™️ Loki is with his wardrobe. I think I might slowly be getting lost in my own imagination. I might also do a second part to this, but I’m not entirely sure yet. Also, I totally wrote this today instead of finishing the third part of Death’s Door because I’m awful, but I’m gonna try to get that up ASAP for the two of you who might actually be looking forward to it. My week is just going to be extremely hectic so please be kind and patient. Shit is going down for me right now but all of it’s good.

                                           ~ Muerta 🌸💀🌸

Loki Laufeyson was a very particular man. As king of Asgard, it was imperative that he always look his best; this was made all the more important due to the fact that he was, for lack of a better phrase, a conceited drama queen, and if everything he wore wasn't tailored perfectly to his tastes, didn't outdo everyone else in whatever room he happened to be standing in, it wasn't good enough. This vanity was exactly the reason why he'd offered you a job as his personal seamstress.

To be clear, Loki hadn't so much "offered" the position as he'd threatened to kidnap you at knife point if you didn't take it, and since you really didn't have anything bigger or better holding out for you on Midgard, you figured taking him up couldn't do much harm, so you went without a struggle.

He had started out as one of your customers at the Fifth Avenue tailor you worked for in Manhattan, a regular who always requested your services when coming in for a new suit. It was a high-end boutique, known for its super personalized suits and servicing the wealthiest businessmen in the country, as well as a few well known celebrities (Tom Hiddleston being the most notable among them).

You had always had an intense interest for men's suits, something that confused everyone you knew and, at times, even yourself. But you loved working with each piece, manipulating the fine fabrics at your disposal into the perfect fit for each client, going as understated or as over-the-top as was desired. There was so much more potential in a suit than most people realized, and seeing the way something as simple as expertly tailored wool and silk made every single man you dressed, no matter what his shape, size, or means, into a modern day Adonis never ceased to give you pride and satisfaction in your work. Loki noticed this dedication to your craft and refused to let anyone but you design for him.

At first, you made only all black suits for the god. Always in the same materials, always in the same fit. After about ten of these suits, however, Loki noticed how you began to get bored, and, not wanting you lose your attention, he requested his next suit be made with gold embellishments, which you were free to be creative with. Being a native New Yorker, you knew exactly who he was and where he came from and, not holding any grudges due to his polite demeanor and generous tipping habits, you made the detailing extremely intricate, consisting of traditional Norse interlace patterns, embroidered in varying shades of gold to give it depth. It became one of Loki's favorite suits, and he continued to give you requests for subtly different designs until finally taking you for himself.

It was another beautiful day in Asgard's capital city, one which you were spending in your studio in the palace, bent over an expanse of black and green leather you were attempting to shape into Loki's next ensemble, something for an important gala he was hosting in a few weeks. You were so absorbed in your work that you didn't hear him come in, pacing across the room until he was stood right behind you, looming over your shoulder to get a look at what you were doing.

"It should have a cape," he said in your ear.

You jumped, startled, and fell backwards into him, his large hands taking hold of your shoulders to keep you from toppling over. You glared up at him, getting an amused smirk in response.

"I'm not putting a cape on it," you quipped. "I don't trust the people you've invited to this thing not to attack you, and a cape is basically a death sentence in a fight."

Loki shrugged.

"It could be a removable cape," he suggested.

"Oh, what, like how you have removable innards?" you countered. "I know you're probably going to die because of your own melodramatic stupidity, but I'm not going to be the one to enable it."

Loki chuckled, crossing the room to the stacks of fabric you had piled up against the wall, running one of the velvets between his fingers.

"Are you making something for yourself?" he asked.

"For the gala? Why?" you replied.

"I would very much like you to come as my companion."

You smirked, finishing up the line you were sewing and cutting off the loose end with one of the knives you kept handy, a habit you had gotten from spending so much time with Loki.

"Don't you think you'll look bad taking one of the help as your date?" you teased. 

Loki scoffed, rolling his eyes at you.

"That attitude of yours worries me more than anything else," he replied.

You laughed, looking up at him and gesturing him over.

“Come here,” you said. “Clothes off, I want to see how it looks.”

Loki gave you a brief look of annoyance but made his way over to you without a fight. He stripped down to his underthings, standing in front of you with nearly all of his pale, lean frame exposed, looking quite bored with what could be considered such a scandalous situation. You were unphased by his nakedness, having seen much more of the god than you were willing to admit you liked during your many fittings, and went immediately to work, first tying up his hair in a messy knot atop his head so it was out of your way, having to stand on a step stool to reach.

“We match,” Loki said, nodding at your own disheveled twist of hair as he met your eyes in the mirror that spanned an entire wall of your studio. You playfully stuck your tongue out at him, hopping down from your stool and taking your latest work from its place at the table.

After maneuvering the leather over Loki’s legs and torso, you pinned each piece of material together where the seams would be, taking note of where things didn’t quite fit or lay right. Once you were satisfied with your inspection, you stepped away, smoothing out the material with your hands and meeting Loki’s eyes in the mirror once again.

“How is it?” you asked, pulling a stray pin out of your mouth. “I know you like a gold plate at your neck, and I kind of wanted to do a bigger one this time, almost like a chest plate with maybe some matching cuffs… What?” You looked over at his expression, which was pulled into a frown. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Aside from the fact that there is no cape,” Loki drawled, turning to get a better view of his reflection, “I am unhappy with the fact that it is quite boring.”

“Boring,” you repeated, raising your brows. He nodded.

“Yes. This here,” – he gestured to the ribbing at his torso – “is far too simple, it needs… more. The shoulders should be broader, too, and I want something here,” – he swiped a hand down his right arm – “some sort of design or something. And I want a coat.”

“I thought you wanted a cape,” you deadpanned.

“You can do both,” Loki replied, shrugging. “I would also like a new helmet. I would like the horns to be bigger… more curved.”

You huffed, closing your eyes for a moment as you focused your thoughts on ways not to kill him. He always did this, so it was nothing new, but he came to you with crazier, more insane suggestions each time he gave his critiques. If it weren’t what you put every ounce of your time and energy into, you were certain you wouldn’t be able to keep up with his demands. You put your hands on your hips, biting your lip in frustration as you walked over to him, looking him up and down.

“… Okay,” you sighed. “Okay. I’ll get some sketches made for the coat, I’ll add a little bit to the sleeve and talk to the goldsmith about your helmet, and I’ll just extend the chest plate to make up for the issues with the torso. You’re still not getting a cape.”

