#besides i guess battle mechanics

[madbalalaika]

God it's hard to write a DnD story when you know absolutely nothing about DnD 💀

[skywalkerslvt]

Remove your armour for me?

❥Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!mechanic!reader

❥Summary: You’re stuck on the Razor Crest with Mando and a group of mercenaries, but things get tense when you both get caught up in a dangerous mission to break someone out of a prison ship. Things heat up between you two, and before long, you’re caught up in a whirlwind of emotions. You and Mando have to sort out your complicated relationship and unspoken feelings for each other. Set around the events of “The Prisoner” episode (season 1 chapter 6). I highly recommend you watch it–if you haven’t already–for some background info but ofc it's not absolutely necessary.

❥CW: 18+ smut, sexual tension, violence, p in v, floor sex, fingering, mostly canon compliant, porn with plot, porn with feelings, maybe a tiny bit of angst, fighting, reader babysits grogu <3, 19k words

❥a/n: DISCLAIMER BEFORE YOU READ- I am well aware that many fics like this have been done before, and would like to acknowledge all of these amazing fics! And while these are all ideas I've outlined for a really long time, if anyone feels it is to similar to another fic, you can DM me and I will hear u out and change whatever needs to be changed lol. The outline for this fic has been in my drafts for years, and I finally decided to do something with it. She's a long one, so I apologize if there are any mistakes I missed, or if any of my ideas weren't written out clearly 🥲 I hope you enjoy <3

The hum of the Razor Crest filled the silence of the cramped quarters. Your hands, calloused from years of working on engines, were busy at the makeshift repair station you’d set up in the corner of the ship. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was home. Or as close to home as you'd get now, after months of drifting from planet to planet, always on the run.

The metal beneath your fingers was warm as you twisted a wrench into place, but your mind wandered to the quiet figure that was never far from your thoughts.

The Mandalorian–or Mando, as you called him. There was always something magnetic about him, the way he moved with purpose, the stoic expression never giving away what was beneath. It kept you guessing. But after all this time, it wasn’t the silent looks or the odd, soft gestures that had your heart in knots. It was the way he made you feel seen in a galaxy that often overlooked people like you.

You let out a sigh as you wiped your grease-covered hands on a rag, glancing over to where the child’s little pod was resting quietly beside you. It was always quiet on the ship when Mando wasn’t around. The kid didn’t say much–or anything really, other than the occasional coo– but there was something comforting in the way he sat near you, playing with his favourite metal ball, tiny and serene. Something safe.

Your wrench slipped for a moment, and the clang of metal on metal sent a flicker of your memory through your mind. You could almost hear the bustling sounds of your old shop, the hum of speeders waiting for repairs, the dull chatter of the occasional customer coming in and out. That life felt distant now–a memory dulled by the constant movement of the Razor Crest. You missed it sometimes, the routine, the steady rhythm of life on that backwater planet. But that life had been torn apart the moment Mando landed in your yard with a broken ship and a bounty hunter’s target on his tail.

But the fire wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning—the moment everything shifted. You could still picture it clearly, the first time he stepped into your shop, long before the kid, long before everything fell apart.

-

It had been an ordinary day, hot and slow like most on that backwater planet. The sun had cast long shadows across the junkyard when the distinctive roar of a ship’s engines broke the monotony. You’d looked up to see a clunky, battle-worn ship descending—a hunk of metal that seemed more scrap heap than starship. You weren’t expecting much when the ramp lowered, but then he walked out, his beskar gleaming in the sunlight. He’d looked out of place there, a specter of something bigger, more dangerous than the quiet life you’d carved out for yourself.

“Repulsorlift’s shot,” he’d said simply, his voice tinny through the modulator. No pleasantries, no introductions. Just business.

You weren’t sure why, but you hadn’t been intimidated. Something about the way he held himself—rigid, guarded—felt almost… tired. Like he carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders and didn’t trust anyone to help bear it. You’d nodded, grabbed your tools, and set to work. You’d told yourself it was just another job, but something about him stuck with you. Maybe it was the way he’d watched your every move, silent but observant, or the faint hesitation in his voice when he’d finally said, “Thanks.” Or maybe it was the way he held himself, tall, alert, and slightly cocky, like he knew the intimidating effect he had on people.

That wasn’t the last time he showed up at your shop. Every few months, he’d come back, his ship battered and bruised from whatever trouble he’d gotten into. Sometimes it was a blown-out hyperdrive; other times, hull damage from a firefight. You didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer answers. But over time, the silences between you had started to feel less empty. He’d comment on the efficiency of your work, or you’d tease him about the state of his ship, and while he never laughed, you could’ve sworn you saw the slightest tilt of his helmet that hinted at amusement.

You’d grown to look forward to those visits. The sound of his engines overhead was enough to send a little thrill through you, though you’d never admit it. And every time he left, his ship a distant glint on the horizon, you felt the same pang of sadness. You’d watch until he was gone, telling yourself it was just the quiet returning that unsettled you. But deep down, you knew better.

And then came that day.

The day he landed not for repairs, but for refuge. The day he brought the kid into your life—and with him, all the chaos that followed.

You heard his ship land–well, more like a crash–outside your shop. You immediately dropped whatever mundane task you had been working on–the sight of the Crest sending your heart pounding for multiple reasons.

One, you’d get to see Mando a lot sooner than you thought you would, the thought of the tall, beskar clad man sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You tried to push the feeling away, thinking strictly of business.

Two, because the ship was in terrible shape–possibly the worst shape you’d ever seen.

You rushed to the door of your shop to immediately tend to the Crest–and to see the man you had secretly been harbouring a stupid crush on–but when you whipped the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges, Mando was already there, standing tall and shiny before you.

You jumped, slightly spooked by the unexpected sight before regaining your composure. “Mando? What are yo–”

“I need your help,” he cut you off. He took a step closer to you, sending your heart pounding and cheeks heating under the gaze of his black visor. You could feel yourself getting flustered by his proximity. “Can I…come in?” he asked, confused by your silence and dumbfounded expression

Right. Yes, of course. He wasn’t stepping closer to you for the reasons you had wanted. You should probably step to the side and let him in. Averting your gaze, you stepped to the side of the doorway, allowing Mando to step inside the small shop before shutting the door behind him.

You looked out the window of your shop, seeing the sorry state of the ship. You cringed, the thought of all that work you spent on repairs being undone by whatever mess Mando had gotten himself into now.

“Stars, Mando. What the fuck did you do to that ship?” you questioned as your eyes scanned him for any injuries. It was silly of you to care so much about his well being–especially considering how well he could hold himself in a fight–but it didn’t stop you from worrying.

That’s when you noticed it. The satchel at his side holding something–or rather someone. Your eyes widened at the big brown eyes looking up at you, a soft coo leaving its little mouth. Mando tilted his helmet towards his satchel, lightly stroking the creature's big green ears before his visor fixed on you again.

“Mando, what the fuck,” you gasped, mouth hanging open in shock.

Mando shifted slightly, his broad shoulders stiffening as though bracing for your reaction. “It’s... complicated,” he said, his voice flat but with the faintest hint of hesitation.

You blinked, your gaze bouncing between him and the small green creature nestled in the satchel. It blinked back at you, wide-eyed and unassuming, as if this whole situation wasn’t entirely bizarre. “Complicated? Mando, this isn’t a blown hyperdrive or a cracked hull—it’s a kid.”

“I’m aware,” he replied dryly, adjusting the satchel as if to shield the child from your scrutiny.

Your mind reeled as you tried to piece together what you were seeing. You stepped closer, peering up into his inscrutable helmet. “So… what? You’re babysitting now?”

A soft coo from the child drew your attention, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. It was absurd, really—the hardened bounty hunter with a baby in tow. But when you looked back at him, something about the way he stood there, tense and guarded, made the smile fade.

“This isn’t permanent,” he said finally, his voice low. “I just need to keep him safe. For now.”

The weight in his tone struck a chord, and you realized this wasn’t just some odd detour for him. Whatever had brought Mando to your door wasn’t a simple favor or a quick repair. It was bigger than that—dangerous.

“Safe from what?” you asked, your voice softening.

He hesitated, and you saw his gloved hand flex at his side before he finally spoke. “The ones who want him back.”

Your stomach sank as the implications hit you. If someone was after the kid, it meant trouble—and a lot of it. “Kriff,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “You’re telling me you’ve got people hunting you now?”

“Yes,” Mando said, his voice steady but heavy with tension. His gloved hand rested lightly on the edge of the workbench, his helmet dipping slightly toward you. “And they’re not going to stop.”

Crossing your arms, you looked up at Mando with a frustrated look in your eyes, clearly not satisfied with the vague answers he was giving you. He sighed, knowing you wouldn't give this up, and briefly told you of how he and the kid crossed paths.

You glanced down at the child, who blinked up at you with big, curious eyes, a soft coo escaping his tiny mouth. It was impossible to stay mad with that face looking at you, even if the mess they’d brought to your doorstep was monumental.

“Alright,” you said with a resigned sigh, tossing the rag onto the bench. “What do you need from me?”

Mando straightened slightly, his presence somehow more commanding even in the cramped space of the shop. “I need you to watch him,” he said, nodding toward the child. “And fix the ship.” His helmet turned back toward you, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt the weight of his gaze. “I’ll take care of the ones after us.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Take care of them how?”

“I’ll find them before they find him,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the galaxy.

You blinked at him, your irritation softening into reluctant admiration. Of course, that was his plan. Run headfirst into danger to protect the kid, with no thought for himself. It was infuriatingly… noble.

“Right,” you said, exhaling sharply. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to go off and hunt these people down, while I babysit and patch up the flying death trap you call a ship?”

His helmet tilted slightly. “That’s the idea.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “And here I thought this was going to be a quiet day.”

“Quiet’s overrated,” he said, the barest hint of dry humor threading through his tone.

You snorted despite yourself, grabbing a set of tools from the workbench. “You’re lucky I’m a soft touch, Mando. You owe me. Big time.”

He didn’t respond to that, but the tilt of his helmet lingered on you for just a beat longer than necessary, as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. Instead, he stepped back, his hand resting briefly on the child’s pod.

“I won’t be gone long,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you shot back lightly, though the pang of worry in your chest betrayed your teasing tone.

Mando nodded once before turning to leave, his armor clinking softly as he moved. The child let out a curious coo, his big eyes following Mando until the door shut behind him.

You sighed, looking down at the little green bundle of chaos. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid,” you muttered, reaching out to pat his tiny head. Then, with a glance out the window at the battered Razor Crest, you grabbed your tools and got to work.

You’d thought the babysitting would be an easy job. You thought the kid would sit in the corner, playing with whatever scrap metal he found while you worked on the Crest. Boy, were you wrong.

It started innocently enough. The kid had perched himself near the workbench, happily clutching his favorite metal ball from the Razor Crest’s lever. You’d thought, Great, he’s occupied. But the moment you turned your back to start on the ship’s mangled stabilizers, the little gremlin had somehow waddled over to a pile of tools, his tiny hands reaching for a wrench twice his size.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, rushing over and scooping him up before he could topple into the mess. He cooed at you, his big brown eyes wide and innocent, as if he hadn’t just been caught trying to cause chaos.

You set him back near his pod, this time surrounding him with a makeshift barricade of crates and spare parts. “Stay,” you instructed firmly, pointing a finger at him. He blinked up at you, looking entirely unimpressed, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Satisfied he was contained, you turned your attention back to the Razor Crest, only to hear the unmistakable clang of something hitting the floor. Spinning around, you saw the kid holding a hydrospanner he’d somehow managed to grab from your toolbox, despite the barricade.

“Are you serious?” you groaned, snatching the tool from his little hands. He let out a disgruntled squeak, as if offended by your intervention.

This back-and-forth went on for what felt like hours. No matter where you put him or what distractions you offered—scrap parts, shiny bolts, even your own spare tools—he always found a way to escape and make a beeline for whatever could cause the most trouble.

Eventually, you admitted defeat. “Alright, fine,” you huffed, eyeing him as he sat on the floor, gnawing on a piece of wiring. “You win, kid.”

Desperate for a solution, you rummaged through your scrap pile until you found a long piece of fabric. It was a little dusty and frayed at the edges, but it would do. With a few quick knots and some adjustments, you fashioned it into a makeshift sling.

“Okay, little troublemaker,” you muttered, scooping him up and settling him into the sling. He looked up at you, blinking curiously as you secured him against your chest. “This way, I can keep an eye on you and actually get some work done.”

To your surprise, he seemed to like it. He snuggled against you with a contented coo, one tiny hand clutching your shirt as the other held his precious metal ball.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you murmured, shaking your head as you grabbed your tools and got back to work.

With the kid securely in the sling, things were… marginally easier. Sure, he still reached for anything shiny within arm’s length, and you had to be extra careful with your tools, but at least he wasn’t wandering off or attempting to dismantle your entire workshop.

As you worked on patching up the ship’s stabilizers, you found yourself talking to him without even thinking about it. “This stabilizer’s a mess,” you muttered, adjusting the sling slightly. “Mando really did a number on it this time. Honestly, I don’t know how this ship is still flying.”

The kid responded with a soft coo, his big eyes watching you intently as if he understood every word.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, glancing down at him with a small smile. “You’re probably used to this kind of chaos, huh? Well, don’t get too comfortable. I’m not planning on making this a habit.”

He let out a tiny, happy sound, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright, fine,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Maybe it’s not so bad having you around. But don’t tell Mando I said that, okay?”

The kid blinked up at you, his expression as innocent as ever, and you swore you saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

The clatter of metal sounding from your shop made you halt your tinkering. Sure, Mando had been gone a while, and probably should’ve been back by now, but he was composed and careful. He never would’ve knocked something over in your shop. Goosebumps appeared on the surface of your skin, the threat of some unknown person creeping around your shop alerting all your senses.

You reached for the blade strapped to your thigh, silently cursing yourself for leaving your blaster locked in a drawer on your workbench. Were the people who were after the kid here to take him? You placed the kid in his pod before turning towards the building.

Silently, you made your way to the entrance of your shop, your hands shaking slightly as you pressed yourself against the wall, listening for any signs of trouble.

The sound of another clatter echoed through the shop, sharper this time, like tools hitting the floor. Your heart pounded in your chest as you gripped the hilt of your blade tighter. The shadows in the dim light of the shop played tricks on your eyes, stretching and shifting as you tried to steady your breathing.

A muffled voice—low and gruff—reached your ears, confirming your worst fear. Someone was in your shop.

The kid let out a faint coo from his pod, and you whipped your head around to shush him, your finger pressed to your lips. “Stay quiet,” you whispered, barely audible. His wide eyes blinked at you, and you prayed he understood.

Drawing a deep breath, you crept forward, the cold metal of your blade reassuring in your hand. You could make out faint footsteps now, moving further into the shop. Whoever it was, they didn’t seem to be in any hurry. That wasn’t a good sign.

You rounded the corner slowly, keeping your steps light, your back pressed against the wall. When the intruder finally came into view, your stomach sank. It wasn’t just one person—it was two. Both were heavily armed, with blasters holstered at their sides and rifles slung across their backs. Their armor was mismatched and worn, but their movements were confident, predatory.

“Check the back,” one of them barked, his voice grating and impatient. The other nodded and began heading toward the rear of the shop—toward the Razor Crest.

Kriff.

Your mind raced. If they got anywhere near the kid, it would be over. You needed to act, but taking on two armed bounty hunters with nothing but a blade was suicide.

Suddenly, an idea struck you. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had.You waited for the first hunter to disappear further into the shop, his boots echoing faintly as he moved toward the back. The second hunter, a stocky figure with a jagged scar running down the side of his face, lingered near your workbench, scanning the room. His back was to you.

This was your chance.

Quietly, you shifted the kid’s pod further into the shadows and gripped your blade tightly. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you crept toward the hunter, careful not to make a sound.

When you were within striking distance, you sprang forward, plunging the blade into his neck. He grunted in pain, twisting toward you as he fumbled for his blaster, but you yanked the weapon from his holster before he could grab it. With a sharp shove, you sent him crashing into the bench, his head slamming against the edge before he slumped to the floor, motionless.

You barely had time to catch your breath before the other hunter’s voice rang out.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

You whirled around to see him at the far end of the shop, his blaster already raised. Without thinking, you dove behind a stack of crates as the first shot sizzled past your ear.

Blaster fire erupted, and you returned fire, your hands shaking as you squeezed the trigger. The noise was deafening in the enclosed space, sparks flying as shots struck metal and ricocheted wildly.

The hunter was relentless, his shots forcing you to stay pinned behind the crates. You peeked out just long enough to fire back, but your aim was far from precise. The tension built as the seconds ticked by, the energy pack in your stolen blaster rapidly depleting.

Finally, the unmistakable sound of a weapon sputtering signaled the hunter’s blaster running dry. You tried to fire again, only to hear the same disheartening click from your own weapon.

Great. Just great.

Panic clawed at your chest as you scrambled to come up with a plan. You glanced toward the Razor Crest—so close, yet so far. The kid’s pod was still tucked in the shadows where you’d left it, but you couldn’t leave him here.

You moved cautiously, trying to stay hidden as you made your way toward the ship. You'd find a better weapon on the Crest and then come back for the kid. The shop was eerily quiet now, save for the sound of your own ragged breathing. You were almost there, the Razor Crest’s ramp in sight, when a rough hand grabbed you from behind and slammed you to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind out of you, and before you could react, the hunter was on top of you, his hand clamping around your throat.

“You thought you could take us out?” he snarled, his grip tightening. “Big mistake.”

You clawed at his hand, gasping for air as your vision blurred. Desperation took over, and you thrashed beneath him, your hands fumbling for anything to defend yourself with. But he was too strong, his weight pinning you down as darkness crept in at the edges of your vision.

Then, a sharp, sudden whizz cut through the air, followed by the heavy thud of the hunter’s body collapsing on top of you. His grip on your throat loosened, and you shoved him off with a gasp, coughing as you struggled to sit up.

Your blurry vision cleared just enough to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway, his blaster still raised. The Mandalorian.

He strode toward you, his movements quick and purposeful. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice steady but with an edge of concern.

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “I’m—fine,” you managed to croak, though your throat ached and your heart was still pounding.

Mando’s visor tilted down to the kid’s pod, which had rolled out of its hiding spot in the chaos. The child cooed softly, seemingly unbothered by the commotion.

Mando turned back to you. “Get him on the ship,” he ordered. “Now.”

You nodded, scrambling to your feet as he turned toward the doorway, his blaster ready for any more threats.

The kid’s pod glided up the Razor Crest’s ramp, its quiet hum the only reprieve in the cacophony of chaos around you. Your hands shook as you secured him in the ship’s hold, glancing back toward the shop’s entrance where shouts and sporadic blaster fire echoed in the distance.

You exhaled sharply. This wasn’t over. Not even close.

There was no time to waste. You darted back down the ramp and toward the exterior hull of the Razor Crest, scanning for the damage you hadn’t had time to address earlier. The scorch marks along the port engine told you everything you needed to know. That engine wouldn’t make it through hyperspace—not in its current state.

You grabbed your toolkit and scrambled onto the hull, nearly slipping as adrenaline and panic coursed through your veins. Shouts grew louder, closer. You could hear the unmistakable hiss and pop of blaster fire—Mando was holding them off, but for how long?

Your hands worked as quickly as they could, tightening bolts, rerouting power lines, and sealing cracks with a welding torch. Sparks flew as you worked, the harsh light illuminating the frantic expression on your face.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered under your breath, wiping sweat from your brow with a grease-streaked hand.

The blaster fire outside grew louder, more rapid. A cry of pain echoed over the chaos, and you flinched, your pulse pounding in your ears. You couldn’t tell who it belonged to—Mando or one of the bounty hunters—but you didn’t dare look.

A warning beep sounded from your wrist comm. The ship’s diagnostics reported a critical error in the starboard stabilizer.

Kriff.

You slid off the hull, landing hard on your feet, and ran to the other side of the ship. The stabilizer was bent out of alignment, and you cursed under your breath as you wrenched it back into place with all your strength. Your muscles screamed in protest, but you didn’t stop.

In the distance, the sound of gunfire suddenly ceased. The silence was almost worse than the chaos, your mind racing with the possibilities of what it meant.

“Mando?” you whispered under your breath, glancing toward the shop’s entrance.

Your answer came seconds later as the man himself appeared, sprinting toward you with his blaster still in hand. His beskar armor was scorched in places, and his breathing was heavy, but he didn’t slow down.

“They’re dead,” he said sharply, his voice modulated but firm. “But more will come. A lot more.”

Your hands froze mid-motion, your heart sinking as his words hit you. “What—what do you mean?”

Mando grabbed your arm, his visor fixed on you. “You’ve been seen with me. That makes you a target.”

Panic began to rise in your chest, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. “I can’t—Mando, this is my home!”

“I know,” he said, his voice softer this time, but no less urgent. “It’s not safe anymore. You need to pack what you can and get on the ship. Now.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as your mind raced. “I—I don’t know what to take—”

“Hey.” Mando’s hand gripped your arm tighter, grounding you. His tone was steady, even reassuring. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of this. But we need to move. Go upstairs and get your stuff.”

His words, though brief, were enough to snap you out of your spiraling thoughts. You nodded frantically, pulling away and sprinting toward the stairs that led to your small room above the shop.

Your hands shook as you threw open drawers and grabbed clothes, tools, and whatever personal belongings you could fit into a small bag. The room, once your sanctuary, now felt stifling, like the walls were closing in on you.

The kid’s soft coos echoed faintly from below, reminding you why you couldn’t stay, why you couldn’t afford to hesitate. You shoved a photo of your old life—a younger you, covered in grease and smiling in front of the shop—into the bag before zipping it shut.

With one last look at the room that had been your home, you turned and bolted down the stairs, your heart pounding as you raced toward the Razor Crest. Mando was already at the ramp, his visor fixed on the horizon, scanning for more threats.

“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing for you to board.

You didn’t hesitate.

That was months ago.

The day you left your old life behind, running on impulse, never imagining you'd still be here—on the Razor Crest, floating from one planet to the next. You were supposed to find another place to settle, start fresh somewhere far from everything. But that had never really happened. Not with Mando around. Not with the way things had fallen into place between you two.

You never had the chance to leave, and, to be honest, you didn’t really want to.

Neither did he. Though, neither of you would ever admit it out loud. The thought of you leaving had become this quiet tension in the air whenever you got too close to speaking about it. He never pushed, and you never asked. But the way his gloved hand would brush yours when handing you tools, the way his presence seemed to fill the small space of the ship—those things said more than words ever could.

