#even if it is about shipping which is of course a sacred activity no one can criticize ever

[altschmerzes]

every time someone aggressively misreads my posts discussing arophobia and amatonormativity in fandom and gets pissy at me about Trying To Take Away Shipping Forever >:( i become double the big mean romance repulsed bitch who won't shut up about it that i was before btw. just so you know. This Is A Promise.

[pancakejikook]

https://www.tumblr.com/pancakejikook/759050241686339584/tells-jimin-hes-a-scaredy-cat-but-goes-all-the?source=share

It was empty so jungkook went to try it anon like all those things are for them to try and jimin specifically chose that park knowing well jungkook would enjoy and he enjoyed it ALOT. Lemme give you a reminder that the whole jeju trip is planned making jikook as centre of the planning meaning the places they chose, the food they ate, the activities they planned all of those were suggested by jimin and jungkook. There's literally an article published by hybe saying this thing that those things were of jkk's interest.

Now about the moment, am i the only one who thought jk calling jm scaredy cat was like endearing? Maybe I'm the only one. Moving on Tae was the most sacred to try that jump and even jm went before taehyung to show him how to do it and he can do it. The moment jm said he's scared nd jk teased him saying "ayy you scaredy cat" literally jm jumped off the next moment like jm didn't need any cheering up cause he knows he can do it and jk knows it too. Neither jm nor jk was too scared of that jump unlike taehyung who was ready to abort that task so jm kept cheering him from there and jk idk If he went there to try that thing or not but he said he's there as in level with taehyung so tae won't feel too scared and jump. Compare jimin and taehyung's situation like jm literally jump off without much though while as taehyung simply wasn't ready and jk nd jm told him not to come down without jumping. So like what's more there to it?? How r they even comparable?

BUT if ppl want to nitpick I'd love to tell you that in next ride when Tae said something about something getting into his eyes jk said "That's because you're weak" now do tell me if we're talking this also seriously?? I mean he straight up called tae weak so?? Even jm said that's harsh and tae said "don't say such things we're here to enjoy" and the conversation ended up in imaginary scene that if tae nd jk fought tae would be the one bleeding so are we doing nitpicking here or not??

Yeah. It's just that these things are all so obvious to me that I don't think they need an "explanation". Of course jm wasn't actually scared. The activities had been planned for jikook after all lol.

If you need everything to be spelled out for you like this then it means you haven't been paying attention neither to the premise of the show or to jikook at all over the years, in which case I would suggest you stop shipping them entirely.

[rosavulpes]

It had been quite some time since he'd first disembarked from Captain Beidou's ship , and set foot on Inazuma's shores .

When he had initially left Liyue for Inazuma he'd done so with the sole intention of only going for the sake of better understanding what products he could obtain through Inazuma that could help benefit his patients in Liyue before he'd commit to placing large delivery orders through the Adventurer's commission for stock going forwards .

He'd only expected to remain in the island nation for about a month or so at the very most .

He'd gone intending to only be a tourist , nothing more than that ... and yet fate had something else in store for him . It had seen Shuichi actively take part in a war , and conflict that he initially had little regard for . Forced to , none other by the island's reigning deity . The Raiden Shogun , the Electro Archon herself .

Even face her in battle .

With a smile as he thought back to how her voice , when he'd first been brought before her had been laced with a combination of stern authority , and electrifying power was now reading daintily a storybook to a group of children ? He had to stifle a chuckle .

Smiling instead he as closed his eyes to listen to her speak .

The day was bright , cloudy but still sunny . The horizon , ever visible from the nations capital looking clear . The smell of the sea always so close by , and as Ei finished reading her storybook ? Shuichi would be the first to begin clapping in appreciation , the children all following soon afterwards with the rest of the adults .

He wondered if she'd be upset that he'd tricked her into coming here to read to the children ? Or rather , tricking the Shogun into fetching Ei for him as he knew that it would be best for Ei to read to them , as the Shogun would more than likely not understand the emotional reasoning for him wanting Ei to be the one to do it .

He'd arranged for this to happen through the local schools , who'd been struggling as of late to accommodate the children that they'd been entrusted to take in .

These last few years , had been about steadily rebuilding Inazuma .

The Shogun of course , had been excellently assisting Ei in carrying out that thus far . Politics , economics , international relations . From observing how the Shogun operated , he could tell that it had no difficulties with such tasks . However ... when it came to helping rebuild the nation's wounded heart , it's spirit ? That was something only Ei could do .

While there were certain topics he'd been gradually , and appropriately conversing with her as well such as convincing her to repeal the Sakoku Decree . Despite the strides they'd made thus far, he hoped that such progress would continue

As the children all rose to follow their teacher , he'd motion for them to follow one of the soldiers stationed by to join them for lunch inside of the Tenshukaku .

He'd have to remember to send a few servings of fried tofu to Ms. Miko as his way of showing thanks in regards to hinting at what he needed to say to convince the Shogun . Hopefully those serving would keep her in a good mood when he'd propose his idea of taking the children up to see the sacred sakura tree as a field trip .

" You truly do have such a lovely voice . I'm grateful you took the time out of your busy schedule today for this , Lady Ei . I'm certain that the children appreciated being able to hear it just as much as I did "

He was teasing a bit there no different than what he'd seen Ms. Miko do , but as he opened his eyes to greet hers he would offer a genuine smile , and bow of his head in thanks .

" ... Even if they seem small . Acts such as this help reaffirm the people's commitment to you . Especially , when the children , those that come after us , are able to see the real you . Not just hear of you as the Deity of Inazuma . Speaking of which ... would you happen to have some free time later on tonight . I'd like to talk to you about something in private "

@grislyintentions

[cptn-m]

One Piece chapter 1128 review

I'm still editing the full Egghead review I pitched after the last chapter. I ended up having a lot of thoughts and real life has been busy, but it's coming.

Meanwhile, we've got a packed early arc chapter to play with here. It's fun to see how everyone was a little right and a little wrong about the mysterious kingdom in our weeks of speculation. A lot of people hit the right cues to notice the people weren't giant size, and of course this place wasn't actually meant to be a retconned design of the central Elbaf village we'd seen in the past. But with the full picture of it being basically a terrarium and the surrounding room having stone walls and an actual giant present, I'm much more inclined now to say we're somewhere on the island proper.

The much-speculated inconsistencies with outfit pieces turn out to just be mistakes. I might not have fully ruled out the possibility, but I was always skeptical they were intended to mean anything. I'll be very interested to see how far the corrections go when volume 111 comes out.

But if I may nitpick, even in this chapter we can see the Lego castle crumbling like brick and mortar instead of plastic construction materials. Despite being told that they're all synthetic materials that smell funny when they burn. It's a missed opportunity not to draw them like what they're meant to be. A decent adaptation could go the extra mile with this kind of thing, maybe do a CGI physics sim of a Lego wall coming apart and the pieces scattering realistically instead of the standard cloud of dust environmental destruction we're getting here.

This week's Jump cover and colour spread make a great first impression. The painted style Oda's used for a handful of recent covers has been awesome, and I love the details of the colour spread. Franky's souped up broom bike - absolutely radical. And of course Zoro just sits casually on the dragon's head. And the forced perspective on Luffy's broomstick coming right up to the camera gives it all such a dynamic, active composition.

The chapter builds fantastically to the key reveal as Luffy's group descend into the town and meet the locals, with little hints like the lack of wind after they hit the ground. Nami making the suggestion that the crew could have been gigantified is a funny if you remember chapter 410 (titled Giant Nami, and in which Kalifa mistakenly assumes Nami has transformed into a giant after seeing Chopper's Monster Point) but that's probably a coincidence rather than a deep cut. I'm actually surprised in hindsight I didn't see anyone theorising the crew turned giant (or shrank) as a way to reconcile the size issues of last chapter…

I like Luffy calling out Usopp's handling of the cat. Calling attention to his weakness so directly feels like setup for a character arc, instead of it just being another instance of a running gag. I'm less enthused with the standard set of Sanji gags, particularly the idea of setting up a two-way mirror in the womens' bedroom. But what's new? Better humour is the reactions and expressions of the crew when confronted about the sacred animals they just beat up. And Nami extorting Chopper after saving him. It's classic Strawhat humour all the way down, the bad and the good all together.

The scale of the reveal shot after Luffy hits the mirror (another great gag) is jaw-dropping. And I love the expectations play that this isn't a toyroom or child's play place but a fully enclosed human terrarium by what has to be an adult hobbyist who's sewing clothes for his miniatures and everything. His craft room is well-stocked, and he cares enough to call it a temple. I've done a decent few model ships and Gunpla in my time, so I see and respect where that comes from. I'd be pretty miffed too if those 1/144 pilot figures broke out of the display cabinet and set my study on fire too.

The page leading into the Sun God's arrival (love the headgear btw, is it hard to sew at a mini scale while looking out of that thing?) is a lot of fun. The slow build up of the suspicious noises and snippets of offscreen dialogue. The smoke under the door as he reaches it. The door flying open to the battle already in progress. It all makes me very happy.

If I may nitpick again though, I still don't like how Luffy's outfits are working with Gear Five. The Egghead one vanished entirely and came back when he left the form. The Egghead cape stays and turns white, but the boots and axe vanish, and the helmet fuses into his hair somehow? You can see the horns turned white and still sticking out, even with the rest of it gone. That's going to bug me for days. And of course it all returns to normal when he leaves Gear Five in a few pages. I don't understand or like how this works. Just keep the outfit, turn it white. It's like Oda is trying to treat the Gear Five design as too iconic to change and is putting the reversion to it over the story's continuity.

As the chapter wraps, the plan to bust through the opposite mirror and the wall behind it becomes a tiny bit questionable when we consider that said wall will be built to giant proportions, orders of magnitude thicker and denser than the crew must be picturing. But it's the monster trio there, so if anyone can do it…

I know it's the new arc honeymoon phase, but man this one was a fun ride. Creative ideas, mostly funny gags, the mystery of who and where and how building with every new detail. My nitpicks can't bring down the joy of exploration that comes with the opening of each new story in this series. Can't wait to see where it goes next.

[blackwraithtea]

I don't usually insert myself into these things but.. I gotta just this one time. The line between sex and battle is very very fine, it crosses over a lot of the time. Hence why primal sex is a good mix; it blends the two in very well; a delicate dance, a battle. They're tied together. And when it comes to Zenos in FFXIV there is some heavy use of romantic, sexualised terms used so much it sometimes makes you wonder if we're even talking about the hunt anymore (which I personally adore) Furthermore I recall Luke Alan Gale in interview going into depth about this topic, he sensed the sexual nature behind Zenos and hence it's a reason as to why that is closely reflected in his voice acting for Zenos. For a while I assumed Zenos to be Asexual through STB after all it is an activity for lesser beasts and ultimately banal, no? Chronicles of light gives us some interesting background lore of Zenos. However that changed, enter the wol. His one burning spark of light, with out a doubt from what we've seen Zenos is absolutely Wol-Sexual. Now what is the hunt? It is a moment of satisfaction, transcendence but more than that it is a gift. It is the only gift so dear, so sacred and cherished to Zenos that he bestows it to his friend, enemy, mirror and everything in between; the wol; who he is infatuated it with. He dearly loves. He of course is not aware what love is, or understands it full; how could he considering his upbringing and the brutality bestowed upon him at such a young age that we once again see in Chronicles of Light. Zenos is a wonderfully complex character with several layers of complexity; you have to look for these little things to unmask him and that exactly is half the issue. Most people assume he is a senseless battle fiend obsessed only with the hunt; there is failure to understand the deeper facets of him. He talks of the wol with such romantic fervour, with such heart filled belief and his transformation from Stormblood to Endwalker has been exciting to see. When there is reluctance to accept new found information, possibilities.. It demolishes the ability of exploring matters, sharing ideas, concepts and understanding on a deeper level. So ultimately when we reject this we end up with skewed perceptions. If you don't want to head canon that very well, but don't impose that and invalidate others. Why I adore this ship, the most canon ship to me is what Zenos Wol represents... the acceptance of the most darkest of desires, the most rotten parts; Zenos would never reject the wol for he dearly loves them to such an extent as we see in Endwalker. He is the wols friend, enemy and mirror; who else could understand them so intimately; so well. The unyielding belief, love he has for them is so contagious and wondrous; it brings me a joy I've never known.