“Why can’t I have the cape?” Loki asked, indignant.

“Because you’ll look fucking ridiculous with a coat and a cape and I’m not going to do that to my reputation.”

Loki stared you down but didn’t retort, and that was the closest you knew you would ever get to him admitting that you were right. You smiled at him, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“Thank you for understanding,” you said. “You can get dressed now.”

You helped Loki out of the unfinished garments, not being as careful as you should have been about avoiding stabbing him with the pins they were now laden with, and spread them back out on the table, running your fingers over them in thought.

“I’ll be back this evening,” Loki told you as he stalked out of the room, stopping at the double doors leading out into the corridor. “Make something for yourself. Preferably something that matches what you’ve made for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, waving him out without looking up at him.

Loki smirked, stealing one last, endearing glance at you before leaving you to your work.

 “Oh, come on!” you cried, mouth full of pasta and vegetables. “There’s an unconventional materials challenge every fucking season, how are you surprised by this?!”

You were sat on the plush, bed-sized couch in the break room connected to your studio, having a late dinner before getting back to work on Loki’s gala outfit. A major perk of being one of the king’s favorite people in the palace was that he was willing to give you whatever you wanted in exchange for your best work, and for you, that meant a cozy Midgardian style lounge, complete with a fridge full of snacks and a TV with every paid streaming service available. Tonight you were watching Project Runway, indulging in your favorite reality show for inspiration and releasing some stress by ripping your least favorite designers to shreds.

“What are you screaming about?” Loki snapped, making his presence known as he skulked through the doorway. You shoveled more pasta into your mouth, humming in excitement.

“Project Runway,” you told him. “It’s this show where fashion designers compete against each other for this huge prize and a ton of exposure. They make a new outfit every single episode and it’s just insane the talent that some of them have.”

“And this is what you’re doing instead of working?” Loki asked disapprovingly, though he sank down on the couch beside you after fishing an extra fork from one of the drawers in the kitchenette, stabbing it into your pasta and taking a bite for himself.

“I’m having dinner,” you said, fighting off his fork with your own when he tried to plunge it back into your bowl. “There’s more in the fridge if you want some. We can finish this episode then go look at what I have finished.”

Four episodes later, you and Loki were still in the lounge, sprawled out on the couch and screaming at each other in adamant disagreement about who you each thought deserved to win the season.

“Everything he designs looks exactly the same, and none of it is even that good!” you shouted. “Like, who the hell is even going to wear any of that? What value do any of his designs have if he can’t market them??”

“He is an artist,” Loki scoffed back at you. “He does not need to sell his fashions because he is making a statement with them. You of all people should understand that.”

“There’s a reason it’s called the fashion industry, Loki,” you snapped. “And the only ‘statement’ a beige parachute makes on a runway is ‘everything I do is bored and uninspired, just like me’!”

You were silenced by a throw pillow smacking you in the face, causing you to huff in surprise and flail your arms as you tried to deflect the projectiles being hurled at you. You managed to catch one of them, bringing it down into Loki’s cheek, causing him to cackle with laughter as he crawled over you, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pinning you to the cushions. You squirmed against him, glaring up at his obnoxiously smug face when you realized you were trapped, wishing you had a hand free to slap the smirk from it.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

“You have to either agree with me, or give up this nonsensical program and show me what you’ve made,” Loki countered. You rolled your eyes.

“You are an absolute killjoy,” you said, wiggling under his weight.

“Does that mean you agree with me?” Loki asked.

“Never,” you hissed, baring your teeth at him. He laughed, freeing you from his grasp and offering you his hand.

“Come,” he coaxed you. “Let us see what you have done.”

You took Loki’s hand and allowed him to hoist you off the couch, still holding onto him as he led you into your studio. You brought him to the mannequin you had dressed his outfit in, sighing as you reached out to fold one of the shoulders of the coat you had recently crafted over and off of it, revealing the changes you had made to the top underneath.

“So, I added the design to the sleeve like you wanted,” you said, moving your hands over the various pieces as you spoke, “and added it to the calves of the pants too so it matched a little better. I made the shoulders of the coat bigger like you wanted but I still haven’t done anything to the torso of the shirt because the chest plate is going to be so big.”

Loki hummed, stroking his chin as he looked over the changes you’d made.

“… It’s good,” he concluded after a while. “It’s very good. I am excited to see it finished.”

You smiled, letting out a breath you didn’t notice you had been holding.

“Now,” Loki said suddenly, pulling you out of your momentary relief. “What have you made for yourself?”

You held your breath again, considering your words carefully as you spoke.

“Well… I started a dress, but I don’t know exactly how you’ll feel about it.”

“Show it to me,” Loki commanded.

You breathed deeply, slowly pacing over to the closet on the other side of the room and pulling the one dress form you owned from it, revealing what you had spent a considerable amount of your afternoon on. It wasn’t a traditional gown like you assumed Loki had intended, but was instead a suit jacket made from the same leather his own ensemble was formed in, tailored to fit perfectly to the curves of your body like a corset and sewn together in a decorative plait where the buttons would have been, fanning out into a flowing, floor-length skirt which faded from black to emerald. You had cut the sides of the jacket into curves that arched at the waist, forming pointed V shapes in the front and back, and had accented it with a gold silk pocket square. You chewed on your lip as you watched Loki’s eyes scan over the gown.

“… I would like to see it on you,” he said after a moment, his eyes meeting yours.

“No,” you replied, a strong blush creeping across your cheeks. “I’m not undressing in front of you.”

“Why not?” Loki smirked. “I’ve undressed for you on dozens of occasions.”

You glared at him, then rolled your eyes as you broke under his gaze, reluctantly stepping out of your clothes and into the dress. You were thankful when he turned around, being polite enough to look away until you were completely dressed again, clearing your throat to signal that you were decent. 

Loki raked his eyes over your body, his tongue gliding over his lips in thought.

“It is not horrid,” he decided eventually, one of his hands reaching out to toy with the lapel of the jacket.

“I’m flattered,” you replied humorlessly. Loki chuckled.

“It is quite interesting,” he said, stepping back to get a better view of the dress as a whole. “It fits you well… but you look something like the wicked witch from that Midgardian tale about the girl from Kansas.”

You sneered, wanting to stab him with your shearing scissors.