In the months that followed, you’d become a sort of permanent fixture on the Razor Crest. A mechanic, a babysitter, a companion in this strange, wandering life. You worked on the ship in between watching over the kid, fixing what needed fixing, and ensuring the Razor Crest was always ready to fly.

Mando paid you a percentage of the bounties he earned, and you used that as your excuse for staying. You were “just doing your job.”

But it wasn’t just that. You and Mando had fallen into something of an unspoken routine, a domesticity you hadn't expected but quickly came to rely on. You knew when he needed food and when he needed space. He knew when to leave you alone while you tinkered and when to offer a quiet word of encouragement or the occasional teasing comment.

His humor, once dry and almost imperceptible, was starting to show itself more. He’d crack jokes now, and it felt oddly comforting. He still kept his distance, his words few, but those moments of levity made you feel like maybe you weren't just an accessory to his mission. Maybe, just maybe, you were becoming something more.

And it hurt, in a way. Because the more time passed, the more your feelings for him grew. There was something deeper there—something more than camaraderie or just shared circumstances. But you couldn’t let him know that. You wouldn’t. The last thing you wanted was for him to take one look at you, all vulnerable and tangled up in emotions, and then kick you to the curb, dropping you off on the next planet, saying it was time to go your separate ways.

You had to keep it buried. It was safer that way. For both of you.

Still, in the quiet moments between tasks, when Mando was off somewhere dealing with a bounty or when you were fixing the ship on your own, the longing would flare up in your chest. You'd think of his quiet gestures, his rare jokes, and wonder what could be. But you'd shove it down, focusing on the ship or the kid, anything to distract you.

That didn’t stop you from fantasizing though. In the shower, your mind would always wander to him–to his teasing, his hardened exterior, to the rare moments he would take his gloves off, the flesh of his thick fingers on display for you. Only then would you slip a hand between your thighs, biting down your whimpers as your calloused fingertips circled your clit to the thought of the sliver of flesh he allowed you to see. Stars, you were like a mutt in heat.

You weren’t foolish. You knew better than to hope for something you couldn’t have. So you didn’t let yourself have hope. You decided you’d push your feelings down and continue on with this job for however long Mando would have you.

-

The hum of the Razor Crest's engines gently vibrated through the floor, but the sound of the cockpit door sliding open was enough to pull you from your spiraling thoughts of your past. You turned your attention toward the entrance, expecting to see Mando, and sure enough, he emerged, his silhouette framed by the doorway. The familiar weight of his presence filled the space.

“Strap in,” he said, his voice modulated and calm, but there was an underlying urgency in his words. "We're landing."

You blinked, momentarily confused before following him into the cockpit and taking a seat. Landing somewhere? You’d been drifting through space, the Razor Crest just a speck of metal in the endless expanse, but now he was pulling you into something new. “Why here?” you asked, crossing your arms instinctively, though it wasn’t like Mando to offer unnecessary explanations.

He didn’t turn to face you, instead reaching for a switch to adjust the ship’s descent. “I need you to stay on the ship with the kid until I come back,” he said flatly. “Don’t make yourself known.”

Your brow furrowed, and you instinctively shifted closer to him, tension building as you processed his words. “Mando, what’s going on? What’s all this about?” You were met with nothing but silence as his hand hovered over the controls, his visor giving away nothing.

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” he said, voice growing slightly firmer. “Stay inside. Stay out of sight.”

You swallowed hard, uncertainty gnawing at you, but his expression remained unchanged. You wanted to press further, but you knew better than to argue. His rules were simple: obey, or risk the consequences. He’d never put you in danger, but this—this felt different.

With a reluctant nod, you sat back, your hands instinctively reaching for the strap of your seatbelt as the ship began its descent. The thought of being left alone on the ship with just the kid, a few meters of metal between you and whatever Mando was about to face, made the hairs on your neck stand on end. Something wasn’t right, but you had no choice but to trust him.

He was already heading for the ramp before you could voice any more questions. The last thing you saw was him disappearing into the dimly lit expanse of the strange industrial ship you landed on before the hatch slammed shut behind him, leaving you with nothing but the soft gurgles of the child in the background and the distant whirring of the ship's systems.

The hum of the ship was different now—throbbing, industrial, almost foreboding. It reminded you of the kind of stations you’d passed through in your earlier years, those heavy, unwelcoming places where you’d never feel entirely safe. The interior of the ship felt cold, metallic, and clinical, the kind of place you imagined shady deals went down. You’d watched Mando as he moved about, speaking to some of the others, his posture tense, his visor fixed on everything and everyone around him.

You glanced at the kid, who was nestled in his little pod next to you, cooing softly as he fiddled with the small metal ball. His innocence, his trust in you, made everything feel that much more dangerous. Your stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and anger.

“What the fuck has Mando gotten himself into now?” you muttered under your breath, a sense of dread settling over you. You had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t a job he could just walk away from.

The minutes dragged on, and you sat in the cockpit, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling. You glanced at the kid again, trying to calm yourself as his big, trusting eyes met yours. You didn’t want to think about the trouble Mando had landed in, or the dangers lurking around them. But it was hard to ignore, especially as you sat there alone, waiting.

Half an hour later, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the ship, and the door to the cockpit swung open. You barely had time to react before Mando was there, grabbing you by the arm with surprising force.

“Come on,” he said, his voice clipped and urgent.

“Mando?” you started, feeling a flicker of panic. “What’s going on?”

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he practically dragged you through the narrow and cramped ship, ignoring your protests.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hissed, trying to pull free, but he only gripped you tighter.

“Mando—seriously, what’s going on?” You struggled, trying to get some kind of explanation, but he kept walking, heading toward the back of the ship.

When you finally reached his sleeping quarters, he shoved the door open, dragging you inside.

“Stay here,” he ordered sharply. “With the kid. It’s gonna be a while, so you might as well get comfortable and sleep. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay.”

You stopped in your tracks, disbelief flooding your chest. “Mando, what the fuck?” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “You better start explaining yourself right now.”

But he just brushed you off, his tone hard, like he wasn’t even going to entertain your question. “I’ll explain later. Just listen to me,” he said, his voice growing more forceful.

Before you could respond, the door was already closing in your face, and Mando was gone.

You stood there for a moment, seething, your heart pounding in your chest. “Kriffing Mandalorian…” you muttered under your breath. This was so typical of him—keep you in the dark, like you were just some bystander in his chaotic life.

Still, despite the rage burning through you, you knew better than to disobey him now. Whatever was going on, it was serious. So you sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, trying to calm yourself. You glanced over at the kid, still blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding them.

It didn’t make sense. He promised he’d explain, but you had a feeling it was going to be a lot longer before that happened.

And that pissed you off even more.

An hour had passed, and you were still fuming. The anger, the confusion, the sense of being trapped—all of it swirled inside you, making it hard to focus. You paced around the small quarters, trying to burn off some of the frustration. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, but you knew better. Mando wasn’t going to budge until he was ready, and until then, you were stuck in his room, with nothing but your own seething thoughts for company.

Your eyes flickered to the bed. A part of you knew you wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and if you were going to be stuck in here, you might as well make yourself comfortable. You glanced down at your mechanic clothes—dirt-streaked, sweaty, and uncomfortable—and sighed. There was no point in staying in them. But with Mando having locked you in here, your own clothes were still back on the ship, out of reach.

Frustrated, you stood up, scanning the room for anything that could be used. Your gaze landed on the drawer where he kept his few clothes. You hesitated for only a moment before walking over, your fingers trailing over the fabric of his shirts. You weren’t sure why you felt a little nervous, but you pushed the thought aside. You needed something clean, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t worn his clothes before. Your cheeks heated as you thought of the time you had to leave the fresher in just a towel to ask him for a shirt because all of your clothes were dirty.

After a moment of deliberation, you grabbed one of his shirts, large and soft-looking. You quickly stripped out of your dirty clothes and pulled his shirt over your head. The fabric was thick and worn, the hem barely covering your panty clad ass, and the smell of him hit you immediately—earthy, leather, and something distinctly Mando. You froze for a moment, the scent making your chest tighten, heat rising to your cheeks.

It was just a shirt. Just a shirt.

But it felt like more. You pulled the fabric down, letting it drape over your body, and as you did, the soft cotton brushed against your bare skin, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. It was so different from your usual work clothes, so much softer, so much… him. Your breath caught in your throat as you stood there, suddenly aware of the fact that you were standing in his bedroom wearing his clothes, all of it feeling far too intimate for your liking.

Your thoughts wandered, and before you could stop yourself, you imagined what it would be like for him to see you like this, in his clothes, the smell of him all around you. Your mind flashed to the moments you tried to ignore—his gloved hands brushing yours, the teasing comments that made your stomach flutter, the times your eyes lingered on the way his armor shifted with his movements.

You quickly snapped yourself out of it. “Focus,” you muttered under your breath. You had more important things to think about than some ridiculous fantasy.

You glanced down at the kid’s pod. He was still sleeping, the small form curled up in his blankets. You smiled softly at him before walking over and quietly closing the pod, making sure he was settled for his nap. You needed to distract yourself, so you decided to climb into Mando’s bed, but not before strapping your blade to your bare thigh–just to ease the paranoid feeling in your chest.

It felt strange, unfamiliar, but there was comfort in it. You pulled the covers up around you, feeling the warmth of the bed seep into your bones, and before you knew it, your eyes drifted shut.

The soft hum of the ship, the muffled sounds of the engine, and the occasional clink of metal from somewhere in the hall lulled you into a deep sleep.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, your paranoia fueled dreams filled with nightmares of Mando in trouble.

Mando’s secret, whatever he was caught up in, was far from over, and you weren’t going to sit idly by much longer. You had to be ready when the time came. But for now, you let yourself rest, hoping sleep would give you the answers that Mando wouldn’t.

You woke up a few hours later, your body stiff and groggy from sleep. The soft hum of the Razor Crest and the quiet whirring of the kid’s pod were the only sounds filling the otherwise still room. You blinked, rubbing your eyes as you tried to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. The kid was still nestled in his pod, curled up in the corner, his small chest rising and falling rhythmically. You closed his pod, not wanting to disturb his nap.

You let out a quiet sigh, stretching your limbs before you reached for your holopad. You were trying to distract yourself, keep your mind off what had just happened, and the nagging sense of unease that had settled deep in your chest. You flicked the holopad on, scrolling through schematics and plans for the ship—small upgrades here and there. The kid, the trapped feeling of being stuck in Mando’s room, and whatever Mando had gotten himself into were all still there, lingering in your thoughts, but you tried to push them aside for the moment.

But just as you were about to get lost in the designs, the door slid open with a sudden hiss. Your heart stopped for a moment, and you immediately shot to your feet, your hand instinctively going to the blade still strapped to your thigh. Your pulse quickened as you tried to get a read on the situation. Your eyes widened as you saw a group of figures standing in the doorway. You recognized none of them, but the sight of them immediately put you on edge.

There was a tall, scruffy-looking man who stood a little too confidently, his arms crossed over his chest. Behind him was a twi’lek woman in dark clothes, her stance aggressive and assertive. Next to them, a Devaronian with a thick, muscular build and sharp, menacing horns stood with his arms crossed. And then, there was the droid—shiny and polished, but with an unmistakable, almost robotic indifference to everything around it.

They all froze when they saw you standing there in Mando’s shirt, the fabric hanging loosely around your frame, and nothing else but your panties and the holster with your blade strapped to your thigh. You had no choice but to stand there, caught off guard and feeling exposed, like a deer in headlights.

A soft whistle came from one of the men—the scruffy one. “Well, well, what have we here?”

You immediately stiffened, your jaw clenching in irritation at the obvious look of interest in his eyes. You knew exactly where this was going. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was in the way he spoke. You didn’t like it one bit.

Before you could respond, Mando’s helmet snapped toward the man with a sharpness you hadn’t seen before. The tension in the room skyrocketed as he moved toward the doorway, his posture aggressive. His voice was low, almost growling as he addressed the man.

“Keep your eyes to yourself,” Mando said coldly, his tone carrying a warning that left no room for argument.

The man didn’t say anything, but the expression on his face told you he wasn’t pleased by the command. He looked like he was going to retort, but then, the Twi’lek woman standing behind him spoke up, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, well, Mando. Who’s this?” she said with a mocking smile, her bright eyes narrowing as she looked you up and down. “I didn’t realize you kept pets on the ship.”

You felt a surge of heat in your chest at her words, the insult hanging heavy in the air. You weren’t anyone’s pet—least of all Mando’s. You couldn’t hold back the anger that bubbled up, your hands clenching into fists as you glared at the Twi’lek.

“I am none of your fucking business,” you snapped, voice dripping with contempt. “Who the fuck are you?”

The woman didn’t flinch. If anything, she seemed to take delight in your reaction. Her smile only widened, her posture even more arrogant now. “I’m just curious about who Mando’s letting on his ship these days. Not everyone gets the privilege.”

You felt the heat of your anger rising, each word she spoke only fanning the flames. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air as she watched you closely, almost daring you to react.

“Well, it’s not your concern,” you spat, your voice as sharp as a blade.

Her lips curled into a smirk, and she leaned in just slightly. “Oh, I think it is.”

You could feel her goading you, trying to get under your skin. And she was succeeding. You stood there, seething, ready to snap. This was not the time to back down.

The Twi’lek woman’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark as she leaned forward, her voice dripping with malice. “I see why Mando keeps you around,” she purred, glancing you up and down again, her words cutting like a knife. “Must be nice to have a pretty little thing to play with… I didn’t realize he had a taste for whores.”

The words cut through you like a vibroblade, sharper and more personal than you anticipated. A flush of heat spread across your face, not from embarrassment, but from sheer, unadulterated rage. This bitch. The audacity. The way her eyes lingered on you made it feel like you were exposed, like she could see every inch of your skin, and she didn’t even care about the weight of her insult.

You felt your pulse spike, your body tensing as the anger coiled inside you. Without thinking, your hand moved to the knife at your thigh, your fingers curling around the hilt of it. The impulse was immediate and intense—shut her up, make her regret those words—and your instincts took over. You yanked the blade free, your heart hammering as you lunged at her, your movements fueled by a desperate need for retaliation.

But before you could get within arm’s reach of the smug Twi’lek woman, you felt a forceful grip around your waist. You barely had time to register the movement before you were yanked off the ground, lifted effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around the person who caught you, your body pressed against their chest.

Mando. Of course.

His strong arm held you in place, cradling you with a level of ease that made your head spin. You could feel his armor-clad body against yours, his heat radiating through the layers of metal. His grip on your arm tightened, pulling your knife hand away from the Twi’lek woman as he murmured in your ear, his voice low and unyielding. “I don’t like this as much as you do,” he said, his words steady and calm despite the chaos of the situation. “But I need you to trust me… and behave.”

His other hand slid under you, lifting you higher, and suddenly, your legs were wrapped tightly around him, your body pressed flush against his. You couldn’t help the shiver that raced up your spine at the feeling of his strength. The way he held you, with such casual confidence, sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. You hadn’t realized just how strong he was—how capable—until now. He was holding you like it was nothing, like you were weightless in his grasp.

For a split second, your mind went completely blank, overwhelmed by the heat of the situation and the proximity of his body. His gloved hand brushed over the bare skin of your thigh as he effortlessly disarmed you, slipping the knife back into its holster.

You tried to focus, tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened and your breath caught in your throat, but it was impossible. The heat curling low in your belly was undeniable. His body was pressed so close to yours, the firm outline of his armor against your skin sending a wave of desire through you. You felt it in every nerve, every inch of your body—his strength, his control, his scent mixed with the sterile, metallic smell of his armor.

Get it together, you silently told yourself. This is not the time for this.

You forced your mind back to reality, but that didn’t stop the heat building in your chest. You were angry. Angry at the way the Twi’lek woman spoke to you, angry at Mando for not telling you about the kind of people he associated with, and now… you were angry at yourself for the way your body reacted to Mando’s proximity.

You gritted your teeth, your breath uneven as you glared at him. “Fine,” you bit out, your voice tight, but still laced with frustration. “But we’re having a conversation about this later.”

Mando’s helmet angled down toward you, his posture still as rigid as ever, but there was something in the way he held you that was… different. His hand lingered on your thigh for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was aware of the effect his touch had on you. He said nothing, but the silent understanding between the two of you was palpable. He was warning you, but not in a way that felt threatening. He wasn’t going to let you do anything rash, but he also wasn’t dismissing your emotions.

For a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his stance—something that felt almost… personal. No, you were imagining things–being hopeful. You had to put a stop to these feelings.

Mando put you back on your feet, though his hand slid up to your waist where it stayed. You tried not to let the contact fluster you.

The Twi’lek woman’s sharp, mocking voice broke the silence.“Didn’t take long for him to claim his territory, huh?” she sneered, clearly amused by the entire situation.

You wanted nothing more than to scream at her, to make her understand that you were not some prize to be claimed. But Mando’s grip on you was unwavering, and as much as your chest burned with the desire to lash out, you knew you had to hold your ground. You were mad. So mad. But you did trust him. You had to, even if it was hard to ignore the simmering resentment that had started to build.

And yet… you couldn’t help but feel that familiar pang of something else whenever he was close. The heat in your chest, the pulse of desire that wouldn’t die down no matter how much you tried to suppress it.

Mando didn’t look at the woman, didn’t address her taunts, but he was done with her blatant disrespect towards you. His helmet snapped toward her mercilessly, and his voice, cold and firm, rang out. “Enough, Xi’An.”

The Twi’lek’s smirk faltered for a second, but she only laughed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. Like I’m scared of you, Mando.”

You bit your lip, feeling your face flush with the rush of emotions flooding through you—rage, frustration, and something darker that you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to scream at both of them, but instead, you clenched your fists and fought back the urge to lash out. This wasn’t how you imagined today going.

The ship suddenly lurched violently, throwing you and the others in the ship off balance. The abruptness of it sent your body into a panic, your instincts kicking in. Before you could even process the sudden movement, the world tilted, and you found yourself tumbling forward.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself. The floor came rushing at you, but before you hit it, a pair of strong arms caught you, lifting you effortlessly into the air. You gasped as you were pulled against a hard, armored chest, your heart racing from both the shock of the lurch and the overwhelming proximity to Mando. His body was like a rock against yours, the heat radiating through his armor making your already flushed skin burn hotter. You barely had time to register the way his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, before you were on the ground, his weight coming down on top of you as he shielded you with his own body.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice calm, even though the ship continued to shudder beneath you.

You were frozen for a moment, your chest pressed to his, your body pinned beneath the weight of his armored form. His helmet loomed above you, a protective barrier between you and everything else, and yet it felt strangely intimate. The way he held you was possessive, urgent, as if he were determined to shield you from any harm—no matter the cost. His gloved hands braced on either side of your head, his body still covering yours as the ship continued to shudder, throwing the others in the ship around from the turbulence.

Your breath hitched as the full reality of the situation washed over you. You were under him, pinned by his bulk, and his body was pressed so intimately against yours that you could feel the hard edges of his armor in places that left you breathless. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythms, and your heart beat eratically. The heat between the two of you was almost unbearable, your legs still trapped beneath him, your body pressed tightly against his in ways that sent shivers down your spine.

Mando’s voice, low and gravelly, broke the tension. “You’re alright,” he murmured softly, his gloved hand sliding from the floor, brushing against your arm as he made sure you were stable. He seemed almost… tender in that moment, as though the concern for your safety was as real as the weight of his body on top of you.

For a second, you didn’t know how to react. Your body was still pressed against his, every inch of you aware of how close you were, and the intensity of the moment sent a wave of heat crashing through you. The way he held you, the way his body moved with yours, had you feeling almost helpless in his arms—and you couldn’t decide if you hated or loved the feeling.

Your pulse raced—not from fear, but from something else. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge. The magnetic pull between you and him was undeniable, and you tried to push it down, tried to focus on the situation at hand.

The ship shuddered again, but Mando didn’t budge. His body remained a solid barrier over yours, the press of his weight keeping you grounded. The Twi’lek woman’s laughter cut through the air, but it felt distant now, like background noise compared to the electric current between you and Mando.

For a moment, the world outside of you and him faded. All you could hear was his steady breathing and the rapid pulse that thrummed between the two of you. Every inch of your body was acutely aware of his, and that undeniable heat curled low in your belly.

He was still on top of you, and the temptation to lean into him, to feel the raw intensity of the situation, was almost too strong to resist. You could feel the weight of his body, the power in his frame, and you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining how it would feel if you were pinned down under different circumstances, the feeling of Mando’s bare hands pinning your wrists above you as he thrusted deep inside of yo–Get a grip, you thought to yourself, shoving that thought down as fast as it came.

Mando’s helmet shifted slightly, his visor meeting your gaze. His gloved hands moved from the ground to your waist, a reassuring touch—though it wasn’t gentle. The way he had you under his control, even in this chaotic moment, made it hard to focus on anything other than the sheer closeness between you.

“We’ll be landing soon. There is just some minor turbulence,” the metallic voice of the droid chirped.

The ship lurched again, but it barely registered. Your mind was consumed by the feeling of Mando above you, his body pressing into you with an almost unnatural force. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability as he held you there, even as you hated it. The way his presence was all-encompassing, grounding you in a way that left you feeling both safe and exposed at the same time. You had no idea how to navigate it, how to balance the raw tension with the danger of the situation.

His gloved hand brushed against your skin once more, and the quiet moment stretched between you like a taut wire, the atmosphere charged with something you didn’t know how to name. His touch lingered at your waist just a moment too long, as though he was trying to gauge whether you were okay—or maybe trying to pull back, just in case you weren’t. But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off. You didn’t want to.

Finally, as the ship’s movements slowed, Mando shifted off of you, but not without that final lingering touch. It was almost possessive, his palm brushing your skin, sending a jolt through you. He didn’t say a word, though, just helped you to your feet, his hand steady at your back as you stood. But the distance between you both felt heavier than it should have, as if the silence stretched between you two with a weight that was more than just the aftermath of turbulence.

You didn’t meet his gaze immediately. Instead, you stood there, trying to calm the pounding in your chest, but the words came out before you could stop them. “Don’t ever do that again.”

The moment your words left your lips, you felt the shift. His posture stiffened, and for the briefest moment, you saw the flicker of something in the way his body tensed. Maybe it was the way he didn’t look at you. Maybe it was the slight hesitation before he helped you up. Whatever it was, it caught you off guard. It made you second-guess the sharpness of your tone, but it also made something twist uncomfortably in your chest.

You could feel the air between you change, thick with unspoken things. Was it embarrassment? Guilt? Was he angry? You couldn’t tell, but something in the way he held back now made you feel even more uncertain than before.

