#and I feel like there is at least one every episode

[wendichester]

Hello! If requests are still open by the time you get to this, could you do something where it’s like season 15 episode 13 and Huntercorp! Sam and Dean are in San and Dean og universe and Sam or Dean’s (your choice) love, the reader, gets home and their alternate is all over them bc the reader from their world died before they got out of there, if that makes sense? Please and thank you!!

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. here,

summary. different realities mix and dean has a hard time seeing you again.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 560

notes. i haven't reached season 15 yet but i did read a bit about the episode to write this and hopefully it makes sense??? thanks for requesting, regardless 🩷

You step through the door of the bunker, brushing off the late-night chill. The hunt had gone long, but you made it back in one piece. Just another day in the life, right?

“Hey, I’m home!” you call out, your voice echoing off the stone walls.

What you’re not expecting is to be tackled into a hug so tight it nearly knocks the breath out of you.

“Whoa! Dean?”

But it’s not your Dean—at least, not entirely. His flannel feels the same, his scent a mix of leather and whiskey that you’d know anywhere. But there’s something different in his touch, in the way he buries his face in your hair like he’s trying to memorize you.

“Dean, are you okay?” you ask, your voice softening as you pull back to look at him.

And then you see it. The glassiness in his eyes, the emotion he’s not even trying to hide. His jaw is tight, like he’s barely holding it together.

“You’re here,” he whispers, his voice thick with something raw and unnameable. “You’re really here.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”

But before he can answer, a second voice cuts in.

“Dean, let her breathe.”

You glance up and freeze. Standing in the doorway is your Dean, the one you know—the one who isn’t looking at you with desperation but with something closer to dread.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, your gaze darting between the two of them.

HunterCorp Dean steps back reluctantly, his hands lingering at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do without you in his arms.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” he asks, his voice quiet but pointed, directed at your Dean.

“She doesn’t need to know,” your Dean snaps, stepping closer to you as if shielding you from his alternate self.

HunterCorp Dean laughs bitterly. “That’s rich, coming from you. You think she wouldn’t want to know what she meant to me? What she meant to him?”

You take a step back, your mind spinning. “Okay, someone needs to start making sense right now.”

HunterCorp Dean looks at you, and it feels like he’s looking straight into your soul. “In my world... you didn’t make it out. You died before we could get out of that place. And every day since, I’ve wondered if I could’ve saved you.”

His words hit you like a truck, and your chest tightens. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “Just... let me look at you. Just for a little while.”

Your Dean stiffens, his hand brushing yours like a silent claim. “That’s enough. She’s not your her.”

“I know,” HunterCorp Dean replies, his voice hollow. “But for a second, it felt like she was.”

The air feels heavy, loaded with everything unsaid. You reach for your Dean’s hand, squeezing it tightly. He squeezes back, grounding you.

HunterCorp Dean takes one last, long look at you before nodding and turning away. “Take care of her,” he says over his shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your Dean doesn’t respond, but his grip on your hand says everything.

And as the door closes behind his alternate self, you feel the weight of what could have been—and the fragility of what is—settle in your chest.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie

[artbyblastweave]

I recall a lot of the cartoons I grew up with in the early to mid ought's being pointedly (and hilariously) amoral and meanspirited, in a way that in retrospect feels like a deliberate "get fucking real" backhand against the "lesson at the end of every episode" stereotype of cartoons of the 80s. The Cartoon Cartoons had a lot of this going on (Billy and Mandy and Ed Edd and Eddy being standouts on that front.) Adventure Time feels like it was riding the very back end of that impulse, through a lens that trended more absurdist than mean- constant nihilistic and moral grotesqueries adjacent to the protagonists but comparatively little that they're directly on the hook for, within realistic parameters for a believably messy world. Regular Show fits in here somewhere. Gravity Falls, at points, although it swings away from full-blown amorality in the back half in obvious ways.

A lot of the contemporary tumblr tentpole darlings (2012 or so onwards) feel like they've moved away from that; not morality plays, exactly, because that implies a level of simplicity and flatness that doesn't align with how highly I think of these projects. But certainly couched within a baseline certainty that the protagonists either are straightforwardly good people whose arc is much more about how to enact their morals effectively, or they're on their way to being straightforwardly good people by the end of the story. This is a cluster containing Steven Universe, She-Ra, Kipo, Amphibia, The Owl House, My Adventures with Superman, a few others. Infinity Train, by virtue of it's premise, feels like it cutting against the grain somewhat, even though it's also clearly coming from a similar place as the rest- a shared optimism, humanism and resistance to black-and-white moral condemnation of any of it's characters. (Maybe one really irredeemable guy, as a treat.)

This obviously isn't any kind of comprehensive or airtight analysis- off the top of my head, I'm focusing on the tone of the cartoon-cartoons to the exclusion of the slew of fairly morally-uncomplicated action adventure cartoons that were airing at the same time like ATLA or the DCAU; and I'm focusing on the contemporary cartoons that tumblr likes over, say, Teen Titans Go or anything in the adult animation space. But under the admittedly uncertain assumption that we have any kind of animation industry at all in a few years, I'm curious to see whether there'll be any kind of visible swing against the ethos of stuff like Steven Universe and The Owl House. Stuff that trends meaner, trends cynical. I kind of hope so. I think I've got at least a couple pitches that could ride that wave.

[generalluxun]

A couple of things to add back and forth on things:

Sexualization is a broad and unfortunate category. The whos, hows, and whys do matter to a degree.

Totally Spies had blatant sexualization and outright fetish fuel all throughout it. The mitigating factor was the teens were older(at least I think so? 16-18ish? Vaguely?) the entire tone was a farcical lampooning of 'Charlie's Angels' and a lot of it was 'If you know you know' kind of wink and nod stuff. It was never casual, and (to me) always felt like it was meant to get belly laughs, not arrousal. (Example:Putting your heroines in a soapy bubble wrestling situation, but the 'camera' never highlights any of their features in an enhanced way)

ML's sexualization is not lampshaded, not as prevalent, but that kind of highlights it. Every time it's there it feels like a *choice* not an homage to some larger motif.

My 'wakeup call' to it was a music video someone did that had several shots of Ladybug walking away from camera repeated in it. In every shot LB's backside was very much 'in frame' and center stage. There was no *reason* for it to be. A waist shot would have worked just fine, but the animators chose to animate it.

That is always important to remember. There are no incidental things in animation. There's no 'this was in the shot and it is the only shot we have.' There is no 'oh the light just fell that way'. There is no 'we had to put the camera here due to physical constraints'.

What they put in, they chose to put in.

It reminds me of the Startrain episode. The episode only where Ladybug had 'jiggle physics' which I will admit I missed when I watched it. There was a stink, and it was the last episode that particular animation studio worked on, which is good I suppose.

Here's the thing: Why did the company feel comfortable putting it there to begin with? What kind of workplace culture exists on the back end to foster that sort of thing? I have no proof of anything but we've all seen enough in the broader industry to ask questions.

Now to provide a defense of one thing: The skintight costumes. Ladybug's buttcrack and Rena's missing ribs not withstanding, it's just easier to animate 'solid' objects in 3D. Anything loose, anything that doesn't conform is a big increase in work/cost, if the software can even handle it. Why does Miss Hound's OG outfit look like a recolor of her normal clothes? Because it probably is.

That still doesn't mean you need to create detailed backside curvature for your female lead though (See the movie for an example of not doing it)

Tl;dr: Is it sexualized? Not in a way that I think is overt or consistent enough harmful to children. However if you get 'creepy uncle' vibes from it now and then I would not blame you one bit.

Is it true that Miraculous often sexualizes its characters? Because I see other people say this and want to know if it’s correct

I have not picked up on anything like that in Miraculous, but I'm ace, so sexualization has to be pretty overt for me to notice it on my own. It's entirely possible that there's something subtle that I'm missing. Until someone gives me specific examples, my stance is that this is incorrect. It's not an element that even crosses my mind when it comes to the reasons why I would discourage adults from introducing this show to kids. I am concerned about the quality of the romance between the leads, but that concern comes from a psychological standpoint about modeling what healthy relationships should look like. The love square is way too teen drama for a family show! However, from a purely physical standpoint, it's appropriate for all ages.

[evertidings]

heya kristi, may i have some advice? i'm finding myself stuck at a wall as i'm attempting to make my first ever if and it's intimidating to say the least ;; while i feel so so inspired by wts and other ifs, on the other hand i strangely feel pressured?? to make something worthwhile? creating a story takes time and it's a long investment but i can't help but want to rush myself into putting something out there quickly... how do you pace yourself?

Ah, this is a late response so I'm not sure if you need this anymore, but reading this really resonated with me so I'm going to reply anyway.

Comparing yourself to others will always be a rabbit hole you can't escape. You might look at me and think I've done pretty well for myself, but I also have days where I feel inadequate. I'm aware that I'm not as fast of a writer as some authors and it kills me every day. Even worse is when I watch an episode of a TV show and I find myself thinking: "Oh, you should be writing right now," even though I have every right to wind down and have other hobbies. At the end of the day, you gotta realize that this is all in your head. No one is pressuring you to be faster or to do things you don't want to do—those are just your personal demons.

As long as you want to write this, I genuinely believe the pieces will fall into place from there, success and all. I feel like it becomes quite clear to your audience that your heart isn't in it, which tends to translate negatively. Why would I want to read a work that even the author doesn't care about, you know? You can tell when an author is passionate about their work and that energy is infectious. As long as you maintain your spark, that's all that really matters. In other words, if the story you're writing means something to you, it'll mean something to someone else.

In terms of pacing yourself, just go at a speed that feels right for you. Give yourself a word-count goal to hit every day or week, but don't burn yourself out. Make sure you're only writing when you want to. Hope for success but don't go into things with that as your only goal. Make a blog for your IF, talk about your work and get people excited, but be smart with your marketing and don't promote a demo that has 2 words to its name. I always tell people that a demo should come out within the first 1-2 months of first posting about it—that way, you don't lose interest but you still have enough time to build up hype.

At the end of the day, everyone works differently. I'm still figuring out how to manage things myself, nearly 4 years into doing this. Take advice that you know will work for you and shape it into something that's your own.

I know I went on a bit of a tangent there, but I hope this was helpful to either you, anon, or anyone else reading this with a similar question. All my love <3

[stormisamoth]

yapping about c3e120 (spoilers)

I know I say it every week but I just can't get over how fucking epic these maps look

suddenly hit with the desire to draw ashton third wheeling imodna movie date

the look of relief on Robbie's face after orym escapes being eaten 🥰

dorian embracing the fact that he's royalty and a badass despite how afraid and insecure he feels I'm so proud of my boy

holy shit a seventhnintheighth level spell

over 170 damage is actually insane

oh fuck fearne is unconscious

oh fuck nat 1 on the death save oh fuck

imogen convincing braius to heal fearne by showing him her titty. close enough welcome back vex and scanlan.

aw that laudna painting is gorgeous

oh fuck both dorian and braius down

LIAM DONT SAY THAT DONT START BEING ALL IM GLAD WE HAD A RELATIONSHIP BEFORE THE END HES NOT GONNA DIE DONT MAKE ME CRY

fuck now Imogen's down

fuck I think this is the roughest final fight they've had, like 3 down and almost all their healers gone. like I think fearne is the only one with healing left

man this fight is STRESSFUL I feel like at least one of them isn't coming out alive

fuck the amount of fear orym is probably feeling at potentially losing another partner to this fight

NOT HIS CAL TO HEAL UP DORIAN MIRORING HIS SENDING TO REUNITE WITH HIM AFTER FCG DIED I AM CRYING

FUCK AND NOW ORYM IS DOWN

fuck that is half the party down holy shit

STRESSED

not fearne rolling a 1 again on the death saves

genuinely this could be a tpk and I will cry

Travis and Laura such a beautiful relationship

FUCK YEAH METEOR SWARM

Abubakar coming in clutch

oh shit they gonna get smote

I love how bitchy the hells are in face of authority I love it so much

fuck that was such an insane episode

[scoobydoodean]

also brett matthews was Crazy for not only implying assault can turn you gay but then writing dean hurting his stepson after being turned into a vampire (gay) like. brett matthews your homophobia is unmatched

like yeah the fans who insist the monsters represent gay people have a point but it's literally this singular episode and it's done in a way that is so deeply homophobic it's crazy

sorry if that last ask was too much but it drives me insane whenever people ignore the insane amount of homophobia in twi-hard.