“Oh, do not look at me like that, pet,” Loki chided you, amused by your murderous gaze. “I do like it. But I feel you can do better for yourself.”

You huffed, shaking your head and letting your shoulders fall, wondering if you would ever please the too-critical god on a first attempt.

“What do you suggest I do, then?” you snapped.

Loki pursed his lips together, pacing forward so that he was mere inches from you, his chest nearly touching yours. You felt your body grow warm at his closeness, and you found it hard to continue holding his gaze. One of his hands slipped in between the two of you to the plait in the front of your gown, his slender fingers running down it and untangling it, taking out the stitches you had laid underneath it as well. You drew a shallow breath in between your teeth, cursing him as well as yourself for the pleasure and excitement you could feel welling in your stomach.

“You are so gorgeous, Y/N,” Loki purred, his hand now sliding beneath the leather at your shoulder, grazing over your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, “and as much as I admire your work with suits, you deserve to wear something that… ravishes you.”

With a quick sweep of his hand, Loki slid the fabric covering you from your body, leaving you completely exposed as it fell to the floor in a heap at your feet. You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed skin, and your eyes fell to see that Loki’s chest was heaving despite his calm demeanor. He rested one of his long fingers under your chin, tilting your head upward to face him, your noses brushing softly together and his lips nearly on yours, leaving you longing for his kiss. Your hand fell to his hip and pulled him the slightest bit closer to you, seemingly of its own volition.

“I want you to make something so alluring,” Loki whispered, his eyes cutting into yours with unspeakable need, “that I can barely control myself when I see you in it.”

You had to physically bite down on your lip to keep the gasp from escaping your throat, your eyes fluttering as Loki leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth before pulling away, leaving you feeling cold and vulnerable, your body aching for the return of his touch.

“Make it work,” he teased, his voice lilting in the same graceful, effeminate way as Tim Gunn’s would when uttering those words.

As Loki lurked through the doors, leaving you naked and alone in the middle of your studio, you promised yourself that the gown you wore to the gala would do nothing short of absolutely devastating him.

[gamejumps]

this has been collecting dust in my drafts for awhile now SO

here’s ~65 headcanons about turbo~ that no one asked for

Body and Appearance

1. Describe the character’s height and build. Are they heavyset, thin, short, rangy?

turbo stands at a whopping 5′0. incredibly tall, i know. as far as canonical height equivalents go, i’ve always imagined him to be around felix’s height, if not an inch or two shorter than him. he’s definitely taller than the sugar rush kids by a long shot, but he’s a munchkin otherwise. turbo’s build is ... something i’ve never been able to tackle with one word. he’s short, with short legs and short arms, which aren’t exactly thin but they’re definitely on the softer side. he has a gut for sure. i’d most likely classify him as a little chubby, with his weight mainly focusing in his stomach area and his waist.

2. How old are they?

plug-in years are arguable, but he is programmed to be physically 18 years old. he has the attitude and mindset of a more haughty 18 year old--and while he treasures his youth, that doesn’t stop him from doing adult things.

3. Describe their posture. Do they carry themselves well or do they slouch?

most of the time, turbo carries himself with a disgusting amount of pride. it oozes off of him in little ways: his back is straight, as if making a point that he wasn’t insecure just because he was on the shorter side. his strides can be long, and he doesn’t usually crumble under pressure. his shoulders are pushed back to prove, somehow, that he wouldn’t take any bullshit--but they’re not tight enough that he’s trying too hard. on the flipside, when he’s relaxed or particularly grouchy, he’s subject to slouch as he crosses his arms over his chest, turning into a hunched ball of brattiness.

4. How is their health? Are they fit or out of shape? Any illnesses or conditions? Any physical disabilities?

turbo’s health is okay. he’s not totally out of shape, but you won’t catch the guy running a marathon. he has some lazy habits but to be a race car driver you have to have to have some kind of endurance. he has a slight speech impediment which causes his lisp, but he’s gotten good at hiding it and ‘correcting’ himself.

5. How do they move? Are they clumsy, graceful, tense, fluid?

pretty fluid. he’s far from graceful, but every little movement is usually painted with practiced, arrogant ease. his movements are often quick and occasionally a smidge twitchy, but only because he’s prone to impatience. 

6. How attractive is this character physically? How do they perceive themselves in the mirror?

i mean .... we’re judging a video game character who’s very cartoony, so i don’t think attractiveness is very .. applicable. i would say he’s pretty gross and creepy looking, though: his big eyes with tiny-ass pupils, huge, yellow-tinted teeth, ridiculous dark circles and grey skin don’t do him any favors. he’s definitely not exactly hot: but he sure likes to tell himself he’s the most good-looking thing around. he certainly has the confidence to pull it off, though. somehow.

7. Describe their complexion. Dark, light, clear, scarred?

turbo’s skin is on the light grey side (around this shade), getting more dark/purple around his eyes due to his heavy bags. small nicks and scars coat the palms of his hands mostly, but they’re just scrapes from messing with his car. no biggie.

8. Describe their hair: color, texture, style.

his hair is black, straight and boring: his hairline is high, whereas his hair isn’t exactly thinning, it’s still a bit fine while also having a touch of thickness to it. his haircut isn’t anything noteworthy, cropped short and with a messy fringe. i’m bad at describing hair, so here, have this and this.

9. What color are their eyes?

a bright, glowing yellow. technically his pupils are black, but y’know.

10. Does the character have any other noteworthy features?

just a few! for instance, due to his status as a speed demon, his ears are pointed--i’d like to say it was a pixelation error where the designer added one more pixel to his ear, and instead of getting rid of it, they just kept it because it looked cool. his tongue is an odd, mint/green color, and his eyes glow in the dark.

11. What are their chief tension centers?

his shoulders and his jaw. tension tends to flood straight to his shoulders and it’s pretty evident in his posture, and occasionally it hits him in the jaw, shown by when he clenches is teeth/jaw a lot.

12. What is the character’s wardrobe like? Casual, dressy, utilitarian? Bright colors, pastels, neutrals? Is it varied, or do they have six of the same suit?

turbo’s wardrobe is very casual. more often than not, he wears his iconic red and white jumpsuit. red is his favorite color, so it shows up in whatever he wears most of the time. i imagine he has a track suit like this that he opts out for every now and again just because it looks cool. otherwise his wardrobe is very plain: black and white tee-shirts, dark-wash jeans, a lot of converse, but he usually sticks to his red, a pair of combat boots. i’ve also always been a stickler for the ‘HARDCORE’ obsessed jerk to have a leather jacket.