He helped you to your feet, guiding you down the narrow hallway, and despite the tense silence, there was an undeniable closeness between you both. The air still felt heavy with everything that had just happened. His gloved hand brushed against your bare skin, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine, but he didn’t linger on it.

“Sorry…” he muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. His tone didn’t carry any weight of guilt, just an acknowledgment that hung in the air between you like an unspoken understanding. He didn’t dwell on it, and neither did you. It was easier to pretend it hadn’t shaken you, easier to ignore the way your pulse still raced from the moments that had passed.

You both moved in sync toward the sleeping quarters, the weight of the earlier tension still present but unspoken. Mando didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. Neither of you had the words for it just yet, but you both knew things had shifted.

What was this? You didn’t know.

But there was one thing you were sure of.

You were in way over your head.

As you entered the sleeping quarters, Mando moved with purpose, glancing over at the child’s pod. The little one was still asleep, his rhythmic breathing soft and steady. A small, reassuring weight lifted off your chest at the sight of him, but the rest of your body was still tense—still filled with the residual heat and anger from the scene with the Twi’lek woman.

Mando moved toward the child’s pod, checking the controls and making sure everything was functioning as it should. The last thing you wanted was for the kid to be disturbed. After all, he had been through enough.

He stood over the pod for a moment, his back to you, and you took that brief moment to compose yourself, trying to ignore the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your head. You needed space, and right now, Mando was giving you none.

Once he was satisfied that the kid was fine, Mando shut the pod with a soft hiss, turning to face you. His helmet was angled in such a way that you couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. He stepped toward you, his movements still deliberate, his presence still suffocating.

“We need to make sure the kid stays out of sight from the others,” Mando said, his voice low, but not unkind. “It’s gonna get a little rough out there. I need you to trust me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he interrupted you, holding a hand up. “Look, I’ll explain everything in a minute. I just need you to stay here for now, get dressed. I might need you to pilot the ship or handle something else once we’re out of here.”

The order was clear, but there was something about his tone that made it feel like more of a plea than a command. He wasn’t asking for your help, not exactly. He was telling you to stay put, but it wasn’t with the usual coldness you’d come to expect. It was… softer. And that made your pulse quicken all over again.

Still, you were pissed. The situation was still a mess, and you hadn’t forgotten about the way the Twi’lek woman had looked at you, her sneering words still echoing in your mind. You wanted answers, and you weren’t sure when you were going to get them.

But Mando wasn’t done. He took a step closer, his gloved hand resting on your shoulder for just a second, like he was trying to comfort you, but you weren’t sure if it was working.

“We’re going to be breaking Xi’An’s brother out of a prison ship,” he said quickly, his words cutting through the quiet of the room. “The job’s straightforward—get in, get him out, and get out. But things might get tricky. There’s a lot at stake here, and you need to be ready for anything.”

You nodded, absorbing the information. A prison break, of course. That was what this was all about. You had assumed something shady was going on, but you hadn’t expected the situation to be this complicated.

Mando shifted uncomfortably, his helmet remaining fixed in your direction, and he continued, voice more commanding now. “Once we break out Xi’An’s brother, I’ll need you to pilot the ship. I’ll be in and out of there quickly, but you’re going to have to move fast to get us out of there when the time comes.”

He paused for a moment, his helmet still angled toward you, as though considering something for a brief second. “You can handle that, right?”

The question was direct, but there was something in his voice that almost sounded like concern, though you couldn’t be sure. You weren’t exactly keen on being left behind to do the heavy lifting of a prison break, but you understood why he had to ask. You gave him a firm nod, your lips pressing into a thin line.

“Yeah, I’ve got it covered,” you replied, voice tight but determined.

Mando’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he didn’t make any move to leave. Instead, there was a slight hesitation in the air, a shift that made your pulse quicken without quite knowing why. It was almost as if he was gathering his thoughts, trying to find the right words. Then, without warning, his voice came out in a low, gravelly tone.

“You…” He trailed off, his tone softer than you’d heard it before. “You look good in my shirt.”

The words hung in the air, completely unexpected and far more intimate than you were ready for. Your mouth opened, as if to respond, but before you could get a single word out, Mando had already turned toward the door, his heavy steps carrying him toward the exit.

“Get dressed,” he called over his shoulder, his voice now back to its usual no-nonsense tone. “We don’t have much time.”

The door slid shut behind him, leaving you standing there in stunned silence, the weight of his words still sinking in. Your heart was thudding in your chest, your mind racing. Did he mean that? Or was it just a passing comment?

You stared at the door, trying to gather your thoughts, but the confusion mixed with something else—something hotter that made your skin flush as you realized just how close you were to him. How dangerously close.

Shaking your head, you turned to the small corner of the room where your clothes had been discarded. You couldn’t focus on that right now. You had a job to do. You had to keep your head straight, get into the right mindset, and be ready for whatever came next.

But still, his words kept ringing in your ears, and the heat in your chest refused to go away.

You quickly changed into your clothes, trying to push aside the lingering tension. You didn’t have time for this. The mission was more important.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You finished dressing and took a steadying breath, ready to move on and do what Mando had asked. But as you stepped toward the door, ready to follow through on the task ahead, the thought of his voice and his words wouldn’t leave you.

And that was the problem. You watched as Mando left with the group, jittery with both nerves and the heat of Mando’s words. And so you waited.

-

Two hours. It had been two hours since Mando had told you to wait on the ship. Two hours of pacing, of turning over every possible scenario in your mind, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and why Mando still hadn’t returned. You couldn’t sit still anymore. You had to move.

The comm came through suddenly, breaking the silence and jolting you from your thoughts.

“Listen to me,” Mando’s voice crackled through the comms, calm but laced with a tension that sent a chill down your spine. “It’s a setup. They trapped me somewhere. I need you to stay put and stay on the ship. I’m going to get out.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. A trap? You didn’t care about anything other than finding him, making sure he was safe.

“No. Mando, I’m coming for you. I can’t just sit here,” you practically shouted at the comm, the panic starting to rise in your throat.

“Calm down,” he said, his voice a little firmer now. “Stay on the ship. You’re no good to me if you get caught out there too. I’ll handle it. Just wait, and I’ll be out before you know it.”

You ground your teeth, frustration boiling inside you. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to do something, anything, to go and find him. But he was right. He was capable of handling himself, and if you went out there now, you might only make things worse.

Reluctantly, you agreed. “Fine. But you better get out of there fast.”

You kept pacing, watching the time tick by, anxiety growing like a fire in your chest. You couldn’t just sit here, helpless. The minutes dragged on, each one worse than the last, and soon enough, your decision was made.

Fuck it. You couldn’t wait anymore.

You slipped off the ship, moving swiftly and silently through the corridors of the massive vessel. You didn’t even know where you were headed, just that you had to find Mando, to make sure he was okay. Your pulse was racing as you crept along, every sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through you.

You dispatched a guard droid with ease, your blade cutting through its systems like butter, but still, the ship felt too quiet. Too empty. The hum of the vessel’s engines was the only sound you could hear now, and even that felt distant, like the ship was alive and yet disconnected from you. Every step you took felt heavier, as though the darkness pressing in around you was suffocating, tightening around your chest. The only thing louder than the silence was the erratic beat of your own heart.

The light flickered, casting long, eerie shadows along the metal walls, and then, with a shudder that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the lights went out. Just like that. A sudden, suffocating darkness swallowed you whole.

Your breath caught in your throat. You froze, eyes adjusting to the blackness, the low hum of your commlink the only weak point of light in this endless expanse. The cold air seemed to press in on you, the ship’s metallic bones groaning as it shifted. You felt utterly alone in the dark, every step you took seeming to echo in your ears. The stillness was almost worse than the chaos. It had that dead, hollow quality that made your skin crawl, and every single nerve screamed at you to stop, to turn around, to run back to the ship and wait for Mando.

But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you were this close.

Then, a sound—footsteps—just at the edge of hearing. Too light, too quick, but unmistakable. Someone was out there.

You pressed yourself into the shadows, your pulse rising as your fingers curled tighter around your knife. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your veins, but you told yourself to stay calm. Stay sharp.

The footsteps grew louder, closer. Whoever it was, they were moving fast. Too fast.

And then, he appeared. A silhouette in the dark, moving like he knew exactly where you were, his boots echoing against the cold floor. You didn’t have time to think—your body reacted on instinct. You rushed forward, knife raised, ready to strike, but you weren’t fast enough.

He was on you before you could land the blow. His weight crashed into you, knocking the air from your lungs as he shoved you to the ground. The cold, unforgiving floor of the ship met your back with a brutal thud, the impact stealing your breath.

Panic flooded your system, your heart pounding louder than the thud of your fall. Your hands flew to the knife, but he was too strong. His grip tightened around your wrists, forcing your arms above your head. You thrashed beneath him, desperate to break free, but the more you fought, the more he pushed you down, his body pressing on top of yours.

You could feel his breath on your face, heavy and labored, and all you could think about was the knife—his knife—now pressed against your throat. Cold steel kissed your skin, and the weight of it made your throat tighten. You couldn’t get a proper breath. Couldn’t think.

“Stay still,” he growled, the knife digging a little deeper. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. You weren’t going to give him that. Not when you still had a chance to fight. You twisted beneath him, trying to free your legs, but they were trapped under his body. You were pinned.

No escape.

You felt the panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave, clawing at your throat, making it hard to breathe. The edge of the knife pressed against your skin, just waiting for the wrong move.

And then—your mind snapped to him.

Mando.

The thought came out of nowhere, like an instinct, something that was just so ingrained in you that it was impossible to ignore. You thought about him. About the way he always seemed to have your back, the way he had your trust. Your thoughts flickered to the kid—his smile, his laugh. You’d never see him again. You’d never get to tell Mando how you felt, never get the chance to be with him.

This was it. You were going to die here, on this ship, in the dark, with a blade at your throat. And you hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell Mando that you cared.

A broken, almost hysterical laugh bubbled up from your chest. It felt so unfair. The kid would grow up without you. Mando would never know how much he meant to you. Your thoughts were racing, spiraling out of control as you tried to grasp at something—anything—that could stop this, but the dark reality settled in. You weren’t going to make it out of here. It was all slipping through your fingers like sand.

But then, a crash.

The figure above you was wrenched off in a single, fluid motion. You didn’t even register it at first—just the sudden, sharp shift in pressure, the weight lifted from your chest. A loud grunt followed, and then the man was gone, hurled into the darkness with a sickening thud.

Your chest heaved, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as you scrambled to push yourself up. And then, in the shadows of the darkened hallway, you saw him.

Mando.

You blinked, unable to fully comprehend that he was here, right here, right now. He stood over the mercenary like a storm, a force of nature, his armor gleaming in the dim light. Without hesitation, he was on the man, his gloved hands wrapping around the mercenary’s neck and slamming him against the wall with a sound that made your stomach turn.

The mercenary’s knife was knocked out of his hand, clattering against the floor as Mando finished him off in a swift, brutal movement. The man’s body crumpled to the ground, a heavy silence falling over the ship.

You stared at Mando, still on the floor, trying to piece together what just happened. You were alive. He was here. You were okay. But the overwhelming relief didn’t hit you at first, not until he turned toward you, helmet angled just enough that you could almost feel the weight of his gaze on you.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and steady as he extended a hand to you. His tone was all business, but there was something softer there, beneath the surface—something that made the hairs on your arms stand up.

You took his hand, feeling the strength in his grip as he helped you to your feet. There was a brief, lingering moment where neither of you spoke, just standing there, close enough that you could feel his heat radiating from his armor. His presence was commanding, undeniable. And you… you couldn’t breathe properly, not with the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

But you didn’t have time for that. Not now.

“You okay?” Mando asked, his voice a little softer now.

You nodded, though your voice caught in your throat. “I—I thought I was going to die.”

Mando’s gloved hands were gentle as he cupped your face, his touch oddly tender amidst the chaos that had just unfolded. His helmet loomed close, his posture rigid, but his movements were careful, his fingers lightly brushing over your skin, checking for cuts, bruises, any sign of injury. The intensity of his inspection was palpable, as though he needed to reassure himself that you were truly unharmed.

The tension that had been building between you both crackled in the silence, but that tension quickly turned into something else, something sharper. His posture stiffened, and when he finally pulled his hands away from your face, you noticed how his shoulders tightened under the weight of his frustration.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with irritation. “I told you to stay on the ship.”

The words stung more than they should have, but you weren’t ready to back down. Not this time. Not when he was being so infuriatingly overprotective.

“I couldn’t sit there while you were trapped,” you snapped, your chest heaving with the remnants of adrenaline and anger. “You think I’m just supposed to wait around? While you’re stuck somewhere? I’m not that kind of person, Mando.”

Mando’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t care. I need you to stay out of danger. You’re not invincible. I can’t lose you like that.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you were left standing there, breathless. But the sting of his words only fueled the fire in you, and you found yourself stepping closer, your own frustration bubbling over.

“I don’t care if you’re worried about me,” you fired back, voice tight, “I couldn’t just stay on the sidelines, especially when you’re in danger. I’ve seen what happens when you get caught in the thick of it.” You shook your head, turning away from him for a moment. “I couldn’t let you go through that alone.”

Mando’s jaw clenched, and there was a long pause between you both as you exchanged heated glances. The anger swirled between you like a storm, both of you stubborn, both of you unwilling to relent. The silence hung in the air, thick and heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

After a moment, Mando exhaled slowly, turning toward the ship’s exit. You followed him, neither of you saying another word. The ship lurched into the air, the engine roaring to life as you made your way back to the safety of the ship, the weight of the argument hanging like a dark cloud between you.

Once you were in the cockpit, Mando set course for the stars, his hands tight on the controls, his posture as stiff as ever. You both sat in silence as the ship cut through the atmosphere, the stars on the other side of the viewport a reminder of the vast distance between you and the danger you’d just escaped.

But as you cleared the atmosphere, as the silence between you both grew unbearable, the argument reignited.

“Why couldn’t you just listen to me?” Mando’s voice was quiet, but the frustration was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his focus on the controls.

The cockpit felt suffocating, the tension thick enough to choke on. Mando stood before you, his broad frame rigid, his helmet tilted slightly as though he couldn’t believe you were actually arguing with him after everything that had just happened. The way his body was so still only made your frustration mount, a stark contrast to the way you were practically vibrating with anger.

“Because I’m not a damn prisoner on this ship,” you snapped, each word cutting through the charged silence like a vibroblade. “I have a stake in this. I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to come back. I’m not just here to sit pretty and keep the ship in one piece while you risk your life. I’m not gonna be left behind.”

His head tilted slightly, the shine of the black visor catching the dim cockpit light. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but laced with a dangerous edge, like a storm barely contained. “You think I asked for this?”

Your jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop.

“You think I wanted to come back to find you fighting for your life? That I wanted to worry about whether or not I’d lose you today because you couldn’t follow simple instructions?”

The words hit you hard, your chest tightening with a mixture of anger and something you weren’t ready to name. His voice was colder than you’d heard it in weeks, and the accusation in his tone stung more than you cared to admit.

“Maybe if you told me what was going on,” you countered, your voice rising, “I wouldn’t have had to! You treat me like I’m supposed to just sit here and wait while you throw yourself into danger. I’m not your—”

“You’re not my what?” he demanded, stepping forward, his voice cutting through yours like a whip. “Not my responsibility? Because that’s exactly what you are when you pull a stunt like that.”

The word responsibility landed with the force of a blow, and your vision blurred for a moment with the heat of your fury. You didn’t know if you were angrier at his words or at the fact that they hurt so damn much.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, the venom in your voice surprising even yourself. Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel and stormed out of the cockpit, your boots pounding against the cold durasteel floor.

“Hey!” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. You didn’t stop.

You barely made it halfway down the corridor before you heard the heavy thud of his boots following you. His strides were longer, faster, and before you could fully register it, his voice was back at your side, low and demanding. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“I’m done talking to you,” you threw over your shoulder, your pace quickening.

“Well, I’m not done with you,” he growled, his voice closer now.

You came to an abrupt stop, spinning to face him so fast that he had to pull back slightly to avoid colliding with you. Your chest heaved as you jabbed a finger toward him, your anger boiling over. “Oh, of course not. Because it’s never about what I want, is it? It’s always about your rules, your plans, what you think is best. But guess what? You don’t get to make that call for me.”

His head tilted slightly, his shoulders rising as though he were bracing himself. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“No,” you snapped, cutting him off before he could continue. “You don’t get it. I have a right to be here, to fight, to know what the hell is going on. You don’t own me.”

Something in the air shifted. His body stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he might back down. But then he took a step forward, closing the distance between you. Instinctively, you took a step back.

“Careful,” you warned, your voice trembling slightly. Your heart pounded in your chest, your anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He didn’t stop. Another step. Then another. Each one deliberate, controlled. Every inch he took forward, you took back until the wall met your spine, cold and unyielding.

Your breath hitched as he stopped inches from you, his broad frame towering over you. One of his arms came up, his hand bracing against the wall beside your head. The movement was slow, almost deliberate, and the intensity of his presence made your pulse race.

“You want to keep yelling?” he asked, his voice low, rasping. “Go ahead. But answer me this first.”

Your brow furrowed as you glared up at the black visor, your confusion mixing with your frustration. “What?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he said, his tone dropping into something darker. Something that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spat, your anger barely masking the flicker of unease his words ignited.

“Earlier,” he clarified, his voice smoother now, almost sultry. “When the ship lurched, and you were pinned under me. You told me to never do it again. So tell me… tell me you didn’t like it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words pulling the memory to the surface with startling clarity. The weight of him pressing into you, the heat of his body even through the layers of armor. The way his hands had cradled you with such strength, such care.

Your pulse quickened, and a flush spread across your cheeks. “I…” you started, but the words wouldn’t come. Your mind was spinning, the memory of that moment replaying with vivid detail.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” he said, his voice laced with both triumph and frustration.

You opened your mouth to argue, to push back, but the intensity of his presence silenced you. His free hand moved to your hip, the touch firm but somehow electric.

“Mando,” you whispered, his name falling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Do you have any idea,” he said, his voice rough, raw, “what it would’ve done to me if I’d lost you today? If I hadn’t gotten there in time?”

His hand tightened on your hip, and you sucked in a sharp breath as he leaned in closer, the helmet mere inches from your face. His thigh shifted, parting yours to rest at your core, and the contact sent a jolt of heat through you that you couldn’t ignore.

“I…” you tried again, your voice faltering as the weight of the moment pressed down on you.

“You’re fucking infuriating,” you finally managed to say, your tone sharp, but your body betrayed you as your hips shifted slightly, the friction against his thigh sparking something you couldn’t control.

“And yet,” he said, his voice low and filled with something dark and possessive, “you’re still here.”

The air between you was crackling, electric and volatile, like a storm that had been building for far too long. Mando was impossibly close, his gloved hand gripping your hip with a possessiveness that left you breathless, his helmet tilted toward you in a way that felt predatory. His other hand still braced against the wall beside your head, boxing you in completely.

Your heart pounded in your chest as his voice dropped even lower, gravelly and dark. “You’re still here,” he repeated, his tone carrying an edge of frustration and something else—something deeper, something that made your knees weak.

You opened your mouth to reply, to argue, to yell something—anything—to break the tension, but the words died in your throat as he shifted against you. His thigh pressed up between yours, deliberate and firm, the pressure just right to send a shockwave through your entire body.

“Fuck you,” you breathed, though your body betrayed the words as you shamelessly ground down against him, seeking more of the delicious friction that had your nerves tingling with fire.

His helmet tilted, the black visor never leaving your face as his hands slid up, one spanning your waist while the other lingered at your ribcage, his thumb brushing maddeningly close to the underside of your breast. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice impossibly low and edged with something feral. “You keep saying that like it’s not exactly what you want.”

A sharp pulse of need shot through you, and you let out a sound somewhere between frustration and surrender. His words felt like a challenge, like he was calling you out for the very thing you couldn’t deny.

Your hands fisted the fabric of his flight suit as you leaned forward, your forehead brushing against the smooth surface of his helmet. The action brought you so close that his breaths—filtered through the modulator—felt tangible against your lips.

“Stop playing games,” you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire. “If you’re gonna—”

He cut you off with a sharp movement of his thigh, his hands guiding your hips against him, forcing you to feel the friction, the heat. Your head fell back against the wall, a broken sound slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

“You think this is a game to me?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

You forced yourself to meet his visor, your chest heaving with every breath. “What do you want from me, Mando?”

“I want you to stop acting like you don’t know,” he growled, his hand sliding up your side, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Like you don’t feel it.”

You wanted to argue, to fight back, but the words wouldn’t come. Your mind was clouded, your body overwhelmed by the sheer force of him—his presence, his touch, the way he moved against you like he owned you.

“I can’t—” you started, but his thigh shifted again, and the sound you made was anything but coherent.

“You can,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His helmet tilted down toward you, his voice softening just slightly. “I need you to.”

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the beskar as you tried to ground yourself, tried to fight the wave of heat building inside you. But it was impossible. He was everywhere, overwhelming your senses, leaving you no room to think, only feel.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you managed to say, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Sitting here, wondering if you’re gonna come back? Fuck—”

His hand slid up your side again, his thumb brushing against the bare skin just below the hem of your shirt—his shirt—and you shivered at the contact.

“I’ve wanted—no, needed you for so fucking long,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice was raw, filled with frustration and longing. “I–ah–didn’t think you felt the same.”

His grip on you tightened, his body pressing closer, his thigh still firm between yours. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think I could’ve lost you today and just kept going like nothing happened?”

His breath was ragged against your ear as he slid his hand further, his thumb tracing the curve of your side. “I’ve always wanted you,” he muttered, the words low and edged with a raw, primal edge that sent a shiver through your entire body. “Fuck, I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you on this ship—every time you walked by me in that tight hall, wearing my clothes like you fucking knew what it did to me. You don’t understand how hard it was to just… watch you, to feel you so close, but never touch. It was wrong—hell, I know it was wrong. I'm basically your fucking employer—but you were there, right there in front of me. Every time I saw you, I couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think straight, and every part of me just wanted to take you, to pull you into me.” His voice grew tighter, almost as though he was choking on the words as his hands gripped you even tighter, pulling you against him. “But I couldn’t act on it, not until I knew you felt the same. Until I knew you weren’t going to just… disappear.”

Your breath hitched at his words as his hand trailed up, brushing against your ribs, his touch setting your nerves on fire. You wanted to respond, to push him further, but the weight of his words—and the way he looked at you, even through the visor—left you speechless.

“Mando,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

“Din,” he corrected softly, his voice a reverent murmur.