So the take is cook the food. It's tiring to see people go that they're right and everyone else doesn't understand and is wrong. If it doesn't vibe, hit the bricks, no need to be a jerk, let people have fun. I always say this but everyone should cook their own food, cook the fanfics and art of your Zenos Wol moment; they're all valid. After all bask in the afterglow... (You can't tell the difference now can you, man I love Zenos' lines in Endwalker 10/10) Bloody hell share them all here with us, no one has any business telling you that you don't understand and you're not valid. (Unless you're Yoshi P)

wolzenos is SO fucking funny to me honestly because everyone ive seen who ships it either completely understands whats going on or Does Not

if youre picturing your wol having sex with him, like, good for you, but youve already lost. theres no way that man is interested in something so mundane as sexual intercourse. he is on 100 layers and counting of psychosexual bullshit and if you want to have anything to do with that youre Not gonna accomplish it by taking off your pants.

dont get me wrong he is INCREDIBLY horny. this i know. but its in a type of way where if granted the opportunity to have actual sex with wol, he would turn it down in favor of mortal combat.

ive seen a few people who understand this and know that wolzenos is pretty much just about posturing and bloodletting. everyone else seems like they just want to ride his dick which like, is fine, I get it, im a villainfucker too. but like. good luck fucking this one.

disclaimer 1: im still in post-stormblood so if theres any lore revealed later that contradicts this im unaware of it and also its incorrect. im right

disclaimer 2: wolzenos shippers please understand im saying this with so much understanding. i fear you and i worry for you but i Understand you

disclaimer 3: if youre gonna get mad at this post please make sure youre funny about it

[gakkar]

Longer writing (part 1)

The Dead Man’s War

As I clammer off the piece of rubble I call a bed, the ground shakes from the pounding of the great guns from above. Strangely nobody, including me, even flinches; guns that leave holes the size of small villages just stop feeling like they matter when it is all you have known for a year now. But it is stranger when it stops, when the great guns stop firing. Then in the distance we hear the sirens activate, the ones that have laid dormant since the barrage started. Soldiers look even more panicked than I remember at the start of this. As panic starts to spread throughout the civilians, a gunshot shuts us all up. An officer whose rank I can’t discern steps up on a soapbox and tells us what we most feared: “The A.I. have landed on our world” he says solemnly as the entire crowd stares at him. It feels like all the world went silent, even the birds trying to process what this man just said. But before anyone could fully understand what he had just said, he broke our world for the second time in 2 minutes. “You will all be shipped to the capital to defend welcome to the FDF soldiers” seconds after he finishes talking, his men start handing out rifles, pistols, and whatever other weapons I presume they have scrounged out from the broken armory or the police station. I am handed a pistol and two magazines of ammunition. The soldier who handed me the gun ushers me toward the truck that will take us to the capital. Me and a hundred other people from our village are forced to abandon our homes and fight for people we have never met. Of course no one is happy, but we all listen to the officer as he tells us we are being formed into the 48th civilian defense company. He introduced himself as our commissar. As he blabbed about details that I really just didn’t care about, I was too busy watching the only home I had ever known disappear into the distance. Disappearing behind the great horizon. After what feels like the longest drive in the history of man it appears, as my home had disappeared. Great towers loom, breaking the horizon from which the sun peeks through. Right now they are but silhouettes, however as we grow closer, the great buildings that must have towered over the people are filled with holes bigger than all I have ever seen but the towers stand. Every minute that passes we grow closer, and every second that passes the dread of the car rises. Even the commissar, who has been stone faced up to this point, shows subtle signs of dread. A twitch is all I need to know that he is feeling what we are. As I stare at the people around me, the truck suddenly grinds to a halt. A pound on the side of the truck tells us that it is time to face what we had all dreaded. As we hop awkwardly off of the truck, distant artillery fire shakes the ground beneath us. Less than two minutes later we are ushered into an old movie theater now turned into an orientation room. A man dressed in an extremely extravagant military uniform stands up and pulls out a piece of paper. Suddenly he says “Welcome to the capital, as you probably have already been told you have been summoned here to fulfill your duty to the Great Admiral by throwing the A.I. off the sacred world. You have your weapons and your unit and I wish you the best.” After that, we are told that we are going to the senate building. While it is one of the most important buildings in the city the district it was placed in is unfortunately the best place of attack for any invasion, so while we were not told what was happening outright, we were basically being sent to die.

[samwisethewitch]

Earth-Friendly Witchcraft

Whatever religious or spiritual tradition they identify with, most witches agree that there is something sacred about the natural world. We draw our power from the earth beneath our feet, the sky over our heads, and the air in our lungs.

And yet, many of us live in societies that are actively contributing to the destruction of the natural world. Most developed nations have a linear economy, which means resources are extracted and then sent on a one-way trip to consumers who will use them and then throw them away. This leads to overflowing landfills, air and water pollution, and quickly disappearing resources. The World Economic Forum predicts that, if our habits don’t change, there will be more plastic than fish in the ocean by 2050. And I dearly hope that by now we’re all familiar with the reality of climate change and its devastating impact on global ecosystems.

I’m not trying to scare you, but I do want to point out the hypocrisy of drawing power from the Earth in our magic while simultaneously contributing to her destruction. If we truly want to consider ourselves spiritual allies of the planet, we need to make an effort to live our lives — and practice our magic — in ways that are less harmful to her.

You don’t have to become an environmentalist or switch to a zero waste lifestyle, but we can all make little changes for a more sustainable life. There’s lots of information out there about how to live a more Earth-friendly lifestyle, so in this post I’ll be focusing on how to apply that same philosophy to your witchcraft.

Steps to a more Earth-Friendly Practice:

Limiting your consumption will automatically lower your negative impact on the planet. Follow my previous guidelines for avoiding consumerism to start shrinking your carbon footprint.

Avoid plastic as much as possible. According to the WEF, 70% of our plastic ends up in a landfill or in the world’s waterways, and according to Julia Watkins, author of Simply Living Well, only 9% of household plastics get recycled. Plastic (unlike glass and metal) cannot be recycled indefinitely — it can only be recycled a handful of times before it becomes too degraded to be repurposed any further. There really is no way to make plastic safer for the planet, so it’s best to just avoid it altogether. Look for tools made of metal, wood, or glass instead of plastics, and try to order things shipped in paper and cardboard when possible.

Create spells that won’t leave leftovers. One of the big contributing factors to our current environmental crisis is that we just produce too much waste. You can avoid this in your magical practice by crafting spells that won’t leave you throwing away a big ball of candle wax, herbs, and paper. Kitchen magic is a no-brainer for this, since kitchen spells are meant to be eaten. If you want to do a candle spell, use small candles that will burn up completely — I find larger candles are more likely to leave leftover wax. Making magical bath salts is another great option for leftover-free spells — just make sure everything you include is safe to go down the drain and won’t contribute to water pollution!

Forage for your own spell materials. One of the best ways to avoid plastic packaging and cut down on emissions from shipping is to use materials from your backyard! Learn about the plants, animals, and minerals native to your area, and take regular nature walks where you can gather what you need. Remember to only take as much as you need and to be careful never to damage the plants you harvest from. Make sure to carefully disinfect any animals bits you pick up — you can do this by burying them in salt for a full moon cycle and/or setting them in the sun/under a UV light for several days. If you find a dead animal and want to strip and clean its bones for use in ritual, this is a much more involved process and will require special research, equipment, and lots of time. And, of course, never eat anything you have foraged unless you happen to have an advanced degree in botany.

Keep a magical garden. Another great way to connect with the planet and shrink your carbon footprint is to grow your own herbs, vegetables, and fruits. You can, of course, grow food for your kitchen if you have space, but even if you live in a tiny apartment you can grow a handful of magical herbs in pots. For a list of common houseplants and their magical associations, check out this post.

Shop for spell materials at a local farmer’s market. Buying local is a great way to avoid the environmental impact of shipping produce, and it allows you to support small farms. Farmer’s markets also typically carry seasonal produce, which can help you align your magical practice with the cycles of nature. Farmer’s markets are a great way to find seasonal fruits and vegetables for kitchen magic, but you can use the produce you find there for other types of spells as well.

Trade paraffin wax candles for beeswax or soy wax. Paraffin, the material used for most cheap candles, is a by-product of crude oil, which is not only highly unsustainable but contains carcinogens (chemicals that may cause cancer). Beeswax is a sustainable alternative, and beeswax candles produce a “clean” burn, meaning it does not negatively affect air quality. Soy wax is a slightly pricier, vegan-friendly sustainable option that also produces a clean burn.

Use undyed, unbleached paper for your written spells. The bleaches and dyes used in most commercially available paper have a toxic effect on the environment. Colored paper cannot be recycled or composted because it will contaminate everything it touches. Use plain, unbleached paper for your written spells, especially if you plan to bury them in the ground or dispose of them outside.

Make sure your essential oils are ethically harvested. Essential oils are tricky — although they are marketed as natural, many of them are produced through unsustainable methods. Because essential oils are concentrated, it may take thousands of pounds of plants to produce a single pound of oil. This can have a devastating impact, especially for endangered plants like white sage or palo santo. Look for ethically-sourced, wild-harvested essential oils — these are oils that are gathered from the wild in ways that don’t hurt the local ecosystem. Mountain Rose Herbs and Eden’s Garden are two brands that are committed to sustainable essential oil production.

Instead of burying a spell in a jar, bury it in a hollowed-out fruit or vegetable. Many traditions call for spells to be buried in the ground. Items like jar spells and witch bottles are traditionally buried on the witch’s property. The problem with this is that plastic and glass bottles do not biodegrade, and will remain in the ground for years. Instead of putting these materials in the ground, bury your spells in a hollowed-out fruit or vegetable. As a bonus, you can choose this item to support your intention. For example, you might use an apple for a love spell or a spicy pepper for protection. Just make sure everything inside the spell is also biodegradable!

Keep a compost pile as an offering to your local land spirits. Compost is an easy way to reduce food waste, and it gives your garden a boost! Even if you don’t have your own garden, you can give your compost to a fiend who does or look into donating it to a community garden. When composting, it’s important to maintain a balance between carbon-rich “brown” ingredients (leaves, undyed paper, cardboard, etc.) and nitrogen-rich “greens” (fruit and veggie scraps, coffee grounds, egg shells, etc.) — you want about four times as much brown as green in your compost. Start your compost with a layer of brown — preferably twigs or straw to allow good airflow. Alternate layers of green and brown materials as you add to the pile. Every time you add to your compost, verbally express your gratitude to the land spirits. Your compost should be moist, but not soggy — you’ll know it’s ready when it’s dark and crumbly and smells like soil.

Make your own tea blends with loose herbs and a reusable tea strainer instead of buying teabags. Witches and tea go together like peanut butter and chocolate, but the individual wrappers on teabags create a lot of waste. On top of that, since many of these wrappers are dyed, they may not even be recyclable. Keep your teas earth-friendly by buying dried herbs in bulk and blending your own teas. Making your own blends is not only better for the planet, but also allows you to choose each ingredient for a specific magical intention.

Find ways to use your trash in your craft. This one is pretty self-explanatory. Instead of throwing things away, find ways to use them in your magic! Use food scraps from cooking, like carrot greens and potato peels, in spells. Turn an old shoe box into a travel altar. Add your coffee grounds to spells to ground them and manifest results in the physical world. You get the idea. Be creative!

Research different models for Earth-friendly living, like the zero waste/low waste lifestyle, sustainability, and the solarpunk movement. This will give you more ideas for a sustainable lifestyle, as well as a sustainable magical practice.

The funny thing about Earth-friendly living is that, the more time you spend taking care of the planet, the more connected you feel to it. I encourage you to try some of the ideas on this list — you’ll be amazed by how quickly you develop a deeper relationship with the Earth and all her creatures.

Resources:

Of Blood and Bones by Kate Freuler

Simply Living Well by Julia Watkins

“By 2050, there will be more plastic than fish in the world’s oceans, study says” from The Washington Post

A Sustainable Mind podcast

Practical(ly) Zero Waste podcast

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

I don’t want to talk about it

(This one goes out to @youngestthunderbird who wondered why Dez hates Davarax so much and I was so inspired by their superkind comment on Dez and Neleem’s story that I ended up adding the background story of what happened with Paz’ mother as well as the complicated relationship between Dez and Beskar Boy. A little something to snack on while the last chapter of TTSG approaches...)

-

Once the coordinates for the Covert are plotted into the ship’s computer and there is nothing much to do but wait while they travel, Dez is unceremoniously kicked out of the cockpit by that mean almost-daughter of his. She had claimed the pilot seat the second they stepped inside the cockpit with a confidence that is rather impressive for someone of her size.