13. Do their clothes fit well? Do they seem comfortable in them?

i’d say so! turbo isn’t always a skinny-fit guy, but he doesn’t wear baggy clothes to hide anything really. he’s comfortable in just about anything due to his disgustingly large ego.

14. Do they dress the same on the job as they do in their free time? If not, what are the differences?

most of the time, yeah! but he’s not afraid to dress differently off hours and he’s out somewhere. it’s more casual than his tracksuit (which he has no problem walking around in, he believes that his clothing makes the legend), but something he’s rarely without his helmet, as if personifies who he is.

15. You knew it was coming: Boxers, briefs or commando?

boxers. 100%. especially boxers with ridiculous patterns on them. like gold trophies, red t’s, the works.

Speech

16. What does this character’s voice sound like? High-pitched, deep, hoarse?

here’s an audio clip for you! his voice isn’t high nor is it really deep--it’s somewhere in the middle (maybe a little higher than a more gravel-type tone) and a little raspy/scratchy, sounding like it fluctuates a touch. given his age, i'd say it fits.

17. How doe they normally speak? Loud, soft, fast, evenly? Do they talk easily, or do they hesitate?

oh man. turbo speaks loud and proud. he isn’t yelling all the time (ok.... half ol the time, since he usually throws tantrums) and he can talk pretty fast if he’s rambling. he has a bad habit of rambling/yammering which can get exhausting, but he speaks at an even pace because he wants people to listen to him.

18. Does the character have a distinct accent or dialect? Any individual quirks of pronunciation? Any, like, you know, verbal tics?

have you heard turbo talk? he definitely has some kind of dialect/accent. i’ve never been able to pinpoint what kind of accent it is exactly (northeast? chicago? who knows) but he pronounces things with a lot of a’s. it can fluctuate between an a or the proper pronunciation though - of = ‘a, words sometimes being slurred (gonna, wanna, s’why, what’cha, would’ja, etc.), he usually drops the g from the ends of his words, things like that. he does have a lisp, but he does his best to hide it in fear of sounding dorky.

19. What language/s do they speak, and with how much fluency?

english and that’s it. he’s an american-made game and he sees not reason to learn another language.  8′)

20. Do they switch languages or dialects in certain situations?

sometimes he slips up on hiding his lisp, but that’s as far as it goes!

21. Are they a good impromptu speaker, or do they have to think about their words?

turbo?? thinking about his choice of words??? that’s rare. he’s a very off the cuff sorta guy who speaks his mind and doesn’t care about the repercussions. there are scarce moments where he has to let his brain marinate things, but that happens once every blue moon.

22. Are they eloquent or inarticulate? Under what circumstances might this change?

kind of down the middle. he’s good at speaking his mind and yammering on, but he has a very tough time expressing certain feelings about things, which is where he struggles and gets more inarticulate.

Mental and Emotional

23. How intelligent is this character? Are they book-smart or street-smart?

okay i know it’s funny to say, ‘haha rb is a dumbass’ (kind of true) but i’d say he’s pretty smart in terms of mechanics and street-wise things. he enjoys learning about more mechanical things like vehicle-related subjects, or technology in the terms of coding in the future, and he’s skilled at it. he just happens to have poor impulse control and be reckless.

24. Do they think on their feet, or do they need time to deliberate?

think on his feet, 100%. the only time he sits down and thinks is if he’s forced to actually plot and mull things over.

25. Describe the character’s thought process. Are they more logical, or more intuitive? Idealistic or practical?

turbo’s thought process is a rapid fire. it holds a million topics and he can flick through them like rapid fire shells. i would say that he’s more intuitive than anything else, as he’s a very emotionally-charged person who reacts from emotion and is dangerously reckless. on the flip side, he also tends to be practical: rather than leaving his heads in the clouds, he likes to get things done and prove them wrong.

26. What kind of education has the character had?

he’s...... a video game character..... so no formal education to speak of.

27. What are their areas of expertise? What, if anything, are they interested in learning more about?

he loves learning about technical things. mechanics, technology, the works. his favorite subject is any kind of automobile and how those work, and with an interest he’ll eventually learn code.

28. Are they an introvert or an extrovert?

extrovert by far. the guy thrives off of attention and snaps without it. he gets energized by talking to people and seldom needs time to recharge unless a situation is particularly exhausting, which is when he usually buzzes off to go do his own thing. otherwise he feeds off of social interaction and needs it like he needs air.

29. Describe the character’s temperament. Are they even-tempered or do they have mood swings? Cheerful or melancholy? Laid-back or driven?

turbo is a lot of things. he is an a brat above all else, and as a brat, he’s prone to having mood swings. at times, he can be laidback--still an arrogant jerk, but more chill--but for the most part, he’s hot headed and loses his temper easily. it’s not hard to make him huff and snap and showcase what a brat he is. he’s neither cheerful nor melancholy: he believes both attitudes are stupid and annoying. he is however, driven. he loves a good challenge or obstacle and will do anything to complete it and ‘win’.

30. How do they respond to new people or situations? Are they suspicious, relaxed, timid, enthusiastic?

this depends entirely on the situation. for the most part, he breezes into situations by acting like his usual cocky self and talking about ... whatever is at hand. even in situations where he actually is anxious, he pulls up an arrogant front.

31. Are they more likely to act, or to react?

i don’t know if this was meant as react vs respond, but definitely react. he doesn’t consider his word or responses, and usually just goes off of the first emotion he feels.

32. Which is their default: fight or flight?

more often than not, fight. he only runs away in situations where he’s absolutely fucked, but he flirts with danger and death frequently because of his attitude. see: the many times where he would mouth off to some huge monster/cybug and only start to run when he was inches away from being a meal/dead.

33. Describe the character’s sense of humor. Do they appreciate jokes? Puns? Gallows humor? Bathroom humor? Pranks?

his sense of humor is ... weird? he likes pranks (not being the recievee, though, but the one to pull them) and laughs at people he considers ‘losers.’ he gets a kick out of messing people, whether that’s through frustrating or flustering them. puns can be hit or miss, but more often than not he groans at them.