Your heart stuttered at the sound of his name, and you opened your mouth to say it back, but before you could, he leaned in, his helmet brushing against your forehead as his hands slid to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. “Are you going to do something or what?” you challenged.

He didn’t reply, but his hands moved again, sliding down to cup your ass and grope the pillowy flesh. Then, with a fluid strength that took your breath away, he lifted you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, locking at the ankles as your body molded against his. You gasped at the firm press of his body against yours, your core pressed directly against the undeniable hardness between his legs. Even through the layers of clothing and armor, the sensation was maddening.

Your hands braced against his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric as the reality of the moment overwhelmed you. “Mando—Din,” you corrected yourself, your voice breaking as your forehead rested against his helmet again. “I need you. Now.”

His hands gripped you tighter, and the way he growled your name was a sound you would never forget. He stepped back from the wall, carrying you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. The heat of his body was a blazing contrast to the cool metal of the ship, and your breath hitched as he lowered you to the floor with surprising care, even amidst the unrestrained urgency crackling between you.

He hovered over you, his hips slotting between your legs again as his hands roamed your body, claiming every inch of you without hesitation. The hard edges of his armor brushed against your skin, a stark reminder of the man beneath it—unyielding, impenetrable, yet undone for you.

You arched into his touch, your mind clouded with nothing but him, the overwhelming need you felt, and the knowledge that nothing could keep him from you now.

Your hands trembled as they slid down his chest, palming at the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. The sharp edges and smooth plates were a stark contrast to the heat radiating off him, and you bit your lip, frustrated by the barrier between you.

“Din,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, but the urgency in it was unmistakable. Your fingers tugged at the edges of his cuirass, a desperate plea breaking free from your lips. “Please… take it off—I need to feel you.”

He stilled above you, his helmet tilting down as if weighing your words. You knew what you were asking was monumental—he rarely took his armor off, and certainly not in front of anyone. It was a part of him, an extension of the creed he held so tightly. But right now, you needed to feel him. Not the metal, not the layers—him.

His gloved hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he seemed to search for something in your expression. Whatever he saw there, it broke down the walls he’d built so carefully around himself.

With a slight nod, he sat back on his knees, his hands moving to the clasps and fastenings of his armor. The air grew heavy with anticipation as he worked, the clinks and clicks of metal being removed echoing in the small space. Piece by piece, the armor came off—shoulder plates, chest plate, gauntlets—until he was left in just the dark flight suit that clung to his body.

Your breath caught as you watched him, the dim light casting shadows across his broad frame. The fabric of the flight suit hugged every inch of him, leaving little to the imagination. He hesitated for a moment, his hands stilling at the zipper of his suit, as though giving you one last chance to stop him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and rough, yet threaded with a vulnerability that tugged at your heart.

You nodded, your lips parting as your chest rose and fell rapidly. “Please, Din.”

That was all it took. He pulled the zipper down in one swift motion, the sound louder than it should have been, and peeled the suit off his shoulders. The fabric slid down his torso, revealing tan, scarred skin and taut muscles that made your mouth go dry.

You swallowed hard, your gaze drinking him in as more of him was revealed. The ridges of his abs, the curve of his waist, the trail of dark hair that led down to the waistband of his boxers—it was overwhelming. Your eyes dipped lower, and your breath hitched at the sight of his arousal, straining against the fabric of his boxers. He was huge, the outline of him leaving little room for imagination, and the sheer size of him sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.

“Maker,” you whispered, unable to tear your gaze away from him. Your skin felt electrified, every nerve alight with anticipation.

Din’s hands slid under your shirt, his calloused fingers skimming over your stomach and ribs with an intimacy that sent a shiver racing up your spine. His touch was light, almost reverent, as though he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Your turn,” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal.

You didn’t hesitate, your hands flying to the hem of your shirt. His eyes, hidden behind the black visor of his helmet, seemed to burn into you as you stripped the fabric from your body, leaving your torso bare to him. The cool air of the ship kissed your skin, but the heat in his touch was enough to set you ablaze.

His hands followed, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, until you felt utterly consumed by him. His helmet tilted as though he were memorizing every detail of you, and the air between you crackled with a tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Din froze as your bare form was revealed to him, his chest rising and falling with heavy, measured breaths. His gloved hands hovered for a moment as if the sight of you had momentarily rendered him incapable of movement. When he finally exhaled, it came out in a deep, guttural groan, one that sent a shiver coursing through your entire body.

“Maker,” he rasped, his voice raw and unguarded, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it.

His visor tilted, drinking you in as though he could see every curve, every dip and swell of your body beneath the low light of the Crest. To him, you were radiant. The soft, golden glow of the overhead lights cast a halo around you, highlighting the light sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. You looked ethereal, angelic, like something he had no right to touch.

But it wasn’t just the beauty of your body that undid him—it was you. The way your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, the way your hands trembled slightly, clutching the blanket beneath you for some semblance of stability. You were so alive, so perfect, and you were here with him. For him.

His cock twitched painfully against the confines of his boxers, straining against the fabric as he took in the sight of you. He could feel the heat pooling in his belly, the pulsing need to touch you, to claim you, to lose himself in the one thing he never thought he could have.

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, but you heard it. The word sent a flood of warmth straight to your core, your thighs instinctively pressing together to temper the ache building there.

Din noticed, of course. He always noticed. His hand, still clad in its leather glove, trailed down your side, the contrast between the cool leather and the heat of your skin sending sparks along your nerves. He reached the waistband of your panties, hesitating for a brief moment before hooking his fingers under the fabric.

His movements were deliberate, almost agonizingly slow, as though he wanted to savor every second. He peeled the fabric down your legs, his eyes—hidden though they were���never leaving you. The sight of you fully bare beneath him stole the air from his lungs, and he let out another low groan that made your toes curl.

“Din,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need, your thighs shifting restlessly as the heat between them became unbearable.

“Patience,” he said, his voice dark and commanding, yet laced with a tenderness that made your heart race.

His hand returned, now free of the glove, and the warmth of his palm against your inner thigh made you gasp. He traced a slow, teasing path upward, his fingers brushing against your slick heat, and you bit your lip, barely stifling the whimper that escaped you.

“So wet,” he murmured, almost reverently, his thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the floor. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as his fingers slid through your folds. “All for you.”

His other hand settled on your hip, grounding you as he slid one thick finger inside you, the stretch making your head fall back with a soft moan. He moved slowly at first, his finger curling and pumping in a rhythm that had you writhing beneath him. Then he added another, his thumb never ceasing its gentle assault on your clit, and the pressure built rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

“Din, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice softening as he leaned closer, his forehead just inches from yours. “Let go for me.”

The words, the command in them paired with the tenderness, sent you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as you cried out his name, clutching desperately at his forearms to anchor yourself. He worked you through it, his fingers never faltering as he coaxed every last bit of pleasure from you.

When you finally came down, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him with dazed eyes, Din didn’t give you time to recover. He was already pushing his boxers down, freeing himself, and the sight of him made your breath hitch. He was massive, thick and long, and your core clenched at the thought of him inside you.

He leaned down, pressing his helmet against your forehead as his hands slid under your thighs, hitching them around his waist. “Tell me,” he rasped, his voice rough with need, “if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head fervently, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice breathy and desperate. “I need you, Din. Now.”

With a low growl, he removed his cock from his boxers, positioning himself at your entrance, the head of him brushing against your sensitive folds. Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside, and you cried out at the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of him.

The moment Din pushed inside, your body arched off the floor, a strangled cry tearing from your lips as the sensation of him stretching you filled every inch of your being. He was thick, his girth almost overwhelming as your walls clenched around him involuntarily, fluttering at the sheer force of his entry. Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought to adjust to the exquisite stretch.

“Stars,” you gasped, nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders. “Din, I—”

He stilled immediately, his hands gripping your hips firmly, holding you steady even as his own body trembled with restraint. His voice, low and strained through the modulator, was like gravel. “I know, baby. I know. Just breathe.”

You could feel his cock twitching inside you, a constant reminder of his size and the way your walls struggled to accommodate him. The burn ebbed slowly, replaced by a pulsating ache that was both pleasure and pain, your body contracting around him as it learned to accept him. The Crest’s dim lights glinted off the sheen of sweat on your skin, making you glow beneath him, and Din’s breath hitched audibly at the sight.

His thumb stroked soft, reassuring circles against your hip, his own restraint evident in the way his chest rose and fell with thudding breaths. “Kriff, you feel…” he started, his words trailing off as if they couldn’t capture the magnitude of the moment.

Finally, the pressure shifted, the ache transforming into a hum of pleasure that sent vibrations through your core. You gave a small, experimental roll of your hips, testing, and the motion pulled a groan from his lips as your walls sucked him deeper.

“I—I think I’m ready,” you whispered, your voice breathy and tinged with urgency.

Din hesitated, his forehead pressing to yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was rough, every syllable trembling with the weight of his self-control.

“Fuck, Din,” you moaned, your hips grinding against him instinctively. “Move. I need you to move.”

His restraint snapped like a tether pulled too tight. He pulled out slowly, your walls clenching and fluttering in protest, only to slam back into you with a force that left you gasping. Your body trembled beneath him, your nails raking down his back as he set a slow, deliberate pace, each thrust deep and intentional, filling you completely.

The sensation was overwhelming. Every drive of his hips sent shudders rippling through you, his cock dragging against every nerve, your walls pulsating around him with every movement. The friction was maddening, a delicious agony that built steadily, and you could feel every twitch, every throb of him inside you as he claimed you.

“Din,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

He groaned in response, the sound guttural and raw as his hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place for his relentless thrusts. “You’re so tight,” he rasped, his modulated voice vibrating against your skin. “So fucking perfect.”

Your body was a live wire beneath him, every nerve ending alight as the coil in your core tightened, your hips grinding up to meet his with desperation. Each thrust grew rougher, more urgent, his pace driving faster as your walls quivered and sucked him deeper.

“I—I’m close,” you stuttered, your voice trembling as the fire in your belly burned hotter.

“I’ve got you,” Din murmured, one hand sliding between your bodies to find the swollen bundle of nerves at your center. His fingers pressed against you, the pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Let go. Come for me.”

The combination of his thrusts, his touch, and the overwhelming fullness of him buried deep pushed you over the edge. Your release hit like a supernova, your walls contracting and fluttering around him as waves of pleasure pulsed through you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

“Din!” you cried out, your body arching against him as the pleasure ripped through every inch of you.

The way you clenched around him, your walls milking him as you came, was his undoing. His thrusts grew erratic, each one deeper and harder as he chased his own release. With a guttural growl, his body tensed, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, the force of his climax sending shivers through his frame.

After the intensity of the moment passed, a deep silence enveloped the two of you, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breathing. The ship’s low hum seemed distant compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest, still racing from the whirlwind of sensations. Din slowly pulled out, his movements gentle, almost reverent, as he settled back beside you on the cold floor of the cockpit.

The aftermath was strange. Your body still hummed with the memory of his touch, the lingering warmth of his skin, but now, there was a profound sense of exhaustion, of weightlessness, almost like you’d been floating outside of yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him—his form still looming over you, imposing and powerful, even with the helmet still in place.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Din’s hand reached for you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a tenderness that caught you off guard. His fingers lingered on your cheek, as if he was making sure you were real, that this wasn’t some fevered dream.

He exhaled sharply, almost like he was trying to shake off the weight of what had just happened. You watched him, unsure of what to say, feeling the quiet aftermath settle around you.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you felt the same?” you asked, your voice quieter now, but still filled with that same raw frustration. You weren’t angry, not really—you just needed to understand. The silence in the cockpit was deafening, and all you could think about was how much this moment had changed everything between you.

Din didn’t answer immediately. His gloved hands flexed as he reached for the remaining pieces of his armor, moving methodically, almost as though he was trying to mask the emotion you knew he was feeling too. But then he stopped, his back still to you, and you could see his shoulders tense.

He turned slowly, his helmet facing you, but his posture was less rigid than usual. It was almost like he didn’t know how to stand anymore. He let out a breath, long and low, and then finally, in a voice that was quieter, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it, he spoke.

“I was scared,” he admitted, the words coming out rough, as though they were hard to say. “Scared that you wouldn’t feel the same. That if I told you, you’d leave… that you’d leave me and the kid.”

Your heart tightened in your chest as his words sank in. You could feel the weight of his vulnerability, the fear that had kept him silent all this time. You wanted to reach for him, to tell him how foolish he was for ever doubting you, but you let him continue.

“I’ve been willing to suffer through it,” he went on, his voice catching just slightly, “if it meant you’d stay. I never wanted to put that burden on you. I never wanted you to feel like you had to choose between me and… well, everything else. But when you went after me earlier…” His voice faltered for a moment, and for the first time since you’d known him, he seemed unsure. “I thought I was going to lose you. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t let that happen.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. You swallowed hard, feeling a rush of emotion you hadn’t expected. All this time, he’d been hiding his feelings because he thought you might leave.

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it on his arm. His gaze softened under the helmet, his body still tense, but there was something in his stance that made you believe he was finally, truly being open with you.

“I’m not going anywhere, Din,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly with the sincerity of your words. “I thought… I thought you knew that.”

Din’s breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he stood there, completely still, before his gloved hand reached out, gently cupping your face. His touch was warm through the cool material of his armor, and his thumb brushed over your cheek in a motion that felt almost reverent.

“I don’t want to be alone in this anymore,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t need you. I’ve… I’ve never needed anyone before. But I need you, both of you.”

You were speechless for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of emotions—everything that had been unspoken between you finally coming to the surface. You could see it in the way his posture softened, the way his gloved hand held your face with such care, like you were something precious to him.

You reached up, gently touching the edge of his helmet, as if trying to bridge the distance between the two of you, the one that had been there for so long. “You’re not going to lose us, Din,” you said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him, like he was finally letting go of some of the weight that had been pressing down on him for so long. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you closer. His helmet leaned down just slightly, as if he was breathing you in, the closeness between you palpable.

Then, his voice, softer this time, held a hint of the emotion that had been building for so long.

“I’m sorry for not saying it sooner,” he murmured. “For not telling you how much you mean to me. But now, I’m telling you. I need you here. With me.”

Your chest fluttered at the admission, and you smiled softly, feeling lighter somehow, as if the weight of everything that had been unsaid between you was finally being lifted.

“I need you too,” you said, your voice almost shy now, but filled with certainty.

And with that, the last of the tension between you melted away. He pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you as you nestled against his chest. For a moment, it was just the two of you, holding each other in the quiet, dim light of the Crest, the sound of your heartbeats the only thing you could hear.

Din’s voice rumbled softly in your ear. “Next time, don’t go running off without me, alright?”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing small patterns across his chest. “You’re not the only one who gets to be stubborn, you know.”

He chuckled, and for a brief moment, everything felt right—like this was how it was always supposed to be.

“I guess we’re both stubborn then,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with that same tenderness. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you around, huh?”

You smiled, leaning back to look up at him, the warmth of his embrace making you feel more at peace than you had in a long time. “You better,” you teased softly, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his flight suit. “I wouldn’t want to leave you and the kid to fend for yourselves.”

A soft laugh bubbled from his chest, and as he looked down at you, you could see the beginnings of something new between you—a bond that wasn’t just about survival or shared missions anymore. It was deeper than that. You didn’t know what the future held, but right now, you knew one thing for sure: you were in this together.

And that was enough.

[etheries1015]

Adult (20+) MC finally figures out how to properly make money, BESIDES working for Azul. Become not only the prefect and be a student, but an on the call designated therapist!

"Crowley, really. I'm far older than the other students, it is not my fault the mirror has brought you a full grown adult rather than another proper student! I finished all of my schooling where I am from, I do not wish to repeat it along side these....kids!" You had complained to him. Well, what was he to do? The mirror had obviously chosen you to be at that school, you had no other merits at the time to offer him, and to simply put it...without a way to go home, what else could possibly occupy your time in a world in which you know nothing about, than gather intel by throwing yourself into the most prestigious of schools? The answer seemed obvious at the time, until you realized just how bad it was.

Teenagers are still teenagers, after all. Especially a bunch of teenage boys surrounded by...well... Other teenage boys. Magic or not, they were still going through any other mental struggles as any normal human. However, putting magic into the mix had surely caused you some...extra unprecedented grief you had never needed to worry about in your world. After what, three? Four? Overblots and life endagerment exibitions, you had an epiphany. With extensive knowledge of the human brain system, life experience, and a plothera of coping mechanisms under your belt, what better way to open the door than to become none other than the designated student body therapist?

With some rather convincing techniques, you had managed to convince Crowley to, as you put it...

"Let me take this off of your plate! You are so busy being such an amazing head master running this school as perfectly as you are, I understand the durasic increase of overblots have your hands tied behind your back! As you know, I am an adult with ample experience in the field of mental health. Although I don't have the documents to prove it as much at this time seeing as they are back in my world....I just know you will not regret hiring me as a therapist."

A few more convincing lines (and perhaps a week of pestering, begging, manipulating-- I mean convincing , he had eventually hired you as the school therapist! With, of course, the expectation that you had to take an additional class to further certify you were able to properly do such a job. (You were kind of mad a bout that, seeing as you knew you were qualified, but hey. Pick and choose your battles I guess. At least you managed to get by with a couple additional classes, instead of a million years of schooling.)

You had a personal office in ramshackle, an empty dorm becoming suitable with your own personal desk, computer, book shelf, and another necessities. You had a location in the main building, the room connected to the nurses office had been refurnished as your main office. Book shelves of self care, items for fiddling with, bean bags, posters with encouraging words, and a desk full of papers, along with other needed items graciously funded by the school (you threatened Crowley at one point, accusing him of not caring of his students.) Of course, being on call meant students may drop by the dorm at any given time for your aid and expertise, so the ramshackle dorm lounge was also redecorated suited for sessions that were a bit more casual.

But of course, you also managed to juggle your studies as a student, wanting to continue to learn about magic. Working on the call was nice, keeping your phone on and excusing yourself whenever official work called for you. Unless you rather not be a student, that is fine, too. Full time therapist work may be the job for you!

Helping students heal one tragic back story at a time seemed perfectly fitting. (You just wanted to finally get paid and recognized for what you were already doing.)

[honeygr-ls]

The Shadows And The Light - Chapter 2

Ao3 - Honeygrls

The clinic lay in quiet stillness as Sevika sank into unconsciousness, her breaths becoming deep and measured under the soothing embrace of the anaesthetic. You took a moment to gaze at her, drawn in by her stillness. Each scar on her face told a story of battles and resilience, evoking a deep sense of sympathy within you. Her mechanical limb lay beside her, quietly whirring and humming, the gears turning with a gentle rhythm.

With a determined breath, you pushed aside any lingering thoughts and prepared to begin your work. Sevika wasn't your concern besides patching her up; as soon as you finished, she would be out of here and thrust back into the ruthless world that is Zaun.

But something gnawed at the back of your brain, perhaps a hint of curiosity…or even pity. You had seen many hardened souls before, all of them chewed up and spit out onto the streets of the Undercity, yet, something about Sevika was off, as if she carried a weight that felt…different.

Pushing your thoughts aside once again you focused back on the task at hand. The bullet was lodged quite well into her abdominal region, the jagged edges making it difficult to locate it. You delicately moved your tools inside of the wound, your skilled hands locating the bullet within seconds.

“Gotcha,” you murmured, your fingers deftly pulling out the bullet, its weight suddenly lighter as you dropped it onto the metal tray with a soft, metallic clink that echoed in the silence of the room. You took a deep, steadying breath, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your lungs, and began the process of disinfecting the wound. As you threaded the needle through the delicate layers of her tissue, it glided effortlessly, the rhythm of your stitching providing a brief distraction from the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind.

You couldn’t shake off the memory of her words just before she lost consciousness. Why do you do this? The question replayed over and over in your head, tugging at the corners of your mind. It wasn't the first time someone had asked, and you were aware it wouldn’t be the last. The truth was that you didn't know why you did this. Yes, you wanted to help the people of the undercity—that part was genuine—but deeper beneath that facade lay a confusing mix of emotions. Perhaps it was a sense of obligation, the unspoken legacy of your mother who had devoted her life to this clinic, pouring every ounce of energy, love, and hope into it. Or maybe it served as a distraction, a way to channel your own feelings and unresolved struggles by focusing on others' problems instead.

As you finished cleaning the area around the freshly stitched wound, a low groan cut through the silence, pulling you back into the current moment.

“You're awake,” you remarked, stepping back just enough to give her some space, but not losing your watchful gaze.

“No shit,” she rasped, her voice thick and hoarse, a sharpness lingering in her tone. She glanced down at the careful work you had done, taking in the sight of her closed wound, and then met your eyes, weary but defiant. “You done prodding around?”

You rolled your eyes at her lack of gratitude, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface of your professional demeanor. The least she could do was acknowledge the effort you had put in, yet you restrained, biting back the retort that threatened to escape your lips.

You wet your lips before speaking, “Well, all I gotta do is put a wrap around it, and you'll be good to go.” You turned around, grabbing a fresh roll of bandages and ushering her to sit up slightly so you could wrap them around her torso.

“The stitches should hold as long as you refrain from any intense movement or lifting. Just take it easy okay? Also, you should change the wrap everyday to keep the area clean.”

She chuckled, swinging her legs off the table with a wince. “Guess I owe you won.”

“You guess?" You huffed incredulously, raising an eyebrow at her.

A weak smirk weaselled its way onto her face. “Don't push it doc.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside as she pushed off the table, her movements slow yet deliberate.

“Remember what I said, alright? Take it slow, I don't want those stitches bursting open and you bleeding out once again.” You warned, your voice softening despite yourself.

“Understood,” she replied with a playful glint in her eye. “You wouldn’t happen to have a shirt that fits me, would you? I’d rather not be parading around Zaun with my tits out, y’know?” A mischievous smirk danced on her lips as she locked her gaze onto yours. The unexpected boldness of her words caught you off guard, and a warm flush crept onto your cheeks as you took a moment to fully appreciate her appearance.

“Ah, right—sorry about that,” you stammered, feeling slightly flustered. “Give me just a second; I should have something in the back.” You quickly turned on your heel and hurried down the dimly lit corridor, your heart racing as you navigated through the cluttered space. The faint sounds of Zaun beyond the clinic’s walls only added to your urgency as you made your way to the laundry room.

Once inside, you rifled through the piles of clothes, searching for a shirt that would be large enough to fit her comfortably. The scent of detergent and the faint hum of machinery surrounded you, and after a brief search, you finally spotted a faded, oversized shirt hanging on a hook. Satisfied, you seized it and dashed back to the operating room.

Upon entering, you found Sevika still leaning casually against the table, her confidence radiating as she remained just as you had left her. The sight of her relaxed demeanour stirred a mix of admiration and nervousness within you, but you quickly focused, holding the shirt out with a slightly sheepish smile.