“I need some peace and quiet after all that socializing you made me do, and you’re being too loud.” Liita states, eyes on the darkness in front of the ship as it slides among stars.

“I haven’t said a word.” Dez declares in a mix of light confusion and heavy irritation. He’d just been thinking about how he is going to handle things when they get back to the Covert. Also, this little twig of a girl doesn’t get to order Dez Vizla around. He’s the head of the Vizla clan, a powerful fighter, and he is to be respected.

“Go.” Liita orders.

Dez hesitates, irritation making his neck burn, but eventually concludes it is not worth it. Fine, let her sit here alone if that is what she wants. Exhaling, he turns and walks out of the cockpit. “Contact me if you need anything, Liit’ika.”

“Will do.” Liita says before the door closes behind him and Dez makes his way towards the passenger hold.

It’s strange, but Dez is not looking forward to going underground again despite how he has lived most of his life in shade or complete darkness.

Mandalore is just a faint memory, Dez was born there and had spent his first seven years on its sacred soil, but the planet was ruined before his time and he can’t remember ever seeing the sky above the dome. And then, after losing the civil war against those traitors, the Vizla clan and many others were forced into exile on Concordia, where Dez hid with the others in the mines for over a decade until the big war which toppled the Republic.

It is very impractical how this brief time under an open sky had reminded Dez just how good daylight can feel as he suspects it will be a long time before he will see it again.

Entering the passenger hold, Dez sees Neleem standing by the transparisteel and is staring out at the darkness. She looks… thoughtful. Is she regretting her decision already? “You okay?”

Looking over at him, Neleem gives him a faint smile. “Just thinking.”

Dez frowns. Doesn’t she trust him to protect her? He walks over to the woman who turns to face him. “There is little pirate activity in this area, even less now that the Empire do their sweeps here, so you don’t have to be nervous. If anything, I suspect this trip will be quite boring.”

Shaking her head a little with a soft laugh, Neleem pats a light hand on his breastplate. “I’m not worried about the journey.”

“Then what?”

Neleem takes a deep breath, stares at her hand on his chest, before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t want to disappoint your people. I want them to like me and… I don’t think they will because I’m not a fighter.”

“Who cares what they think?” Dez mutters. He’s been disliked most of his life and it never mattered to him.

“Maybe you could tell me a little about them?” Neleem asks. “Are your clan like you? Or are they more like Davarax?”

Dez snorts his contempt at the mentioning of Beskar Boy’s name and the ill-hidden hope in her voice as Neleem says it. “You’d like that? An entire clan of Davarax clones? Of course you would.”

Neleem blinks as she’s slightly startled by his words. “What?”

Dez turns away and stalks over to sit down on one of the seats there. “They’re not as perfect as your precious Davarax, no, but don’t worry. They aren’t as horrible as Dez Vizla either.”

“Take it off.”

Neleem stares at him for a second and then she walks over as well, but only to loom in front of him. “Take off your helmet.”

Dez looks up at her, defiant. He’s not sulking, he’s not. “Why?”

Sighing, resigning himself to being ordered about by yet another frail creature, Dez takes off his helmet and scowls up at her.

He only holds on to his scowl through sheer force of will when she takes a firm hold of his chin and stares back at him with a stern authority that has his stomach clench up with unease.

“I’m not saying Davarax is perfect, Dez, but there is no denying that he is a lot more open and welcoming than you are. Even you have to admit that.” She leans in a little more. “However, that does not mean you are a horrible person. You are a bit more work, true, but you say you’re willing to do it and lucky for you; I like a challenge. Perfect would be boring to me.”

Relieved, Dez almost grins, but the second his mouth twitches, Neleem tightens her grip on his chin and really pierces him with her stern stare. “But you don’t get to snap at me like that. Understood?”

Feeling chastised and deserving of it, Dez manages a meek nod.

“Good.” Neleem smiles and lets go of him. “Excellent.” She sits down next to him, loops her arm with his and rests her head on his pauldron.

Staring at the floor now, swallowing hard, Dez has to gather his courage before speaking. “Thank you. For not giving up on me.” He can be better, he can, he just needs time.

Neleem turns to rest her chin on his pauldron and looks at him. “Why do you hate Davarax so much?”

Dez almost squirms. “I don’t… hate him.” He turns his face away.

-

“Hey.”

Dez turns and sees Davarax standing there. The kid is barely nine years old and yet he has the audacity to speak to Dez, who is ten years? He even smiles at Dez. “What?” Dez snaps.

“Want to train together?” Davarax doesn’t stop smiling, all ease and confidence.

Dez considers it. He has seen Davarax’ sister fight, heard the grown ups talk about how talented Davarax is as well, and decides that he will be gracious and overlook Davarax’ youth. “Sure.”

During the next three months, Dez learns that Davarax is indeed as talented as the grown ups claims (His reflexes and strength is plain uncanny.), he is as talkative as Dez isn’t and smiles far too much. But what catches Dez completely off guard as he’s come to think of the younger boy as something akin to a friend is Davarax suddenly pulling mean pranks on him.

Items disappearing, Dez’ favourite mock-blaster ending up in pieces and his drinking water mysteriously having a whole bunch of bugs in it, it doesn’t make sense to Dez until his big brother reveals to him who is behind it all.

Dez doesn’t do pranks, he uses his fists instead. (It takes many, many years before Dez realizes that the razor-thin smile on Pre’s face as he watched Dez and Davarax beat each other bloody should have told him who the real culprit was.)

Dez and Davarax never train together again after that, but it is impossible for Dez to ignore Davarax’ presence. Every single day he hears someone fawning over the brat or his sister or both of them. Every single day Borr Vizla insists on training his children and makes them pay with blood for not being being better than the infamous siblings. They are Vizlas, they have to be the best warriors in the Galaxy and he will beat them into shape like a smith hammers beskar to his will.

Pre is eight years older than Dez, Cedia four years older, but that doesn’t prevent Borr from demanding he keep up with them. He doesn’t hit any less or any lighter depending on whether he is training his oldest son, his daughter or his youngest son.

“Pressure makes gems, ease makes decay.” Borr tells them, again and again.

The words, familiar wisdom to all Mandalorians, echo through Dez’ brain as he endures it. But Dez is fourteen years old, hobbling out of the training room while clutching his broken ribs, when he makes a silent vow: When the day comes and he has children of his own, he will never ever beat them like this. Never. And Dez’ children will still be better warriors than Borr could ever forge.

Across the hallway, Davarax stands with his sister and two other Mandalorians, laughing and holding yet another gift given to him from yet another admirer. His parents have never given Davarax or his sister a beating as far as Dez knows and yet Davarax hasn’t lost a single fight in the mines. Not one. Even Pre has lost a couple of brawls. It’s not fair.

And not only is Davarax immune to physical harm, no, all kinds of trouble, accidental or deliberate, simply slides off him like spit on armour. The adults lets him get away with everything. The kids trail after him and worship him like he’s some kind of big hero. Being a Vizla is nothing compared to being Davarax. His sister scares them, but he is the perfect boy. The golden boy. Dank farrik, he’s their Beskar Boy; endlessly precious, flawless and immortal.

Dez sneers and hobbles away.

The next time he’s in the same room as Davarax, Dez plants his fist in his gut without warning and savours the sound of his surprised wheeze and how Davarax folds and crumples to the floor.

It is the only time Borr Vizla laughs, pats Dez’ shoulder and tells him he did good. And that is totally worth the agonizing beating Davarax gives him the very next day.

-

“Well, you clearly have something against him.” Neleem says, dragging Dez back to the present. “Whenever you two are in the same room and there is no common threat to unite you, I keep expecting you to punch him in the face.”

Dez shrugs one shoulder. “That’s because I do want to punch him in the face every time I see him.”

Neleem snorts a surprised laugh before she manages to pull herself together and gives his thigh a light slap with her free hand. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s the truth.” Dez says. Few things lightens his heart as much as punching Davarax does.

“And yet you claim you don’t hate him.” Neleem points out. “Why do you want to punch him if you don’t hate him?”

Dez grunts and shifts his weight a little uneasily. “I don’t know.” Because Davarax always had it easy? Because the man had stolen his son? (Even if it was the right thing to do.) Because even after Davarax had been kicked out of the Covert while Dez is the leader of the most powerful clan there, Davarax now has a life most Mandalorians could only dream about; a home, a strong partner and a gaggle of adoring children? “I just don’t like him.” He lies.

Neleem lets out a thoughtful hum. “Are you sure it’s him you’re angry with?”

“Yes.” Dez declares in a stubborn tone. He’s not sure what she means but it makes him even more uneasy and his defensive anger is about to make his hackles rise.

“Okay.” Neleem says, and it is painfully obvious she’s just humouring him. “Can I ask you another question?”

“You just did.”

She gives him another admonishing slap on his thigh.

“Ask away.”

Despite permission, Neleem hesitates and seems a little uncertain when she finally asks her question. “Paz’ mother. If you don’t want to talk about her, that’s fine, I just… What happened?”

Dez instantly tenses up. No one at the Covert would have dared to ask this question or even mention ‘her’ name. And that includes Paz. Dez doesn’t like to think about those years. Not at all.

It’s strange how something that began so sweetly could end so badly…

-

Dez has just turned eighteen years old when he falls in love. Really, truly, badly, stupidly in love.

Up until now he’s had no trouble reeling in willing partners, he is a Vizla and not ugly or weak, but this is different.

She is different.

Borr has been dead for years from that fever killed him and a dozen others, Pre and Cedia are fixated on preparing for a war they are plotting on the traitors, but all Dez can think about is her.

Her clan is tiny, insignificant, but that doesn’t matter to Dez. She’s strong-willed and fierce and perfect with dark eyes and sleek hair. Her name is Skade.

Dez does his very best to impress her with his fighting skills and intimidating presence and it seems to work. She starts to look in his direction as well and more than once does a smug smile grace her lips as her gaze lingers on him. Nothing seems to frighten her. If there is something that she wants, she grabs it. Including him, to his great delight.

What follows is a whirlwind of chaos for over two months. Dez scrambles to keep up with Skade, drunk on love and lust, dodging Pre’s big meetings and training to be with her. He loves to watch her pummelling others with her fists. He’s amazed at how she’s able to out-drink anyone foolish enough to challenge her. He is mesmerized by her strength and slim waist. He doesn’t care how crazy her ideas are, how much trouble following her gets him into, all he cares about is her.

So when she tells him that she’s pregnant, Dez doesn’t hesitate.

“Marry me.”

“What?” Skade snorts a laugh and shakes her head. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Dez declares with calm determination. “I love you.”

“Your brother won’t approve.”

“I don’t care.” Dez feels increasingly giddy with joy at the thought of marrying the woman he loves. Who is carrying their child. His child. Dez is going to be a father. “Marry me.”

Skade grins. She doesn’t need him and they both know it. Still, her eyes scan him thoughtfully from head to toe, lingers on his face, probably considers the advantage of being a part of the Vizla clan, then she surprises Dez by giving him a single nod.

They take their vows in the darkness of the mines.

Just as she had predicted, Pre is not happy at all with his little brother going to be even more distracted by starting a family so he throws a fit worthy of a toddler, but for once Dez doesn’t yell back at him. Instead he actually feels something close to pity while Pre goes one and on about his grand plans, powerful contacts and deadly secrets. Pre’s eyes have a manic gleam and his face has become drawn and thin. He’s starting to look old. Far older than his years.

Guilt and loyalty makes Dez put in an effort to start helping with Pre’s plans, but he’s definitely not happy about it as that means he disappears for hours or even days, and instead of spending time with his partner, Dez ends up having to deal with cretins like Bo-Katan. She’s as fanatical as Pre.

When the time comes and Skade goes into labour, Dez is not prepared. How could these months have gone by so fast? How did that happen? But none of that matters the second he holds his son in his arms.

The boy has his eyes and his mother’s rage in his screams and Dez can barely breathe with how much he loves him. He might only be nineteen years old, but Dez knows he will never love anyone more than this for the rest of his life. It’s not physically possible.

Everything should have been perfect.

It’s not.

The bickering between him and Skade, it had started when he kept vanishing with Pre to do his bidding instead of grabbing power for himself and is fuelled by her endlessly annoying him with her sloppy habits, it evolves into arguing and is starting to get downright ugly. Skade knows exactly which words to use to cut deep and leave no mark. She knows his every weak spot.