Okay so here's the thing. I'm not a particular fan of the tone of Brett Matthews episodes. I don't mind exploring non-consensual themes but I think he has a very odd fixation on them. At least in "Live Free Or Twi-Hard", this serves a purpose to the larger storyline surrounding soulless Sam and what he's willing to do, as well as the alpha monsters and how the alpha vampire is building an army. It even gives us some insight into Samuel's moral framework and his perception of Sam and Dean. It also unburies memories of some of Dean’s past experiences being used as bait by his family (or using sex to get them information). In "Caged Heat", Matthews repeated references to non-consensual sexual acts just feel like edgy set dressing for the most part.

The thing is that I also don't think Brett Matthews means to imply anywhere in "Live Free Or Twi-Hard" that being assaulted makes you gay or that Dean's gayness then harms Ben/the family. I think I understand how one can build that reading out of the episode, but I do not ultimately accept that reading. I also don't think monstrosity or vampirism is inherently queer. I do not accept that premise. Monstrosity in general or vampirism in particular certainly can represent queerness, and vampirism has been used as a metaphor for queerness in media many times, but vampirism doesn't inherently represent queerness. If it did, then almost every piece of media about vampires ever made would arguably be sowing the same uncomfortable homophobic narratives because vampirism has been connected with sexual assault from Dracula onward, and vampires in stories are almost always people who were turned against their will at some point in their life or have turned others.

I do not think any kind of monster in Supernatural has to and always represents queerness anymore than I think Sam having powers/feeling lonely makes his storyline inherently queer (which I don't). I understand that there are at least a couple of metas connecting Dean's experience in this episode to queerness not just because it involves vampires but because it also leads to Lisa and Dean's breakup and because Boris also clearly has a sexual interest in Dean, but while I respect these interpretations (as well as the choice to read vampirism as a metaphor for queerness in the episode) I don't personally find these metas that alluring (at least what I have seen of them). This has partly to do with (1) me having a VERY different take on Dean and Lisa than most of spnblr (I don’t dismiss their relationship as “comphet” for example) and (2) having a different take on Dean's relationship to his sexuality up to this point in the series than a lot of people, but it also has to do with (3) me disliking how this reading of 6.05 leads to uncomfortable linkages between queerness and rape that do not spark joy for me and that I do not think deserve to be treated as a forgone conclusion.

Some of the things I have read before from fans regarding this episode feel a little too close to saying "Dean was attacked by a bisexual man who wanted to fuck him and that means Dean is queer" which I do not find logical and which I think aligns with some pretty harmful ideologies, and if fans choose to believe that Matthews intentionally connects the story with those ideologies (either because he himself believes them or thinks Dean does) that's their prerogative, but I don't think it means when other fans reject that reading or fail to absorb it, that they're ignoring some kind of interpretive forgone conclusion about the "meaning" of the episode or what Dean being turned must represent. This is all media analysis. It is ultimately subjective. There are different takes and perspectives here. I don't think there's an inherently right and correct reading and I do not believe this is the only reading of the episode, and while I'm happy to see people play in the sandbox writing whatever metas they'd like about it, and I think one can build up a lot of support as desired, and there's certainly commentary one can make about this episode being homophobic/biphobic regardless, I don't personally think what Brett Matthews wanted me to get out of this is that being assaulted makes you gay and ruins families.

I do think this episode has a lot to say about Dean's relationship to his body and how it has been objectified and used because he has been treated as a weapon or a tool for almost his entire life, and how Dean has internalized that. I do think this episode has a lot to say about internalizing blame as a victim of a variety of non-consensual experiences—the fear that the things that have been done to you throughout your life have "sullied" you and made you a danger who needs to be put down/who will harm the people you love. This episode has a lot to say about Dean's overactive sense of responsibility and guilt, his tendency to internalize blame for things he can't control, and his failure to see that he was a victim in many MANY situations where he was absolutely victimized. From my perspective, vampirism in this episode serves as a metaphor for all of Dean's trauma (from hell, from being raised as a hunter and never having any other choices, from all the people he's lost, from a variety of non-consensual experiences, etc) and how he internalizes the effects of that trauma on himself psychologically as something that has turned him into a monster who cannot grasp happiness or safety and instead will ruin everyone else's if he tries. It is devastatingly tragic and painful to watch. This is also why I happen to be very uncomfortable with a lot of deanlisa takes that criticize Lisa for (in usually nicer words but nontheless) allowing a filthy animal like Dean into her home and how she should have known he was disgusting damaged goods.

[classicintp]

This is going to be a long read, a thank you letter to @thelastflyingfuck . no common triggers inside that I'm aware of.

I posted the initial post five and half years ago after a 6 month period of grief following my wife basically emotionally breaking up with me. I am not totally blameless, but I have always gone so far out of my way for her that 6 months later I still felt like I didn't deserve it. It's always difficult to deal with the feeling that you're being treated poorly by someone you like or love, but it was so much worse knowing that she wasn't intentionally trying to do that. She isn't a bad person, she's never schemed against me, and what she was doing was a really healthy and good thing that ultimately helped dig her out of the worst trenches of clinical depression and I think I knew that.

When I posted this, that I did not feel very loved, I couldn't find the gall to ask my few friends for emotional support. I felt so desperate for someone to just tell me they appreciated me, and I couldn't bring myself to bother any of them with it even though I knew so clearly that they would absolutely want me to say something. If I asked them, at the drop of a hat my friends would shower me with genuine appreciation because of how much they do appreciate me against how infrequently I want their expression and how unabashedly direct I am when I want it. It was the exact situation they trust I would say something about and I just couldn't. I don't know if it's because it was a deeper kind of hurt because it was my wife or if I was angry and resentful at her and ashamed because I personally knew she wasn't doing it on purpose. She wasn't being abusive, she was trying to survive and I knew it and I resented her anyway even if I was keeping it to myself.

I posted that I didn't feel very loved because I thought if I admitted it out loud where people could hear or read I could maybe take the next step tomorrow and tell one of my friends afterwards. By posting it I knew I would maybe get some mutuals asking if I wanted to talk, I really didn't hope for or expect anyone to go out of their way to give a poignant response to help me feel better, I just wanted to make myself more comfortable with asking my offline peers for the same support I offer to them, and instead I got this reply. I don't know if you feel like it wasn't much but I needed it, it was more than enough to pull me out of it that night, and every few weeks I would read it again to help prevent episodes of paralyzing grief (as it turns out, I was actually having full blown silent panic attacks, which I'd never heard of because I am not someone who has panic attacks). By the beginning of February, just before COVID started getting recognized, I talked to my doctor and started taking a mood stabilizer (for other reasons too), and I have been fine since. 

I would like to think that if you hadn't sent your reply I still would have eventually talked to my doctor and gotten the medication I needed, but I do know that at the very very least it prevented potentially 3 months of panic attacks, and at most it convinced me to seek professional help that I may not have sought out otherwise. You dared offer kindness to a stranger, sometimes nothing comes of it but you offered anyway, and I have appreciated it for 5 and a half years, I hope I never forget to appreciate it. Thank you again.

i do not feel very loved

[crumbs-of-the-machine]

Welp guess who's back again. Simultaneously took longer, and shorter than intended, but I've got something in the works, but have something to show for it now at least!

It's an AU that is.. yet to have a name, but the basis is that all cookies have animal features! :]

With that in mind, here's the two designs I've got so far!

(Putting them under a cut so the post isn't too long, lol)

Pure Vanilla, a sheep with warm wool, and an equally warm smile. The king of the Vanilla kingdom, he's a gentle and calm healer, and though he has incredible expertise in magic of all kinds, retains healing and protection as his specialties. He really likes his space and his privacy, despite how friendly he is.

I'm not sure about the staff I gave him, but we'll see... It still has the same functionality as his usual orchid staff, just.. a couple more flowers that are much, much smaller. His usual outfit is the one on the right, which is basically his canon outfit, but with the addition of lotsa fluff, hehe! The left is an alternative outfit inspired somewhat by the Pastel Blue costume, because I love it a lot hehehe!

Shadow Milk Blueberry Milk, an eccentric and theatrical rabbit who lives in Pure Vanilla's dreams, quite literally. His situation is somewhat of a mystery to Pure Vanilla, but he knows the rabbit is rather lonely without him. Blueberry Milk is full of jokes, excitement and energy, making every night entertaining through a handmade stageplay, or an intriguing conversation. He's incredibly intelligent despite his chipper and lax attitude, which shows clearest in deeper conversations.

His design is very inspired by the statue seen in Episode 7, though also with definite use of Shadow Milk's current design, and referencing his sprites a little, especially for colors. He might get some design changes over time, mostly adding some details perhaps? His outfit feels a little too plain for him methinks... haveta think about it I suppose :3

In Pure Vanilla's dreams, he'd made a friend unlike any other, and they ended up becoming closer and closer to each other after years and years of talking each and every night. After all, Blueberry already knew Vanilla's deepest secret, so for once, there was nothing for him to hide... which I'll get into later. ;]

I will note, some other characters and their animals have been figured out but not too many. I have most of the other ancients, and some of the other beasts though!

Dark Cacao: Moose Golden Cheese: Bird(Wow, shocker.. still haven't figured out what kind yet though, because it will be more specific than 'bird') White Lily: Mantis(Possibly Orchid Mantis) Hollyberry: I'm trying to decide between Draconic or a Bear.. hmm...

Mystic Flour: Spider Burning Spice: Lion Honestly don't know enough about the other two beasts to decide for them quite yet methinks..

Here's some more loose ideas I have for other characters:

Werewolf is going to be a wolf, obviously. Cream Ferret, Fig, Kumiho and Cream Unicorn are along the same lines for obvious reasons. Crunchy Chip will also be a wolf most likely(unless I get a better idea(unlikely)) I think Rye should be either a cow or horse I would like the faeries to be bugs, specifically along the lines of butterflies and moths The mer cookies like Crimson Coral, Sorbet Shark, Frilled Jellyfish, Squid Ink, etc. probably will mostly remain how they are, and same with the dragons. Chili Pepper might be a raccoon, or a weasel because I think it'd be funny Strawberry I think is gonna be some kind of cat. Not sure about Wizard and Gingerbrave right now though

Anyway, I'll be back later, Fish out ✌️

[green-crow]

Absolutely self indulgent post but

HTTYD characters and what TMA entities I'd assign them

(just as a disclaimer, I'm assigning them one that fits their personality, and another one that fits their fears, sort of what they'd thrive in and get pulled into to become an avatar VS what would kill/feed off of them)

Hiccup:

Personality-wise, the vast is just too good of a fit for him. Part of why Hiccup loves flying is his friendship with Toothless no doubt, but he also adores the vastness of the sky, the fact that there are literally no limits for him. He could go and on and on, and he probably would have were it not for his responsibilities in Berk and his friends later on. This boy would be seen having fun as an avatar of the vast like Fairchild, he'd have such a blast. Bonus points if he has some sort of special bond with Toothless, like Breekon and Hope. Without the one, the other crumbles. They are truly one and the same. I feel like for him to become an avatar, he'd have left Berk in the first movie when he tried to. Fly away instead of facing Hookfang in the arena, have an encounter with the vast, turn into an avatar and never look back. Now, when it comes to his own fear, I'd probably go with the buried. This boy has been on the verge of drowning a few too many times, one of them being in a relatively small space while closed off to everyone else, so he'd absolutely crumble if he got an experience similar to the cave sisters or getting thrown into the coffin. Not to mention the metaphorical spin of this fear that also applies to Hiccup's struggle with being chief. Gone would be his infinite freedom, the endless possibilities of flying off with no worries at all, just him and his best friend. Instead he'd be crushed with responsibilities, buried in the life of a chief far too deep to ever escape. I do like this fear for Hiccup too because it's the opposite of his assigned one, so it gives it even more power.