34. Does the character have any diagnosable mental disorders? If yes, how do they deal with them?

OH BOY, ME, A PSYCH MAJOR, GETTING HYPED FOR THIS QUESTION.

short answer: yes.

long answer: turbo, without a doubt, has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. it was also brought to my attention that he may have Oppositional Defiant Disorder, along with slight paranoia. he refuses to acknowledge any of these things, citing that that sort of thing is for losers and people who are weak, and has no coping mechanisms whatsoever. if anything, he wouldn’t see a problem with his behavior (ore so with his NPD, because in his mind, why wouldn’t he love himself?) and would continue on as one does.

35. What moments in this character’s life have defined them as a person?

roadblasters. without a doubt, simply learning the fact of their existence and what it would mean defined how he could be a paranoid, jealous, attention-hungry mess. being on top also defined them as a person, as being the most popular game in his arcade has only made his arrogant streak worse and blown his ego up by a thousand.

36. What do they fear?

being alone, forgotten, and abandoned.

37. What are their hopes or aspirations?

to be the greatest racer ever, and to go down in history as a legend.

38. What is something they don’t want anyone to find out about them?

lmao...... a lot. more so his fears and worries, as he hates vulnerability and showing any side of himself that could possibly be ‘weak’ or anything.

Relationships

39. Describe this character’s relationship with their parents.

going off of rps with mombotastic from years ago that i hold dear to my heart, his relationship with his programmed npc mom is weird. she doesnt take what he does seriously and nags him, while turbo is often disgusted by her tales of debauchery and behavior. they tend to argue and turbo ends up being smacked with a purse more than he’d like, but ma at least tries?

40. Does the character have any siblings? What is/was their relationship like?

i mean if you count the twins as his brothers...???? then he doesn’t get along with them at all: there’s a mutual feeling of resentment. with turbo often insulting them, humiliating them, and generally just being an awful bastard to them. (this tends to roll into a yelling match or a fist fight. what a great relationship.)

41. Are there other blood relatives to whom they are close? Are there ones they can’t stand?

nope!

42. Are there other, unrelated people whom they considers part of their family? What are their relationships with them?

turbo????? with familial like relationships???? the only one i can think of is vanellope, who he’s subconsciously like an obnoxious older brother to. they’re similar enough to where they can snark and banter at each other, and they’re both competitive brats who like to race and play pranks on each other. while he can find her to be a total pain in the neck, it’s probably one of his more wholesome relationships. (which is somehow a miracle.)

43. Do they make friends easily, or do they have trouble getting along with people?

lmao..... no. he has trouble getting along with people because he’s an argumentative brat with a huge ego, so it makes him difficult to connect positively with someone. that’s not to say he can’t nor has he not had friends, but that he’s a lot to handle and he can be hard to tolerate alone, so he doesn’t make friends easily. regardless, he likes to say he has a lot of friends.

44. Which do they consider more important: family or friends?

himself, first and foremost. but between those two alone? considering his bad family ties, i would say friends, unless it was in a certain context.

45. Is the character single, married, divorced, widowed? Have they been married more than once?

single, and he intends to stay that way. romantic relationships aren’t exactly his style: the guy has pretty bad commitment issues.

46. Are they currently in a romantic relationship with someone other than a spouse?

nope.

47. Who was their first crush? Who is their latest?

turbo isn’t one to get crushes on others. he’s more used to people crushing on him, and him getting all smug about it because of course another person loves him. he’s more likely to be physically attracted to someone from the get go, but that’s more related to lust than it is to love.

48. What do they look for in a romantic partner?

if he had to look for something in them, it would have to be someone who he can share his passions with. who he can talk to about this and that and actually, you know, enjoy himself? it would have to be someone who gives him a challenge, someone who he can trust, who he knows won’t abandon him. and most of all? someone who can actually keep the guy focused on them and them alone.

49. Does the character have children? Grandchildren? If yes, how do they relate to them? If no, do they want any?

no and no he doesn’t want any, he doesn’t like most kids and he feels as if they would slow him down.

50. Do they have any rivals or enemies?

YES AND YES, TOO MANY. his biggest rivals would be vanellope (especially in terms of racing) and azura, and he has so many enemies that i can’t count them all on my fingers.

51. What is the character’s sexual orientation? Where do they fall on the Kinsey scale?

turbo identifies as straight as a ruler, typically attracted to female-identifying people. i’d say he’d fall as a zero or a one on the scale.

52. How do they feel about sex? How important is it to them?

oh boy.

NSFW WARNING?

sex is a game to him. he has no feelings and no emotions during it other than pure lust. he wants sex with no strings attached, and just because he sleeps with you doesn’t mean he gives a single fuck about you--and he’s sure to let you know about that. he sees it as a “conquest” (ew), something to fuel his ego and his drive for it, just to make him feel good. it’s important in the realms of his ego and his desires, but nothing more.

53. What are their turn-ons? Turn-offs? Weird bedroom habits?

TURBO’S KINKS/TURN ONS ARE NASTY AND THIS CHARACTER SHEET DOESN’T DESERVE THEM. honestly if you really want to know i can put them in a separate post but they’re pretty gross. it’s nothing outlandish and wild, but it’s .... turbo.

his turn offs are simple enough. romance during sex turns him off hard during flings, as well as any mentions of commitment. an attitude (and not the kind he likes, more so a whiny attitude/someone who complains too much) turns him off pretty bad, too.

it’s turbo. everything he does in the bedroom is weird.

Beliefs

54. Do you know your character’s astrological (zodiac of choice) sign? How well do their fit type?

yes! he’s a scorpio and he’s a pretty textbook one at that, fitting a lot of the negative traits (possessive, resentful, aggressive, jealous, manipulative, etc.) and the positive traits (charismatic, ambitious, intense, cunning, competitive, etc.) to a T.

55. Is this character religious, spiritual, both, or neither? How important are these elements in their life?

neither. religion is not important to him at all, often taking whatever power (eg, Pong)’s name in vain a lot of the time and belittling Programmers (seeing as some characters view them as God). he isn’t fond of it, going as far as to even mock more religious sprites (i recall him once rolling his eyes and making fun of a Felix for it), probably because he doesn’t like the idea of anything being ���above’ him.

56. Does this character have a personal code of morals or ethics? If so, how did that begin? What would it take to compromise it?

kind of? at the canon point i tend to take him from, he sort of sits on a slippery moral slope. he can do some fucked up things at times, but he has his limits -- for instance, murder is kind of up there. for one thing, his Hero Coding exists to at least give him a kick in the pants to do something morally decent, much to his chagrin and hatred of it.