Dez can handle the contempt she sends his way, he’s not a coward, but he does NOT like her coldness towards their two month old son. She reminds him of Borr Vizla.

“You’re spoiling him.” Skade growls as he gets up to tend to the crying Paz in the middle of the night.

“Go back to sleep.” Dez replies in a curt tone and holds his son close. So what if he’s spoiling him right now? There will be plenty of time to harden Paz into a warrior, now is a time for affection.

It is about a year later, shortly after Paz takes first steps and has Dez nearly exploding with pride, when Pre’s long craved war becomes a reality. A brutal reality. It brings not just the resurfacing of the Death Watch, but a rearrangement of the entire Galaxy. Pre’s cackling laugh echoes through the mines and Dez knows his already unstable brother has now completely lost it.

Cedia is the first to die. Far too many follow her.

Pre dodges death for a while but eventually he too follows their sister, plus a worrying amount of Vizlas and their allied clans. This causes a fracture among Pre’s followers; some insist on continuing on with their missions, but others look to Dez for guidance. He is the head of the Vizla clan now.

Well, Dez will not die for Pre’s dream of revenge. He has other plans.

He chooses to leave and together with others; the Children of the Watch is founded. It seems like a sign from the gods that Dez is making the right choice when their ship has barely left Concordia and Sobek Saxon increases their numbers by giving birth to a healthy girl. She names her Raga.

Skade never forgives Dez for this choice.

She loathes their new home, once again underground, despises their golden armoured leader and vents all of her frustration and anger on her family. Dez sighs as she paces the room and snarls angry words over some minute thing that happened yesterday and she’s not able to let go of. He absently runs his hand over Paz’ hair as the boy sleeps next to him, resting his head on his father’s thigh, or is at least pretending to sleep, and Dez wishes she would just shut up. He’s stopped listening to her a long time ago and her voice just grates on his nerves.

Paz’ fifth Life Day is only four weeks away when Dez walks into their room and discovers that Skade has left. She has taken all her belongings with her and leaves behind a short message; their marriage is over, she has found a more worthy partner and she is going to follow a different Way.

Dez is trying to digest this, absently surprised at how much her words hurt yet again and how hollow his chest feels, when the door slides open and there is the sound of soft footsteps.

“Father?” Paz looks both confused and lost. “Where is Mother?”

Dez closes his hand and gently but firmly crushes the message capsule in his grip. “She left. It’s just you and me from now on, son.”

Seeing the same hurt he’s feeling in his son’s eyes makes Dez grit his teeth to keep the sudden intense hatred towards Skade silent. How could she do this to their son? If she wanted to humiliate and hurt Dez like this, he’s a grown man and will have to suffer through it,  but to just leave their son? And without a word? Unforgivable. Dishonourable. Despicable. He will never forgive her for this.

Paz is staring at the floor, eyes blank with unshed tears and shoulders slumped with defeat.

Sighing, Dez holds out his hand. “Come on, son. Let’s go do some blaster practice?”

Paz sniffles, nods and takes his hand with his small one. He holds on tight, as if he’s afraid that Dez will leave him too.

They never say her name again.

-

“She decided she wanted a different life.” Dez mumbles reluctantly. “And that she didn’t want me or Paz in it. I came home one day and discovered she’d left.”

Neleem sits up straighter and frowns. “She just left?”

Dez shrugs and clears his throat. He doesn’t want to talk about this. “That’s right. Though, some were probably amazed that she managed to put up with me for as many years as she did.”

“But Paz?” Neleem says, increasingly upset.

“Yeah…” Dez clears his throat again and looks away. “We don’t talk about this. Me or Paz.”

After a moment of silence, Neleem pats his arm. “Okay.” She leans her head on his pauldron again and Dez dares to glance back at her.

She has to be curious about his past, Dez knows he would never have just let it be with that, yet Neleem seems to settle for what little he’s told her and isn’t going to push him further. He probably should scold her for giving up so easily when there is something that she wants, even if it is just sad tales from his past, but he also feels the tension in his neck and shoulders slowly bleed out of him again and he’s pathetically grateful that she doesn’t pursue it.

“Don’t worry about the Covert.” Dez offers in an effort to make up for being unwilling to properly answer her questions. “While they might be a bit… cold towards outsiders, I promise you I will protect you. And Liita. You’ll be safe, I give you my word.” 

His clan and followers will no doubt be shocked beyond words that Dez will be bringing two outsiders into their Covert. A Foundling can be accepted, even if Liita is a bit old to be considered as such, but the second Dez will introduce Neleem as his… well, as his, they will no doubt be thinking back on how much shit he gave Davarax for the exact same thing. Dez have no doubts that they will test him, and try to test her, so he will have to be vigilant and merciless. He will pummel anyone who so much as breathes wrong in Neleem and Liita’s direction.

“I’m not scared.” Neleem says, which is probably not entirely true judging by her questions, but there is no hesitation or doubt in her next words: “I trust you.”

Trying not to show how much that means to him, Dez puts on a slight smile. “Good.” He may be a horrible husband and an even worse father, but there is one thing Dez is good at and that is fighting, and he won’t hesitate to fight anyone, even his own kin, to protect these two brave souls who have agreed to follow him despite having no reason to.

Neleem reaches up, touches his face and gives him an affectionate smile in return before moving up to add a gentle kiss to it as well.

Pleased, if a little surprised, Dez’ smile widens and he steals a second kiss. He can’t help it. He’s utterly fascinated by her. She’s incredibly brave, yet so very soft and honourable…

“Did Liita kick you out of the cockpit for the rest of the trip?” Neleem asks with a dangerous grin.

Dez squirms, slightly embarrassed over giving in to the scrawny girl’s will but knows Neleem won’t think less of him for it. She doesn’t think like a Mandalorian. “Yeah.”

Neleem hums, pleased, and she moves to swing a leg over his and shifts up to straddle Dez before he can say or do anything. “That means we have hours to overthink on what lies ahead. Oooor, we can spend some of that time distracting ourselves with something a little more… fun.”

Dez’ jaw drops a bit as his brain overloads at the sensation of her, and when her words finally seep through the sensory fireworks, his hands act on their own and grabs her hips to pull her even closer. A tantalizing shiver of pleasure slithers through his every vein but Dez can’t stop himself from sending the door to the cockpit a nervous glance. “What if she…?”

“Seeks us out for company?” Neleem says, sending him a meaningful look.

Dez snorts a laugh. “Valid point.” He leans back in his seat and gets a bit more comfortable, stroking his thumbs along her hip bones. This is so unlike him. Dez Vizla doesn’t do this kind of… reckless behaviour. So why is he grinning and giving her hips an encouraging squeeze when she rolls them against him? Why is he soon running his hands down her lekkus to make her squirm?

The old Dez Vizla might not have indulged like this, might not have seen Neleem beyond her lack of armour and helmet, but that man was also the one who ruined everything good in his life. There is no denying that Dez is different now. He’s changed. And the Covert will sense it the second he steps inside.

But maybe, with Neleem’s help to find the right words, he can bring his clan and his followers out into the daylight as well? She had found her way into Dez’ brain, surely the others won’t even be a challenge for her.

Wouldn’t that be fun; showing up on Davarax’ doorstep with his entire clan and followers? Hah, let Beskar Boy try to top that. Dez had promised to make Paz proud of his father, after all.

Suddenly Dez doesn’t think about their arrival at the Covert with reluctance. It’s not going to be easy, but once again he finds that he has hope. With Neleem and Liita by his side, he has hope.

However, Dez is getting awfully warm in his armour, that mission is hours away, and there are far more pleasant things to focus on right now...

[acourtofsnakes]

Tor - Rogue, Chapter 3| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: A little bit of Mando pov for you all!! It’s a shorter chapter, just kind of the same as the previous but from our Space Dad’s point of view this time. Though there may be a little hint of your decision at the end…

Warnings: Injury detail/blood, swearing, angst? Hints of fluff?

AN: There’s a very small ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ reference to a certain Dornish prince and his nickname in here too. Wonder if you’ll find it? 👀

Also, thank you to @ithinkwehitametaphor​ for sending me the gif! i couldn’t for the life of me find it and you honestly saved my life 

Wordcount: About 3465

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar​  @weirdowithnobeardo​

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl ​

Mando’a Translation: Tor – justice 

He always thought it would end like this. Never in some big blaze of blaster fire or with his ship, but in some back alley, bleeding out, alone. 

Hell, maybe he deserved it. He’d killed enough people to warrant this end, slumped on the floor, too weak to save himself. 

He didn’t deserve a warrior’s death, a Mandalorian’s death. Not after all he had done.

Of course, it was his duty, his honour as a Mandalorian and a bounty hunter but… that sacred Creed did nothing to stop the thoughts that plagued him at night, the whispers that hissed in his ear during his waking hours. 

He almost laughed at himself. 

The Creed was all he had. 

Until…. Until the kid had come along. 

Until he saw that little wrinkly baby in the crib and… it had all changed. 

He couldn’t kill it, him, couldn’t take it back to the Client or his Clones. 

One look at that damn little silver ball, and eveyrhting went straight out the window. 

Fuck the Guild code. He would never kill a child, an innocent being that couldn’t even talk, could only make those little cooing sounds that even he had to admit were adorable. 

Rescuing him… it had given him something to live for. Something to fill his days and a reason not to go hurtling helmet first into danger with no regard for his own safety. 

Except… well, no. That wasn’t strictly true was it. He’d become more reckless since that moment, the rules that his bound his life for so long were slowly coming undone bit by bit. All of which made him so reckless, so… desperate?

You only had to look at the sheer amount of people lining up for his and the kid’s head to prove that. 

So maybe he didn’t always make the smartest decisions, but they were still alive, weren’t they? Had friends to help them if he needed it. 

In a short time, he’d gone from being Judge, Jury and Executioner, to being the person that people called when they needed help. Sometimes people didn’t even call him. He just showed up and offered his services. 

And truth be told… he liked it. He liked people looking at him with hope and admiration, rather than fear and jealousy. He liked the way people fussed over the kid, asking if Mando was taking good care of the child. Like they were a family. 

A Clan.

The sigil on his armour said as much. Him and the kid. A unit of two rogues. 

That’s what it all came down to, in the end. Everything was to keep Grogu safe. That’s why he stuck to the Outer Rim, taking jobs that would draw him further away from those that relentlessly hunting them, those who wanted to harm the Child. Besides, he needed the credits that came with the big jobs. Taking care of the little womp rat was expensive. Not to mention there was always something falling apart on his ship. 

So, when that guy in the hood had cornered him in the bar, given him the fob and told him about the bounty that no one could catch, he’d taken it without a thought. He’d had so many over the years that were supposedly uncatchable that the word had nearly lost its meaning. And this stranger had obviously sensed that, explained that it was true. Reeled off the sheer amount of hunters that had been sent that way, Imps, Trandoshans, Empire workers, IG-11 robots, even another Mandalorian. After hearing that list, Mando had expected some high-level bounty. An escapee from the deepest pits of the darkest prisons, someone who had done terrible, terrible things.

So… when he’d activated the puck, and the hologram of a woman’s face had come up… he was shocked. This woman… she was beautiful. Still young. She didn’t look like she bathed in the blood of her enemies, or killed children and babies, she looked… well, not exactly harmless. There was a glint in her eyes even on the hologram, a spark that warned of danger, promised pain to anyone that tried to hurt her. 

A survivor’s look. 

Something niggled at him, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. It might have been hesitation, but he ignored it. The bounty over her head was enough that he could take Grogu to one of those sanctuary planets and lay low for a few weeks. Maybe even a few months. The kid deserved it, to be able to play and explore. 

And himself… Maker, he was just so tired. 

So, he’d pocketed the puck and the fob, didn’t ask who the client was, went back to the Crest and then he was on his way to Sorgan. 

Maybe it would take him a little longer than usual to bring the girl in, but it was nothing that he hadn’t done before. After all, stealing back the kid, breaking into a prison, everything else that had occurred recently… this was a walk in the park. 

He still believed that, right up to tracking you. Even when he chased you. 

He had to admit, he did love it when they ran, even if his back was killing him. 

Something about the chase, the frantic fear of the prey as he hunted them down, the conclusion inevitable. It thrilled him. 

But… this felt.. different. 

You were different. You fought like it was a dance, whirling across the clearing and around his punches like there was a song only you could hear. And you were taunting him, laughing as you did. You lived for this, like you had been bred for it. No… you’d been shaped by it, shaped by the choice of cowering or turning into a wolf. A wolf, like those he’d seen in Lothal.