“This should fit?” you asked, your voice laced with a hint of playful uncertainty as you tossed the shirt toward her. She caught it effortlessly, a flicker of approval crossing her face as she slipped it on gently over her head. The fabric draped perfectly over her frame.

“Alright. Just know, if the stitches come undone, you know exactly where to find me,” you added, an awkward lopsided smile making its way onto your face.

She nodded at you, her expression a mix of gratitude and mischief, before turning to leave. As she paused at the door, a moment of stillness hung in the air. She cast a quick glance back at you, her eyes slowly roaming over your body, scrutinizing every detail. When her gaze finally met yours, a confident smirk danced across her lips—a silent challenge or perhaps an invitation.

With a light chuckle, she turned away, opening the door with a soft creak, the cool night air spilling into the room. As she stepped out, the darkness enveloped her, blending her silhouette into the shadows.

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

thinking about the fe games w/ routes (fates and three houses specifically but probably others idfk)

i think there needs to be more tragedy there. or opportunities for it i guess? or that fire emblem has to make unique death quotes for characters in general man

death in fire emblem feels so blah for me. more of an inconvenience than in other media. like when im playing DnD and an npc i love dies it isnt "man that sucks. anyway" but even w characters i love in fire emblem its just "man do i wanna reset the chapter for this that was so lame"

make death and especially betrayal related deaths Hurt More.

lets say youre byleth. youre teaching the black eagles, yay! but you have a b support with claude. you and claude are good buddies, maybe you just like claude as a character or its accidental because of x y z does Not matter. either way you are one of claudes closest friends. then the war starts, and you choose to side with a woman claude sees as a future tyrant (or at the very least a driven warmonger who might crush the alliance underneath her boot). imagine the hurt. the absolute fucking agony for claude.

and for byleth! byleth wakes up and their friend is gone. on another side, unreachable, 5 years of emotional distance *yawning* in front of them.

and then they reunite in the midst of battle, weapons drawn. theyve both come so far and have goals they *have* to achieve.

"I don't want this."

too bad. if you roll over, you get a game over because you fuckin failed the route. or you have to make someone else kill claude because sumn sumn mechanically you have a 0% hit rate bc of that b support. you cant do it.

too bad. claude cant run away, hes the last line of defense for a place hes responsible for. if he leaves what is he? a coward? a turncoat? would he have to believe in edelgard's future? would he have to slay his own allies, friends, the people who relied on him?

he cant. you cant.

he begs you to reconsider. you cant.

as he falls he reaches out a hand. you kneel beside him as he says a few things. calls this whole battle a clever gambit, praises your cunning in using effective weaponry, etc etc. but his voice is weaker. theres no option to spare him, you couldnt spare any *other* unit, could you? couldn't spare hilda. cant spare claude.

he mentions sometimes dreaming of the monastery. the food was good, right? hope the foods good in the future you build with edelgard. hope you name a town after him, thatd be fun. dont get stupid, teach, dont join him too soon. maybe he'll even wait for ya. keep a seat warm.

(fire emblem unit death sound)

then also: units in your own army.

lets say youre playing black eagles. its nearish endgame but not too close so i dont say any spoilers, but regardless bernadetta and yuri have an A support. they might get hitched postgame man, you havent done the A support of anyone else w those two. its a rough battle, your healer is severely low on psychic uses, you sold all your fucking vulneraries because you thought dorothea was more of a beast than she is. its dire.

unexpected sniper crit. yuri is on 0 hp.

bernadetta is within 5 tiles and instead of yuri's canned death quote, bernie interjects with one of the most well voiced anguished screams youve ever fucking heard. on the next turn, bernie gets +50 hit *and* crit on that enemy, and if she kills it the rest of the scene plays.

bernie is holding yuri, one of her few friends in her hellish fucking life. hes not gonna make it, she knows that, but shes still gonna try. shes wailing and begging him to stay like she wished she had all those fucking years ago, shes babbling about all the things he'll miss if he goes, all the things shes planned for them to do now that shes brave enough to leave her bedroom. he cuts her off to laugh. now is when she gets brave and honest with her feelings? when hes dying? oh bernie come on. he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a hug, kissing her temple like an old boyfriend and not a quiet yearning crush. he murmurs that hes glad she left her bedroom. that hes glad she can see the world beyond what abuse happened to her behind closed doors. that she'll find some other person to hold in his stead, one who wont so rudely get his blood on her battle leathers. one who wont leave her time and time again like he has. she wails into his shoulder as she drops the scraps of cloth she had been trying to use to stop his bleeding and just holds her dying friend.

(fire emblem unit death sound)

if death felt like An Event and not An Inconvenience i'd play with permadeath more man. make me sad fire emblem youre so shit at it

.

[oftenlyshitposting]

i just thought of something fucking funny

think of ezra's blaster-saber and how appalling it would be in huyang's mechanical eyes and memory circuits. thought about it?

good, because i'm gonna raise you a more atrocious creation that i think sabine should make.

think of one of sabine's vambraces, imbued with a retractable lightsaber so in case she loses grip of her actual lightsaber, she has a backup saber ready.

like yes, her vambraces are already equipped with a number of offensive and defensive mechanisms like her mini rockets, flamethrower, and grapplewire.

imagine adding a mini, shoto-like lightsaber into it.

that is the perfect Chaotic yet Practical weapon for a jedilorian such as sabine wren, and you can't convince me otherwise LMFAOAJDKSODKSO

say sabine had already built her own new lightsaber; it's beautiful and the hilt is very sabine-like. now, imagine that while choosing her crystal, another crystal calls to her, a much smaller one. so, without ahsoka or huyang knowing, sabine bonds with both.

when she heard mandalore is liberated and flourishing, she went there to see; where she was met again with bo-katan and introduced to the armorer. now that beskar ore isn't as scarce as it used to be, sabine requests the armorer if she could make an upgrade to her vambraces and her beskar.

sabine constructs her shoto lightsaber, and true to her guess, it's small enough to fit just right in one of her vambraces. the hilt of her shoto lightsaber is made of beskar as well, and when she assembles her new and upgraded vambraces, both bo-katan and the armorer was thoroughly shocked at sabine's new creation, but bo-katan wasn't entirely surprised that sabine thought of such weapon. the armorer didn't entirely agree with such creation, but she was impressed when sabine showed it in action.

sabine hadn't told ahsoka yet, but she kinda didn't have to, because bo-katan told the jedi master herself when sabine wasn't around. ahsoka came to mandalore to pick sabine up for a mission, and was welcomed by the mand'alor and the armorer.

"did you know that your apprentice built a small lightsaber and embedded it into one of her vambraces?" bo-katan casually mentioned to ahsoka over a drink, and the mand'alor had to hold her laugh at ahsoka's baffled expression on her face.

"what do you mean sabine built a lightsaber in her vambraces?" ahsoka repeated, still processing the information, fully facing the mand'alor now.

"this is true, i helped her make it," came in the armorer's voice, as bo-katan sips on her drink, "i, too, was like you. completely baffled by her proposition. but, the weapon does come in quite handy. especially for a mandalorian jedi such as her."

"i have an ancient jedi professor droid with me who would consider sabine's new creation atrocious." ahsoka sighed, earning a small laugh from bo-katan and the armorer. the jedi master shakes her head, not out of disdain, only amusement. "but, he doesn't need to know about it yet."

sabine eventually used it in battle with ahsoka, and was rather panicking when the battle ended and ahsoka saw the still ignited vambrace-saber. sabine tried to clarify whatever it is she thought she needed to clarify, but ahsoka only laughed, which further confuses sabine.

"don't worry," ahsoka said at her, patting her shoulder with a lingering laugh, "bo-katan and the armorer had already told me about it when i went to pick you up on mandalore."

"wait," sabine was in disbelief, "you're not... mad?"

ahsoka chuckled. "sabine, i'm not a lightsaber professor droid nor a purist. that's huyang's job. besides," she nudges at her padawan playfully, "we're both very far from traditional jedi. i wield two lightsabers, and you are a mandalorian jedi padawan who technically also wield two lightsabers."

sabine laughs, agreeing with ahsoka. "i suppose so."

"just make sure to keep it away from huyang," ahsoka said as they made their way back to the fulcrum, "that might send his wires loose."

BONUS:

ezra visited the fulcrum crew and sabine showed him the vambrace-saber, and ezra was so impressed and was actually excited about the creation that he was inspired to assemble an upgraded version of his old blaster-saber. he wanted to make a pair; one for himself, and the other for sabine.

huyang found out about both atrocities, and since then, neither sabine or ezra were allowed to set foot inside his lightsaber assembly/storage area without his or ahsoka's supervisions. despite everything, huyang had to admit to himself, against his own will, that sabine's vambrace-saber and ezra's blaster-saber are rather effective weapons.

disney/filoni if you ever adopt this chaotic weapon idea design @ me so i can get my coins

[unofskylanderspages]

I'm interested if there is any Sproket lore , she's one of my favorites :]

of course! there's a little bit :3

like all goldlings (apparently; we have to take their word for it since they're never mentioned or seen in canon besides her bio), sprocket was raised in an incredibly wealthy family, but she honestly couldn't care less. rather, she was more a tinkerer, seemingly much like her uncle. we don't know much about him, but he and his niece seemed to be very similar in their preference for technology over wealth, as he had a workshop full of various mechanical inventions. it was here where sprocket spent almost all of her pre-skylander time, working possibly alongside her uncle or perhaps self-guided in learning about making and fixing his creations. it's likely that the two were the odd-ones-out in their family for this and thus were very close even beyond their mechanical skills.

it's also likely that mechanical intellect was what prompted Kaos to kidnap him. it's unclear how long it took her to figure out that there was foul play in his disappearance, but given that she not only figured that out but seemingly immediately identified Kaos's hand in it, it likely didn't take sprocket long to figure it out. she hand-crafted her battle suit solely for the purpose of bringing her uncle home, forsaking all of the luxury and comforts of her family's wealth behind for his sake. unfortunately, her uncle meets the same fate as every major influential character in a skylander's backstory: she has yet to find him and there's no other canon mention of him again.

she also appears in the Terrafin Battles the Boom Brothers story, but unfortunately that part of her wiki is incomplete and i haven't read any of the novels myself, sorry :(

also unfortunately, that's just about as much canon backstory/lore we have on her so far (barring her skylanders academy appearance but that's technically a separate continuity anyways), but since we're here, we can talk out my favorite little technically non-lore-related facts of hers!

her turrets will attempt to automatically fire at the oracle if you set them up in his hub

she had two different placeholder names in the alpha version of giants: "engineer" and "spark"

she was pretty much an entirely different character in the alpha altogether: she was an elf and thus looked pretty much like stealth elf and had more of an iron man-like color palette for her battle armor, her catchphrase was originally "fear the gear!" and a good majority of her upgrades had different names or were shuffled around compared to their final lineup

she was the first female tech skylander in the series, followed only by gearshift

she's defo hella underrated. i'm attempting to stay as strict to canon info as possible and thus poorly hiding every headcanon/personal interpretation of canon behind every "likely" and it's possible" lmao but oh well. which is kind of lame because she doesn't really have much beyond her backstory which is sad :( she's just unfortunately one of those skylanders who's part of a one-off out-of-canon culture that's never touched again in the main series, but i guess filling in the gaps is half the fun. i think so, anyway.

anyway anon i hope this was good for you! i love seeing everyone's personal favorites, like that whole "every pokemon is someone's favorite" thing it just makes me happy to see which blorbos just make someone happy :)

[scary-senpai]

So I was working on a little something for @wanpanmas...

What you must understand about me, is that I can never be normal about anything, ever.

Anyway, the prompt was supposed to be hot chocolate.

"What force, what brutality!" "Her power is surely on par with Tatsumaki's." "Thank God she can only manipulate desserts."

From the safety of HA Headquarters, Sitch and Sekinger surveyed the skirmish from every possible angle as it streamed across multiple televisions screens.

High up in the summits, the battle raged on—between the battered, beleagured heroes and the behemoth Swiss Maid that had somehow achieved sentience, and was now intent to wreck havoc across the snow-crested alps of K-City.

With a blood-curdling cry and a shake of her pigtails, the Swiss Miss dug her claws into the earth, ripped up a stretch of topsoil and began to wrap the earth around itself, layer by layer—as if storing a yoga mat, or a fruit rollup of some sort. Tanks, armored cars, entire infantry divisions—all abruptly squished together and immobalized like so much cream filling.

"A Swiss roll attack," Sekinger said. "We should have guessed."

"Metal Bat. Garou. Come in," Sitch spoke frantically into his ear piece. "Are you still there?"

"We're still here." Badd's voice came through, but barely. "We got lucky."

Garou's connection wasn't much better. "How's the backup situation?"

"I'll have to check." Sitch's assistant switched the video feed—bad news, all of it. Every city was beset by its own mascot disaster:

- Q City: Overrun by malevolent Tropicana Oranges. Watchdog Man, trapped in an endless game of fetch.

- A City: Plagued by Coca Cola Polar Bears. Zombieman was rapidly losing limbs.

- In Smelly Lid Prison, the Kool-Aid Man barrelled through wall after wall of reinforced concrete. Most of the prisoners had been freed, but Puri Puri had been buried under several cartloads of rubble.

Sekinger and Sitch looked at each other grimly. Their silence spoke volumes.

"Don't everybody answer at once." Garou's disdain was evident.

"And what about Caped Baldy, huh? What's he up to?"

Sitch cleared his throat. "We don't know. Nobody can reach him."

.......

While the K-City Alps were in shambles, the city below was fine.

Shielded from the fracas by several picturesque mountain ranges, the citizens went about their normal holiday preparations—stringing lights, decorating trees, and exploring the scenic Christmas Market that had popped up in the City Square.

As always, the line for hot chocolate snaked halfway across the block. It wasn't Saitama's idea of a good time, but Genos finally had a day off, and this is what Genos wanted to do with it. So Saitama had tagged along, for support.

Besides, it was nice to see the kid get excited about something other than murder, for once.

Saitama switched his phone to "silent" and mentally prepared himself for another lecture on wave machines.

"Wave mechanics," Genos corrected. "The Hot Chocolate effect is a phenomena of wave mechanics wherein—"

"—face it, Gen. It's a cool idea but that chocolate's never getting out of the swimming pool. It's way too sticky to put in a wave machine.”

"…indeed." Genos deferred to his sensei with a polite nod, and then gently changed the subject to something more accessible.

"Thank you for accompanying me today, Sensei. Are you sure that the Hero Association does not require your presence? They are often short-staffed during the holidays."

"Oh yeah," Saitama said, checking his pager. "I'm getting all these messages about the Swiss Miss. Isn't she supposed to be neutral?"

"Switzerland is a famously neutral entity," Genos confirmed. "Perhaps they refer to the Swiss Guard."

"That would explain why they’re Threat Level God,” Saitama murmured. “Well. I’m sure the Pope can handle it.”

Saitama promptly slipped his phone back into his pocket and went back to thinking about chocolate swimming pools.

[to be continued]

---

Author's note:

Maybe one day I'll write a fic without footnotes, but today is not that day.

The Hot Chocolate Effect

The Swiss Guard

[gardens-light]

Rekindled Love

It took years for Chicago to be rebuilt back to its former glory. Many lives were lost- human and machine. People begun to salvage the alien technology like it was an Easter Egg hunt, taking anything and everything they could carry, before the authorities got hold of the reminats.

While large companies and government bodies captured any remaining Transformers- Autobot or Deceptions. Alive or offline, they were taken to be... well it was anyone's guess. Working with your team has caused a war within yourself. Battling thoughts of who's right or wrong in this hunt against the Transformers. And tonight has made that a whole lot harder...

Content: Events are based on 'Transformers- Age of Extinction.' Minor spoilers (have tried to minimize). Kinda 'Reader insert.' Course language. Just cute scenes and a simple kiss.

Word count- 2,670. (May be less due to edits and ending changes)

"Push right! Push right!"

"C'mon guys lets roll!"

"Take the beach, nice and easy."

Following your squad along the docks, weapon in hand and night vision goggles aiding your sight. Multiple ships empty, some confused citizens gave the military raised eyebrows and puzzle expressions as they went on with their nightshift.

Helicopters broke the silence within the still night air. Footsteps of Squad 1 and 2 echoed through the empty ships as they boarded. Carefully taking position and aiming their guns at a large cargo ship.

Multiple voices scratched out of your radio, as you rested your head against a wall. The rest of your squad venturing further and spreading out through the second level.

"Wake up soldier! No sleeping on the job!"

A harsh voice came to your ears, companied by a sudden smack to your back. Barely feeling it through the padded armour.

"Apologies, sir. Just need a minute-"

"Vipers. Eagle in sight. Cleared hot. Location, top deck."

"Copy that Sky Eyes." Your commanding officer looked over his shoulder. Gazing at you briefly before carefully backtracking to you. "You ok?"

Hearing the sound of his receiver being turned off, you released a heavy sigh. "I just... can't believe this is happening"

"We've had this convocation soldier" he removed his goggles and face covering, gazing at you with a disapproving look. "Believe it. They're the ones who started this. All of this."

Pulling yourself together, brushing the tears away from your eyes. As you avoided his gaze. Officer Ryan placed a hand upon your shoulder, trying to give you a comforting smile.

"I understand some things can get a little rough. We've lost everything to these alien scum-"

"Blow steel!" yelled the general's voice over Ryan's radio.

'Boom!'

The sound of an explosive shook the cargo ship, followed by the yells of a mechanical voice in pain.

Ratchet!...

Chaos and all hell broke loose.

Gunfire was released from heavy duty vehicles and helicopters. Voices shouting over one another in a scratchy tone from the radio on your chest.

"Hit him! Hit him!" Ryan repeated into his receiver, as he ran towards the rest of the squad with you trailing behind.

Missiles fired from the helicopters above. You and Ryan reached the concrete dock, your eyes widening as the Autobot leaped from the cargo ship, transforming into an rescue Hummer, just before landing upon the road on all four wheels.

"He's on the run! He's on the run!" Ryan yelled into his receiver.

A military Hummer screeched to a halt beside you. Ryan immedictly climbed into the vehicle, while you jumped into the backseat.

"Take down that machine! Don't let him get away!"

Gunfire continued to rain down onto the Autobot from all angles. Clutching onto your weapon, while your eyes closed tightly. Trying to fight through the headache that begun to build at your temples.

This is how it needs to be. This is how it needs to be. The thought kept rolling around in your head.

"No! Please!" the sound of Ratchet's painful pleas' ached your heart. "Hold your fire. Please, hold your fire."

His pleas continued as the military surrounded the Autobot. All vehicles came to abrupt halt, more soldiers stepping out of the cars and holding a steady aim at Ratchet.

Following everyone's lead and coming close to the injured alien. Feeling like each step you took became more difficult.

"Can you not see I've been injured?-"

"Box it in! Box it in!" Ryan's voice yelled over the Autobot.

"I'm Medical Officer Ratchet! I'm a friend!"

Lowering your weapon, moving your fingers away from the trigger as you tried to reflex them. Attempting to stretch out the building stiffness and hoping a little movement would move the leather away from your sweaty skin.

Blinking away the tears, as Ratchet fell onto his behind. Trying to shift his massive body into a small defensive position, while placing his servos over the opening of where his leg should be.

"I'm an Autobot!-"

"Then why did you run?" Ryan challenged with a cocky smile.

"Optimus sent a distress message."

Ratchet touched his radio, allowing the message to play through. "Calling all Autobots. We are under targeted attack. Cease all contact with humans."

Feeling suffocated, pulling down your face covering as you tried to take deep steady breathes.

"We're all hiding." Ratchet explained, "All Autobots are being hunted. We're all in danger."

"I lost a sister in Chicago. You'll get no sympathy from me."

The gentle blue of Ratchet's optics lowered to the ground. Feeling like it was only you whom saw the robot's face shift into sadness, while Ryan gave the Autobot daggered stares.

"Alright... release the hooks! I want this piece of junk torn apart!-"

"What?" Ratchet quickly gazed around him. Groans escaping his mouth, as soldiers fired the grappling hooks from the back of their utes. "Please! Don't do this! Don't-ah!"

'Clang!'

"Who the fuck threw those smoke grenades?"

The hiss of smoke leaving two canisters filled the air. Disrupting everyone's view of the Autobot. The sound of cable wires breaking as the vehicles attempted to pull the robot apart.

"Open fire! Open fire! Don't let that thing get away!" Ryan barked.

"Stop! What's wrong with you humans?" Ratchet groaned. As he pulled the hooks out of body and quickly making his escape.

Through the smoke, you saw the Autobot crawl and leap away from the scene, as you remained rooted to the spot. Your body frozen in place with tears rolling down your cheeks.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Ryan shouted as the smoke slowly dispersed.

Everything came to a stand still, silence briefly falling before Ryan's frustrated yells disturbed the air.

You flinched as his fist slammed against the hood of a nearby car.

"Search the grounds! Spread out!" His booming voice begun to drum right through you. "It's injured so it can't be far! And search for any allies! I want to know where the fuck those smoke grandates came from!"

Everyone quickly dispersed. Running to nearby buildings and vehicles screeching their way back up the roads. Helicopters scouted the large docks.

Steadying your breathing as you watched Ryan approach you. Hiding the empty canisters into your back pocket.

"Officer Y/N!"

"Yes Sir. Sorry Sir. Just... Just got shaken up for a moment."

A low groan rumbled in his throat, as his daggers of disapproval stared right through you. "Pick up your feet, soldier. Now isn't the time to get emotional."

You speechlessly nodded. Turning on your heel, and following the green puddles of liquid...

---

"This is Ratchet, Autobots come in. Is anyone there?"

Pain lingered in his voice as it echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse.

"I'm heavily injured. Please send aid. Can anyone hear me?"

Climbing over rubble as you followed the sound of his voice. Using your torch to find the injured Autobot.

A heavy sigh left Ratchet as the radio static continued to buzz. The EMP that the soldiers dispersed an hour ago affected his communications, but thankfully it also affected theirs.

The sound of loose rubble snapped him out of his daze, quickly looking up and scanning his surroundings. Using the headlights sticking out of his shoulder plate to burn the darkness away. Ratchet activated his arm cannon, carefully studying for any movement within the shadows.

All was silent for a painful long minute.

Another sigh left him, as he lowered his arm. Retracting the cannon back under his plating and trying to reach out for his dismembered limb.

"Oh shit!"

Losing your footing and stumbling down the large pile of rubble. Ratchet flinched away from you, as you fell onto your knees before him.

"Ouch... I'm going to feel that in the morning."