57. How do they regard beliefs that differ from theirs? Are they tolerant, intolerant, curious, indifferent?

it depends? i’d think he’d definitely scoff about how people are ‘wrong’, but he’s indifferent about it unless one is vocal about some opposing view: that’s where he becomes more intolerant, typically mocking them at most. otherwise, if it doesn’t nvolve him? he doesn’t give two fucks.

58. What prejudices do they hold? Are they irrational or do they have a good reason for them?

oof. he’s definitely prejudiced against other racing games for sure, especially if they’re anything like roadblasters, have a higher pixelation count, or just ... exist. he thinks they’re all beneath him and not as good as turbo time, and he’s extremely vocal in terms of trash talking, insisting how his game is better than theirs will ever be, how he can outrace them, etc. all that good stuff.

i would say like a good chunk of other characters in the film, he has a slight prejudice against villain characters, with him technically being a ‘hero.’ it’s more so just him poking fun and mocking them, with things like, ‘bad guys don’t win medals’ and things of that nature.

Daily Life

59. What is the character’s financial situation? Are they rich, poor, comfortable, in debt?

well, he’s a video game character so he doesn’t really earn money, unless you either count quarter income or high scores on consoles as money? in a more realistic scenario, he’s well off, as professional racers tend to earn millions/billions.

60. What is their social status? Has this changed over time, and if so, how has the change affected them?

this would be more applicable to a human turbo (who went from low class to middle/upper middle) but if i had to pick for his game verse, he’d be middle/upper middle.

61. Where do they live? House, apartment, trailer? Are their home their castle or just a place to crash? What condition is it in? Do they share it with others?

A WHITE TRASH TRAILER. that’s right. he loves that thing and he wouldn’t live anywhere else: it definitely looks dingy and trashy, but he spruces it up on the inside and decks it out with too much racing stuff to possibly bear. he doesn’t share too well (when does he ever?) and will let friends or flings come over, but he doesn’t like anyone overstaying their welcome.

62. Besides the basic necessities, what do they spend their money on?

car related things are a biggie. you can catch him picking up tools, car parts, oil, car magazines, what have you. it’s his life, and he loves sprucing up and tinkering with his kart. beyond that, i don’t think he would spend on too much besides drinks at Tapper’s, takeout food, trashy 80′s stuff like music and movies, and cigarettes. he’s pretty handy with cash, at least.

63. What do they do for a living? Are they good at it? Do they enjoy it, or would they rather be doing something else?

teeechnically being the star of his video game is his job, but racing is his profession. he loves it more than anything, he wouldn’t change it if given the oppurtunity, and without it, the guy would snap. he needs to race.

64. What are their interests or hobbies? How do they spend their free time?

as far as hobbies go, racing is his biggest hobby. he loves to race off of work hours and even do his tracks alone if he wants to remain in top shape. he also enjoys tinkering and sprucing up his car--but that was a given. other hobbies include social drinking, playing pranks on others (that’s a hobby, okay) and a little gamejumping and causing trouble. he likes going into games and screwing with things, whether that be street racing, graffiti, what have you. he’s a little punk.

65. What are their eating habits? Do they skip meals, eat out, drink alcohol, avoid certain foods?

he’s kind of a glutton and loves to eat.. even if he’s had 3 meals, he loves to snack and nibble on things. it’s seldom that he skips a meal: the only times i can see it s if he was forced to by the demands of a situation or out of stress, which would roll into him whining and complaining because he’s hungry. he loves to eat out (the man cannot cook for his life, he microwaves things at best) as it’s a social thing and all he eats is junk food. particularly american junk food. he doesn’t touch healthy stuff all too much (you won’t see him eating a salad, for example) and he avoids bitter things like the plague. like many other sprites, he obviously indulges in the routinely booze at tapper’s.

[gamerzcourt]

Tom Clancy's The Division 2 Early Review ImpressionsTom Clancy's The Division 2 Early Review Impressionsvideo games

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Tom Clancy's The Division 2 Early Review ImpressionsTom Clancy's The Division 2 Early Review Impressionsvideo games

Tom Clancy’s The Division 2 is currently available to play for those who purchased the Gold and Ultimate editions of the game. Because of the online nature of the game, GameSpot’s access privileges to The Division 2 are the same as those who have those editions, so we’re playing and experiencing concurrently to those players.

Below you’ll find some day-one impressions from me, who’ll be writing the final review. I plan to have a scored review-in-progress once I’ve completed the campaign and a final review once I’ve seen a substantial amount of what The Division 2 has to offer with its endgame content, including specializations, invaded missions, PvP, and the Dark Zones. We appreciate your patience as we dig deep into this huge game.

I’ve only been to Washington DC once in my life, and it was a short visit. I spent the better part of the day wandering the National Mall before calling it a night and moving on the next day. I’ve now spent about the same amount of time in Massive Entertainment’s version of Washington DC, spending most of the first full day of The Division 2’s life getting my bearings on the world and steadily plugging away at the game’s campaign and side activities. But in both cases, my feelings about the place is the same: I really want to spend more time there.

The Division 2 goes like this: Months after the events of the first Division, chaos and disorder still plague what is left of the US, especially in the nation’s capital. Important personnel and agencies have withdrawn as the city is upturned by armed groups with malicious intent, while remaining civilians band together and struggle to survive and establish self-sufficiency. As a secret sleeper agent of the Strategic Homeland Division, you’ve been tasked with aiding Washington’s civilian militia to regain a hold on law, order, and society.

It’s all a bit overwhelming at first, even for someone who played a lot of The Division. Several smaller things have been added to the sequel, which translates to a barrage of mission and tutorial popups for the first few hours. It’s also tough to initially get your head around the convoluted UI. But once you get a handle on the flow of progression, it doesn’t take long to get completely sucked in.

What strikes me most about The Division 2 is how much its world feels like a thoroughly cohesive, living place. Settlements, the hubs where you craft, shop, and track your progression, are believably buzzing with activity. After establishing your own base of operations at the White House, the first settlement you unlock is a multi-leveled community built around the rooftop of Washington’s National Theatre and its surrounding buildings. At first, it’s a little frustrating trying to make your way around it and track down the services you need–there’s a lot of seemingly unimportant spaces you have to traverse. But those spaces go a long way in pushing this settlement into seeming like something that could feasibly work in real life, player convenience be damned. There are dedicated areas for the logistics of the settlement, NPCs seemingly doing a variety of chores, and generally a messy, makeshift nature to it all that feels genuinely thrown together and at risk of falling into disarray at the slightest breeze. It’s charming.