You were strong, you fought well, he had to give you that much. He knew he would have to work for it, but with the promise of safety lingering, he matched you move for move, determined to hold this out as long as it took. 

He’d read your file, read what had happened and used that to his advantage. The words had come easily, even though they had stirred something inside him, perhaps a mirror of the feelings he was encouraging in you. 

But then… then you just gave in. Straight away. And not like the others did. Not in the way that they had, thinking it would make him go easier, change his mind.

No, you had completely, utterly given up.  He saw it in your eyes. Saw that survivors glint gutter out, a wolf tamed back into her cage with her tail between her legs. 

And… it threw him. He had touched something, caught something deep within you as he taunted you. Something broken… that again whispered to his own deepest thoughts. Like calling to like. 

He’d ignored it, pushing that thought back into the part of his minds where his darker thoughts lay slumbering – for now. He’d carried you back to the Crest, shackled you to the wall and had made to leave you there. 

Only, he had seen that the wound on your shoulder was torn open again, ripped by your fight and his jamming with the rifle. It was bleeding through your tunic, and even with unconsciousness heavy in your body, you still looked somewhat pained. 

He’d hovered there, staring at the bleeding wound and having some kind of internal battle. 

It wasn’t fatal. It was just a recent injury that had torn open. You’d be fine. He nodded, turning around and making all of one step. 

But. A Trandoshan had been the last person to hunt you. They relished in the hunt, had probably fought dirty and used a poison. It might be infected. What if you died on his way back to dropping you off? Or got really, really sick?

Nevermind. The messenger for the Client stated you had to be brought back alive. Alive didn’t mean whole. He carried on walking, trying to focus again on something else… only to pause a couple of metres away. 

Help her. 

The Mandalorian had turned back around to look at you, a frustrated grunt slipping from his lips. He moved through the ship, grabbing a med-kit and then practically stormed back to you, nearly ripping your tunic as he’d eased up the sleeve. 

It wasn’t too bad, a deep wound but it hadn’t been infected, yet. He cleaned it up, spraying it with the last of his bacta-spray and binding it with the last strip of bandages. He’d have to get some more soon, dig up some credits from somewhere. 

A cruel reminder of why he took this job. What you were. A bounty. That’s all. 

Muttering a string of curses, he finished binding your wound, wrenching his hands away and then made his way back upstairs. 

A bounty. A means to an end. The way to getting a break that his aching body craved for. 

He was hunter. You were prey. 

That was the mantra he had to keep repeating to himself when he’d brought you up to the cockpit. 

Had to keep repeating when you were teasing him, which simultaneously ground on his nerves but also made his skin tighten in a way it hadn’t for a while. 

It had been a long time, so long since he’d that kind of verbal play with someone. 

Hell, it had been a long time since he’d had any kind of play with anyone. He just didn’t have the time anymore, not with Grogu and not when everyone knew who he was. How could you trust someone enough to sleep with them when nearly everyone wanted to kill you?

His new mantra had echoed in his head when you began to verbally poke at him, hitting home about being lonely. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you knew you’d hit a nerve. But thankfully you stopped. 

But not before that broken thing had called between you again. Your words were spoken with too much ease and casualness, someone who knew all too well the loneliness and starvation for touch and companionship. 

Maker, he had to get rid of you soon. 

It had almost been a relief to find the small bounty on this planet. You’d been asleep, the kid asleep too so he’d gone. He didn’t need to wake either of you up, you knew why you were here - he’d told you so this morning. 

Besides, it was a small planet, easy prey to catch when everyone here feared the dark. He’d be back in a few hours. 

With the way he was so wired, he’d probably be back in two. 

That’s the way it was meant to happen. 

Track down the bounty, disarm, bring him back, freeze him in carbonite and Mando would have you back in the sky before you’d even woken up. 

And it had happened that way initially. He followed the sharp tailed bounty from the fighting pits to a cantina. Had to sit and listen as he boasted about some girl he’d bedded the night before and had screaming his name. He then, of course, launched into detail of said night, drawling about this girl in such a derogatory way that it took all his training and restraint not to just shoot this creep in the head there and then and be done with it. 

But, the Mandalorian had endured it. Sat there for an hour or so and then followed him out into an alleyway. Mando kept hidden as the bounty had spoken to a friend, talking about another girl he’d seen. Apparently, this one was even better than last night. He had it on good authority that this girl would be game for anything he wanted to do and more. 

And then Spikey had started describing again, in detail, what he would do. And Mando had been disgusted, angry that this creep was talking about a woman this way, such sick and derogatory things. Spikey’s friend asked if this ‘slut’ had a name. 

And then…

Your name. That’s what he said. 

And that’s when it went wrong. 

Your name had barely come out of this animal’s lips when a red haze clouded over the Mandalorian. Everything in him screamed violence and his body went on autopilot, attacking this vile waste of space matter so quickly he hadn’t had time to breathe. Mando didn’t even notice the friend bolt, running away. He was just so focused on taking down the bounty, ripping him apart for what he’d said about you. This one would be brought in cold. He would say that it put up a fight, tried to kill him so Mando acted in self-defence. 

His previous mantra of the last two days was forgotten, overtaken by a need to defend you, make sure this guy stayed the hell away from you. Bring him down, freeze him in carbonite and get off of this planet. He fell back into that haze, relying on his skills and instincts. 

Except… except that when the haze cleared, he wasn’t leaning over the body. 

No, he was the one being pinned against the wall by the bounty, with a strength he hadn’t realised Spikey possessed. What the fuck was he?

Escape training came to him now, but before he could disarm and kill, the bounty began to spew those vile thoughts about you again. About how Mando was keeping you tied to a bed, for his own pleasure. How he was going to take you, ask to keep you, use you-

And then for the first time in his life, Mando forgot his training. He forgot about blocking and defensive maneuverers. He forgot about the myriad of weapons on his body, the Whistling Birds, the flame-thrower. 

He reached out in a blind fury to throttle this creep. 

He left himself open to attack. 

That was the first time he royally fucked up tonight.  

Pain had suddenly become a living thing in his side and waist as he slid down the wall, and then his only thought wasn’t of survival, it was of the kid, and you. 

You were back in the ship, both of you safe at least. Maybe you would know how to fly, know how to get yourselves out of there and run, escape. That’s what he’d hoped. You were smart, you were a survivor. You’d take the initiative and get yourselves out. Besides, he might not have admitted it, but he trusted you with Grogu. 

And then like he’d fucking summoned you… there you were. Launching into Spikey Tail’s side and getting him away. He could only watch as you engaged him in the fight, taunted him with that same tone you’d used on him. Only this time, he could watch you. 

Beautiful. 

There was no other word for it, as much as he might not have wanted to admit it. You fought like it was a dance, that prowling wolf in you giving way to a viper, striking and falling back with all the grace of dancers he’d heard about performing in Coruscant. 

He was almost breathless as he watched this deadly game – though that might have been the blood loss and blow to his head. 

He thought he might be sick when the sound of your ribs shattering bounced off the slick metal walls, the muffled cry of agony it tore from you. 

But still, the taunts kept coming, and he couldn’t help himself when you complained that Spikey Tail talked too much. You had possibly two broken ribs and yet you were still a cocky little shit. The impressed, huffing laugh that came from his lips was loud enough to be heard by you. 

And that was his second fuck up of the night. 

What started as an unexpected burst of warmth in his chest as you turned and smiled at him, had immediately frozen his lungs as Spikey slammed you against the wall, strangling you. 

Fear shot through Mando, colder than his body had begun to feel. He tried to get up, tried to help you but he couldn’t move. His limbs wouldn’t respond to him. 

He couldn’t save you. 

He was going to watch you die defending him. 

Just like his parents. 

No, no, no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that, not again. He swore against his body, gathered every remaining ounce of strength that he had and reached for his blaster, just as those sick comments of degradation and ugly lust began to fall from your attacker’s lips. 

All he needed was to give you an opening, just one tiny opening and you would do the rest. 

Spikey’s lips were creeping toward yours, fear bursting in your eyes as you scrambled for the vibroblade sheathed against your thigh. 

An opening, that’s all he had to do. 

And he did. He managed to haul his body back from the edge of death long enough to shoot the guy in the back. 

You took your opening. 

He saw the flash of your vibroblade, heard the muffled, wet noise as it sunk into his bounty’s neck. 

The guy fell to the floor in a dead weight. You dropped too and he managed to see you gasp for air, assure himself you were mostly okay before that flame of energy guttered out so quickly, he saw stars. 

Darkness hovered around the edges of his vision as he felt his life slip through his fingers – literally, his other hand was pressed to his side in an effort to try and staunch it but he didn’t have the energy to. 

This was it then. 

The way he would go. 

Nothing noble, or heroic. 

Bleeding out in a back alley. The creatures in the dark would take him soon enough. 

At least you would be able to take the kid and run now. At least there was that. 

And then he felt hands knocking his way, significantly smaller hands push into the wound. He couldn’t even make a noise of pain; it didn’t hurt anymore. His vision cleared again and there you were once more, leaning over him with blood sprayed over your face, falling from a cut on your cheek. 

No. No. 

What were you doing?? 

You were supposed to escape. You were supposed to flee the mess he’d bought you into and take the kid and run. 

He tried to speak, to convey these thoughts to you but his lips had stopped responding. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. But somehow, it was like you got what he meant. 

Your hands began to lift, and he had a weak wave of relief that was marred by the fresh soaking of blood that oozed out of his side. How much had he lost now?

Too much, by the cooling temperature of his body and the trembling that had begun. 

He had come close to death before, so many times before but this felt different. This felt like he was losing something. Something that was just within reach but he hadn’t had the chance to grasp at yet. And it was being wrenched away, taken from him and trickling over the stones beneath him in a deep, scarlet puddle. 

Maybe he’d begun to hallucinate too, because you were back, leaning over him, hands pressed into him again like they could stop the blood. He lifted his eyes and something in him curled up and panged when he saw that you were already gazing at him. 

Gazing right into his eyes. 

How you knew where they were, how you looked through the blackened visor without seeing, he didn’t know. But he could read the war raging inside of you, the battle off stay or go. 

Go.

Mando tried to talk again, but only managed a faint noise, a croak that sounded so pitiful, he might have cringed at himself had he not started to hear a ringing in his ears. Time was nearly up, ticking away his life and that glimmer of something. 

So, he instead just looked at you. You were clearly not made up yet, so he did something selfish. 

He put his life in your hands. 

If you left him here to die, he deserved it. It was justice. Justice for every ounce of pain he’d caused. The grief he’d doled out to mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, children. 

Justice for the life of treachery he had all but dumped Grogu into. 

Justice for letting his parents die for him and not save them. 

But, if you let him live…

Then he would try harder. He would repent for his mistakes. 

He would make sure you were dropped somewhere safely. You couldn’t stay with him, he wrought death and destruction to those around him whether he meant it or not  

But he could take you somewhere safe, maybe to Greef and Cara. 

Then he would hunt down whoever came after you next, giving you the respite that he was going to keep for himself. 

They were the options. 

A deserved death, or a new determination to set right his mistakes. 

These thoughts swum through his hazy brain at a surprisingly rapid pace, only a few seconds worth of time as he still watched what you would do with this choice. He could see that you understood, understood the choice he had selfishly bestowed upon you. 

Only it was too late. 

Heavy darkness thundered over him in an unrelenting tidal wave and with a choked gasp, he was dragged under, so deep he might have imagined your arms winding around his battered body, hauling him to his feet as much as you could. 

His brain giving him one last reprieve, perhaps, or maybe a cruel taunt to what might have been before he was sucked under and everything went numb. 

Previous chapter| Next Chapter

[bimswritings]

Armorer x (Blacksmith) Reader 1/2

Warnings:Canon Typical violence

A/n: I had so much fun writing this! If anyone has fic recs for her send them my way! The next part of the Savage series and a new chapter of Our Way will come out next week!

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The Armorer had experienced more in her lifetime than anyone else would care to. She had watched the rise and fall of small rebellions, crushed under the foot of the Empire. Seen her people hunted and killed until their numbers weren’t even fractions of what the great tribe of warriors once was. Chaos and bloodshed, hiding and waiting, had become as normal as breathing to her. That’s not to say she missed the many good things that happened. 

The sounds of foundlings and young ones as they ran through the halls of the covert, not yet burdened by the responsibilities of adulthood, acted as a reminder that her people were still alive. And there was no greater sense of peace to be had then when they would all meet in the karyai and dine together like the family they were. 