Astrid:

Slaughter. 100%. I considered the hunt as well, but I feel like this fits better. She's a warrior, a soldier, she's a troop ready to kill and take on any and every enemy in her way to get what she wants. She doesn't have a clear victim, she doesn't hunt others, rather she just has this deep, unpredictable sense of violence rooted inside her that the slaughter would love to get their hands on. I have no doubt she'd become an avatar extremely soon, being marked since little and starting off with dragons before moving on to actual people. Disclaimer because I don't want people thinking I'm an Astrid hater, I'm not saying she's always angry and will kill someone over the tiniest thing unless you are Snotlout, but rather that her anger issues would be perfect for the slaughter to get a hold of her. She kind of reminds me of Melanie in some ways, and if I trust anyone to do what Melanie did, it would be Astrid. As for what she fears... I don't think we see much of Astrid's fears, except for her fear of losing Hiccup or those she cares for. So, the girl is getting into the desolation. I can't help but remember the episode in which she almost lost her parents, and for some reason, I always pictured the house going down in flames. This would fit perfectly with the desolation, her loved ones taken away by a sudden flame, destroying lives for a senseless reason such as war and vengeance. I've also considered the corruption, given she almost died of a rare illness that one time, but I'm not too sure about it. She wasn't really scared as she suffered, more like confused and weak, but not scared of the end that was drawing in or the fact that she was ill. She also isn't the biggest fan of the spiral given her annoyance towards the twins, but I think that's more just her trying to keep things organised and running and getting frustrated when they aren't, not an actual fear.

Snotlout:

This one, for the personality one at least, is a tough one tbh. I'm not sure what would feel right for him, maybe because I've yet to study him closer, but for starters, I'd go with desolation personality-wise. Yes, maybe I chose it because he literally has a dragon that sets himself on fire at will, yes, maybe because he discovered a gel that makes everything flammable and canonically uses it for his own amusement. But what if there's more to it? Snotlout obviously has this deep-rooted fear of not being enough, so he always one-ups everyone. He tries to be the strongest, the bravest, the one who saves the day and gets the chick. But with flames on his side, he has a new way of feeling superior. With just the smallest of efforts, he can set aflame anything he wishes. He can burn things, animals, people. He can control fire, and thus, he is superior to others for it. I think in a twisted TMA version of him, Snotlout would love to end others before they can surpass him or just use fire to hurt and diminish others to appear better and stronger. As for what he fears, oh boy, this guy is going straight into the lonely. "The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society." Now go to the episode in rtte where he has a nightmare about everyone turning their backs on him and casting him away from their lives. Obviously, for him, it's not so much isolation in itself that scares him but the mix of loneliness and others finding him pathetic and weak, a fear courtesy of his daddy. I do feel like Snotlout is a very social person who needs others around to function, as his whole character arc is a journey of him trying to fit in by following the rules his family, mostly Spitelout, set for him, and the chance of never finding his spot for one reason or another terrifies him. The lonely would have a blast torturing him by making him feel invisible and go unnoticed.

Fishlegs:

I feel like Fishlegs would get pulled into the eye. His curiosity and wish to learn more are some of his main personality traits, so no wonder the incarnation of curiosity would pull him in. I feel like his descent into it would be similar to John's: slowly, without him noticing at all, but being tempted to go deeper and deeper, getting small treats and glances at what he could reach to know. Not to mention how paranoid he gets when he has no sleep as shown in that one rtte episode, which is very similar to season two John. Only when it is too late, he'd noticed he had trapped himself into the position of an avatar, hurting others and acting as the monster he'd be then. I'm not sure he'd go all the way, though - John was alone, paranoid, hurt, it was easy to tempt him further. Fishlegs, however, is far too kind and has Meatlug and his friends for support. He wouldn't reach the avatar level, but I think he'd be a follower at the very least. The issue about trying to pinpoint the fear that would end a character as fearful as Fishlegs is I don't know which one would affect him the most. The lonely would certainly fit, he is a very loving person and would be devastated if he didn't have, say, Meatlug or Hiccup around, and we see him plenty of time searching for validation from his peers, in a way no doubt to fit in with others. But I think he'd be fine being alone, and rather he fears the loss of those connections in itself. Thus, he has a high chance of getting attacked by the desolation. He would do anything for his loved ones, sacrificing himself and overcoming his fears just to save them, partly fuelled by love and, in this case, also fuelled by the fear of losing them. Another interesting fear for him would be the extinction. I have no doubt that in modern times Fishlegs would be into climate change discussions, researching ways to stop the effects of pollution and maybe the effects it has on different species, be it plants or animals. I wouldn't be surprised if he was scared about the end of it all, not death itself, but rather the extinction of different species as the world sinks further and further into desperation. I've also considered the end or the hunt, but, I feel like at least in the show he can get through those, therefore while he fears death or being hunted by others, those wouldn't be his main fears.

Tuffnut & Ruffnut:

Spiral. What, you thought I wouldn't assign the fear of madness to the chaotic Loki worshippers? I considered the desolation for a few seconds given their love of blowing stuff up, but come on. They are the spiral avatar. Michael and Helen should be taking notes from them. You see a yellow door, or in their case probably zippleback gas, and you run. I trust these two to actually perform The Great Twisting and do so flawlessly. The distortion would thrive with these two, no doubt, and the world would be severely fucked. As for what they fear, I'm going to treat them separately in a second, but they do have things in common. They don't have any clear strong fears, except the whole "tears" incident with Tuffnut, which might not even be fear and just something else entirely, and the few times they do seem scared, it's stuff they get over with pretty soon. They obviously don't fear the desolation (while they were sad about the change of getting separated, Ruffnut acted accordingly to Tuffnut's "death", I feel like it was just regular grief, not really an over-the-top reaction (for what the twins are used to) to the loss itself (plus I already assigned it to many people and didn't want to repeat myself)), the corruption (these are the guys who eat mouldy bread and their own toenails just fine), the slaughter (violence is more of a game to them rather than a fear, even when directed towards them), or the spiral. (disclaimer of mild gore incoming; skip ahead to the next character's section if you want to skip it)

For Tuffnut, I'm going with the flesh and the hunt. The main reason I'm assigning two right off the vat is that while both are good fits, the flesh is not really a thing until the Industrial Revolution, so I feel like just like Fishlegs with the extinction, it wouldn't be possible for him to be haunted by it without being part of a modern times AU. Regardless, here's my thought process for both: When I started assigning these to characters I really wanted to give the flesh to someone, and I feel like Tuff is the best candidate. After bonding with Chicken, he is way more perceptive of what he and others eat, especially around his feather friend, and I wonder if that could also be thanks to some kind of fear being transferred from Chicken to Tuffnut. Tuff is highly empathetic, always caring for Chicken's opinions, thoughts, and reactions, so it wouldn't be such a stretch to say he'd somehow understand Chicken's fears to a deeper level than most. In modern times, with how the meat industry works and how exposed Chicken would be to the mutilation and breeding of her kin just for meat, I have no doubt both the bird and Tuff would realize they are just animated meat and bones, a bunch of food ready to be torn apart, disfigured, and cooked. I can see him having wacky nightmares about being reincarnated into a bird himself and then torn apart, feeling every single bite and pull of a human or a creature devouring him. For the Viking era, though, the hunt is my go-to. Following the same line of thought, Tuff would be very empathetic to Chicken's fear of being hunted down as prey to the point of sharing it. We also have some instances where Tuff himself is the one hunted down, like the wolf biting him or the episode where he meets Chicken and is surprised by the night terrors. I feel like, eventually, that'd get to him to the point of being genuinely scared of beasts lurking nearby waiting to hunt him or Chicken down. And as a special mention, I'm also including the dark. It's only because I remembered Ruff mentioning Tuff being scared of the dark when they were kids, so, for the one time I get an actual fear spelt out for me, I'm not throwing that away.

Now, as for Ruffnut, I was completely lost so I went to the wiki for help, and wouldn't you know if I found this: "In the DreamWorks Dragons: The Series, despite having tamed Barf (and technically Belch), she seemed to have a slight fear of wild dragons that could potentially kill her and would often panic in situations in which she encounters a wild dragon. It's also shown that she might be afraid of dying, even to the point of naming the Scauldron "Please-Don't-Kill-Me".". Well, that makes things easier. Ruffnut would be haunted by the end. I guess the hunt would also be an option, given she is scared of wild dragons presumably hunting her down, and it would be cute if she shared a fear with her brother, but ultimately, I think she has either overcome the fear or never had it to begin with. In Rtte, she seems fine being chased down by hunters or infiltrating Viggo's base even with the knowledge that she'd be most likely hunted down and trapped when found. So, ultimately, the end is the one and only fear that would haunt her to the end of times. Sorry I don't have a more in-depth analysis for her; I genuinely couldn't think of anything Ruff would be scared of. If anything, the fears should fear her.

Dagur:

Well, if we take a look at his nickname... Yeah, Dagur the Deranged screams either the slaughter, the hunt, or the spiral. And from those three, I'm leaning more towards the first two. This boy was out for blood since the beginning. But unlike Heather, I feel like he does more violent acts in a fit of madness rather than holding premeditated long hunts. He enjoys the thrill of the battle, but not so much the actual process of getting closer to his prey before ending them. The slaughter manifests as people driven "mad with Slaughter," and Dagur sure does fit the description. He did not care what he grabbed, he just wanted a target to torture and kill. Dagur spends his whole life going from victim to victim in a mindless rage rather than an animalistic or premeditated kind of way. It's violence for violence's sake, and he excels at it. If anything, I feel like most of the people he goes after are mere excuses to perform violent acts, even if, later on, they might actually become real enemies and give him reasons to hunt them down. He would be a follower of the slaughter from an early age, considering his track record, and would rise as an avatar quickly. As for his fear, the desolation makes an appearance once again. I feel like while in his villain era, he did not care about anything or anyone. The slaughter was all he could focus on, all he cared about. The thrill of battle, downing his enemies, why think about anything else when you have those? But after that, after almost dying and straying away from that mindless violence, he started to care. Shattermaster, Heather, his father, Mala, Sleuther, his village... He has people to protect and look after. And knowing firsthand just how ruthless people can be, I feel like the fear of losing everything he worked so hard to get would slowly creep onto him. After falling out of the position of avatar of the slaughter other fears would see him as weak and vulnerable, and I have no doubt the desolation would take him as prey. Funnily enough, one could argue he'd also fear the slaughter or a mix between the two. And it would be pretty petty but also in character of a fear to consume what was once theirs.

Heather:

Given her whole arc of finding and killing her brother... Yeah, Heather gets the hunt. She isn't mindlessly violent like Astrid (not saying Astrid is violent 24/7, rather her anger issues make her most likely to react violently), but rather, she chooses her targets and hunts them down. Dagur, Viggo, whoever it is Heather does not stop once she has marked her enemy. I'd love to see a monstrous version of her similar to Daisy's, but instead of turning into a wolf, Heather would become an enraged razorwhip. ...And now I'm thinking about Heather and Astrid as Daisy and Basira, great. That's a thought for another day. Regardless, Heather the unhinged would definitely get pulled into the hunt at an early age, being vindictive and resentful, and growing up into a fine warrior. She has a thirst for blood, no doubt, and the ability to end with someone else with relative ease. The hunt would be very pleased with her. I've also considered the lonely since she seemed very happy minding her own business before joining the riders or Dagur, but the hunt is just such a perfect fit for her. Now, for her fear, this girl has a long track record of being haunted by the desolation. Losing his parents (both biological and adoptive), part of his village... She can't catch a break. She most likely was marked by the fear right after Dagur set her adrift, and with that, she became that much more vulnerable to it. I can see a world where she becomes so haunted by this she eventually turns into an avatar or the desolation rather than just a victim, sort of like Helen with the spiral, but there would at least be a bit of a back-and-forth between the hunt and the desolation to fight for this girl.