After completing roughly a third of the story missions, the plot of the game so far seems to be a relatively straightforward goal of increasing the militia’s capacity to fight back against aggressors by rescuing key personnel and property. You’ll do this by going into various Washington landmarks and gunning down a lot of people in main and side missions, helping individuals out in open-world activities, and gathering resources, all of which contribute to various settlement “projects” aimed at upgrading civilian operations.

Mechanically, this means you can craft better gear and get access to more kinds of vendors, but narratively, it means you get to see civilian settlements like the theatre gradually grow and become more livable, vibrant places. This could be in the form of more lights at night so it’s not so gloomy. The empty spaces might turn into gardens and rec areas where you can see people growing and serving food for others. The kids running around might get a dedicated place to play board and video games (they really love For Honor, apparently), all because you went out into the world, scavenged a bunch of materials, and brought them back for this specific purpose. The majority of these small improvements are ultimately superficial and non-functional, but the focus on them is a big factor in your own personal sense of growth, progress, and motivation.

Out in the open world, enemy gangs can be found wandering the streets, getting into scrapes, looting places, and generally trying to survive in their own right. Friendly NPC patrols also roam the streets and have real objectives of their own, which you can follow and assist them in. They’re optional vectors to help you engage in the world, but their ability to act of their own accord helps make the world intriguing.

The Division 2 also seamlessly integrates mission areas in the open-world map, regularly requiring you to traverse the streets to get to them. The game typically dumps a ton of missions on you at one time, encouraging you to spend more time in the world and return to settlements only when you’ve achieved a significant amount. Safe havens, the city streets, and the game’s activities are contiguous, which emphasizes the feeling of a sprawling world and a prolonged passage of time, and makes returning to settlements all the more pleasant. The Washington DC of The Division 2 feels like a very material one so far, one that I’m eager to explore.

Of course, The Division 2 isn’t just about building communities, it’s a game about shooting a lot of people with a lot of different guns. The game’s combat continues to revolve around RPG-style traits and damage numbers when calculating the result of a bullet hitting an enemy, but it’s notable that the time to take down a human enemy doesn’t feel as far-fetched as it did in the original Division. It can still take a couple of headshots to take down an unarmored opponent, but unless I’m using a weapon whose power level is unsuitable to the mission, enemies don’t feel like they can withstand an unreasonable amount of damage so far.

Instead, The Division 2 creates more difficult challenges with more elaborately armored opponents. There are certain enemy types who are visibly more protected than most, and these archetypes can definitely soak up a lot of damage. But there are new combat options implemented to help you deal with them, which demand that you be strategic: Focusing fire on a particular segment of an enemy’s armor will eventually break it, opening up a weak spot for higher levels of damage. That means even if you’re up against a heavily protected elite enemy, you can crack open their helmet with some diligence, and they can then go down with a few well-placed headshots.

Even after roughly ten hours, I’m still enjoying going up against the variety of enemy archetypes, which, combined with The Division’s focus on relentless gunfire and cover-based shooting, makes the game’s conflicts tense. There are a good mix of opponents to really keep you focused on what’s happening–each faction has soldiers dedicated to rushing your position, keeping you suppressed with sniper fire and flushing you out of cover, among other things. Soldiers will frequently attempt to flank you while your attention is diverted, and you can do the same to them.

Combat skills also add a fantastic vector of strategy to things–there are eight major skills in total, each with a few interesting variants in function and behavior. You’ll eventually be able to unlock everything, so experimentation and being flexible enough to balance your loadouts between skills and the types of guns you’re carrying is encouraged. As to the guns themselves, I’ve already come across an impressive variety of different weapons with distinct feels in the way they handle. I typically have a favored style of character build, but I’m encouraged to try out new weapons and skills as I come across them, and I think about how they might be used in tandem with everything else.

“Encouraging” is generally how I feel about The Division 2 at this point in time. It’s got a fantastic sense of place and progression, and the combat scenarios and skills continue to be interesting. There’s a lot of love, especially among the minor improvements–the small design decisions that make the act of finding and equipping loot so snappy and convenient, or the smart integration of per-mission multiplayer matchmaking that even lets you call upon other players in the middle of a mission. I haven’t personally hit any server issues or major bugs, just some humorous oddities, like a floating iPad entertaining two excited children.

But it’s only been a day, and I’ve only played for about ten hours. I’ve finished 27% of the primary missions and my character is level 12 out of a possible 30. A lot of my observations here might not be particularly groundbreaking if you spent a large amount of time with the original The Division or The Division 2 beta, but there’s still a lot of the campaign left to see, and an allegedly enormous endgame. It’s important that I take the time to get to that point and see everything for myself, and I’m eager to see whether The Division 2 will still have the chops to keep me hooked when I hit the level cap and stop having a story to chase. Back to sightseeing, for now.

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The Division 2 Early Review ImpressionsThe Division 2 Early Review Impressionsvideo games

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The Division 2 Early Review ImpressionsThe Division 2 Early Review Impressionsvideo games

Tom Clancy’s The Division 2 is currently available to play for those who purchased the Gold and Ultimate editions of the game. Because of the online nature of the game, GameSpot’s access privileges to The Division 2 are the same as those who have those editions, so we’re playing and experiencing concurrently to those players. All players will receive access to the game by Friday, March 15.

Below you’ll find some day-one impressions from me, who’ll be writing the final review. I plan to have a scored review-in-progress once I’ve completed the campaign and a final review once I’ve seen a substantial amount of what The Division 2 has to offer with its endgame content, including specializations, invaded missions, PvP, and the Dark Zones. We appreciate your patience as we dig deep into this huge game.

I’ve only been to Washington DC once in my life, and it was a short visit. I spent the better part of the day wandering the National Mall before calling it a night and moving on the next day. I’ve now spent about the same amount of time in Massive Entertainment’s version of Washington DC, spending most of the first full day of The Division 2’s life getting my bearings on the world and steadily plugging away at the game’s campaign and side activities. But in both cases, my feelings about the place is the same: I really want to spend more time there.