Well, except for her forge. 

Her forge was a sacred place. Not only for her but for the others as well. It was here that the most important and private of discussions were held. Talks about individuals as well as the coven as a whole. Who would go out and hunt, what responsibilities would be given to who, and where they would go for their next supply run to get food and medicine. It was important that they never went to the same place too many times, least someone followed them back, and the amount always had to be different as to not let in on their numbers.

All these choices, all this planning, was run through her. Their Armorer. Their Alor. They trusted her with their lives, leaning on her as an elder would a walking stick. Despite the immense pressure put on her, she never let it show. Never asked for anything in return. Seeing her people happy was enough to keep her strong, and looking towards the future instead of the horrors of the past.

Besides, when she watched the bigger picture, it left the others able to focus on the smaller things. Namely the continuation of their tribe, which they were doing an outstanding job on if her current project was anything to go by.

The three pieces she was working on would fit together perfectly. Though each their own unique piece, they were all made from one base ore.

The mother would come to possess the intricate dagger currently sitting off to the side, being highly skilled in close quarter combat it would serve her well. The handle of the blade would slide smoothly in the bottom of her eagle-eyed riduur’s blaster, and make it even more dangerous than before. The weapon would have no weaknesses, each piece supporting the other, and be usable in any scenario. Of course they would still need a way to be locked in place. Something that would make the connection between the two weapons stronger. The insignia would be worn by the child until they died, and then given to their closest of kin, be it friend, lover, or child. It was of the mother’s clan, which they would all take the name of, and the metal ranicor already shone with a radiant pride as she pulled it from the blue flames, quenching it the basin of oil beside her.

It would fit at the juncture, locking the weapons in place with an unbreakable bond. 

The two adults would present each other with the weapons, a symbol of their promise to protect one another both in and out of battles. Then, together, they would tie the insignia to the child with a leather thread. The only addition would be a Mythosaur skull, which they would receive should they take up the creed of the Mandalorian. If not, they would still bear the mark of their clan and wear it with pride.

It was hard work, but the Armorer would do it all over again in a heartbeat. After all, the exchanging of vows between two Mandalorians was enough cause for a celebration, but for the same couple to have a claiming ceremony of a foundling at the same time? It had sent the enter tribe into a nest of bustling activity in preparation. The elders were particularly excited, constantly coming in to inform her of any updates or changes. 

It was one of them that she had expected when she heard footsteps enter her forge, not the young warrior she was faced with when she turned around.

“What can I help you with, child?” For a young Mandalorian such as himself to enter without invitation or a offering to the tribe, it must be of grave importance.

He remained kneeling as he spoke, head bowed in respect to his Alor.

“Alor, I have heard troubling news during my patrol. A matter I fear has to deal with the pride of the Mandalorian name.”

Underneath the helmet, her brows furrowed though he could not see it. From his tone, he seemed almost hesitant to deliver the news, and she waited silently for him to continue.

“There...there’s been word that another possess the armor of a Mandolrian a few parsecs over on the moon of Quilon.” He swallowed thickly, audible even through the modulator, before continuing. 

“Someone not of any tribe or clan, nor a foundling or anyone who claims our identity.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and the Armorer couldn’t blame the heat rising within her on the fire she had been previously toiling over for so many hours without issue. Though she concealed it well, any who knew her, who could tell by the way her helmet tilted up or how her shoulders squared slightly, knew that she was absolutely furious.

“Then we must retrieve it immediately.” 

“Of course, Alor. Which of the warriors would you like me to retrieve so they may be briefed.”

“None.” She replied, hooking her tools into her belt, moving to grab her cloak from it’s hook, where it had been previously gathering dust.

“Alor?” He questioned. She had told him that they would retrieve it, but if she wanted none of the warriors then how would they?

“It is time that people are reminded of who we were. Who we are. Though we remain hidden in our covert, we are not weak. We bide our time until we once again rise.”

She tucked an extra blaster into her belt, though she knew the weapon would come second to her hammer. If it turned into an altercation of shots rather than strength, she would be prepared.

“I will retrieve it myself, and make an example of those that thought they could tarnish our name.”

With that she was gone, stalking down the maze of corridors on a warpath. Everyone who saw her coming was quick to jump out of the way. If there was one thing more dangerous than an angry Mandalorian, it was an enraged Armorer.

__________________________________

Landing the ship just outside the town, the Armorer followed the coordinates given to her before leaving. 

Just like every other planet in their system, Quilon was nothing special. Another small rock in space abandoned by the Empire and left to be overrun by bandits. Though their presence here was even more prevalent than on Nevarro. 

She paid no mind to the eyes that followed her from the shadows, hidden under masks and hats and behind drinks as she made a direct line to the center bar.

The man behind the counter was an aged Weequay, his already wrinkled skin dull but still showing the strength that lay in the muscle underneath. Though old, he was clearly someone who could still hold his own against any patron who had too many glasses of brandy.

He had no hesitance in walking up to her, despite clearly knowing who she was a part of.

“What can I do for you?”

She placed a stack of credits on the counter, gently sliding the pile over to him.

“I’ve heard that someone here has the armor of a Mandalorian. I wish to know where to find them so that we may...talk.”

The Weequay picked up the pile,clinking the metal as he tested the weight before looking back towards the Armorer.

“A matter of great importance for you, I’m sure. However, the person you seek is also of great importance.”

Silently, she reached into her pouch and retrieved a few more credits, the clinking sound they made as they were deposited with the others into his waiting hand causing a smile to stretch his face, revealing a number of missing teeth.

“You’ll find your person on the far west side of town. The shop will be located just a bit out. Had to relocate it with all the noise bothering the townsfolk.” He laughed, turning back to his other patrons as he deposited the money. “Just follow the cursing.”

Twenty minutes and another exchange of information later, the Armorer found herself in front of a shop reading ��Galactic Metalworks’.

If she had been angry before, she was positively fuming now. For someone who was supposed to have an understanding and appreciation for all things forged, the fact that they would have Mandalorian beskar, undoubtedly knowing its importance and what is signified, was the ultimate insult.

She could only hope that they would have enough sense not to have tempered with the armor, else she would have to hold herself back from killing them too quickly.

She walked through the door, pulling the fabric flap aside as she stepped inside. Instantly she was greeted with the sight of a surprisingly organized space, with weapons of all kinds lining the walls and a case displaying more decorative items sitting just behind what she assumed was the front counter.

There was no one in sight, prompting her to move further into the shop. As she passed, she couldn’t help but admire the works as she went. Though more elegant than what she would have done with some, there was no doubt about the quality of each item. Every blade, trigger, and handle was carefully shaped and sharpened, each having a softness that one would not expect of such weapons. It seemed to be the artist's signature stamp, present in everything she saw.

He attention was drawn away from the shining metals as a loud, and rather brash, string of curses flowed from the back of the shop. Once again reminded of her reason for coming here. The Armorer walked past the counter and its items, following the sounds of metal being hammered around the corner to reveal an open aired forge. 

There you stood, in all your soot stained and sweaty glory, cursing like a Trandoshian pirate as you inspected the item before you. A crude imitation of a helmet, she realized, though the eyes were horrendously off center and uneven, and being far too long for any but a Kaminoan to wear without hitting their shoulders. 

Were you really the same person who had made all the items out front?

No. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. She was here for business.

The intention was for her to take you by the element of surprise, leaving no room for a fight with the point of her hammer pressed into the vulnerable skin above your carotid. That was thrown out the window before she could even reach for the weapon as you quickly turned around, eyes locking onto her and going wide before frantically backpedaling. 

As luck would have it, the hammer you had been previously using was knocked from its stand and clattered to the floor, being stepped on and causing you to tumble.

Narrowly missing falling into the forge itself, your head still cracked painfully against its stand and your vision went black. By the time it cleared enough for you to stop seeing stars and your brain to process what had just happened, you found the very person who had startled you into such a state standing above you, feet on either side of your hips as a hammer was pointed dangerously at your face.

“H-hey!” You managed to stutter out, still dizzy and most likely concussed. “No need for that!”

Holding your hands up in an act of surrender and defense, should they still decide to attack, you balanced your weight onto your elbows despite the way it sent your head spinning.

They said nothing, only staring down through their owl-shaped visor as the golden shine of the helmet cast rays of brilliant light around the forge. Despite the situation, you could help but admire the stunning craftsmanship of the piece with envy. Each spike, every curve, was so beautifully done.

“I know you’re here for the armor, and I can get it for you! It’s right here!”

The Mandalorian remained still for a moment, contemplating, before moving back enough to let you get up, exchanging their hammer for a blaster, keeping it trained on your figure as you slowly rose and moved to the far wall.

Producing a key from beneath your apron, you moved one of the many boxes and unlocked a hatch hidden beneath. From there, you produced a chest that had yet another lock on it, setting it on your workbench and placing the key beside it. Backing away with your hands held up one again, the Mandalorian moved closer to the chest.

Hidden under the helmet, you couldn't see the way her eyes were narrowed in suspicion, laced with a hint of curiosity. You had gone through quite the effort of hiding it. Without your guide she might not have found the hatch, which had blended so well into the floor that when you had first moved the box she hadn’t seen it even with the filters of her visor. Why give it up so easily when you could have easily denied even having it in the first place, and no evidence to say otherwise?

Unlocking the box, she was even more surprised by what she found inside. While keeping a watch on where your figure had backed into the corner, she began shuffling through each item, peeling back layer after layer of fabric until she had constructed a full suit of beskar.  Not only was it stored with such care, the metal skillfully wrapped to prevent one item from damaging another if jostled around, but it appeared to have been freshly cleaned by a polish well known and used almost exclusively by smiths. It was meant to bring out the best shine and remove any scuff to increase the appeal and chances of someone buying the item.

“Where did you get this.” She put the items back in their case, closing it before turning back to where you were, blaster now lowered to her hip but ready to raise and fire in an instant.

“Bought it from some pirates who stopped by here to refuel.” You squeaked out. Despite knowing that all Mandalorians were warriors, you were still surprised to hear a woman's voice come from the helmet. The way she carried herself with such confidence and strength, you could only imagine the prestige and skill she had to back it up.

“I would have returned it sooner, but you guys are kind of hard to find.” You attempted to joke, letting out a nervous laugh as you shakily smiled. “I tried to keep it on the down low as much as I could to keep others from trying to come and take it. Paid a kid to let it slip when he saw one of you at a cantina you’re known to frequent.” 

The Armorer tilted her head slightly, still not believing you completely.

“Why not sell it, or melt it down for your own use?” She gestured to the space around you, at all the projects currently displayed or were waiting to be finished.

Your own brows knitted in confusion, as if you couldn’t believe why she was asking you that, and in reality you couldn’t.

“Well, I respect you too much.” Your shoulders shrugged lightly. “Growing up, my father told me all the stories of your culture, your people and what the armor meant to you. How it was more than just a piece of equipment, that it was like an extension of your own body and identity. Rather poetically, he would always put it.”

A small laugh made its way past your lips, taking the Armorer by surprise.

“If he could have met one of you and studied the armor he would have died of happiness. Probably would have even sworn an oath and donned the armor himself if he had the chance, no hesitation.”

Any thoughts of ill intention from before were reduced to nothing in the Armorer’s mind. The way you had spoken so fondly when describing your admiration for her culture, the same way you had when speaking of your father, was so gentle and sincere. Even if you had a helmet like hers she would have been able to tell just by your voice.

“You have my thanks for keeping it in such good condition until we were able to collect it. I know my people would share my sentiment if they were here.” She dipped her head in thanks, missing the blush that spread across your face at the action.

“It was no trouble at all, really! I hope you don’t mind but I did study it before hiding it away.” You nodded to the crude helmet she had found you swearing at when she had first entered. “As you can see, my attempts were less than successful. It’s like my father always said; If I could make armor the way I could make everything else, I would be far too dangerous.”

The Armorer silently agreed. If the display in the front of the shop was anything to go by, if you were able to make armor then you could potentially even give her a run for her credits.

“You are quite skilled in your craft. It would be a sight to see how you would interpret your own armor.”

“Rather poorly.” You laughed once again, and the Armorer found herself straining to hear its cheerful air, much to her own embarrassment.

It was time she left. She had gotten what she had come for, so there was no reason for her to stick around any longer. The more time she was away from the covert the more worried she became, mentally berating herself for being so ill-tempered and short sighted to have stormed here right away without thinking much of how the others would fare without her presence. Paz should keep a good handle on things, but it was still best not to be gone much longer.