Viggo:

This man wouldn't get pulled into the web, the web would be pulled towards this man. The scheming, the strategies, the toying with your victim and letting them think they indeed have free will only to control them from the shadows... Oh yes, if he was a powerful enemy back then as just a human, imagine with the power of being an avatar. I do wonder at what point he'd turn into an avatar, but I feel like pre-rtte events would make sense. His whole empire would be just a way for him to spread his web of lies and deception, to trap more people into his real-life game of maces and talons, and Hiccup would definitely be at the top of his list. Who knows, maybe it could even be a family thing like the Lukas family with the lonely? I don't think Ryker would be an avatar of the web though, so maybe only partially. As for his fears... Well, we don't see much of that, but I'd discard the hunt, the desolation, and the end. He lost everything, he sacrificed himself without a second thought, and he was hunted down multiple times, all without showing much fear (he was scared when he fell into the volcano but that doesn't seem to me like a strong contender for fear of death or fire, rather just a regular reaction to falling into an active volcano, as one does). If anything, maybe he'd be a victim of the spiral? Hear me out now, Viggo is an extremely intelligent character. His mind is his key weapon, the one and only thing he can always trust. Not his men, not his brother, not his strength, not his gold. His mind. The idea of losing it, of his sanity thinning little by little, growing paranoid of everyone around him... If he fears something, I don't doubt it'd be madness. Oh just how delicious it'd be for the spiral to toy with this man! Michael would certainly have a field trip playing with Viggo.

[lorbanery]

Someone has definitely written a fic where Terry McGinnis realizes and has to come to terms with the fact that his parents kind of fucked him up, right?

Like, he's Batman. Batman deals with fucked up families. Eventually he's gotta learn to recognize the red flags of an abusive household, of how kids act out when they're being mistreated at home, of what are appropriate consequences for behavior and how that changes based on the kid's age.

And I know the show tries to go out of its way to be like "well Terry really WAS a pretty badly behaved kid" like ooohh he was in JUVIE for a whole FEW MONTHS but also like

Let's really think about this for a second

This whole "Terry was a Bad Kid" narrative ultimately hinges on one particular event: His arrest alongside Charlie Bigelow. Now I don't think they ever mention how old Terry's supposed to be during the series, and they certainly never mention how old he was when he and Charlie got arrested. But we DO know that the arrest happened 4 years before the events of the series because in the episode where all of this backstory is elaborated on, they mention that Charlie's sentence was 4 years. Now, Terry's in high school, which narrows his present day age to between 14 and 18; but the fact his mother got custody after his dad died makes it pretty clear he can't be older than 17.

So if we're GENEROUS.

If we assume that Terry is 17 during the events of the series

that he's 17 when Charlie's released from jail after serving a 4 year prison sentence

that would make Terry, AT THE OLDEST ... 13 years old when he was arrested

thirteen

years

old

when his parents got divorced

thirteen years old

when his mother declared that she couldn't deal with him, that his father was the only one who could "control" him, and gave up custody of TERRY, but not of his little brother

thirteen years old when his parents SPLIT UP him and his little brother, who had to have been a kindergartner at the oldest at the time

Like this is cruel. With the exception of some extreme circumstances, you don't do that to kids. You don't just separate siblings like that. Like, not to say that it doesn't happen, just to say that I don't think I'm off-the-mark in assuming that pretty much every modern child development expert would very much suggest you DON'T DO THAT. Like I know there are folks out there who know very well how it feels, but for the rest of us just imagine being thirteen years old and your mom says she wants custody, but only of your sibling, she doesn't want custody of you.

PERSONALLY

I THINK THAT'S PRETTY FUCKED UP

Oh and let's not forget that it is at least heavily implied if not outright stated that this divorce was at least partially triggered by Warren suspecting Mary of cheating because these two redheads gave birth to two kids with jet black hair. Yeah I wonder why a tweenage Terry was so angry and spending a lot of time out on the streets instead of at home where his parents were constantly fighting about whether or not he was "actually" their kid?????

And it's not like she changed her tune about him after he moved in! At even the faintest WHIFF of rules bending she was ready with an accusation of Terry going back to his old ways. DESPITE him completely turning himself around. Like juvie worked for him the way authoritarians want it to! He spent a few months in juvie after doing One Bad Thing, got scared straight, and decided he was never going to do Bad Things again. Hooray! The fictional criminal justice system works! Sure he was still getting into fights, but he was doing it to try and help people. He did his time, he turned his life around, the boy is an A student, he's had four years proving himself Not a Delinquent. Yet Mary McGinnis is CONSTANTLY jumping on any excuse to assume that Terry's up to no good.

And I will admit that she's probably justified in jumping to conclusions initially upon finding drugs in Terry's backpack. But I still find it a bit EXTREME, given, again, his recent history up to that point, that Mary refuses to even CONSIDER believing Terry when he says they aren't his and he's not using them ... until he gets a drug screening.

And don't even get me started on the way Matt talks about him. This kid is in elementary school there's no way he's come to the conclusion all on his own that his older brother who, as far as we know, he hasn't even SEEN in FOUR YEARS is just a delinquent who's always secretly up to something. Oh but he's been living alone with Mary this whole time HHMMMMMMMMMM

I'm harping a lot on Mary here, but listen that's just because Warren's dead and so we only got to VERY BRIEFLY see him and Terry interact. Given that brief interaction? I don't have a problem assuming that he treated Terry much in the same way, as a delinquent constantly on the brink of a relapse. he just benefits from being killed off for Plot purposes so we can't see all the ways that plays out like with Mary.

Anyway it kills me every time Mary McGinnis treats her son like shit and Terry goes all

*pained bishounen face* Even if I didn't do what she's accusing me of, I still deserve her suspicion and I can't blame her for it.

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Bonus Post Part 2: Never Knew I Needed You

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by @perotovar

A/N: this is a bonus post with OFC + Mando's POV

*Part 2 of 3* in an extended flashback episode I'm writing for Volume 4: Smart Girl like You. We go back to the beginning of Mando x ofc-reader's relationship to help set up some important events that will occur in the climax of Vol 4.

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, 18+ MINORS DNI *NSFW*

When you have to snatch a hermit crab out of the baby’s mouth—for the third time in as many minutes—you begin to realize the truth in Mando’s warning. This kid is definitely going to keep you on your toes. Running out of Loth cat videos to watch before bedtime will be the least of your worries. 

At the moment, however, fear of boredom and establishing a nap schedule ranked far lower than your fear of vomiting up every ounce of that morning’s breakfast. 

Seriously, how could this kid be hungry? The inescapable aroma of tar and fish oil radiates from every surface of this place. Rotting shellfish does not typically come to mind when you envision laying low at a “seaside cottage.” The word cottage implies a rustic charm—decorative driftwood, not moldering logs covered in barnacles. 

Mando might have warned you! Although, maybe, he can’t smell it from underneath that helmet.

You’re not the only one suffering from nausea. Nito sits cross-legged on the floor of the boat house, slumped over an accumulation of tech equipment, with the collar of his shirt pulled up over his nose and mouth. He looks pallid under the mottled blue fur. And yet, despite being ready to yak at any moment, when he catches your eye, the Ardennian’s face brightens, and he waves both his right arms cheerfully at you. 

Your hand springs up to return the greeting. This kid is such a sweetheart! 

You can sense that Nito’s been through it. That life has been harsh for him. But he still had so much capacity for joy. You’re not exactly great with kids, but how can you resist falling for someone who responds to hardship with joy? 

You’re reminded of yourself at that age. Beaten down by betrayal, yet always eager to make a new friend. Why is it that some kids—?  

“Should I leave you with the speeder or the skiff?”

You jump nearly a foot in the air. Mando halts directly behind you like an overbearing shadow. Somehow, he’d managed to walk across every rotted plank of this decaying pier without making a sound.

“High-strung,” he observes wryly, sounding amused.

“S-sorry?” you stammer blankly.

“Our quarry is back at port, but I don’t want to leave you stranded here, so…the speeder or the skiff?”

Erenada, this might not be the best time to reveal you’ve never piloted a speeder. It won’t engender much confidence if you have to ask him how to turn on the engine. Whereas the skiff has a tiller attached to the motor. And in a worst-case scenario, you could at least paddle. 

He simply nods when you decide on “the skiff,” and hands you a fuel canister. 

“Before you said it wasn’t safe to leave the Crest. Now you’re saying it’s not safe to stay on board?”

Mando’s plan to keep the Razor Crest docked at the harbor—while you and the kid hole up in an abandoned fishing village—is either an excess of caution or a sign that you’re in way over your head. The Mandalorian had yet to explain why the Child is being hunted. Which is definitely suspicious, but glass houses, you know? If you’re keeping secrets from him, you can let Mando hold onto a few.

“My…partner,” he trails off awkwardly, unsure where to begin. “...the man who came to see me yesterday…”

“Kosar?” You’re pretty sure you’d heard the Mandalorian call him that. 

The bounty hunter looks up sharply from his rucksack in alarm. “Did he speak to you?”

You think back to your unsettling encounter with the man. He wasn’t physically intimidating the way Mando can be. Muscular— but short and wiry. Handsome smile. It was more of a feeling, really. Hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced the ravenous glare of a predator. The feeling of being sized up as prey. The soft blonde curls that framed Kosar’s face couldn’t hide the cruel emptiness in his eyes. 

What had he said? You’d been heading toward the medicine cabinet with the baby saddled on your hip when he’d stepped through the side hatch. Something about Mando being ‘lucky.’ Something about good help being hard to find. The words from his mouth were simply noise because the thoughts in his head were so loud. Despite the charming demeanor, this man was thinking about how much he would enjoy hurting you. How pretty you would look with his hands wrapped around your throat.      

You shrug, “Just hello, I think.”

“What I said,” the Mandalorian sighs wearily. “Is that it wasn’t safe for you to be seen.” He pulls in a deep breath through his nostrils, reaching for a length of climbing rope. “We go back a long way, but I think it’s best if Kosar doesn’t know where to find you or the Child.”

“You don’t trust him, but you’re going to do the job anyway?”

Trust. Again—always. There must be very little of it in his life. 

It’s gotta be hard being human. Having to guess at other people’s intentions. Never knowing whether they’re about to stab you in the back. Shit, not being able to get a read on Mando has made you downright paranoid. No wonder, then, why the bounty hunter is so guarded.  

Except, he’s trusting you. Isn’t he? Trusting that you won’t abandon the Child the minute he’s gone. That you won’t just take the baby and make a run for it as soon as he’s out of sight. Sure, he could probably track you down, but…he’s allowed you this opportunity to show allegiance. A chance to prove your loyalty.

“Kosar can’t bring in his quarry without me, so for now, our interests align. I can trust that he won’t do anything to jeopardize his money or his life.”

“What about Nito?” It’s not your place to ask, but you have to know. 

Mando pauses, a handful of charges held between his leather fingers. You expect to hear guilt or resentment in his voice. Maybe both. It’s an accusation, after all. But you can’t help it. You care about these kids. 

Instead, he slings the rucksack over his gleaming shoulder and steps closer. 