The Autobot carefully studied you, as you got back onto your feet. Brushing the dust and dirt off yourself, feeling his blue optics gazing down at you.

As you met his gaze, you quickly put your hands up. "I won't hurt you"

Ratchet cocked his head to the side, as you carefully disarmed. Placing all weapons on the floor and gently kicking them away. Before finally removing your headgear.

Ratchet's optics widened as your hair fell out of the helmet.

"Y/N...?"

Somehow the pain in his voice was worse than before. Squeezing it's already tightening grip around your achy heart.

"Y/N... why? We used to be friends. You fought alongside us."

"None of this was supposed to happen-"

"And what was 'supposed' to happen?"

His challenging tone caused you to fall silent. Avoiding each others stares for a uncomfortable moment.

Ratchet's scans picked up your slow heartbeat and uneven breath. His optics studied your tearstained face.

"You've been crying..."

"No... No. I'm fine."

A saddened expression fell across his face, "you don't need to-"

"Let's get you fixed up." You said braving a warm smile. Taking a few deep breaths, attempting to pull yourself together. "It won't be long till someone figures out I've been gone for too long."

Ratchet noticed the semi-quick pace of your speech, trying to hide the fact that your voice was breaking.

Pulling up your sleeves as you approached his severed limb. Being cautious of the spontaneous sparks spitting out of the live wires, as you examined the opening.

"You've lost a lot of fluid. But I'm sure there's a way to temporarily put you back together. Well... hold you long enough till you reach Optimus anyway."

You looked around the warehouse as you lowered your backpack onto the floor. "There must be something around here that could help-"

"Y.N..." Ratchet groaned as he tried to shift his position.

"Stay sitting down. Further movement would cause more injury-"

"Why?" He spluttered, turning his head away from you as he coughed up some fluid. "Why are you helping me?"

You reached out to him. Ratchet's spark skipping a beat as he gently allowed your hand to cradle one of his digits.

"I don't expect you to forgive me." Your voice slowly returned to the friendly tone the Autobot once knew and loved. "But you're my friend Ratchet. We shared blood, sweat and precious metal together back at N.E.S.T, and no matter how hard I try or convince myself otherwise. I just... I just can't forget what I shared with you- with the Autobots."

Resting your forehead against the back of his servos, Ratchet begun to feel a little warm under his plating. Your shining eyes staring into his blue optics caused his processors to run wild.

"I will fix you." He never heard your voice filled with such hope and promise. "Even if it's temporarily... I will fix you..."

Three Hours Later...

"Alright, Ratchet. Last wire, you ready?"

Ratchet avoided looking down at you, as your hips and legs hung outside of the opening within his leg. While your torso dangled above the wires inside.

"I'm ready. Just please be careful, you've been electrocuted twice already."

Using your mouth to rip off a bit of black electrical tape, pushing the roll back up your arm, as you cautiously held two live wires.

"I'll be fine. Ok on the count of three. One... Two... Three!"

You quickly pushed the wires together, squinting as you wrapped the electrical tape around the joining. Trying to avoid the sparks.

"Oh boy!"

Low hums and vibrations shot through Ratchet. Giving him a bolt of energy, as you squeezed yourself out of the gap of his leg.

"How you feeling?" you asked, while starting to use the random rolls of duct tape, electrical tape and all sorts of other tapes to somewhat bandage his metal plates together.

"Good." His voice hummed while looking down at you. The heat under his plates grew over time, as you stripped down to your crop top and cargo pants.

"You... have always been a great medical officer."

You smiled, looking up at the Autobot. "Well... normally my paitents are human and not alien."

A small chuckle left him, as you continued to try and close the opening.

Ratchet hesitated for a brief moment. Taking a second to ask the question that's been building up in him for the past couple of hours. "Earlier you mentioned that you 'tried to convince yourself otherwise'... what did you mean by that?"

You paused in the middle of pulling the last strip of duct tape. Biting your lip and briefly closing your eyes before answering.

"After what happened in Chicago. The announcement of you guys being public enemy number one spread like wildfire. N.E.S.T was disbanded. The topic of Autobots and Decepticons divided people."

Opening your eyes, moving onto the next roll of tape, as you tried to continue to patch up the Autobot.

"I was... lost. Confused... parts of me wanted to hate you guys for the chaos that happened. How many humans have gone missing and lost their lives. But..." you paused again, holding the tape in mid-roll. "But when I heard the militaries new mission of taking you guys down. I thought..."

Ratchet cooed as he carefully placed his large hand upon your back. Using the tip of his index digit to rub your spine, as he heard your voice slowly breaking.

"I thought it was the only way." You admitted, trying to stay focused on patching up the metal plates together. "That perhaps people were right, and that we were never meant to be."

"We?..."

"I-I mean, humans and the Autobots. Not like... um, never mind..." your voice trailed off into silence.

Ratchet watched you brush away the sweat that was forming upon your brow, as you stepped back from his leg. After finally putting on the last strip of duct tape.

His spark hasn't been regulating properly since you've briefly came back into his life. And the heat building under his plates made it hard to control his processors, as he couldn't help but notice how your bust slightly bounced with each movement.

You looked up at him, "mind giving me a boost? I wanna see the damage to your shoulder plates."

Ratchet speechlessly placed his servos on the floor. Allowing you to climb into his palm and carefully bringing you to his left shoulder plate.

Awkward silence fell over the pair of you once again. The butterflies that's been swirling around in your stomach for the past couple of hours, caused your abdomen to do backflips.

Just focus on putting him back together. You lectured in your thoughts. A heavy sigh left your lips. Too much has happened between us to try and even think of salvaging what we once had.

"Are you alright?"

Ratchet's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. It's just- I think some wires- whoa!"

"Y/N!"

The Autobot quickly caught you in his free servo, as you slightly fell off his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Ratchet asked.

"Ye-Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Just leaned a little too far forward..."

An awkward silence fell over the pair of you. Your features blushing red as you knelt within the Autobot's palm. Playing with your fingers, while feeling the heat coming from under Ratchet's body plates.

"Well ah... I should go, y'know... before someone sees us..."

Your eyes caught his lingering gaze, as the Autobot slowly leaned in closer towards you.

Butterflies made your stomach do backflips. Ratchet's body felt like it was on autopilot, his optics couldn't look away from your delicate lips. His processors and your thoughts running haywire, as they raced within yourselves. You subconsciously reached out for his cheek, as he held you close to his chest plate.

Closing your eyes as your lips met his. A sweet moan rumbled in his throat as he took in your scent. Your perfume filled his sensors awakening a joy that he thought was all long forgotten. Your bust rested against his chest plate, as you took in every second of this blissful moment.

Slowly breaking away from him, Ratchet's optics wandered over your flushed features as he happily sighed.

"Come away with me?..."

[petite-guignol]

bringing this over from twitter because nobody is reading twitter anymore lmfao and i figure the long version is more likely to be interesting to people here

(the OP is responding to some film account's description of something in an upcoming Avatar movie, not that it really matters but that's the context in case anyone was curious)

putting this under a cut because, as is apparently customary for me, the long version is like. really long.

the elemental theming for different nations in FF4 is not very strong and we do not see much of Damcyan anyway but i do think it has a pretty interesting angle on what a "fire kingdom" looks like

the crystals mostly serve as a metaphor for stewardship of the land and the people on it. the earth crystal in Troia is probably the most on the nose about it but that's kind of my read on the whole deal. various fantasy settings, particularly video games, have had different variations of what a "fire landscape" looks like, and a lot of times its inhospitable. (FF5 always makes me laugh here because Karnak, the fire crystal city in that game, just has literal open flames straight up raging in the streets, presumably all the time. the people there are actually distressed when the fires go out. but i digress) Damcyan is a desert, which is kind of a harsh environment comparatively but both naturally occurring and perfectly habitable, a place one ought to care for and not just a big empty wasteland.

Besides being situated in the middle of a hot, bright environment there's a vague aesthetic connection to fire. edward dresses in bright red and gold, with anna in a yellow dress and sometimes bright red hair. the DS version puts sunbursts on the castle walls and a lit candle on their flag, and maybe this is just me overthinking it (this whole thing is tbh) but the SFC version of Damcyan castle features these weird clusters of extremely tall towers that almost resemble smoke stacks or something. at any rate Damcyan is at least slightly more clearly "fire themed" than Fabul is "air themed", for example.

the elemental connection is again mainly metaphorical, in the associations people have made with the classical elements. water is knowledge, air is discipline, earth is abundance, and so on, which means Damcyan is indeed supposed to have the figurative qualities of fire

which are...

well, again we don't see much of Damcyan. in-game, their prince is a bard (and in the DS version they also have a lyre on their flag). they have soldiers but are clearly not intended to be read as militaristic in any way. the castle has a dungeon, which is full of treasure chests largely containing hats. it has the first healing pots you'll come across in the game. it's the only country on the surface besides Baron that seems to have anything approaching modern tech, and its a civilian vehicle that helps you get across the desert. the area's signature boss monster produces a healing item and is supposed to be docile despite its terrifying appearance.

Edward himself is primarily known for his beautiful voice and is a healer, mechanically speaking. the first thing we learn about him is that he eloped with his lover against her father's wishes, and while the game on its own doesn't really give any context for his apparent habit of wandering around in disguise, it's very easy to read his behavior as impulsive. he's extremely emotional, to the extent that it actually bleeds into the battle system. so he's "fiery", in a sense -- seemingly always in the throes of some volatile emotion or other -- but in a way that's essentially the opposite of aggressive

the primary quality of fire here, i think, is compassion -- warmth and light, music and love and healing. it's a harsh world out there, but here in the firelight even the monsters are tame

plus, a little bit of "hey, can't you use fire to do metal smithing? what about a combustion engine? wouldn't that make you like, fabulously wealthy?" thrown in there for spice i guess

(actually, if you want to combine poet-kings, the vague tech-y overtones of the place -- including Edward functioning as a sort of proto-Chemist -- and the guidebook stuff about Damcyan having gotten extremely rich off trading and idk Rubicante, you could probably make a good argument that "fire" also serves as a general emblem for "civilization," but that's neither here nor there and this post is already long as fuck)

[eunchancorner]

Revenged and Rescued (Part 7)

I feel like I just fought a battle. But I think I won.

-

“Well, guess we’re on fire cleanup duty. C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Charles grunted as he stood, pulling Henry up after him. “Got any kinda upgrades on that arm to make this easier?”

“Actually,” Henry smiled, before focusing as his left hand turned into something resembling the end of a hose. He flicked a long, thin, rectangular glass window on his arm, before nodding, firing off a stream of water over the bonfire, dousing the circle that it had been built into.

“Yeahhh, they let me keep the hose!” he cheered as his hand reverted. He watched as Charles kicked dirt into the fire pit for good measure before nodding, leading Henry back to their tent.

“Alrighty, all that’s left before we head to bed is your checkup, but first, I wanna ask you; How’d you like today? I mean, I think it was a pretty good day, getting to show you around and stuff, but, well, how was it for you?” the pilot asked as he sat on his cot, keeping his gaze on Henry as he sat across from him.

“Honestly? It was pretty nice. It was a nice change from… y’know, everything. I feel like I made some good friends here, and it’s been a while since I’ve actually, y’know, eaten anything. And ramen with your squad was actually a lot nicer than any Toppat dinners. It felt… genuine. Like you guys weren’t just putting up with me because you had to. Plus, this place is actually pretty cool. I could get used to staying here,” he decided.

“Awesome! I’m really glad you like it here, I was hoping you would,” Charles said as he moved to sit beside Henry, grabbing the manual. “Well, once we do this checkup, we can wrap up your first day here! Or, half day, I guess? I dunno, you spent a lot of it in medical, so it could go either way. Either way, ready to get this done?”

Henry sighed as he nodded. “Let’s get it over with, I guess.”

“Alright, says here you’ve got 12 sensors on your new compartment; two in the front and five on each side. Then, 24 sensors along your spine, four on your upper arm, four on your lower arm and two in your palm. So that’s…” he paused for a while, counting in his hand. After a few seconds of silence, Henry couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Need some help?”

“No no, I can math,” the pilot responded before he resumed thinking, earning another quiet laugh from Henry. After a few more seconds his eyes lit up. “46! 46 sensors total. Sorry, I just wanted to figure that out, but it’s late so, y’know…” he murmured as he set the manual in his lap as he kept reading. “‘Each sensor has a specific testing method. It’s recommended to begin at the chest, work out and then down his spine, then check the subject’s arm.’ Alright, then…”

Charles followed along with the manual, thumping each of Henry’s chest sensors lightly, earning small grunts from him.

“That feels normal, right?” the pilot asked, and Henry nodded. “Alright, good, now… next I gotta tap along the side sensors…” he trailed off as he began to read a notation near the method explanation. “‘Subject may display squirming, elevated heart rate and flushing of the face, however subject insists this is normal, and a lack of alarming indications on vitals has led to the conclusion that subject is…’” Charles looked back up at Henry, a small smile crossing his face. “You’re ticklish?”

“I- well, uh- I mean, a little, maybe, yeah,” he admitted, a little flustered at the fact that the doctors had even noted that down.

“‘A little?’ Hm, well, the notes say ‘exceedingly ticklish’, but I’ll take your word for it. Is that because this is normally where your ribs would be? I’ll have to keep that in mind. But, I still gotta make sure they’re working right, so you’re gonna have to suffer a little for the sake of your own health, ok? Says here your left arm has a locking mechanism to keep it up for maintenance, and I guess I’ll just hold up your right arm? It doesn’t say. So, are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be…” Henry admitted, raising his left arm. He felt it lock into place as Charles tapped a button near his shoulder, and a little test of his own showed that all he could move now was his hand. He braced himself as best he could as he felt Charles begin to tap along the top sensor, turning his head to hide his reactions. Even though he couldn’t see the pilot, he could almost feel his eyes on him, watching his reactions closely. He knew it was just to make sure he was ok, but dammit if it wasn’t so embarrassing, he might actually be able to show his face.

He tried his best to keep from squirming, his free hand gripping the frame of the cot below as he tried his best to keep from laughing, though he couldn’t force down the growing smile on his face. Finally, Charles released the locking mechanism on his arm, allowing it to snap down and Henry couldn’t help but blush even more as he heard Charles laugh at the reflex. 

“You really are ticklish, huh? Well, according to the manual, that’s normal, thankfully. I’ll test your arm before I move on to the other side, how’s that sound? Give you some time to cool down?” he asked, and Henry nodded, taking a deep breath. 

He felt his heartbeat return to normal as Charles tapped meticulously on each sensor on his arm, looking up at Henry for a nod before moving onto the next. He flinched slightly as Charles tapped the ones on his palm, earning a look from Charles.

“Are these ones ok?” he asked, seeming a bit worried about Henry’s reactions, but Henry nodded.

“Yeah, they’re fine, that was normal,” he said, and he couldn’t help but avert his gaze at the knowing look Charles gave him.

“Your hand, too? Really?” was all he had to say, and Henry nodded a little, earning a small chuckle from Charles, hearing him mumble “‘Exceedingly’ seems to be more accurate than I thought…”

Charles stood and switched sides, still holding the manual, setting it in his lap as he gently pulled Henry’s right arm up.

“Ready?” he asked, and Henry took a deep breath before nodding, knowing he wasn’t ever going to be truly ready. 

He had to physically keep his left hand from completely breaking the cot frame as Charles tapped along each sensor, something far more easily said than done. Despite how increasingly obvious it was that this, too, tickled so damn much, he knew it was supposed to be a good sign; that the sensors were working normally. But that didn’t stop it from being incredibly embarrassing as he struggled to keep quiet until Charles finished. Sure enough, though, Charles released his arm as he finished testing the sensors.

“Alright, seems normal, and by normal, of course, I mean hilarious,” he commented, earning a light smack from Henry, along with an embarrassed “Hey!”

“C’mon, dude, you gotta admit, it’s funny how ticklish you are! It’s not a bad thing, though, lots of people are ticklish. They’re just not you levels of ticklish.”

“Oh, shut up,” Henry grumbled, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that ba-AHA!!” he suddenly squealed as Charles ran his finger down his spine, each sensor triggering sequentially making it feel all too real.

“Back sensors seem fine, too!” Charles announced, a mischievous smile on his face. “Manual says to test those when you’re least expecting for a more ‘natural’ reaction.”

Henry rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a smile. “I’m so sure.”

“It does! Now, I need to check your respirator and your heartbeat. Now, we should be able to open up your chest cavity right…” he traced along the side of Henry’s chest, before pressing near the middle, and sure enough, like a hinged door, Henry’s chest opened. Henry pulled up his shirt, and the panel slowly swung out, revealing two cylindrical tubes of fizzing blue liquid on either side of a glass panel that showed Henry’s heart as it beat rhythmically in his chest.

“Woah…” Charles mumbled, seeming a bit awestruck. “That’s… damn…”

“Charles? Maintenance?” Henry reminded him, snapping the pilot out of his thoughts.

“Right right. Uh, let’s see here…” He looked over the manual, flipping through the pages and reading the instructions quietly to himself.

“10 seconds… fizzing, yeah, uh-huh… release… Alright, so, first, take a deep breath in,” he instructed, and Henry nodded before doing so.

“Alright, now hold…” Charles advised, watching the inner liquid closely. Henry could just barely feel it beginning to fizz as pressure built, feeling a bit embarrassed as his tentmate murmured “That’s so cool…”

After about 10 seconds, Charles told Henry to release, and as he exhaled, he felt the pressure in his chest fading, and heard as the liquid bubbled loudly as the carbon dioxide was released.

“Alright, that looks good,” Charles said. “Now, we check your heart rate. Should be between 60 and 100 bpm, according to the manual here, so I’ll set a timer for a minute.”

He grabbed his phone, quickly setting a timer before mouthing ‘3, 2, 1, go,’ and hitting the button, fixing his attention on Henry’s beating heart.

Henry waited patiently, just watching as Charles counted each heartbeat. It felt… a little weird. He let himself stare at the pilot’s slowly softening features as he seemed to be mesmerized by Henry's heart as it beat steadily in his chest. It felt so strange, letting anyone see such a vulnerable but vital part of him. And yet, Charles had his complete and total trust. It seemed almost natural.

Suddenly, Charles's timer went off and he seemed to snap back into reality, looking up at Henry, who suddenly realized he'd gotten lost in the moment and averted his gaze, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment.

“R-right, uh, about 110 bpm, but according to this, that-that could just be the uh, anxiety of being here. So, yeah,” the pilot concluded, and Henry nodded slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, anxiety, right,” he murmured in response, taking a quick deep breath and looking back over at Charles, but noticed he was making a point to look away.

Is he blushing, too?

“Hey, can I, uhm…” Charles started, looking back at Henry, glancing down at his open chest before looking back up at him. “This isn't part of maintenance or anything but… can I touch it? I- I understand if that's too personal, i-it just looks really cool and-”

“Sure..”

Charles paused at the sudden answer. He seemed to process this for a second before finally replying.

“I- really? You- you don't mind or anything?” he asked, sounding a bit surprised, and Henry shrugged. He didn't know what to say, so it was the best answer he could give.

Charles seemed to hesitate before slowly reaching in. Henry could almost sense as his fingers made contact with the glass plate, the only barrier between Charles and his heart. Even with no sensors there, he could almost feel the contact as Charles traced the large veins and arteries to where they disappeared behind the solid metal framing. He watched as Charles seemed to fall victim to his heartbeat's rhythm again, and let himself get lost in his reactions, how he'd mumble 'woah…’ to himself every few seconds. After what could have been an eternity or an instant, Charles suddenly pulled away, looking off to the side and blushing brightly.

“Right, so yeah, uh, good to go,” the pilor rushed as he stood, crossing the tent back to his own cot. Henry sighed softly as he closed his chest cavity and pulled his shirt back down.

“Right… Good night, Charles.”

A pause.

“... 'Night, Henry.”

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Update 233 Review: Evaluation

I had initially postponed writing this until the next chapter, but I've come to realise I have so much meta to write that it's best I do each chapter individually.

Summary because it's been a moment

The first part of the chapter is set in the mountains above City G where the Council of Swordmasters is based. At their building, the three disciples are reviewing what they've been able to unearth about Sweet Mask. It's precious little, with nothing available before his signing up as a hero. Iaian surmises that this fits in with the information that Bushidrill has been able to uncover on Amai's shifting appearance. They consider that the shape-shifting could be a special power, but in light of his behaviour towards Do-S's hostages, was much more likely a sign of progressive monsterization. Iaian expands on it by recounting what he'd seen of Sweet Mask at the surface when he'd seen a monster struggling to keep its humanity. With surprising empathy, Iaian states that it's often those who've lost something who know its true value. They decide to keep a careful eye on Sweet Mask but say nothing to Atomic for now. Okamaitachi hopes that they end up glad to have kept Sweet Mask's hands clean.

Elsewhere, we see Kamikaze (it is not right to call him Atomic Samurai in this context) and Nichirin paying their respects at a shrine dedicated to successive generations of the Swordmasters. They are accompanied by two young people, here to take the places of the slain Swordmasters. We are treated to Yuta's thoughts of hunting down whatever remains of the Monster Association. Nichirin apologises to the pair to say that if he'd been stronger -- but Shido cuts him short. His father lived by the sword, after all, and falling in battle was an honourable death. Besides, as a bodyguard, seeing Nichirin alive would have pleased him.

Speaking of that, given how gravely Nichirin had been injured, it naturally leads to Kamikaze asking after the old man's health. Nichirin sits on the ground and hitches his robes up to show a pair of cybernetic legs. His entire lower half is now mechanical and he's apparently no worse off for it [Aside: I guess the doctors who butchered Air back in Chapter 182 weren't joking about Metal Knight's skill in cyborg medicine].

He stands up, and, declaring that circulating one's chi through body and weapons made them part of a whole -- artificial bodies included -- unsheathes his sword and slices at an apple that he tossed into the air. The apple is apparently unharmed, but the cliff face in the background is cleaved. The apple falls to the ground, and Shido and Yuta marvel at the accuracy of the old man's cutting the cliff but sparing the apple. Nichirin states that he did cut the apple as well. Kamikaze picks up the apple and explains that this is Nichirin's special technique: it's so fast and finally that the Apple rejoined itself, apparently unharmed. He is relieved the old man is his usual self.

It's now Nichirin's turn to ask him a question. Now that his rival Bang has retired, will Kamikaze stay at the Hero Association? Kamikaze looks wistful for a moment as he recalls himself leading the charge to take down Psykos-Orochi. He says that, indeed, he'd initially gone only to challenge himself, but now he had experienced something that he couldn't get anywhere else. Besides, he still had one more person whose strength he needed to fathom -- we are shown that it is King. He'd decide after then.