Before she could excuse herself though, you had dropped the helmet you had previously been sourly glaring at and focused back on her, excitement evident as a bright gleam shone in your eyes. 

“You must have come quite a way to get here! Please, allow me to compensate you for having to come out to such a place.”

The Armorer tried to argue, to explain that it hadn't been a problem and that the beskar being back where it belonged was enough, but you wouldn’t listen, pushing her to the front of the store and practically demanding that she choose at least one of the items to take with her.

“They are all so well crafted. I could not even begin to know where to choose.”

Humming, you closed your eyes in thought before bounding back towards the forge, yelling over your shoulder for her to keep browsing while you went looking for something.

So she did, walking up and down and displays, taking in all the weapons and items as she duly noted that your leather work seemed to be just as good as your smithing if the wrapped handles and weapons holsters were anything to go by. Any choice that she made would make a fine addition to their armory, and Paz would be overjoyed with each item, though she made a mental note not to let him learn of your shop. The last thing she needed was him coming here and spending all the tribe’s money on your works, undoubtedly scarring you with his sheer size and gruffness as well.

It was in the middle of her browsing that a flash of color caught her eye. Many of the metals you worked with were the same shades of grey and black, even the occasional gold. But there, amongst the sea of cold steel in the display case, was the warmth of bronze. She moved closer despite knowing that nothing she would find there would be beneficial for the tribe. It was as if it were a magnet though, pulling her closer by the metal covering nearly every part of her.

The item was less flashy than those surrounding it, simple and to the point, if jewelry could be described that way. The charm was a small rectangle, no longer than an inch and less than a quarter of which thick. In elegant and delicately etched letters was the word ‘loyalty’. Nothing else.

“I never took you for someone to appreciate jewelry.”

She started, helmet looking up to see you coming back from your forge. In your hands was a cloth, wrapped around what could be anything.

“I was admiring the work. The detail is remarkably clean despite its size.”

“It's been here a while. Not many people come here looking for something other than weapons, and those who do usually want something a bit more eye catching. One of my favorite works though.”

Putting the item down, her attention turns to the bundle you’ve placed on the table. Carefully, you unwrap the fabric to reveal the blade underneath. The blade itself is silver, coming to a spearpoint tip without so much as a chip. It’s longer than a normal throwing knife but shorter than one would typically consider a dagger to be. 

“My own take on a vibroblade. Easier to throw but still small enough to be easily concealed.” You hold it out, prompting her to take it.

The handle fit in her palm like a glove, as if it were molded specifically for her. The weight was perfectly balanced, allowing her to switch into a reverse grip and back with ease. At just a glance she could tell that the ridge was perfectly straight, ensuring a smooth flight through the air to its target.

“From my own collection. I figured if a Mandalorian was going to use it, then nothing but my best work would suffice.” You took the blade back, wrapping and binding it before placing it in the chest alongside the armor.

“Your hospitality knows no bounds. I am glad our meeting can end on such terms.” 

Waving your hand, you brush away the compliment despite the burning of your cheeks. Something you blamed on the heat of the forge.

“It was the least I could do. If you’re ever out here again, don’t hesitate to stop by. It can get rather lonely out here.” The forlorn expression you took on despite your ever present smile pulled at something inside the Mandalorian. Something she had not felt in a long time.

“Though don’t expect another free weapon if you do. I have a business to run after all.”

“Of course.” She said, allowing you to lead her to the door, holding the fabric as she passed through.

The whole walk back, her mind was on you. Even after she had boarded her ship and set course for home, arriving much quicker than she expected, she was thinking of you. The fact that there were still those out there that thought of and revered her people as you had, it gave her hope that not all creatures in the universe were against them.

The others were eagerly waiting for her arrival when she returned, following as she made her way back to the forge where she would store the beskar until it was decided what to do with it.

“Did you kill them and take their weapon as well?” Paz questioned when she handed him the blade, immediately pulling it out to admire the item.

She didn’t answer, focused on putting away her haul and moving to clean up her space. Leaving so quickly had resulted in a cluttered mess for her to come back to, and she once again found herself cursing her temper. Traveling far distances was something she didn’t often do, and the experience had left her tired, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and rest. She had to make sure everything was in order before she did so though.

“What’s this?” 

She turned, facing Paz as he held something in between his large fingers. She walked closer, eyes locking on to the item with laser focus.

Its familiar bronze sheen shone with a new brightness in the dim light, the etched words now hardly visible. She didn’t know when you had snuck it in, nor how you had when she had been right there the entire time.

So, for the first time in years, the Armorer took something for herself.

Plucking the small charm from his hand, she dismissed him, pulling the shutters of her shop down and leaving her mind to wander back to you as she caressed the cool metal, which did nothing to dampen the sparking embers in her kar’ta beskar.

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In all honesty, you hadn’t been expecting the golden helmed Mandalorian to return to your shop. After nearly a month and a half of seeing not even the faintest glimpse of beskar you had given up hope of ever seeing her again. Sure, you were still hopeful, but when you entered your shop for some late night smithing and found the silent warrior leaning against the outside wall you nearly screamed. If it hadn’t been for the light of the flames reflecting off her helmet you wouldn’t have even realized she was there.

“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise. I don’t get visitors this late.’’

She tilted her head, gesturing for you to continue her work and decline the offer for a seat. Nothing more was said as you got to work, soon shedding your long sleeves in favor of the cool night air that flowed in from the open wall, exposing your toned arms to the Mandalorian. It was something you had always been proud of, the muscle earned from years of bending and forming metal with precise blows from your hammer.

After a few minutes of watching, the woman began moving about the shop, taking her time to inspect every inch of the workspace. Your previous encounter hadn’t left much time for her to admire it. Even though it was far less sophisticated and more worn than her own, she still felt a sense of familiarity within its heat, finding herself wondering if you would have a familiar feeling in hers. 

The thought was banished almost as quickly as it appeared. After all, an outsider not only entering the covert, but the armory as well? One of the most pivotal places of their people? Preposterous. She didn’t even know why she was here in the first place. One moment she was relaxing in a rare moment of peace she was allowed, and the next she was aboard her ship, coordinates for your shop already typed in.

From the corner of your vision, you watched as she approached your latest project; the same armor you had been working on for weeks. A warmth rose to your cheeks when you saw her inspecting it, picking up the helmet and rotating it between her hands. 

The visor had been fixed a significant amount, she noted, but it was still shaky at best. Both sides were still uneven as they dipped down into a point at the chin, and anyone who wore it would have the top of their heads pinched by the too shallow curve of the top.

“Your work has improved.” She noted, voicing it more to herself than anything.

“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I know it's not very good.”

“Not good no.” She admitted, setting the heavy helmet down and moving closer to where you were and setting every nerve on edge. “But there has been improvement, which shows that you’re learning.’’

Watching as you bent a thin metal pipe into shape, sparks flying everywhere as you didn’t even flinch when they landed on bare skin, then quenching it before moving over to your workbench and beginning to assemble it with an array of other items. She admired the speed and confidence with which you worked. Leaning against the wall, she watched as the weapon began to take shape under your hands.

Hours later, you were finished, a new blaster sitting before you. Just as beautiful and dangerous as the ones out front, with intricate vines crawling up the hilt and along the barrel, soldered on by your skillful hands before her very eyes.

“So, what can I help you with?” Turning towards the Armorer, you were surprised at how close she had gotten since you started, now almost touching and forcing you to crane your neck back to look her in the face.

“As much as I enjoy the company, I doubt you would come here without a reason.”

She remains silent for a moment, simply staring back at your smiling face before reaching around you to pick up the newly constructed blaster. The soft leather of her arm brushed your skin, and your nose picked up the familiar scent of forge iron from her gloves, causing your breath to catch in your throat as she turned the weapon in her hands.

“I have a proposition for you.” Her visor locked onto you, and despite the slight shiver of fear you couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

“You will make weapons for my people and repair any that need it. Should we need it, we will park our ships in your space and you will pick up anything we can not.”

Your brows rose as she rattled off the list. Though you would be glad to do anything involving the warriors, just for the simple fact of being able to see them up and close, you still had to question why she would choose you. There was no reason for them to trust you, even if you had returned the armor.

The Armorer took it a different way, thinking you were expecting a form of payment for your work, which only made sense.

“Of course, your efforts will be compensated. Should you ever need passage or protection, we would be more than willing to offer aid.” She reached into her pocket, retrieving a small device that she held out. Upon taking it, you discovered there were only two buttons on the disk. It might look like random scrap metal to someone else, but your trained mind recognized it as an old communications device. 

“Press the blue when items are done or you request a meeting. The green is for emergencies only. Life or death situations.” You nodded, turning to tuck the device on a higher shelf where it would be within reach but not have the risk of being accidentally pressed, and somewhat hidden should any unwelcome guest find their way back here.

“And,” she hesitated a moment, unsure of her next words. With just one visit, you had managed to lower the carefully raised walls she had constructed, penetrating its defenses in a way not even her own people had. But now, here with you in the peace of the forge, her tongue was loose and brain foggy, as if the heat was melting away every shred of common sense and survival instinct she had carefully honed.

“I will teach you how to make armor. One that will protect you. Under my guide as the Armorer of my tribe it will be nothing less than perfect. Though you must swear to never trade or sell it.”

Your eyes widened a fraction at her words, hardly believing what she had just said. Not only had you just learned a new fact about the stoic woman, that she was a smith just as yourself, but she was offering to teach you how to make some of the best armor in the galaxy. No, the universe.

“It...it would be an honor.” You tilted your head down in respect, only to have her leather clad gloves grab your chin, the worn material forcing your gaze up to meet hers. Though there was no way for you to truly see her eyes, you could almost feel the flames burning within them.

“Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.” 

__________________________________________________

If you had thought that your father had been harsh when he was first teaching you how to smith, then he had graced you with a mother’s love in comparison to the Armorer, a name she had given you to call her after multiple visits.

“It just feels kind of cold to keep calling you Mandalorian, especially with all the time we spend together.” You had told her when she questioned why you asked. There were other reasons too, namely being that she had her own name for you. Instead of calling you by the name you had given her, she had taken to calling you ‘goron’ or ‘tracinya’, in that unknown language of hers. You could only hope they weren’t insults.

She visited once a month, always arriving just before dusk and leaving at dawn, two to three weapons heavier and the occasional small trinket you had made between meetings. All night you would be bent over your forge under her watchful gaze, correcting your technique and giving the occasional tip when you were struggling more than normal.

At the end of the night you would offer your work to be inspected, glowing at any praise only to deflate with every critique, and she was nothing if not someone who was unafraid to express her opinion.

The entire time you talked with one another. Well, you did most of the talking, but it still felt nice to have someone other than the stray loth cat listen to your ramblings.

Every once in a while she would answer one question or another, though she never divulged too much information on her own tribe, apart from mentioning another Mandalorian in passing or treating you with one of her occasional stories from the covert. You respected her wishes nonetheless, and as much as you wanted to ask her about everything you resigned yourself to the fact that she would only tell you what she wanted you to know. Mandalorians were still very much sought after prizes, and the secrecy would only make sense, as it ensured their survival.

She also never picked up a tool, as much as you wanted to see her work. Her instructions were always verbal, with the occasional instance where she would place her hands over yours, moving them the correct way and never failing to send your cheeks ablaze. Thankfully you could blame the color on the heat of the flames and not your own growing feelings. Those were a different issue entirely.

You don’t know when it started, almost like it had always been there, building until they attacked with a snap. The fact of the matter was that you harbored feelings for the armored woman, and you couldn’t deny them, no matter how much you tried to push them down. Alone for the most part, she was the only person to regularly visit your empty residence. Ever since your father had died and left you the successor of his forge, both the shop itself and the small living quarters behind it had felt empty, haunted by his memories that couldn’t be chased away with any amount of plants you bought or how much time you spent working. 

The first time she had accepted your invitation for a drink after much begging was the first time the space felt complete in ages, though she simply sat on one of the only two chairs in the living room, drink remaining untouched in her hand.

You were content hiding your feelings. As long as it meant that she would come around, you would do anything. Though you feared your meetings may soon come to an end. While you were overjoyed with the progress you had made over the months, constructing enough armor for a single arm and leg, as well as a chest plate. Not much longer and you would have your armor complete, and her reason for coming around would be gone. No longer would she need to teach you, and there was no reason she couldn’t send someone else from the covert to collect weapons and drop off items for repair once a month. You remember her mentioning how their top heavy infantry warrior had asked to meet you, and as interested as you were in meeting other Mandalorians you didn’t want it to be at the expense of seeing her.