The thing about having watched the Mandalorian over the last few days—his interactions, the attitude and posture he adopted when speaking with someone like Kosar—and how that contrasted to the Mando who sat in the pilot’s chair with the kid in his lap, or the Mando who searched through every storage compartment in the cargo hold to find an extra blanket for you—is that now you can recognize the difference.   

The muscles in his shoulders tense, but not with anger. “It’s my duty to protect you. All of you. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

You nod apologetically, a flush rising in your cheeks. 

“Nito will be operating from behind a display screen. Where he’ll be safe.” Mando says, tilting his chin down to look you full in the face. “While you and the kid stay here. Safe.”    

He made it sound so simple, but….“Who keeps you safe?”

A staticky huff crackles through the modulator, “Don’t worry about me.”

But you do. It’s not just the kids. You care about him, too. “Listen, Mando. I know you’re more than capable, but…be careful. That man’s heart is hollow.”

A slight dip of that steel jaw is the only acknowledgment of your cryptic warning.   

“If I’m not back by sunrise, Nito will be waiting for you at the Crest. Take the skiff and follow the shoreline south to the harbor.”

What else can you say? Please don’t go! Would he believe you if you confessed to probing Kosar’s conscience and finding nothing but ruthless indifference? 

And would it change anything? This is his life as Mandalorian—how he made his way through the galaxy. To survive this long, he knows what he’s doing. You’ll show him more respect with faith rather than doubting him.

“Then, we’ll see each other soon,” you murmur. “Any requests for breakfast? I can’t promise it won’t end up tasting like fish.” You shake your head, “Pretty sure everything is going to reek of fish, including me.”

“I like the taste,” he responds in a low voice. 

Your belly clenches. 

“Of fish.” Then he draws back suddenly, “I—nothing a hot shower won’t fix.”

Did Mando just—? The fluttering in your stomach draws lower, and what you’ve come to refer to as ‘the sparkle sensation’ stirs between your thighs. Did he mean for that to sound so suggestive? 

No. No. 

You guys have a good rapport, but he hasn’t indicated he wants anything more than that. Mercy of the gods, you spent the whole night chatting him up in your underwear, and the man hadn’t even touched you. No accidentally brushing against you, or anything. 

No! The Mandalorian is probably celibate, like some kind of righteous paladin. Sworn to his god of war. Why else would he wear sacred armor and never remove his Beskar helmet? 

Granted, if sex is permissible, you could get creative about positions if the occasion called for it. But if there’s some way to casually drop, Are you allowed to fuck with that thing on? into polite conversation, it’s beyond your skill.   

Wait! How long have you both been standing here staring at each other? 

Clearing his throat, the bounty hunter stands up straighter. “You want to do something for me?” he asks somberly. Mando’s leather fingers reach for the blaster at his hip. Releasing the clasp, he swings the barrel upward and offers it to you. “Take this.”

“Won’t you need—”

“I told you not to worry.”

That makes you laugh, “Well, now I am worried. Should I expect…I don’t know, pirates, dropping by?”

“No,” he responds. Gods, you can almost hear the grin on his lips.

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“I am,” he doesn’t skip a beat. “Because they’re either dead or in carbonite.”

“Oh!” That is a good reassurance. “But then, won’t the villagers be returning?”   

“Saberjowl is out of season,” he says, offering you a shoulder holster from his pack. “And,” Mando concedes, “I haven’t told them about clearing out the pirates yet.” 

“Hmmph,” your lips quirk into a conspiratorial smile. “I guess we have the place to ourselves.” 

But the bounty hunter is busy inspecting the blaster’s settings, adjusting the energy levels with his thumb. Only then do you notice that the Mandalorian isn’t carrying his usual firearm. The gun he held was a snub-nose 44. 

When did he have time to get a hold of an ion pistol? You’d only just spoken about it last night. And what an oddly sweet gesture. 

Mando steps even closer, and your stomach does an excited little flip before he presses the blaster into your hands. 

“Take it. I’ll feel better knowing you can defend yourself.”

He’s practically a stranger. It’s reckless to hint at your desires when you have no idea how he’ll respond. But when has rationality ever stopped you? Some part of you desperately wants to know whether the Mandalorian feels the same pull towards you. 

And seeing him get flustered is too tempting to resist. Nothing a hot shower won’t fix? 

So you tilt your chin, arch an eyebrow, and nudge him playfully with your elbow. “Defend the kid, you mean.”

As you suspected, his stomach is—Wow, really firm! 

You can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to reach under the layers of fabric and leather to trace your fingertips along the stiff ridges of his abs, the sinewy lines of his back…

Mando’s grip is strong when his fingers wrap around your shoulder. “I will always come for you when you need me.”

Dammit! Sexy and protective? The heat rising in your cheeks intensifies, and your heart begins to beat faster. 

“Use the comlink if there’s any trouble.”

Right! The Child. Your focus should be guarding the Child. You know, the job you’ve been hired to do. And while this wouldn’t be the first time you secretly lusted after your boss, perhaps you can make it through a whole day before throwing professional ethics out the window?

Mando immediately tests your resolve.

“I…” The Mandalorian’s tone softens, lost for words. Finally, he clears his throat once more, and settles his shoulders. “I’ll come if you need me.”

Ugh, you are so fucked. 

Maybe it would be better if you left after this. Pick up transit from Eldin Station as he suggested. You’re clearly not a prisoner and free to leave. It’s probably for the best. Leave before things get complicated. You already like him a little too much. More than is wise for someone like you. He’s got enough to worry about without heaping your bullshit onto the pile.

Of course, you don’t have anywhere to go… But the longer you remain, the more likely you are to overstay your welcome. 

Just because he needed your help with this, doesn’t mean there’s a place for you on his ship. 

His tiny, tiny ship.

Do you want to stay? Do you want to grow hopelessly attached to a man you can’t have? A man determined to live and die by a warrior’s Creed? 

The Mandalorian will just throw you out the minute he discovers who, and what, you really are. Namely, more trouble than you’re worth.   

“See you for breakfast,” you say in farewell, watching him secure his pack to the bike. Mando swings a powerfully muscled thigh over the speeder, and it bounces under the sudden weight of all that body. 

“Okay, baby. I’ve brainstormed a bunch of stuff I thought was fun as a kid. I suggest we work our way down the list.”

Nito loaded up his game console for you to play, but you can’t get enough fresh air after spending so much time inside the ship. Even if it does smell like low tide out here. 

The kid looks up from his spot perched between your boots and blinks those gigantic brown eyes excitedly. 

“Alright! Should we start with cartwheels before transitioning to sandcastles on the beach?”

-----------

“That one. That’s where they’ve got him stashed.”

The Mandalorian’s gaze landed on a grand, if unimaginative, rowhouse—its sunbleached facade made up of sharp lines and pointed corners.  

The hastily constructed limestone houses surrounding the canals of New Coral City all looked like they might crumble into the dredged waterways at any minute. Flimsy, flat-roofed buildings leaning against each other at odd angles, as though their combined weight was the only thing keeping them upright. The mansion Kosar nodded toward wasn’t much to look at. Indistinguishable from any of the other three-storied houses, haphazardly built over swampy marshland with infill, silt and sand. 

Yet they all had ornately carved screens and thick-paned windows. The streets were raw and unfinished, but they were clean. As were the people crisscrossing the canals in their well-made clothes—wool from Endor, shata leather from Zeffo, and Karlini silk. Even the beggars here wore shoes.

The majority of Mon Cala’s population lived in cities underwater. However, thanks to an influx of refugees after the collapse of the Empire, more settlements began to take shape above the surface. Governance on Mon Cala was more stable than most Outer Rim planets, with better economic opportunities, bringing wave after wave of migration to this once remote part of the galaxy. 

New Coral City was built up for trading—an anchor for the new citizens of Mon Cala that cultivated the islands and archipelagos for fishing, kelp and salt harvesting. But these settlements were populated by outsiders and, thus, largely overlooked by the Mon Calamari royalty. 

Which made it easier to hide here if you were a nobleman’s son.

“And you know he’s in there?” Mando asked skeptically. There was one guard posted outside the door facing the slatted boardwalk below, with two more monitoring the canal from the rooftop. It seemed like a lean operation for a man who was wanted by Yarella the Hut. “You’ve had eyes on him?”

“Not me,” Kosar conceded. “Never leaves the house, this one. Been scoutin’ damn near every property connected to this schutta’s family for weeks. Daddy’s got fake safe houses set up all over Mon Cala. Nystullum, Zeran. Posted mercs on every one of ‘em.”

Mando looked at the mercenaries stationed on the roof. Their chrome armor, harvested from fallen Stormtroopers was coated with a vibrant, iridescent film—it was loud and gaudy, standing out against the stark white stone. 

“Brite-Boyz,” Mando spat out like it was a slur. “Guarding a safe house?”         

“Right?” Kosar snorted. “Very fuckin’ subtle. Ah well, get what ya pay for with that crew.” 

“Can you guarantee Grosk is in there?” 

“Like I said, he never steps outside. But I got a tip from one of Vigo’s lickspittle who says they’re bringin’ in girls to keep him happy. So I track down the brothel in question, avail myself to the whores workin’ there…and that’s how I know this is the real safe house.”

Little was easy about this job—but tracking down spoiled rich kids was one of them. Children of wealth always managed to get themselves into the most idiotic kind of trouble. Behavior so deeply ingrained since birth that not even the threat of death or capture could curb their privilege. This nobleman’s son could not fathom a reality where he shouldn’t have exactly what he wanted. Every impulse indulged. Damn the risk. Consequences are for lesser mortals.   

Mando’s thoughts strayed, and he wondered absentmindedly if Thulani came from money. Something about the way she carried herself. The clothes she wore—like these rich merchants walking the streets of New Coral City. She certainly had acquired a taste for the finer things. He’d been ready to shoot her into space inside one of the escape pods after she complained that the soup he ate was ‘tragically bland’ and ‘too salty.’ Then she’d spent the entire afternoon making rice porridge that even the Mandalorian had to admit was delicious—-after which she cleaned and organized the Crest’s galley station. All to merely shrug, “Don’t mention it.” 

The Mandalorian did not know what to make of Thulani. But he would bet money that this Mon Calamari prince, Grosk Zatarus, was not helping out with household chores. 

“That’s where we’ll find him.”

“Did this woman tell you how many guards are sitting on him?” Mando muttered. “What part of the building to enter?”  

“That’s what the furry guy’s here for, yeah?” Kosar hooked a thumb in Nito’s direction.

The Ardennian looked up from his tablet screen, blinding them with the glare from his headlamp. 

They’d set up operations from an empty storefront across a narrow waterway that fed into the city’s larget canal. Just as Kosar had promised, the balcony afforded them a sweeping view of the Jomeshbridge, which spanned the widest point of the lagoon—bordered on both sides by shops, hotels, and warehouses.   

Nito appeared satisfied with his calculations. “If one of you can get this sensor in direct range of the building, it should make a complete scan of each floor.”

“Should?” the Mandalorian huffed. The limestone walls proved too thick for his helmet’s heat sensors. So while Nito wasn’t his first choice for tech support, he needed the kid’s help conducting surveillance.

“Don’t be grouchy!” Nito rolled his eyes theatrically. “Not a ton of opportunity for beta testing in hyperspace, boss.”  

To which Kosar shot him a baleful look. “See ya run a tight ship, Mando.”

But the bounty hunter was way past trying to reign in Nito’s smart-ass attitude. He frankly didn’t have the energy. Mando often reflected on his own childhood and the unswerving obedience he’d shown the Mandalorian elders who raised him—eager to learn and prove himself. Whereas Nito questioned everything. Nito, who was so engrossed in synching up the bizarrely constructed device he’d built for this job, he hadn’t noticed Kosar’s disgusted glare.

“It should read the layout. Plus any life forms.”  

“Hmm,” Kosar glanced back at the mansion. “So we’ll know how many are in there...” 

“But not which one is our quarry,” the Mandalorian countered.