The Division 2 goes like this: Months after the events of the first Division, chaos and disorder still plague what is left of the US, especially in the nation’s capital. Important personnel and agencies have withdrawn as the city is upturned by armed groups with malicious intent, while remaining civilians band together and struggle to survive and establish self-sufficiency. As a secret sleeper agent of the Strategic Homeland Division, you’ve been tasked with aiding Washington’s civilian militia to regain a hold on law, order, and society.

It’s all a bit overwhelming at first, even for someone who played a lot of The Division. Several smaller things have been added to the sequel, which translates to a barrage of mission and tutorial popups for the first few hours. It’s also tough to initially get your head around the convoluted UI. But once you get a handle on the flow of progression, it doesn’t take long to get completely sucked in.

What strikes me most about The Division 2 is how much its world feels like a thoroughly cohesive, living place. Settlements, the hubs where you craft, shop, and track your progression, are believably buzzing with activity. After establishing your own base of operations at the White House, the first settlement you unlock is a multi-leveled community built around the rooftop of Washington’s National Theatre and its surrounding buildings. At first, it’s a little frustrating trying to make your way around it and track down the services you need–there’s a lot of seemingly unimportant spaces you have to traverse. But those spaces go a long way in pushing this settlement into seeming like something that could feasibly work in real life, player convenience be damned. There are dedicated areas for the logistics of the settlement, NPCs seemingly doing a variety of chores, and generally a messy, makeshift nature to it all that feels genuinely thrown together and at risk of falling into disarray at the slightest breeze. It’s charming.

After completing roughly a third of the story missions, the plot of the game so far seems to be a relatively straightforward goal of increasing the militia’s capacity to fight back against aggressors by rescuing key personnel and property. You’ll do this by going into various Washington landmarks and gunning down a lot of people in main and side missions, helping individuals out in open-world activities, and gathering resources, all of which contribute to various settlement “projects” aimed at upgrading civilian operations.

Mechanically, this means you can craft better gear and get access to more kinds of vendors, but narratively, it means you get to see civilian settlements like the theatre gradually grow and become more livable, vibrant places. This could be in the form of more lights at night so it’s not so gloomy. The empty spaces might turn into gardens and rec areas where you can see people growing and serving food for others. The kids running around might get a dedicated place to play board and video games (they really love For Honor, apparently), all because you went out into the world, scavenged a bunch of materials, and brought them back for this specific purpose. The majority of these small improvements are ultimately superficial and non-functional, but the focus on them is a big factor in your own personal sense of growth, progress, and motivation.

Out in the open world, enemy gangs can be found wandering the streets, getting into scrapes, looting places, and generally trying to survive in their own right. Friendly NPC patrols also roam the streets and have real objectives of their own, which you can follow and assist them in. They’re optional vectors to help you engage in the world, but their ability to act of their own accord helps make the world intriguing.

The Division 2 also seamlessly integrates mission areas in the open-world map, regularly requiring you to traverse the streets to get to them. The game typically dumps a ton of missions on you at one time, encouraging you to spend more time in the world and return to settlements only when you’ve achieved a significant amount. Safe havens, the city streets, and the game’s activities are contiguous, which emphasizes the feeling of a sprawling world and a prolonged passage of time, and makes returning to settlements all the more pleasant. The Washington DC of The Division 2 feels like a very material one so far, one that I’m eager to explore.

Of course, The Division 2 isn’t just about building communities, it’s a game about shooting a lot of people with a lot of different guns. The game’s combat continues to revolve around RPG-style traits and damage numbers when calculating the result of a bullet hitting an enemy, but it’s notable that the time to take down a human enemy doesn’t feel as far-fetched as it did in the original Division. It can still take a couple of headshots to take down an unarmored opponent, but unless I’m using a weapon whose power level is unsuitable to the mission, enemies don’t feel like they can withstand an unreasonable amount of damage so far.

Instead, The Division 2 creates more difficult challenges with more elaborately armored opponents. There are certain enemy types who are visibly more protected than most, and these archetypes can definitely soak up a lot of damage. But there are new combat options implemented to help you deal with them, which demand that you be strategic: Focusing fire on a particular segment of an enemy’s armor will eventually break it, opening up a weak spot for higher levels of damage. That means even if you’re up against a heavily protected elite enemy, you can crack open their helmet with some diligence, and they can then go down with a few well-placed headshots.

Even after roughly ten hours, I’m still enjoying going up against the variety of enemy archetypes, which, combined with The Division’s focus on relentless gunfire and cover-based shooting, makes the game’s conflicts tense. There are a good mix of opponents to really keep you focused on what’s happening–each faction has soldiers dedicated to rushing your position, keeping you suppressed with sniper fire and flushing you out of cover, among other things. Soldiers will frequently attempt to flank you while your attention is diverted, and you can do the same to them.

Combat skills also add a fantastic vector of strategy to things–there are eight major skills in total, each with a few interesting variants in function and behavior. You’ll eventually be able to unlock everything, so experimentation and being flexible enough to balance your loadouts between skills and the types of guns you’re carrying is encouraged. As to the guns themselves, I’ve already come across an impressive variety of different weapons with distinct feels in the way they handle. I typically have a favored style of character build, but I’m encouraged to try out new weapons and skills as I come across them, and I think about how they might be used in tandem with everything else.

“Encouraging” is generally how I feel about The Division 2 at this point in time. It’s got a fantastic sense of place and progression, and the combat scenarios and skills continue to be interesting. There’s a lot of love, especially among the minor improvements–the small design decisions that make the act of finding and equipping loot so snappy and convenient, or the smart integration of per-mission multiplayer matchmaking that even lets you call upon other players in the middle of a mission. I haven’t personally hit any server issues or major bugs, just some humorous oddities, like a floating iPad entertaining two excited children.

But it’s only been a day, and I’ve only played for about ten hours. I’ve finished 27% of the primary missions and my character is level 12 out of a possible 30. A lot of my observations here might not be particularly groundbreaking if you spent a large amount of time with the original The Division or The Division 2 beta, but there’s still a lot of the campaign left to see, and an allegedly enormous endgame. It’s important that I take the time to get to that point and see everything for myself, and I’m eager to see whether The Division 2 will still have the chops to keep me hooked when I hit the level cap and stop having a story to chase. Back to sightseeing, for now.

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