As he takes his leave, Nichirin thinks that Kamikaze has changed. Being thrown among a variety of strong fighters with vastly different strengths had broadened his mind. Maybe being a hero wasn't so bad after all. He says that last part out loud to Yuta's puzzlement.

We cut to the hero Association and to Saitama and Genos approaching it. Inside, Forte is putting the finishing touches to a dog house Black Sperm is disgusted, but shelter and food, even if it is only dog food, are what he needs right now, at least until he rebuilds his cell count. Saitama and Genos heave into view and Forte greets them. Black Sperm rushes behind the dog house in well-justified fear. His life wouldn't be worth a scrap of cigarette ash if Genos caught sight of him. Fortunately, Genos is a bit distracted, first by the dog's name, then by the news that Forte lives next door to Saitama. He wastes no time in evicting Forte.

I have a feeling the dog is going to be trouble

Finally, we're in the M-City branch of Mouse Sushi, the cheap rotating sushi place with the infamous nasty t-shirts Saitama loves. Atomic Samurai is there with his disciples, having paid a futile visit to King's residence. There's only one problem with this place: someone keeps taking every plate they have their eye on. After the fatty tuna plate is taken, Atomic stands up to confront the person only to find that is King. The chapter ends with Atomic standing over an anxious King and asking if he could talk to him for a few minutes.

Whew, if you think this is meaty, wait until we get to the meta. Grab a drink!

Meta

I really struggled with thinking where to even begin with this one. Well, let's take it like a hot bowl of soup, start on the outside and work our way in.

The Real Kaijin Shows Up

Small things first. It's hilarious that Genos invokes more fear than the actual monsters do at Saitama's residence. Surprising that he's been visiting Saitama for a while but has never run across Saitama's neighbours or pets until now. You'd think that Saitama had brought home a tiger. As if he were extolling how the beast is still barely half-grown and tame, and all everyone else could see is how it's already the size of a large fridge with cruelly-curved claws longer than one's fingers and fangs sturdy enough to bite through one's skull. Forte may know not to mess with Saitama but he's so aware of Genos's capacity to do actual violence to him that the latter doesn't even need to breathe a word of threat to commandeer his house.

the really big dogs don't need to growl

Don't Panic, It's Just A Monster

I love thus story: people are not blind or stupid. It's hard to keep secrets when someone takes an interest. The disciples are on Amai Mask's trail, and while they're fairly certain that they've uncovered a monster hiding as a human being, the circumspection and nuance they're showing is remarkable.

Despite their misgivings, they're prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt and see him more as a person struggling to retain his humanity than as a monster biding its time to strike. In this, Iaian leans towards the former interpretation, while Bushidrill would rather err on the side of caution. Okamaitacchi is in the middle but is of the mind that this is a fluid situation that could go either way.

It's really neat that what was once a one-off gag, with Iaian telling Meltzegard that he could read the latter's murderous intent, has been repeatedly revisited ad deepened in the course of the story to create what is a wise and sympathetic response to a potentially dangerous situation. The disciples aren't blind to the danger of a monstrous hero, but because they can read intentions, they're willing to be heroes to the core and risk reaching out a helping hand to a struggling person.

Iaian's taking a risk in hoping there's a person in Amai who can be saved. But what else is a hero about?

Decisions and Inspirations

So, what will you do, Kamikaze? Had Nichirin died, what he'd have had to do would have been simple. As the new head of the Council of Swordmasters, Atomic would have had to resign as a hero and raise up a new generation. Thankfully, he's been spared that.

It's refreshing to get more insight into Atomic's character and find that he's been looking for both a source of challenge and inspiration in his life. Bang had certainly provided both while he'd been a fellow pro-hero. However, Atomic deciding to lead a charge to the very skies rather than stand on his pride and be an old man shouting impotently at the battle raging overhead had been a revelation. Terrible as the Monster Association showdown had been, it had also been a peak experience unlike any he could have imagined. He's hooked. [Since this is so late, Child Emperor's suggestions of a specialist dragon-slaying team would have found in Atomic an enthusiastic sponsor]. But he still wants a rival, so off he is to challenge King.

a new fire has been lit in this guy who thought he understood everything

Coming to Nichirin, I have three things to say:

A: Words Are Best Eaten Cold, With Salt

Despite having a disciple working as a hero (Spring Mustachio), Nichirin hasn't thought too highly of heroes. Depending on the translation, he'd called them hunters... or pest controllers. It's nice to see that he's had to eat his words.

I hope those words are tasty

B: The Old Lie

'Dolce et decorum est pro patria mori' . I don't blame Shido for clinging onto a view of his father bravely laying down his life. He needs all the comfort he can get.

We know the truth. Zambai was not felled by a superior foe but by a sentient barf bag spitting in his face.

Amahare's desecrated remains were so fragmentary that his coffin needed only a single pallbearer. A cruel duty indeed for Yuta to perform.

Nor can we forget Spring Mustachio fighting desperately to stop Nichirin's transected body from being burned, then Fubuki frantically keeping him alive, his guts kept from spilling out by what had been Genos's precious designer jacket.

a tableau of horror

This had been an actual conflict, not a carefully-managed test of skill vulgarly called a 'fight', and there was nothing sweet, fitting, nor fair about it.

C: Sword and Spirit

AND NOW FOR THE PART I'VE BEEN WAITING FOREVER FOR! Forever being from December 2017. It also ties into more recent chapters. The border between living and non-living has always been a bit porous in One-Punch Man and it's amazing to watch Nichirin make no distinction between his biological body, his sword, and his prostheses to forge a whole that is much greater than the sum of its parts. Once again, it comes down to spirit and willpower.

Had Genos witnessed this, he'd have asked Saitama for a leave of absence to study under Nichirin. This is the missing part that has been nagging at him, the question he'd asked Saitama about whether his parts truly made him stronger, to which Saitama had had no answer. Heck, just being able to observe Nichirin would have been profoundly inspirational for Genos.

ONE, however, is not in the business of giving Genos anything cheaply. No, on current headings, he's going to have to work it out for himself. Indeed, he accidentally and instinctively touched on the answer when he seamlessly rejoined himself after being bitten in two by Elder Centipede. He didn't think about what he was doing then: he was just totally determined not to be dismissed by that miserable worm. [It goes without saying that Kuseno did not get a distress call, nor brave monsters to see what the fuck was going on for himself because of a mere broken leg and some loosened plates of armour.]

Before and after: plates laid on a bias rejoining so perfectly there's no damage to see. And all the internals are fine too. Black magic shit that got the old engineer out of bed to do a field inspection.

Come to that, Saitama does know about the importance of will but does not know it consciously. Yet another gag that has become very much not a gag is that any object Saitama holds that he does not want to break becomes unbreakable. Cheap store-bought chopsticks catch a falling man -- and his clothes, in turn, don't give way. They become an extension of Saitama, like Nichirin's sword does of himself. Speaking of swords, it's notable that when Atomic Samurai managed to draw the sun blade, it was impossible to tell where the man ended and the sword began. Saitama just has no idea that that's what he's doing, so he can't teach it to his increasingly frustrated disciple.

the same principle, played very differently, but each in a life-or-death situation

And like that, another piece of the puzzle of the power scheme of OPM has been shown to us. No one character has the whole picture. We will hopefully get to piece it together by the end, and we hope that the right characters understand it well enough at the right time to make for good outcomes.

Next chapter review will be much shorter!

[socratesvisitsarcadia]

Hero's Forge

The Hero’s Forge, a large arena, adorned on its highest points by the statues of past trollhunters that were felled in battle, or any other circumstance. Avaluna was already there, looking up at her old friends and those she advised through the centuries, some before, some after the Battle of Killahead. The raven-haired wizard had her eyes set on Deya, her eyes were closed, a symbol of her last battle. As sadness tried to overtake her, she felt a comforting presence beside her, closing her physical eyes but reaching out with her soul, she could sense and see Deya’s spirit, as well as every other in the forge. 

“How’re they doing?” Suniva asked, smiling and landing next to her sister. 

“As good as any dead troll can be!” She smiled back and opened her eyes. “And I think you would like to know that Aberon was giving you deer horns behind you.”

Both laughed, it wasn’t unknown for Trollhunters to have a personality beyond the grave much similar to the one they had when alive. The sisters sat together, Suniva instantly talking about her time with Draal and how the crystal back had been, or at least what she could gather in his half-drunken state. Avaluna did show concern for the troll, something told her there was trouble brewing with him, yet she hoped she was wrong, continuing to listen quietly as she made sure all the mechanisms were working.

Their mostly one-sided conversation ended when the gasps of a teenage boy coming from the entrance, announcing the presence of the Trollhunter in trollmarket. Avaluna and Suniva waited patiently for him and his friend to notice them, allowing them to take in the sights and the greatness of the place. It wasn’t something easy to take in at first, the oldest sister as well as both siblings remembered the amazement and awe they felt when introduced to places held together by magic, surely, it was no different for that child. 

Once there had been enough time to introduce the boys to the place, with Blinkous explaining who some of the Trollhunters high above, they stepped forward. 

“Welcome Trollhunter! It is a pleasure to be meeting you.” Avaluna smiled, offering her hand which the boy took with a confused glance. “I am Avaluna, Wizard of the moon and chosen of the Northen Wind.” 

“And I’m Suniva! Wizard of the Sun and chosen of the Eternal Flame! Great meeting you!” Her younger sister pipped up, leaning and observing the boy’s physique, concurring with Draals statement that the boy was not exactly strong, but also not out of shape. “Are you ready to start your training?”

“Um- yeah I guess- just one question?”

“O’ course! What’s your question?”

“So? You’re… witches?” 

That statement got on Suniva’s nerves the slightest bit, but her sister was quick to correct it before her sister did. “No, Master Jim. We are wizards.”

“I thought that was just the male version?”

“No, it is more complex than that you see.” She smiled, bringing the necklace from inside her clothes to the surface. “Witches make trades. They need sources of magic to use it, and also corrupt it into what they want them to do. Wizards are different in that aspect. We do not need to change the core of something. We simply need to guide its pre-existing energy to the objective we seek!” 

With a few waves of her hand, she summoned a sphere of light, which played around in her hands and rolled on her arms a bit like a ball. It delighted the boys, who watched in awe at the simple trick. Suniva calmed down, also bringing forth her necklace from inside her clothes. “Any more questions?” 

Toby raised his hand high, and the sister of red curls nodded in his direction. “Yes? Er…”

“Tobias Domzalski! Best friend of Jim. One question:...”

“Just one?” Jim queried, amused.

“You guys are trolls.” He points to Aaarrrgh and Blinky. “Doesn’t ‘Trollhunter’ mean you hunt yourselves?”

“Hunt bad trolls. Gumm-gumms.” The big green troll clarified. 

“Bringers of calculated painful death and destruction.” Suniva added, walking back to be beside her sister, also noticing Jim’s fearful demeanor. “Don’t worry, Jim! Only one gumm-gumm remains on the surface lands! The rest are rotting in the Darklands, if not already dead.”

“Wait- Bular is one of the murderous ones?!” Toby squealed, fear clear in his voice. 

“Indeed he is, thus the urgency of training! I fear dark times are upon us.” Blinky moved towards the starting button for the arena. 

Avaluna knew of the plan, moving to be beside him together with her sister, before she could stop him, however, he had pressed the button. Blades emerged from the ground and giant axes swung from the walls, Aaarrrgh left the arena in time, the boys narrowly escaping being chopped in half. 

“Maybe we start with something less sharp?!” Jim exasperated, backed into a wall next to them. 

“I agree with the Trollhunter, that was too much to start.” Avaluna frowned. 

“You should have seen him facing Bular before we entered Trollmarket today! It was amazing! I think he’s got more potential than he gives out.”

“You were attacked by Bular outside Trollmarket?!” The moon wizard gasped, black eyes wide with shock. 

Blinkous had no time to reply, as Vendel’s voice echoed in the arena. “Blinkous Galadrigal!” 

The elder crossed the arena, facing the trainer as he scrunched his shoulders, ready to be faced with some sort of anger, disappointment or both at once. Once the chief arrived at their spot, he turned to the boys, asking the Trollhunter to come forward, so he could meet the boy who was chosen. 

Avaluna stepped up, pointing to Jim. “Here he is Vendel!” The elder turned around from looking at Toby, who took back his phone before anything happened. “Jim, this is Vendel. Son of Rundle, son Of Kilfred. And elder to trollmarket.”

The boy was intimidated by the elder's attitude, back stretched, demanding respect. He cleared his throat, “I'm Jim… Well… James Lake Junior… Son of… Barbara?” 

Jim produced the amulet, showing it. “So the rumors are true…” 

A bit of banter back and forth, debating whether this was another one of the Amulet's tests of Trollkinds own individual strength or a legitimate protector in the making, as well as a very terrifying Soothscriar test that ended inconclusive, made so Vendel left. Leaving behind some emotional damage and trauma, which the sisters rushed to correct.

“Don’t mind him! He’s an old goat and sometimes can’t fathem change.” Suniva chirped, pulling Jim and Toby up.

Avaluna agreed with her sister, it was not a lie, though she had to add. “Though you must also recall that he is, like most of Trollmarket, grieving an old friend who was felled.” 

Jim and Toby stared as all fell somber, looking up again at the empty space. “Grieving? The last Trollhunter?”

“Precisely…” Avaluna sighed heavily, using light once again and projecting the images of the past as she narrates it. “Kanjigar was the first Trollhunter after the battle of Killahead, centuries ago. He was the guide as we traversed the New World, as we searched for a Hearthstone…” The image projected itself into the air, the room dimming as Avaluna’s lit hands painted the empty space. “Before that, he was a scholar, a historian, who was beloved by the community. He had a wife, a son, all he could need… Even as the war struck, he was a pillar for our populus.” The images of the horrors of war flashed through. “The Gumm-gumms attacked… They killed his wife while his son was still young… They threatened his life and his way of being… More than all… Threatened his son.” The image of a young Draal, threatened by a giant troll and a smaller figure. “His death affects everyone, the lives he has touched were many… Of course, he is missed. All grieve differently, and his grief is simply different for he is the headmaster. A lot is expected. The world, sadly, does not stop when you are grieving.” 

Jim looked down in thought as Avaluna undid the illusions, dusting off her sweaty hands. There truly was no time for that, but knowing was better than anything. For the duty, he had to know what was emotional intelligence. And more so, how to handle things such as this. 

“Fighting is of importance. But not as much as having a kind heart and understanding what goes through it.” She places a hand on Jim’s shoulder, attentive. “You have been burdened with a lot. But now, on this journey, to be a Trollhunter, you may decide if you are Hades, or if you will be Ares.” 

With that, she stepped away, placing a hand next to her necklace, same as her sister. Both started glowing, revealing a shocking sight to the boys.

They also had amulets.

[moonylantsovs]

RULES | 2.01: THE FORTY-EIGHT

summary: gabriella kane and what is left of the hundred get separated from the dropship camp after the battle with the grounders. people who gabriella buried and mourned join them on earth. when she finds out most of her people are missing, she is ready to go through whatever she has to in order to get them back ─ even if that means making a truce with the grounders

pairings: john murphy x fem!oc, bellamy blake x fem!oc ( slowburn )

warnings: best friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to allies to lovers, swearing, daddy issues, blood and gore, death, trauma, mentions of addiction

taglist: @lotr-got

series masterlist

Unwavering sunlight.

That was the first thing Gabriella Kane saw once she opened her eyes. The second thing she noticed was her location -- she was on the back of a moving horse in the middle of the forest. Over the pounding in her head, she could hear deep male voices speaking in another language, it sounded similar to English but it had a weird accent and the words were twisted.

"'Bout time you woke up. I was beginning to get freaked out."

Gabriella's head snapped to the sound of the hushed whisper and her eyes connected with Wells'. She let out a sigh of relief. She was glad that she was not alone.

When she tried to sit up a little, she felt that her legs were bound. She tried to move her hands next, only to realize her wrists were bound too.

"Great." The blonde huffed in frustration, tilting her head to connect her blue eyes with Wells' dark ones. "Well...I'm glad we spent so much time together before we died."

-

"How did you get to be such a dick, Murphy?"

Murphy flinched at the coldness in Raven's tone and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the metal of the dropship. "I'm sorry for shooting you, okay? I'm sorry for a lot of things I did and didn't do that day. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Let me guess. Mommy and Daddy didn't love you?" Raven continued taunting, ignoring his apology.

"No, they loved me." Murphy said, staring at his bloodied hands that lay in his lap, trying to keep the image of a teary-eyed Gabriella watching him leave through the hole in the dropship out of his head.

Raven made a noise of amusement in the back of her throat and mocked him, "Are you gonna cry, Murphy?"

"Screw you, Raven."

"No, tell me. I want to know." Raven spoke, venom in her voice, "How does a kid who's loved by his parents, who has the greatest girl in the universe willing to die for him, turn into a murdering psychopath?"

Murphy stared at the wall, refusing to make eye contact with the wounded mechanic beside him, and spoke "He gets the flu. His father steals medicine that turns out wouldn't help anyway. Gets floated for it and...his mother, she starts drinking pretty heavily after that and the last words she says to him before he finds her in a pool of her own vomit is that..." He swallowed a sob threatening to escape him "...is that he killed his father. Then, he finally gets the freedom he always wanted, gets sent to Earth with the only important person in his life, gets hanged for a crime he didn't commit, and then gets banished because a little girl could not handle the guilt of being a murderer...and when he comes back, he finds out the girl he loves has feelings for the guy that banished and hung him."

"Boo-hoo."

-

"How do you think they're gonna kill us?" Wells spoke up, in a hushed whisper, after what felt like hours of moving through the woods. They both knew trying to escape would only result in dying sooner and when Gabriella tried to ask them where they were going, she was ignored.

"I don't know, probably chain us up, torture us like they did with John. Or they'll just lock us up in a room together, alone. Until eventually we die from dehydration." Gabriella responded dryly, shrugging her shoulders as best as she could and giving him a mocking grin that did not quite reach her eyes. "That would be painful enough."

"You're hilarious, you know that right?" Wells deadpanned, annoyance dripping from his voice.

"Well one of us has to be." Gabriella sighed, closing her eyes in the hope the lack of light would ease her headache, only for her eyes to snap open in alarm when the horse Wells was on stumbled a bit and made the boy beside her fall onto the ground, right on his bad shoulder. Gabriella's shoulder wound would probably only leave a scar, his looked like it would not heal anytime soon.

Both horses came to a halt and the grounder that kidnapped them turned to glare at Wells, who was too busy groaning in pain to notice anything.

"On your feet." The grounder ordered.

"He can't keep up." Gabriella was quick to defend him. "Give him a minute."

The grounder ignored her and got off the horse he was previously seated on. While Gabriella desperately tried to get Wells to stand up with her tied hands, the grounder stepped in front of them with a murderous glare. "I said get on your feet."

"Come on, Charming. Get up." Gabriella hissed quietly, trying to lift the boy up by taking hold of his good forearm.

Wells weakly stood on his knees, giving Gabriella an apologetic look. Once the grounder saw he was not getting the reaction he wanted out of either of them, he took the sword in his hand and stabbed Wells' wounded shoulder, making him cry out in pain while Gabriella's face flashed in panic.

"That's one." The grounder spat "I lost three hundred."

"Give us a minute and we'll get going." Gabriella glared but her face turned pleading as she spoke her next words. "Just let me help him."

The blonde did not wait for a response before she looked down at a half-conscious Wells, who was looking up at her with hooded eyes.

"If you die I'm gonna kill you, you hear that, Junior? I'm gonna kill you." Gabriella rambled, putting pressure on his wound, just like she had seen Clarke do multiple times. "You're not dying before we get back to Clarke. And even then you can't die" She let out a small sigh of displeasure at the feeling of Wells' blood on her hands. "I haven't run out of nicknames for you yet." Wells let a breathy chuckle escape his lips before he let his eyes close. Gabriella's eyes widened at the sight and she elbowed him in the stomach in hopes the pain from his old wound would get him to stay awake. "Don't fall asleep, Wells. Stay awake."

"I need to keep one of you alive to talk to The Commander." The grounder spoke up again, sporting a bored look on his face. "Now, get up."

"No." Gabriella said stubbornly, not even flinching when the grounder lifted the sword in his hand in the air threateningly. "You can kill me if you want--" She pressed harder against the bleeding wound, earning a grunt of pain that made her realize the boy on the floor was now conscious again, "--but then you won't have anyone to bring to your precious Commander. Wells and I come as a matching set. If you let him die then I will gladly slit my-"

Her words were cut off when a loud "Hey!" was heard behind them. Gabriella's head snapped to the source of the sound to see Bellamy with a spear in his hand. She squinted her eyes at his unmoving figure. Why the hell wasn't he throwing it?

The oldest Blake looked through the trees expectantly -- almost as if he was waiting for something to happen.

"What the hell are you doing?" Gabriella yelled, "Get out of here!"

The grounder did not waste a second before marching up to Bellamy with his sword raised high. Bellamy clenched his jaw and tried to hit him with a spear, only to have it fly right above the grounder's head and next to Gabriella. If this was not a life or death situation, the girl would have his ass for almost killing her, but she was too busy trying to keep Wells alive and worrying whether her co-leader was going to get himself killed. The grounder used the back of his sword to knock Bellamy to the ground, straight on his back.

Bellamy coughed out blood and Gabriella could only stare in horror as the grounder started beating him up. If her legs and wrists were not tied, she would not waste a second to help him but she was helpless.

There was nothing Gabriella Kane hated more than being helpless.

She felt helpless when her mother got floated, when Sam died, when Murphy got hung, when Monty and Clarke went missing when Murphy locked Jasper and Bellamy inside of the dropship and tried to kill them...

And she absolutely hated it.

"Stop it!" She pleaded desperately, her voice shaking slightly. "You'll kill him!"

After a few minutes of the nameless grounder beating Bellamy into a bloody pulp and Gabriella begging for him to stop, he finally did and tied Bellamy up to stand next to them. In the meantime, Gabriella was able to tear a part of her shirt off and wrap it around Wells' shoulder.

Wells grunted and opened his eyes, when the fabric was secure around his shoulder. "I didn't know you cared that much."

"I don't." Gabriella deadpanned. "But Clarke would kill me if she found out I left you to bleed to death. But you and I? We still hate each other."

"Noted." Wells nodded weakly, letting Gabriella help him stand up and flinching as she did.

When Wells was on his feet, Gabriella gave Bellamy a death glare, which he responded to with an almost sheepish shrug.