“Quarry?!” Kosar scoffed. “Not in the Guild anymore. Remember Mando?”

“How can I forget,” he said in a tight voice. “When there’s no fob or puck to work with.”

“Since when do you rely on shortcuts?” The mercenary clapped Mando on the shoulder, “Relax, brother. My lady will be wearing a tracker, and she’ll be with him. That’s how we locate the target.” 

The Mandalorian did not think of Kosar as a brother. Nor did he consider the man a friend. In the ten-plus years since they’d last seen each other, Kosar had visibly aged but was otherwise unchanged. Still cavalier, selfish, and furtive as ever. Hollow, Thulani had said. It made Mando weary. But he needed this kind of money to have a breather—a few weeks of rest somewhere safe and hidden where he could come up with a plan. A plan for what to do with the Child. 

Things had gone sideways on Dorumaa before he could collect payment, and clearing out pirates for the local merchants in New Coral City had paid next to nothing. Most of it already spent on repairing the Razor Crest. 

It had felt like fate running into Kosar. Now, he was about to discover whether it was a blessing or some trick of Hod Ha’ran. 

The Mandalorian had made the mistake of reconnecting with the specters from his past—Ranzar Malk, Ingtar—but his time on Tatooine and Toro Calican proved working with strangers could be just as dangerous. 

Six years later, and he still faced the same problem. Honest work did not pay as well as warlords. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild had been less lucrative, but a more consistent and straightforward way to make a living—to support his Tribe after they fled Concordia. The Hunter’s Code had appealed to him at a time when he’d been mired in loss. He was not too proud to admit that he was struggling without it. Those weeks laying low on Sorgan, when he planned to simply leave the kid behind and track down the new Covert, felt like a lifetime ago. 

Mando banished the thought. Surely, his struggles were nothing compared to what his Tribe faced in his absence and the loss of his earnings. He needed money and a plan to find his way back to them.

“I’ll distract the guards while you attach the scanner.” Kosar’s voice returned him to the work at hand.

Mando nodded before grabbing his partner by the collar. “Keep it contained. We don’t want to spook them.”

Kosar’s distraction ultimately involved starting a riot on the Jomeshbridge by picking a fight with one of the pedlars and heaving their cart into the canal—only for it to collapse onto a passing barge. Callous, but it was at least effective. The Brite Boyz on the roof leaned over the siding for a better view while the Mandalorian scaled the other side of the building.  

“If you can attach the sensor to a power line,” Nito’s voice piped into his earpiece. “I can also take out their comms network.”

With the device secured per his teenage overlord’s very specific instructions, the Mandalorian climbed back up the shop’s tapered stairwell, surrounded on all sides by glittering bolts of fabric covered in dust. A dressmaker? He settled his back against the wall and shut his eyes, trying not to think about Thulani in that beaded gown she wore to the casino as he floated in and out of consciousness. He was used to these long stretches with little sleep. His body would wake him when he needed to.

“Kinda nice not worrying about the kid while we’re on a job.”

“I’m on the job,” he muttered without opening his eyes. “You’re generating a computer model.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nito waved all four hands dismissively. “But, you know what I mean. He gets himself into the weirdest mischief the moment you take your eyes off him…”

Mando said nothing.

“How’s your hand doing, by the way?”

Kriffing—Why did everyone feel entitled to ask him about it? If Mando’s hand was troubling him, he would do something about it. The Mandalorian did not recall ever being this nosy when he was thirteen. 

“None of your concern,” he said brusquely and watched Nito wilt in disappointment, shoulders hunching. Before he could help himself, he amended, “I’m fine.” 

The kid’s face lit up with enthusiasm, “Good to get it treated by a professional, eh?”

Mando let a frustrated sigh spill from the modulator. “Where are you going with this, Nito?” Though he was pretty sure he knew already.

“I was just thinking…maybe you should offer Thuli a job? That way, she could, you know…stay. With us.”

Us? Is that what they were? An us. When had that happened? 

“And why would I do that?” Mando asked.

He’d been thinking much the same thing—that they would be fortunate to have the Healer on board—but he wanted to hear the argument from someone else. Someone who hadn’t spent the entire morning obsessing over the shape of her breasts.

Fucking farrik! He needed to best this temptation if he wanted her to stay, or she would become a dangerous distraction rather than a crucial asset for their survival.

“Uh, okay…well, beyond the obvious reason that she’s the only one who can fix you without taking off your armor?” 

That was true. He didn’t understand the source of her power, but after Thulani had healed him on Dorumaa, the Mandalorian felt years younger. No stiffness in his joints. His muscles were lighter and more flexible. It was the best he’d felt since his twenties. He had no doubt she could have easily healed his hand. But he hadn’t let her. 

When Mando returned to the ship with his thumb gushing blood down his forearm, nearly bitten off by a Shistavanen pirate, he’d tried to ignore her while tearing through the medicine cabinet, looking for adhesive. She’d calmly but firmly grabbed him by the arm, beneath the pauldron, where he could feel the pinch of her fingertips through the canvas. 

“You don’t want to do that,” she said. 

He was surprised that his body had not recoiled from her touch, that he hadn’t immediately sensed she wasn’t really asleep. The Healer’s grip was firm as her words were soft, explaining that he could not seal the wound shut. 

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but…well, it’s hard not to when they scream like that going into the freezer. Anyway, if a single bacterium of saliva is in the wound, you’ll get an infection. Maybe lose the use of your hand.” 

“I can—” She asked to remove his glove. There was the barest flash of hurt on her face, there and gone, when he told her no.    

“The edges should be closed, but part of the wound needs to stay open. And clean. There’s a SmartMed program that will—”

“No droids,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” the Healer nodded without pause. “Guess that explains why you don’t have a MedPod on board. Your hand will take a few weeks to heal fully. Another option…if you wanted me to—”

He already knew the other option. But he did not want to feel Thulani inside his head. The Mandalorian could work through the pain for a few weeks. 

Thulani didn’t push back and intuited his discomfort. She was mindful of wearing gloves and used one of Nito’s worktables to minimize any contact between them. Mando was relieved she didn’t try to hold onto his hand. The last person who had held his hand was his mother—running for lives amidst a hail of blaster fire. He wasn’t certain he could repress that memory if she touched him again.

There’s much he admired about Thulani’s skill, but it was threatening. In a myriad of ways. She could probably kill him with the brush of her finger, yet that wasn’t what he found most unsettling. He disliked navigating this confusing space the Healer occupied within his Creed. 

It was forbidden for any dar’manda—anyone outside the Tribe—to know his identity. What if she saw a memory of someone using his name? Like the memory of his father pulling a splinter from Mando’s palm after working alongside him in the garden. What if she saw a memory that captured his reflection in the mirror hanging in his grandmother’s bedroom…or the surface of the river that ran behind his family’s home, where he skipped rocks with the other children? 

If Thulani were a Mandalorian healer, she would safeguard his identity. Like priests and armorers, healers held a sacred caste within Mandalorian society. They were revered. The skill of a healer could be the difference between a long career or a debilitating injury. In the days before the Purge, a warrior like himself would travel to the Temple, bend his knees and worship her, begging to fight another day—if she deemed him worthy.

But the Temple had been destroyed. And Thulani was not Mandalorian.

Still…she accepted his Creed without question. Unlike every other dar’manda in his life, she did not joke about the helmet or ask him to remove it. In his wildest dreams, he could see her accepted amongst his people. If Thulani were a Mandalorian healer with the power that she wielded... 

Another thought he banished. It did him no good to dwell on dreams.

Thulani had not used her powers to heal him. But, there was no need to correct Nito. 

“She’s also really helpful to have around. Super smart. Funny. Nice to me,” the Ardennian compiled his list of criteria. “Plus, she’s a veteran, so, you know, she’s already used to being shot at.”

“She told you that?” Mando asked in surprise. 

“Yeah, it’s called friendly conversation. Amazing trick, boss, you ask people stuff you want to know, and then they tell you.” This kid could pull the most condescending looks. Mando definitely was not this much of a little shit at thirteen. “I just asked how she became a healer.” 

“You didn’t tell me she was a Rebel.”

“I’m not gonna report back to you on everything she says,” Nito’s eyebrows shot upward meaningfully. “If you like her, Mando, you have to put in the effort.”

“I do not like—” he snorted and then, shook his head. “That’s not—I like her just fine.” 

Nito raised his brows so high they became indistinguishable from the rest of his shaggy blue forehead.

“Enough!” The Mandalorian growled. “If she’s so smart, what makes you think she wants to fly with us?”

Us? Dammit, now the kid had him saying it, too. 

Nito was irritating, but a good investment. Regardless of what happened with the Child, Mando wanted to keep him on board. And he might be more inclined to stay with Thulani on the ship. And it might be best for the Child to keep her around. 

But that meant there were now three people he had to provide for…taking up space on his ship and in his life. He’d been working alone for too long—since before the Purge. Mando should be more careful to keep them at a distance. All of them. The Mandalorian had only one allegiance, and that was to his Tribe on Nevarro. If they were on Nevarro. He could only guess where to find them now.  

The kid didn’t seem to recognize the significance of what Mando had said—that us. “Honestly? I don’t think she’s got anywhere else to go.”

Mando suspected as much but didn’t understand why. Thulani was immensely powerful. How did she end up working for a criminal cartel in the Expanse when she could be living it up in luxury on a Core planet? 

She might have asked the same about him—an elite bounty hunter leaving the Guild to crisscross the galaxy picking up odd jobs. By now she must have realized the Child was being hunted. And yet she hadn’t asked. At some point, without realizing it, they had formed some unspoken agreement to withold the past and only look forward.

“Got it!” Nito cheered triumphantly, projecting his scan of the building.

With the guard posted outside the front door and two on the roof, there were three more on the ground floor, one on the second floor, and two on the third. Eight guards plus the target in the house.

“Now what?” the kid asked expectantly.

“Now we wait.”

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

Despite his usually awkward movements—that adorably shuffling walk!—the kid is surprisingly coordinated, and you quickly progress from cartwheels to handstands.

Unfortunately, the black sediment forming the tidal flats beneath the village are not ideal for sand castles. But do yield another fun activity. The shocked look on the baby’s face when you’d buried your hand wrist-deep into the sand, feigning panic, only to pull out a wriggling razor clam in your fist, was priceless. He giggled, gasped, and cooed no matter how many times you repeated the performance. Soon, he recognized the tale-tell pockets of air on the surface of the beach and courageously stuck his little talons deep into the tunnels, searching. It was a great bit of fun until the baby was nearly strangled around the neck, pulling a clam out by its siphon. 

Seriously, this kid is alarmingly accident-prone. 

But soooooooo fucking cute! Gotta respect that evolutionary adaptation. Cuteness helps infants to survive by eliciting caregiving. You make no attempt to fight the instinct—just hold him in your lap a safe distance away as you watch the clams burrow back into the shore. 

You’d love to hold onto a few for dinner, but whatever fuel the villagers used to power the generator was spent, and the hot, humid air made you leery about keeping fresh shellfish. By evening, the tide will have surged back into the cove, allowing the clams to dig deeper into their beds to avoid getting swept out to sea. 

Beside you, the baby grunts, “Unngh! Unngh!” pointing in the direction of an approaching creature, slinking toward the scurrying clams on the beach. It crept slowly, its soft, fluffy belly hovering above the sand. Its features were familiar—like either a very small wolf or quite a large weasel with a spotted downy coat in brilliant reds and oranges. 

“Unngh!” the Child waved emphatically.

“Yes! Like the cat from the videos.” You smile down at him. The creature’s careful movements were identical to a Loth cat stalking its prey—pointed ears pressed flat against its furry cheeks, tufted tail swishing. 

“Hey, kitty!” 

The weasel-cat’s ears perk up. You toss one of the clams closer, and it chirps at you before snatching the shell between its jaws. In your lap, the kid jumps up and down excitedly. 

Tearing at the clam, the creature sprawls on the sand a few feet away. It’s cautious but boldly curious for a wild animal. Maybe it’s someone’s pet that had been abandoned when the villagers escaped. The whole place was eerie, with overturned chairs and half-eaten meals left to rot on the tables. Whatever happened, they fled immediately. 

After scarfing down the first clam, the creature approaches and chirps more insistently. At first, you toss a few right in front of it…then progressively closer to where you’re sitting. But it’s too warry to eat from your hand. 

Too bad Mando isn’t here, you catch yourself thinking. He’s good with animals. Maybe it’s his quiet confidence. Perhaps that’s why you find him so attractive. As someone plagued with anxiety and self-doubt, using charm to cover up your neurosis, his unwavering assurance is captivating. 

Hmmm, makes sense. Just a scared weasel-cat caught in the thrall of a more dominant animal. 

At midday, the tide comes in fast. Fortunately, the kid follows you around like a little shadow and doesn't mind being hoisted onto your shoulders to escape the rising water.

After a simple packed meal with your feet dangling off the pier as the waves surge back into the cove, you find the tidiest looking house to take shelter. There’s a canned jar of fruit in the pantry that you open, replacing it with a few credits from your pockets. It’s syrupy and delicious.

“Okay kiddo,” you say in all seriousness. “I know things are rough and tumble on the Razor Crest, but in my family naptime was sacred. What do you say we give those hammocks on the porch a go.”

The first one you try collapses under your weight, the fabric tearing with a comically loud rrrrrrip that has you and the kid rolling around in fits of hysterical laughter. Eventually you find one in good enough shape to climb into with the baby curled up in the crook of your arm. You’re not a great singer by any stretch of the imagination but you warble out a few tunes. The kid vocalizes over the melody—humming and gurgling in rhythm. 

Before long, your silly chorus draws the weasel-cat’s attention, those curious ears pointing in your direction from the beach. 

“A fox!” you shout in sudden epiphany, nearly tossing the Child from your hammock. “Sorry…but, I’ve just realized…it’s a fox. We have them on—”

Was there really any harm in telling the kid where you’re from? It’s not like he’s going to report back to the Mandalorian. Yet any lapse in your disguise was dangerous. If you were truly vigilant, you’d make no mention of home—to anyone. Oh, fuck vigilance! You want to remember. 

“On Hapes, we have foxes that live in the forest. The trees come all the way out to the beach, so I must have seen them eating clams before.” Your father used to tell bedtime stories about foxes. Einahid’s Fables always had lots of animals learning important lessons. 

“Let’s see…” you mumble, situating the baby comfortably between your arms. “Once there was a fox and a cat who were great friends.”

“Uuuwwaa,” the baby gurgles meaningfully, ears upturned.

“Yes, a fox and a cat! They would meet in the meadow to search for berries and mushrooms together. The fox and the cat both prided themselves on being very clever creatures but they wanted to determine who was the cleverest. ‘How do you tell a good mushroom from a bad one?’ the cat asked. They both knew all the same tricks. All day, they went back and forth: ‘How do you know when the snow will melt?’, ‘How do you know when the berries are ripe?’ Until the fox asked, ‘‘How do you outsmart a hunter?’ Fox boasted about the many tricks they might use to escape, but the cat confessed to having only one, so the fox declared themselves the clever one. When suddenly!” You gasp dramatically and grab the Child around the middle until he giggles. “A hunter arrives in the meadow! Quickly, the cat runs up a tree, but the fox—so overwhelmed by all the tricks they might use to escape freezes on the spot…”

Right! In this fable, the fox is captured by the hunter and skinned for their beautiful coat. The lesson is obvious: it’s better to have a simple plan you know how to put into action than a thousand clever plans floating around in your head. But why must the consequences in these stories be so dire? And how much of your anxiety is attributable to hearing these tales as a child?

You look down to stare into the Child’s soft brown eyes. “Since they were such good friends, the cat showed the fox a path of branches they could use to climb up the tree. And they both escaped the hunter.” 

Now, it's a lesson about the power of friendship and solidarity. A lesson for you? You’d been so determined to leave, but maybe, instead, you should draw strength from these new friends. Maybe you should stay. If the Mandalorian wanted you to stay… 

The baby blinks twice, his eyes heavy-lidded. Yawning, he stretches his fingers and talons wide. The kid rests his fuzzy green head against your chest and drifts off to sleep. 

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

By the time his glittering party of companions arrived from the brothel, there were twelve guards posted on Grosk Zatarus.

Mando awoke suddenly. The sky outside the shop windows was inky black. Nito stood over him, shaking his arm gently. “They’re here.” The Mandalorian nodded once and stood, rolling his shoulders, the humid air of the lagoon surrounding him. It felt warm in his lungs. He was sweating beneath the Beskar armor.

“Are you all right?” Nito asked tentatively, but apparently, Mando’s silence was answer enough. “Yeah, okay, you’re great,” the kid said dimly and hurried up a ladder onto the roof.

They crawled over the clay tiles on their knees, keeping out of sight. The canal waters below looked mercurial in the bright moonlight. Mando reached for his rifle tucked under the stone ledge lining the rooftop. After sighting the house through his scope, the bounty hunter activated the comms-line in his helmet—while Nito equipped himself with the most elaborate headset the Mandalorian had ever seen. 

“We’re in position,” Mando said cooly.

“Same,” Kosar replied.

With the microphone propped under his chin and the datapad clutched between his hands, the Ardennian looked ready to lead an armada into battle.  

“Okay, I’ve got the tracker online.” Nito’s voice sounded like he might truly be coordinating a military offensive. “Looks like the signal is coming from the second floor, next to the southside stairwell. First room on the left.”

“Told ya this would work.” Kosar jeers. “These bitches’ll do anything once you’ve got them in line.”

“Keep the comms clear,” Mando barked. He’d picked up Nito from a scrap yard in Coronet City, so he had no doubt the kid had heard far worse. But that was no excuse to indulge Kosar’s vulgar barbarism. 

“Sure thing,” smug laughter crackled through the helmet’s speakers. “You take out the guys on the roof. I’ll go through the front. Watch the alley. Anyone escapes, and every mercenary daddy’s hired will converge on us.” 

“I know the drill.”

The Mandalorian turned his attention to Nito and held up three fingers. “On my count.”

The kid nodded solemnly, holding his hand poised above the datapad.

“Three.” 

Mando settled into a lunge, resting his elbow over his raised knee, and lifted the rifle into position.

“Two.”

He exhaled, placing his finger on the trigger, lining up the Brite Boy watching the canal-side into his crosshairs. 

“Now.”

Next to him, he heard the shallow thud of Nito’s thumb pressing against the touchscreen—before a blinding flash of light obscured his vision. 

“Farrik!” Nito gasped, fingers furiously typing commands into the datapad as a distant alarm started sounding. Mando blinked away the searing halo of white light behind his eyelids. When it finally cleared, he saw the guards on the roof scrambling as every perimeter blast door and window slid into place. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Nito blanched. “Comms and power are down, but—”

“You triggered the fuckin’ safeguards,” Kosar snarled into his earpiece. “Cover me. I’m going in.”

A cloud of smoke—a burst of sparks—and a clattering shower of chrome is all that remained of the first guard after the Mandalorian’s disintegration round hit them in the groin. Mando slid the next cartridge into the breech, taking down the second guard posted on the roof. The third shouted in horror at the piles of armor and charred flesh before jumping over the side, hoping to plunge into the canal. He missed, landing with a sickening crunch onto the boardwalk.

“Charges laid. I need cover!” 

Kosar detonated the thermal charges, blowing a crater into the front gate. There was a glint of prismatic color from a window on the third floor. Its blast shield hadn't been activated. The Mandalorian hit a Brite Boy, trying to catch sight of the explosion with a bolt from his rifle. And another who charged at Kosar coming through an opening in the blast door. That left six inside. With the front entrance now the only way in or out.

Thermal detonators in a residential neighborhood? The nighttime streets were empty, but not for long. “You better make this quick,” Mando muttered over the comms-line.

“H-he’s still on the second floor. The target is on the second floor.”

The Mandalorian couldn’t spare the kid a glance, so he just shouted. “Go back to the ship, Nito.”

“I can help!”

“I’m inside,” Kosar called over the comm-line. The sounds of blaster fire and screaming battered against his helmet, echoing in his eardrums. 

“There’s two—no, three—heading for the front gate.”

But he didn’t need Nito to tell him that. The sensors in his helmet picked up the approaching heat signatures through the warped metal and decimated stone. At the first wink of chrome, he fired. Then—shit! The next figure who slid into his scope was a Zeltron woman, her shimmering dress torn, the makeup on her face smeared from sobbing. This Brite Boy had an arm wrapped around her waist, carrying her like a shield as she twisted and writhed in his grip. 

Mando couldn’t get a clean shot. 

The bounty hunter was no longer beholden to the Guild’s Code, but he couldn’t bring himself to fire the rifle. With the comms-network down, the mercenary couldn’t call for help. But if he made it past the range of Nito’s jammer…?        

The Mandalorian watched through his scope. Waiting. The Zeltron fought, kicking wildly, but the Brite Boy dragged her through the street until, finally, he shoved her to the ground and fled down a narrow alley between the houses. Mando rained down blaster fire but only clipped the limestone. 

The buildings were all so close together…

With the press of a few buttons, the Seeker in his helmet activated and locked onto the escaping Brite Boy, sprinting through the maze of buildings and waterways. 

“Back to the ship, Nito!” Mando shouted before he tossed the rifle aside. The Mandalorian took a running leap and threw himself over the canal.

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

To be continued...

Part 3 - Coming Soon!

[ejzah]

A/N: What happens when I watch “Paper Soldiers”, a fairly angst free episode? I immediately write a very angsty fic borne from a few random lines of dialogue. I’m also back to borrowing random lyrics from Wicked.

***

Unlike I Anticipated

“Agent Blye continued to pursue,” Deeks muttered to himself, typing along with his monologue. He had about half of his report written when he fell Kensi’s gaze on him. Sure enough, the next time he checked his notes, he saw her watching him out of the corner of his eye. It was just the two of them now, in the quiet of the empty bullpen.

“Yeees?” he prompted. Kensi didn’t say anything. “Come on, I can literally feel you thinking. It’s super distracting. If this is about what that guy said to you, because I would have understood if you punched him.”

“No, it’s not about that creep,” Kensi told him. She fiddled with her pencil, pushed a couple of trinkets around her desk, increasing Deeks’ curiosity with every second she stalled. It either had to be something embarrassing or that he wouldn’t like.

“When we were talking about you being a public defender, it got me thinking. I was wondering what that was like?” She shrugged, and Deeks understood why she felt so uncomfortable.

They weren’t this direct. Not in this way. Not without jokes and work to act as a buffer. Not when it was just the two of them late at night.

He turned to face her. “What’s going on with you? First you’re imagining me at my former former job, now you want to know what it was like?”

“Sorry.” She held up her hands, instantly defensive. “God forbid I show some interest in my partner’s life.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that.” Brushing her shoulder to stop her from getting up and leaving, Deeks waved her back down. “Just, stop for two seconds, ok? What exactly do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Most of the public defenders I’ve run into through cases have either been jerks or seemed like they just stumbled out of law school,” she said.

“That is pretty accurate,” Deeks agreed. He’d worked with one guy who’d hated his guts from day one and a woman who’d shook every day she walked into court. She’d quit after two months.

“You put up with a lot at LAPD, right? Bad partners, Bates, working rough undercover cases all on your own with almost no support. So, the LA court system much have been particularly awful for you to just up and leave after a couple of years,” Kensi surmised rather shrewdly.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I just up and left,” Deeks hedged. “It did suck though.” He leaned back, addressing Kensi more seriously. He never liked talking about his time as a lawyer; he largely considered it one of the more miserable and disheartening points of his life. Which was saying something.