"Why are you here?" She whispered, wiping the blood off her hands on her shirt. "You're supposed to be in the dropship."

"I didn't make it in time" Bellamy whispered back, defending himself quickly, "so I went looking for you."

Gabriella took a deep breath before turning to the grounder. "Can you untie my feet? I can't walk like this."

The grounder hesitantly cut the rope off her feet, which allowed her to finally properly stretch her legs.

"Why were my legs bound and his weren't?" The blonde could not help but ask, not expecting the grounder to give her any type of answer but he did anyway.

"You kick in your sleep."

With those final words, the grounder turned around and left the three delinquents tied up, with Gabriella not taking her annoyed glare off of Bellamy.

Another surprise to all of them except Bellamy, was the sound of teenagers' battle screams. They turned around to see Finn, Sterling, and Monroe running to them with their weapons in hand.

The trio was not able to get far when a bullet went straight through the grounder's skull. All six delinquents gaped at the dead body in shock and surprise.

Their surprise increased when Marcus Kane stepped out from behind the trees with a couple of guards behind him, all of them armed with a gun. Gabriella felt as the world froze as she watched her father put the gun down and connect his eyes with hers. Her father was alive, he did not die when the exodus ship crashed.

"We're here now. Everything's gonna be okay." Marcus assured them, his eyes flickering from his beaten up daughter to the remaining of the hundred behind her.

The guards untied their hands and Gabriella assessed Bellamy in not falling on his ass again, while Finn led Wells over to Abby Griffin so she could check his shoulder.

"I'm fine. Ella fixed me up. We need to get back to the dropship." Wells said, shaking off Abby's concern, his mind solemnly on coming back to Clarke.

"Hey. Where's Clarke? Is she all right?" Abby asked, mainly looking between Wells and Gabriella even though her question was directed towards Bellamy and Finn too.

"She was when we left." Finn answered, drawing Abby's attention on him. "We'll take you to her."

Marcus was quick to stop them from making their way back to the delinquent camp. "Wait. Slow down." He looked over their shoulders to someone in the crowd. "Sinclair. We're splitting up. One guard detail comes with me to the dropship. Everyone else here goes with you to Alpha Station. You have the coordinates. We'll follow later, as soon as we can."

"Yes, si--"

Sinclair's words were cut off when Gabriella tackled him into a long-awaited hug, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. The head of engineering stumbled backward a bit but hugged back as soon as he realized who it was. Gabriella knew he was not in the exodus ship because he was still needed on The Ark but knowing he was down on Earth and safe, made her feel at ease.

She was relieved she did not lose anyone else important to her.

Gabriella pulled away with a small smile. "I'm happy you're okay."

Sinclair ruffled her already messy hair and smiled back. He noticed she had some blood in it, there and all over her but other than that, she seemed perfectly fine. "You too kiddo. I knew you would not go down easy."

With one last smile, Gabriella turned around to connect her gaze with her father, who was watching the interaction with slight envy, before she made her way back to her friends.

"Okay, you six with me." Marcus commanded a couple of guards before he turned to the remaining delinquents. "You four, lead the way."

-

As Gabriella got closer to camp, with the three boys, her father, Abby and six guards trailing close behind her, she saw dead bodies lying all over the ground. Some were grounders and some were their people -- her people. Teenagers who followed her and Bellamy into battle without a second thought, teenagers who were willing to fight and die for their ground -- for their home.

"It's too quiet." Bellamy commented, eying the dead bodies with an unreadable look on his face, most likely having the same dreadful thoughts as Gabriella.

The female Kane connected her wary haze with Bellamy's and they both went to stand up from their kneeling position, only for Marcus to take a hold of their forearms.

"We'll take it from here." He said in a dismissive tone Gabriella was so used to hearing whenever he was speaking to her. She tore her unamused gaze away from her father and looked back at Bellamy to see him already looking at her with a knowing look.

The two leaders could faintly hear Marcus commanding two guards to stay with them while he and the four other guards check out the dropship, but they were too busy trying to make a plan only by holding eye contact.

But they both knew one thing, they needed to find out what happened to their people.

Marcus led Abby and four guards inside and left the four delinquents with the two remaining guards. Gabriella pursed her lips in annoyance, the fact that her father was still treating her like a child and trying to act like he's suddenly the one in charge, after everything he did, passing her off more than anything in the last few weeks.

"We need a stretcher!" A voice was heard from inside of camp and all four of them perked up in worry, trying to get through the guards and inside.

Bellamy tilted his head at Gabriella and nodded behind her where she knew a foxhole was located. The blonde leaned her head between Wells and Finn so she was out of earshot to the guards and whispered, "Follow our lead."

And a second later, the two remaining leaders of the hundred made a beeline towards a foxhole, Wells and Finn hot on their trail. They could hear the guards yelling after them but they ignored them and ran straight through the foxhole and into their camp.

Gabriella took a deep breath at the sight in front of her. Everything they built, everything they worked so hard for was ruined, burned down, and with dead bodies burnt to ashes across the ground. But most importantly, it was empty.

"Where is everybody?" Wells asked, echoing everyone's thoughts out loud.

"It was awful. There were hundreds of them and if it wasn't for Raven-- I don't know what happened."

Gabriella's jaw and fists clenched at the familiar voice and she turned around to see none other than John Murphy being carried out of the dropship by a guard.

Once the limping boy caught sight of the four delinquents (but mainly the leaders) his mouth dropped open in surprise and he stuttered out "Ellie, Bellamy. You're . . . you're alive."

Gabriella was about to pounce on him, throw a few punches, until Bellamy beat her to it. She wasn't sure of the exact reason she wanted to be the one to do it. Maybe it was for betraying her trust like that, for holding Jasper at gunpoint, hanging Bellamy, or shooting Raven but he gave her so many reasons to hate him in the last forty-eight hours she couldn't not want to beat the shit out of him.

"You murdering son of a bitch!" Bellamy growled as he tackled Murphy to the ground. He threw the first punch, then another, and another...

If it was any other day, Gabriella would have stopped him and yelled at him for doing so but instead of her, it was Finn who screamed at him to stop. Gabriella could feel her father's curious gaze on the side of her face, probably wondering why she was not doing anything about the situation, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of turning around. he wanted to know what the hell happened between her and her so-called best friend since they had been sent to the ground.

The engineer was too busy watching the fight to notice Marcus motioning to a guard to pull Bellamy off of Murphy but she took a cautious step forward once she saw the guard step closer with a shock baton in his hand. She did not even get a chance to warn Bellamy before the guard shocked him and he fell off of Murphy and onto the ground with a painful groan.

Marcus brushed passed his daughter and looked down at Bellamy with something close to disgust, speaking in a cold tone. "Place him under arrest."

"No." Gabriella exclaimed, moving away from Wells and Finn to stand in front of Bellamy almost protectively. "You are not in charge here anymore, Kane. We have been surviving on our own these last few weeks and Bellamy has no reason to get arrested." Her eyes flickered over to a blood-covered Murphy lying on the floor as she added, "If you're planning to arrest any of us it should be John."

"Exactly." Finn agreed, "Murphy murdered two of our people. He shot two others and tried to hang Bellamy."

One of the guards took hold of Gabriella's forearms and moved her away from Bellamy so the other two guards could get him up and tie his wrists together.

"I don't care. You are not animals. There are rules. Laws." Marcus spoke, turning around to look at his glaring daughter. "You are not in control here anymore."

"Let me go." Gabriella grunted in frustration, trying to get out of the guard's grip. "Tell him to let me go."

"I can't do that, Gabriella." Marcus told her, but there was nothing genuine in his voice. "You'll stay locked up until we get to our camp."

"Go float yourself." The eighteen-year-old spat harshly, using the back of her heel to kick the guard's shin and making him let her go. She turned around quickly and raised her knee to kick him between his legs and he quickly put his hands over the place, grunting in pain as he did.

Once she was satisfied with her work, Gabriella turned around and flashed her father a sarcastic grin. "Looks like you have to lock me up permanently this time, Dad."

Marcus clenched his jaw and motioned for one of the guards who was holding Bellamy to tie her up as well. When her hands were bound, she was placed next to Bellamy with two guards standing behind them warily.

"That was idiotically Gabriella of you." Bellamy levels her with an unimpressed look, which she shrugged at.

"You're the one to talk after what you did an hour ago."

Bellamy scoffed in slight offense. "Excuse me for saving your ass. Seems like I've been doing a lot of that since we landed."

"I thought it was the other way around." Gabriella snapped with an annoyed glare.

Suddenly, all attention turned to Raven being carried out of the dropship with Abby behind her. Gabriella's eyes flashed in worry, suddenly remembering what happened to her friend before the battle even started.

"Raven." Finn gasped, stepping closer to his ex-girlfriend's unconscious body.

"She's lost a lot of blood. It's a miracle that she's still alive." Abby explained before a permanent frown full of disappointment settled on her face- "There's no one else in there."

"What?" Gabriella muttered to herself, wide eyes connecting with Bellamy's equally confused ones.

"What the hell happened here?"

-

Gabriella was seated on the ground beside Bellamy with a stressed and pissed-off look on her face. The guards were scouting the area around the dropship, trying to see if anyone else was there but finding no one yet.

"We're leaving." Finn announced as he and Wells marched over to their two remaining leaders.

"What?" Bellamy asked, confusion clear on his face- "This is where they'll come back."

"I don't think they're coming back. The grounders took them and you know that." Finn said, shaking his head solemnly.

Seeing both Gabriella and Bellamy were skeptical, Wells quickly added, "Look, according to Finn, there's supposed to be at least fifty of our people missing from the dropship, which means they didn't leave like that. Clarke would not allow so many of them to go through the woods after the war we just went through."

Finn nodded and scrunched down in front of Gabriella and Bellamy. "We go with Kane to Alpha Station, we get reinforcement and weapons, and then we find our friends."

"One question." Bellamy spoke, still a bit skeptical. "How many more of us will be dead by then?"

Finn's eyes briefly flickered to an unconscious Raven before he turned back around to look at Bellamy. "Abby says Raven needs surgery or she's gonna die."

Tense silence settled among them and Gabriella gaped at his words.

"Shit." Was the only thing that she was able to make out, but even that came out as a whisper.

Wells gave her a sympathetic look. "It's time to go."

And just like that, they were leaving their home behind, again.

[lensman-arms-race]

A tiny fic about Titan TV's origins

This is actually a (bowdlerised) excerpt from a fic I already published last year. I never posted it here because it's Phaeton up to their usual bullshit a little too explicit for this blog. (I try to keep this blog basically work-safe except for funny swearing, à la Polycephaly.) However, I thought people might still want to read it who otherwise wouldn't have.

Imperator = TV Matriarch

You get an imaginary cookie if you correctly guess why I chose the serial numbers I did.

--

Every TV-unit contributed to the building of the Titan in some way.

Every engineer, every mechanic, had worked together to design and build the most perfect version of the upgrade technology that had been created by the other Alliance factions. Every agent had either sourced materials and components or parlayed with the other factions for them.

Every single TV-unit had had their wrist-blades replaced, and the old ones melted down for the construction of the Titan's shell. Regardless of how much or how little they'd been able to contribute otherwise, every single TV would be able to say that they had added something to the Titan.

Out of all the applicants for being remade into the Titan, a final sixteen had been shortlisted. All sixteen had been trained for the three possibilities that awaited them. Of these sixteen, one would become the Titan, and the two in second and third place would become the Imperator's two bodyguards. The rest would return to their work as agents, but not before all candidates had had their serial numbers expunged, never to be re-used, and had new serials allocated. No-one except the Titan themself would ever know which candidate had been chosen… none besides Engineer Sixteen-Sixty-Eight, the superintendent of all engineers in the faction.

Agent Seventeen-Ninety-One beheld the dormant Titan construct with which they would soon be merged. "…You made me so beautiful."

Agent Ninety-One and Engineer Sixty-Eight stood in the highest of the control rooms within the Titan hangar, allowing them to see the magnificent entirety of the Titan shell, still connected by huge roping twists of cables and pipes to the machinery of the hangar. The shell twitched slightly.

"Why does it move?" asked Ninety-One. "It is still mindless, isn't it?"

"In every sense that matters," replied Sixty-Eight. "It is animate only on the most basic level, so that we can remotely control it to test all its systems. It is still useless in battle without an intelligent mind."

The Titan's mind would come from Seventeen-Ninety-One, the most brilliant and perfect of all TV agents.

Engineer Sixty-Eight continued: "We shall be sorry to lose you as an agent. You always were the best of us. …It almost wasn't worth running the trials."

"I'm sure the Imperator appreciated it," replied Ninety-One, "They'll get two fine bodyguards out of it. …You call me 'the best of us', but really, that honour's the Imperator's. I did consider petitioning for the Imperator to become the Titan instead, and I could take the Imperator's place. But this way is better, I'm sure of it now. Better to have a superb Titan and a superb Imperator, than to have the superlative Titan but a mediocre Imperator. Our Imperator will do a finer job than I ever could of leading our faction." Ninety-One turned away from looking at its soon-to-be new shell and faced Sixty-Eight. "What happens to my old shell?"

"Stripped of all identifying serials and then mixed in with the other candidates' shells. All of them will be partially rebuilt and re-serialised. No-one except us will know which candidate became the Titan. Not even the Imperator will have any idea."

A pause, then Agent Ninety-One drew their wrist-blades. "Won't you spar with me, Sixty-Eight? Once I am remade, I never again will be able to participate in such a simple pleasure."

"I…won't be much of a challenge for you…"

"I am not asking for a competition. I just want one last round of play."

"Of course, Ninety-One. One last happy memory from your old life? I can do that for you."

The engineer drew their own blades, and both TVs faced each other in combat stance. Engineer Sixty-Eight fought nervously, both from facing such an elite agent and at the unexpected deviation from the night's schedule, but Agent Ninety-One didn't seem at all frustrated or disappointed by such an easy opponent. Sixty-Eight gradually became a little bolder, as Ninety-One parried all their attacks with no apparent effort - Sixty-Eight felt they could therefore fight a little more fiercely, as the chance of hurting the Titan-in-waiting was so low. The Engineer fought harder, in the process leaving their defence wide open - enabling the Agent to swoop inwards and perform the attack that would have disarmed them in a real fight.

"Do you yield?" asked Ninety-One.

"Of course - I've no chance of coming back from that!" Sixty-Eight sounded amused. The sparring match couldn't have had any other outcome… though the engineer had enjoyed getting to spar with such a skilled agent, and they were grateful that Ninety-One hadn't simply let them win - Sixty-Eight thought they would have found that patronising rather than pleasing.

As the two TVs retracted their blades, Agent Ninety-One spread their arms to invite a hug from Engineer Sixty-Eight.

"…I suppose a final embrace is apt for such a momentous occasion," commented Sixty-Eight, stepping forward to accept.

"Once I assume my rightful form… I will be an entity of only destruction. There are so many things I must put aside and will never experience again. Thank you for letting me spar one last time."

"I'm glad it helped?"

"…I know I am not going to die now, not really. But in a way, I will cease to be. Agent Ninety-One will be no more, and only the Titan will remain. …I've already wasted too much of our time, haven't I? We should proceed."

Engineer Sixty-Eight nodded solemnly. "It's time for our Titan to be born." The Engineer led the Titan-in-waiting to a wall-mounted apparatus designed to incapacitate a unit and prepare them for breakdown.

Ninety-One willingly stepped into place and allowed Sixty-Eight to close all restraints and connect all cables.

Sixty-Eight placed a hand on the activation lever. "Any last words as Agent Seventeen-Ninety-One?"

"…All toilets will die."

...

The entity awoke. Was it awake? How did it know what 'awake' was? Had it done this before? Whose body was this? Had it ever had a body before? "Is it my body?" thought the entity. It must be. Whose else's would it be? Is it normal to have a body and not know if it's yours?

"I feel unfinished," thought the entity. But how did it know that, it thought to itself. What does it mean to be unfinished? Had it ever had a finished body to compare it to?

It used to have a screen, didn't it? Is it still there? The entity discovered it had a screen. The entity probed its consciousness around its shell (since when did it have a shell? Was that there before?), searching for a way to link its mind to it.

The entity's mind felt as though it was falling apart into fragments, though it was not breaking apart. Each of the mind-pieces felt linked together by chains of fire, stronger than anything. The mind-pieces unfurled into a magnificent fiery web that spread and tunnelled though every part of this strange new shell… then the web pulled itself taut and snapped all of itself back into place.

The entity powered on its screen. It saw… shapes. Angles and lines… resolved into a hangar with gantries. How did it know the words 'hangar' and 'gantry'? It knew it had seen them before. But how? It was just born.

"Titan?" called out Sixty-Eight.

The entity instantly knew who it was. What it was. Its life's purpose.

The Titan inclined its colossal screen to the source of the voice. "…Sixty-Eight?"

"Yes!" Sixty-Eight sounded delighted. "Oh, Titan… welcome."

The Titan tried to lower its head down to get a better look at Sixty-Eight, and was stopped by all the hangar-apparatus still holding it in place. The Titan's mind, still new and fresh, wasn't sure what it was supposed to do to resolve that. "Sixty-Eight. Need you."

The engineer teleported to a gantry near the Titan's head. "You're not quite finished activating," explained Sixty-Eight. "We have to leave you linked up for just a little while longer."

"Frightened," replied the Titan.

"Don't be, dear Titan," replied Sixty-Eight, lifting a hand to stroke the Titan's screen. "All engineers are here to look after you."

"…Better. Thank you. …What happens next?"

"Please… just continue to rest. Your mind needs to work itself into your new shell. Let it happen at its own pace."

The Titan shakily raised a hand onto the gantry. "Would like to hold hands with you," explained the Titan, "Can't yet. Haven't got used to shell. Don't want to crush you."

"I'll hold hands with you, Titan," Sixty-Eight said as they knelt next to the Titan's hand and stroked it.

A morass of punctuation displayed on the Titan's screen. Sixty-Eight guessed the Titan was trying to render an emoticon but was having difficulty.

Four more TVs joined Engineer Sixty-Eight on the gantry: three normal-sized and one comparatively colossal, though still small compared to the TV Titan. The Titan beheld the new units, wondering why they were familiar, before a memory surfaced. "Imperator. Polycephaly. …Two unknown. Successful candidates? Imperator's bodyguards."

"Got it in one," said the largest of the four units - Polycephaly. Polycephaly knelt by the Titan's hand and pulled one of the Titan's fingers into a hug. "Titan, I went through this too. You will prevail. I remember it was difficult and frightening for me those first few hours after activation. It might be harder for you, because there's more of you to get used to. Or maybe it will go easier, because your mind is more powerful. Either way, I'll see you through it. Polycephaly's here for you."

The Titan's screen flickered with random punctuation, and briefly managed to display a smiling emoticon, before fading back to whitish static.

The Imperator stepped forth and wedged themself between Polycephaly and Engineer Sixty-Eight, joining in on petting the Titan's hand. The Imperator's two bodyguards stood respectfully at a distance, until the Imperator wordlessly beckoned them both over. The two bodyguards seemed apprehensive but stepped forth nevertheless, reverently placing a single hand each upon the Titan's hand.

The five units remained quietly in place for several minutes, as the Titan enjoyed their soothing and comforting presence, and took in the sight of all its other engineers calmly and efficiently going back and forth and carrying out their tasks.

"Sixty-Eight…" spoke the Titan after a while, "Ask me who I am."

"…What?"

"Indulge me, my engineer. Ask me who I am."

"…Who are you?"

"I am your Titan… and I am perfect in every way."

[saltedslugspine]

chase davenport character analysis i wrote four years ago that i just rediscovered

Chase’s main conflict throughout this entire show is proving his worth and value to himself and to his family. From the very beginning, Chase is portrayed as rigid and uptight, a rule follower. It usually takes the others a little bit to convince him to bend or break the rules outright due to his rational mindset. In the few instances he does break the rules with his siblings, he finds it exhilarating, calling himself a “bad boy” after sneaking in past curfew in one episode. One of Chase’s main things is his mission leader status. According to himself, he was only twelve when he named himself mission leader. From this point forward, that was how he identified himself, and revolved his whole personality around it. Multiple times throughout the show, he is shown to be somewhat of a control freak, and “fun-killer”. He feels somewhat of a personal responsibility to act responsible and mature compared to his siblings. As a result, they often tease him for his intelligence and other shortcomings (no pun intended hehe).

Adam is usually the main person to make fun of Chase, teasing him for his height and intelligence, and often punching and throwing him around. Chase doesn’t have super strength, so he finds it difficult to get even with Adam. This was touched briefly on in “Brother Battle” when they get new abilities and have an epic fight in the lab. Chase is tired of always being subjected to Adam’s taunting and bullying, so he takes matters in his own hands. After that episode however, they resolve to respect each other more, although this is somewhat short lived. I find it interesting because in some episodes, Adam will tease Chase and he’ll get mad because he can’t respond to his insults, and in other ones, Chase will just smile and make fun of Adam’s lack of intelligence, the dynamic never stays the same. Bree and Chase seem to get along better, but they still have their fights. One of the main things they fought about was in that one episode when Bree got a job at Tech Town to feel normal, but Chase walked in and got a job too after impressing Scott with his wide-spread tech knowledge. The conclusion they both came to at the end of the episode was they both desperately needed it. Bree needed to have one normal thing in her life besides her bionics and missions, and Chase needed to have his wealth of knowledge and influence appreciated, since he was always mocked at home.

I guess what I’m trying to sum up is that the majority of conflicts that Chase is involved in throughout the course of this show is his need to feel confident and secure about his value and worth. He is constantly shown competing with people in his life: the student of the semester contest, the designing of the space elevator, the baby project for health class, the talent show, the whole avalanche mission, etc. In fact, one of the main episodes where this arc is shown is in  “Avalanche”. They get home from a mission, and Adam and Bree are praised for their flashy abilities while Chase is underappreciated and told he’s “flash glue.” They’re sent on a mission to find a certain property in the arctic to power a device, until a storm shows up on the map. Donald specifically tells the trio not to go on the mission due a storm in the arctic. Chase, wanting to prove his value, goes anyway and is stranded after he’s buried by an avalanche. Luckily, Chase is rescued by Douglas, and manages to trick him into going to the lab, where Douglas is captured.

In my opinion, Chase’s main defense mechanism is what's known as reaction formation. He appears as self-absorbed and brash at certain points, bragging about his intelligence to anyone who will listen, and appearing as cocky and confident, putting other people down for not knowing the obvious. However, I honestly think he’s compensating and trying to appear more confident that he actually feels, like he’s terrified someone will call him out. As a result, he overly gloats to the point where he appears egotistical, when really he doesn’t think he’s good enough.

Continued in part two.