“I went into law because I wanted to help people. I had this idealized notion that I could—rescue kids like me before the worst happened. Or stop the people like my dad,” he explained. He smiled sardonically. “I guess I pictured myself as a modern day Atticus Finch.” He chuckled to himself at how poorly his own attempts at playing judicial savior had gone. Kensi would have a field day if she ever found out he shared a middle name with a literary attorney.

“So you weren’t stopping the injustices of the world?” Kensi guessed.

“I knew I’d have to defend criminals and generally bad people, but I, naively, thought I’d also get those cases with the wife who shoots her abusive husband or the teenager who needs a second chance. Instead, I had to defend truly awful people and watch their cases get dismissed because I had a better argument, or there was an issue with evidence, or the victim dropped charges. Nine days out of ten, I hated it.”

A moment too late, he realized just how much he’d revealed, and he swallowed self-consciously. Kensi’s eyes held a little bit too much sympathy and compassion as she watched him.

“So, I quit.”

“And you thought LAPD would be better?” she asked.

“Maybe not. I figured I’d at least have the opportunity to intervene where it mattered. I’d be able to make sure the chain of evidence wasn’t broken and maybe that mom wouldn’t need to shoot her husband because a cop actually listened to her for a change,” he said, his voice hoarse. His lips twitched in an approximation of a smile. “Then I jumped ship when Hetty offered the liaison position.”

“I’m glad you did.” For once, there wasn’t a hint of teasing in Kensi’s voice. “I hope NCIS is better than the courts or LAPD.”

“It is.”

“Good.” Kensi grabbed her pencil again, seemingly ready to get back to her paperwork, then paused, hesitating for several seconds before she added, “For the record, you did make a difference. Even if it didn’t feel like it at the time.”

Deeks sat back, letting Kensi’s words sink in. He didn’t know if he fully believed her, but for the first time, the thought of his previous careers didn’t leave him feeling bitter and hopeless.

[4lexnilsen]

“stop the fucking car,  helena.   i’m done playing whatever game you’re playing.   i’m tired of repeating the same thing over and over and over again only to feel like i’m talking to a wall.”   fingers carding through his locks,  alex has never been quite so frustrated.   this whole psychological bullshit means absolutely nothing —   he’s NOT a bully,  he never makes fun of her,  and as long as she’s respectful towards him and his friends,  that’s the kind of energy he sends out to her in return.   she won’t guilt him into feeling like the villain when he’s simply defending the ones he cares about.   “fine.   don’t elaborate on anything,  keep throwing random diagnosis and insults at me,  see where that takes you.”   how very mature of her.   he rubs his temples,  wishing they’d just explode and end his suffering at this point.

“oh?   i’m revolting?   but it’s perfectly okay for you to sexualize me?   you need to get these double standards sorted out.   don’t expect me to just sit here and put up with all this infidelity talk without saying anything back.”   she literally told him that he was screwing poppy!   how’s that any different?   jesus christ,  how could he ever consider helena his true friend?   she’s an attention-hungry brat,  that’s what she is.   as soon as he focuses on someone else,  he gets accused of cheating and labeled as a narcissistic asshole.   “i’m very happy with my life,  thank you for your concern,  though.”   she’s the only one giving him headaches and causing any frustration in his life.   “do you seriously have to be the most important person in every room?   why do you expect me to prioritize you over sarah or poppy?   what makes you think you’re better than everyone else?”   she loves to talk about his parents,  but at least ed and elizabeth nilsen didn’t raise a spoiled princess who needs the world to revolve around her.

“next thing you’ll be calling me is a sociopath.   i’m bracing myself for yet another unprompted diagnosis that’s nothing but bullshit.”   she can never elaborate on what exactly the criteria is,  how exactly is he so damaged.   does she have a degree in psychology?   clearly not.   she’s probably seen a few episodes of the good doctor and suddenly is an expert.   “i could care less about your daddy’s money,  but if i’m a sad,  broken little boy then you’re just a spoiled fucking brat.”   he rolls his eyes and lets go of the steering wheel,  grabbing the door handle instead and trying to open the door even as the car continues to speed down the interstate.   “I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE.”   before she crashes into a truck or something.   before she digs up more painful memories from his past just to poke holes in them and psychoanalyze his ways.

she infuriates him because she sees right through him —   he would have to have a death wish to act on his words and pull on the brake.   he won’t say it out loud,  but she’s right and doing so would surely send them flying,  spinning and straight up crashing.   he doesn’t want to risk his life or health,  and as much as he despises hell-lena’s guts at the moment,  he also doesn’t want to gamble with hers.   he lets go of the brake wordlessly,  just glaring at her,  pale blue eyes growing ice-cold.   as she begins to accelerate even more,  god,  he doesn’t want to know how fast they’re going,  he does the opposite of what he assumes she wants to see and does his best to appear relaxed.   unbothered.   fuck her and her stupid mind games.   he hopes she gets pulled over,  prays daddy will have to bail her out.   “WHY are you pinching me?!   why is it okay for you to hurt me but a big deal when i defend myself from your abuse?”   his thigh still stings where she’s pinched it,  and he’s sure there’s a bruise forming already beneath the denim.   how’s any of this fair?

“are you fucking serious right now?   are you seriously asking me why i don’t want to show up at my girlfriend’s workplace with a psych ward escapee?”   he can already imagine sarah’s face,  knows how confused she’ll be and would rather avoid making a scene around her colleagues.   helena doesn’t have the right to ruin his relationship or question his honesty and loyalty —   it’s between him and sarah,  has nothing to do with her.   “are you seriously threatening me with prison right now?   when you’re the one breaking every law,  going over the speed limit,  playing with our lives for the fun of it?   that’s how you get what you want,  isn’t it?   first,  you try to impress people,  bribe them into being your puppets and when that doesn’t work out,  you show your true colors and threaten them.   lovely manipulation techniques.”   but it does shush him up.   he’s a man twice her size and she does have enough money to hire lawyers who’d ruin his future in less than five minutes.   “i never want to see you again after this,”   is all he says before tossing her phone back into her lap,  refraining from aiming for her head instead,  folding his arms over his chest and looking out the window.   fuck her.

"just like you make fun of me!? ALL the time? maybe i'm tired of just taking it.. that seems to piss off the actual bullies off really well every time that happens though. they hate it when their victims get tired of it, so it gets turned on them. you're just proving it." people who are kind, finally get tired of being kind after being stomped on and then looked at like the bad guy EVERY single time... this situation, no different. and it's shocking most of all... because she didn't think he would act like this, out of all people. "i've already told you!" she isn't explaining it again and again, when she's already did that... it clearly won't matter so there's no use. and at this point, he's starting to successfully make her feel crazy, almost tricking her brain it really is just all in her head? maybe this girl is absolutely innocent, maybe it's just alex who's been causing the weird vibe. no, not when there's so much proof, it's not her fault he's blind to it. she can't let him manipulate her.

"that's so degrading. you're revolting." if he can talk like that, demean her, sexualize her, how is it not likely that he's just been attempting to be her friend so she can be another poppy? at this point, revealing what a totally different person he's revealed himself in being, helena doesn't trust it anymore. that would make sense, would it not? why he doesn't seem to value her as his friend, like he does his other one who clearly doesn't care to give him what he wants? "maybe it's you taking out your frustrations, that's why i'm not that important. that's why you've revealed your true colors. i get it now." because she's not initiating things in the way he wants her to so she can be another side whore. "clearly i do, since you fit EVERY criteria of one." the sometimes nice to her, sometimes terrible to her part. thinks he's superior part. lack of empathy part. envy of others part. "is that your problem with me? you hate me because i come from a family with money? you really ARE just like everybody else," tears flying out of her eyes now, rosy painted cheeks flushed with heated rage. "say what? putting words in my mouth? but sure, since you said it.. it must be true." something must've made him so emotionally unavailable and that must be the start of it.

eyes briefly flickering from the road to the brake, she's almost at the exit she needs to fly down to sarah's auditorium that she's putting the puzzle pieces together from the small glimpse of the name from the post she managed to dig up before he snatched it away. and she's losing the upper hand, mind quickly circling on how to take back control. "pull the brake at this speed and we'll crash." that's just the facts, he can't pull it or they'll go spinning. and it angers her he thinks he can just take control, so her foot hits the acceleration even harder to ensure he can't pull it even if it risks getting pulled over as jaw clenches and eyes focus back on the lanes she's hanging the hard curve with. left arm jerking back when her wrist is left stinging at his slap, "WHY are you smacking me?! you're the one trying to kill us! i can drive this car PERFECTLY FINE if you'd stop trying to jerk the wheel and make it come to an abrupt stop!" shoving him away from her when he calls her insane and essentially calls her a homewrecker which is so far from the truth it's disgusting, she's done with the conversations about poppy... this is about sarah now.

"why are you running from sarah now? you have something you want to say to her, remember. so i'm just doing what you SAID." TAKING him to sarah, just like he SAID. "please, you think you're the big bad man here? 9-1-1 would easily take you. hitting a woman, and with daddy's money," mocking him, "remember," a new fresh wave of tears flooding her face because she hates he uses something out of her control against her, that he reminds her of all of the people who has always judged her for being the heiress to a wealthy family, and with her emotions angry and spiraling, of course she wants to use it to make threats and sarcastic jabs at him because of how much it hurts when she thought he was her friend and he just keeps driving the dagger DEEPER, "you could go to prison for life." he wants to judge and label her as some rich brat, make her feel like a terrible person because of the background she comes from, then that's what he deserves to get.

[incandescentflower]

I am officially on board with Century of Love. Honestly, I was from the beginning, but I am now caught up. I personally love mythology that is completely surprising and out and out bonkers, and serves to set up good emotional conflict.

We have curses and deaging (which congrats to the young actor who somehow can channel Daou's "I'm done with this shit" expression) and nightly suffering in the name of love. Every little peel back of this story has been so fun.

And top it all off with the straight out of fanfiction story that Vee's presence is what can sooth San's physical (manifestation of emotional) pain.

It uses tropes in such fun ways, the big and the small. I don't think I've ever enjoyed the accidental fall on each other trope as much as I did in ep 3 . I was howling with laughter. I love that they don't take themselves too seriously and they used this, not as a big romantic moment, but as an awkward situation we get to watch San squirm though haha

I'm also excited (trying to tamp it down a little) that it seems like we are going to get some exploration of what really makes someone them - what makes up the totality of a person. San is convinced Vee is not Wat. But Wat was a rich woman in the 1920s and Vee is a poor man in the 2020s. Wat had to be a lot of things that San says she was because of expectations on her. Vee has had other experiences that would make him act differently - and he points that out - the time they live in allows for that.

(as a side note, I love the socio-economic flip that is happening in the present with San being well-established and wealthy and Vee struggling and lower class)

But even if they seem very different, Vee still is so incredibly kind in the same ways we saw Wat being. Vee wanted to help kid-San as soon as he saw him, he is almost singularly focused on taking care of his grandmother. He put those dudes who were stabbed into the taxi (what?? okay fine show whatever) and that was pretty much exactly what Wat did for San when she met him??

San is definitely not the exact same person as he was 100 years ago before he spent years of searching and suffering, coping with a devastating loss of the one he loved. A lived life does change a person, but do those things change the central core of who we are and what another person may fall in love with? I would love if this show grapples with that. To me that would be a fun twist on "the reincarnated lovers have the exact same dynamic and pick up exactly where they left off" story that often happens in dramas.

Whipped cream on top is that I also love San's descendants (at least the ones who live with him) and this very Goblin (kdrama) vibe of "care-taking the immortal" relationship San has going on with them.

The mix of levity and mythology and high stakes in this show is really quite delightful. I'm pretty psyched about it.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[deoidesign]

I met the me who made different choices