“What’s got you so distracted tonight, tracinya’ika?” she asked after you dropped your current project, a shoulder pauldron, for the third time that night.

“Nothing!” You managed to squeak out, only to feel her familiar presence behind you, growing closer until you felt her brush against your back, making you spin around only to be pinned against your forge. The heat burned your back, hardly noticed by your brain as you processed how close she was standing now, arms on either side of your body and helmet tilted to look you in the eye. 

“Tell me.” Her voice crooned, smooth even through the modulators and nearly causing your knees to give out.

Swallowing thickly, you struggled to get the words out.

“When...when you're done teaching me, will I ever see you again?” It sounded stupid to say it out loud. Needy, like a child wanting their mother. It made you feel foolish, believing she surely thought you weak and helpless now.

You were prepared for her to laugh or scoff, to chastise you for how foolish you were being about such emotional connections. 

She did none of those.

“Ni tracinya, as long as you still desire my presence, I will come. Until you give the word, and even after, our destiny will be intertwined.”

You didn’t, couldn’t, say anything after that. It was as if she had stolen every thought from your head, every word from your mouth, leaving you nothing but a gaping fool, staring at the powerful warrior before you as the sound of the spotted owls filtered in through the open wall from the cool night air beyond.

It was the Armorer who finally broke the trance, stepping back and pausing for a moment before collecting the prepackaged weapons from the table. She said nothing as she left, heading back hours before the sun had even begun to rise and leaving you with nothing to do but stare after her, wondering what you had done wrong.

Unbeknownst to you, the cause of the Armorers swift exit had not been your fault, but her own. The entire way back to the covert she berated herself for how foolishly she had acted, allowing her body to move before her mind yet again, putting you in a compromising position. Even while berating herself, the memory of being so close to you stuck in her mind. The way your hair stuck to your damp skin, practically glowing in the light of the flames as you stared up with large, innocent eyes.

She had wanted to take you into her arms then and there. Her kind hearted little smith. So gentle and warm despite the rough profession and living conditions in which you found yourself in. It made her feel all the more guilty about having allowed herself to grow so attached to you, bringing along all the dangers that came with being associated with a Mandalorian as well as the knowledge she provided.

With each visit the feeling only grew, and by this point her draw to protect you as she would one of her tribe was just as strong. You were a weakness. A chink in her armor that she would allow none to exploit. 

Unfortunately, she was just one Mandalorian, and there was a limit to her strength, as she would soon find out.

_______________________________

It had been a week since your last meeting with the Armorer. The way she had practically sprinted out played on repeat in your head, reviewing every second leading up until then in search of what you could have possibly done. Yet no matter what angle you looked at it from, you always drew a blank.

Well, what else were you expecting from a Mandalorian. As skilled as they were apt to run off without an explanation. On to whatever adventure was next. You could only hope that she would have some explanation the next time.

‘Or at least the decency to apologize for being rude.’ you huffed, slamming the door to the cupboard after retrieving a cup. You settled down with a mug of warm bantha milk and honey, still fuming. Hopeful a bit of reading would calm your nerves for now, ignited every time you thought back on the encounter. Hopefully you would be calm enough not to give her an earful when you saw her.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the only source of sound as you skimmed through the pages of the novel you had picked up. A cheesy romance that you wouldn’t be caught dead reading in public, highlighting a lowly dancer attracting the attention of a bounty hunter who bought them for their own operations, only for the two to inevitably fall in love.

The rough and brash nature of the bounty hunter in the story reminded you of your own Armored crush, and you found yourself daydreaming more than reading as you finished off your drink. 

If only real life could be like that. You were all too aware of how unlikely it was though. Such a warrior could never have feelings for a simple smith like yourself, no matter how much she admired your works. 

Still, there was no harm in dreaming, right?

That’s exactly what you allowed yourself to do, curled up on the seat with the book drooping just as low as your eyes. The warmth of the fire and a stomach full of warm bantha milk only helped the progression of sleep along, lulling you into a sense of security as the light humming outside grew.

That’s how the first shock wave found you, knocking you from content to the floor as it rattled the entire shop.

You scrambled to your knees, dazed and confused, unable to make sense of what had just happened before the next hit. This was much closer, rattling the windows and knocking items from the walls. Even from here you could hear the sound of metal clanging as weapons and trinkets were thrown from their shelves.

Above the ringing, just barely, you processed the sound of fighters as they blazed overhead.

The Empire, you realized with a chill. You had heard rumors of them doing this, decimating entire towns and villages in the dead of night while everyone slept. That was only for those who were suspected of housing rebels or acting as supply lines though! The most you ever got out here was the occasional ship stopping to refuel or gather supplies, which was done so quickly and infrequently you wouldn’t even know they had been here.

Now wasn’t the time to question why you had been targeted. Now was the time to act.

Stumbling to your feet, you ran to the only option of help you had. The shock wave of each sending another small tremor through the ground and causing you to stumble as dust rained down from the ceiling. Dimly, you could hear the shouts of the village as those still alive realized what was happening.

The transmission disk sat in the same place it always was, thankfully not knocked to the floor and hidden in one of the many small crevices of your now disastrous shop. Tools and metals of all types lay scattered about, creating a minefield across the floor for you to navigate and attempt to not trip.

She was the only one that could help you. There were no friends, no family. No one who visited outside of her. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting her to do. Take you to another planet that the Empire hadn’t marked for destruction? But what would you do once you got there. Your skills were that of a blacksmith. Even if she helped you to escape for now and come back, who would be left for you to sell to? As much as the thought of abandoning the forge you had grown up in hurt, there would be no profit in staying. If there was any place to stay at that is.

Still, you ripped the item from its shelf, frantically pressing the ill-fated green button and watching as a loading signal popped up. It jumped in small increments at an agonizingly slow pace, leaving you to watch helplessly as the distress signal transmitted.

Amidst the chaos and adrenaline, a flash caught your eye.

The armor you had been working on for the past few months sat openly displayed on the worktable, left over from when you had been tinkering with it earlier. It wasn’t yet finished, but there was no time better than now to test it out. They might have tie fighters in the sky, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any troops on the ground to ensure there were no survivors, and there was no way in hell you were going out without a fight.

So, while the message continued loading, you stumbled over and yanked on the equipment, cursing each time your hands fumbled with a strap or you dropped a piece. By the time you managed to get all of what you had finished on, as well as the half-worked pauldron and grabbing the closest weapon, the bar had only reached seventy two percent.

You watched with bated breath as it continued to climb, praying to the maker for it to finish already. You didn’t know how far away the Armorer was, but hopefully she would get here in time. To give your body a proper burial and out of the reach of scavengers if nothing else.

You never got to see it finish.

The agonizingly loud and now familiar scream of fighters your only warning before they unload their ammunition onto your home. It fell apart like paper, no match against the green energy beams as they took out whole sections of the ceiling and walls.

A flash of light, stars from the night sky now peering down from the open ceiling, before you were buried under the rubble. It pressed down with seemingly the weight of a moon, forcing every ounce of air from your lungs and preventing nearly any oxygen from entering as you desperately tried to pull in more air, only to choke on the thick dust that permeated and covered everything. Every movement brought a fresh wave of agony tearing through your body, and you could taste iron in the back of your throat. A sign of internal bleeding, if the stabbing pain in your side wasn’t enough. Your unarmored arm also hung limp and uselessly. Broken.

The chunk of rock that currently pinned and left you defenseless  was far too heavy to move with both arms, let alone one, leaving you scrambling nowhere to get out. The very building that had protected and provided you shelter, a place to work and thrive, had turned into your own personal death trap.

It was getting harder and harder to breath. Your movements became slower and weaker with every move until, finally, they slowed to a stop, left weakly grasping at the rubble around you. Everything had now gone silent. Not even the sound of fighter jets could be heard.

You were completely, utterly, alone. That’s how you were going to die.

Alone.

No tears escaped as you set your jaw, accepting your grim fate. You had no regrets in life. None that could be rectified by living any longer anyways. You had created a great deal of beautiful and skillful items. Whoever happened to stumble upon your shop's ruins would surely have themselves a treasure trove. 

The one thing you found yourself wishing was that there would be someone to mourn you when you were gone. To look upon memories and smile with fondness as you had with your own father’s passing.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Your name would fade into nothing, just as insignificant and unknown as a shout into the empty space of the stars above. Stars that you would never be able to see.

It became darker, black spots dancing across the edges of your vision and growing. With one last shuddering breath, your body gave out, succumbing to its injuries as your consciousness faded.

Mere feet away from your impromptu crypt, the cracked yet unbroken transmitter blinked weakly. Two words flash and flicker across its screen. 

‘Message Sent’

___________

Mandoa translations (Roughly. I did my best)

Baskar-armor

goron-blacksmith/metalworker

Ni kar'taylir gar will not disappoint ni, ni goron.- “I know you will not disappoint me, my blacksmith.”

kar’ta beskar.- Iron heart, center of their chest armor

Karyai- gathering place for relaxation/eating, center of the home

Tracinya-flame

Ika-little

[headgehug]

So I reached the timeskip in Dimitri's route and let me say this: those new outfits are *not* it. what the hell happened. ashe went from hella cute to just hellish. Some are just fine but I don't think there's any design I actively appreciate... at least they're all more interesting than the GD cast. except for Mercedes who so far has just been There. I'm also very sad at how my boy Randolph is done dirty in every route apparently. Little guy just wants to be hot and survive, ends up becoming canon fodder because we need Deaths™. At first Dimitri was going to spare him for a bit to ~play with him~ (suggestive look, yes I vaguely wrote a few sentences of that) but then Byleth was like "stfu" and decided to be even more bloodthirsty than Dimitri. chill girl.

At least I finally got Rodrigue on my team! Can't wait for him to die because he has difficult relationships with the cast and wants to repent. So he'll die, probably sacrifice himself or something. ugh

god I was looking at the timeskip designs and got reminded of how hot Hubert suddenly became, and I'm sad that he's only available in one route because he's such a great character.

I ended up recruiting Alois and his supports with Gilbert are nice! I ship them (of course i do). also recruited Cyril because he's adorable and a beast. I have Manuelle and I don't ever remember recruiting her but even though as a unit she's uninteresting, she got 2 Funny Footsteps supports in succession so she's actually great.

I love Edelgard in this route though, Dimitri's like "i'm gonna fuck you up" and she's just ":(" and like. hmph. the angst! It's so obvious she sees the war as the only solution but isn't happy about it. Like I can see why people would flat out hate/not care about her if they only did Verdant Wind, but even Azure Moon makes it pretty clear she's not just a bloodthirsty dictator. girl just wants to stop inequalities which, good for her. good for her!

But Byleth is so weird, like they seem chill most of the time but then suddenly they execute in cold-blood Randolph (AM) or Edelgard (VW), they're so inconsistent. One moment you relate to them and the next you're like "???????"

People can rage on Corrin from Fates all they want but at least Corrin insisted on not killing anyone (...the Gameplay/Story Separation is not great but still). Well Corrin is also a teen/young adult with an actual past and situation while Byleth is just There. so it's weird then that people can actually form relationships with Byleth when they're essentially just... answering what people want to hear.

anyway my opinion on Dimitri is that his haircut still sucks but his outfit... remove the cape and we got something. The route is much more interesting than VW. Also I really like Gilbert. and his relationship with Annette!!!!

see my main issue with FE3H is that it actually isn't wordy enough. there's no elaboration on a ton of things. For example, Gilbert and Annette's paralogue doesn't explicitly say that the two of them can't move, or they'll be attacked. Annette's uncle just says sth like "I can't let you take the sacred weapon" and that's it. there's just one or two lines missing!! and it's the same everywhere! reactions to Sylvain's brother dying? pretty much nothing! Lonato's uprising? Catherine kills him instead of asking what the fuck actually happened. the Death Knight? his identity isn't even clear unless you do Edelgard's route and that's only after an update. a lot of things don't pack nearly enough punch because they needed more scenes. Tomas is Solon? Seteth's like "okay, we don't know why, since when, and we don't really care." There's such a lack of elaboration on *everything*!!!! And I say this when Fates's continent isn't even named! I'm not interested in lore but I *am* interested in interpersonal and conflictual relationships, but if the game doesn't give me enough food to chew on, how am I supposed to be satisfied?

(by the way in this playthrough I defeated the Death Knight everytime, it was fun!)

anyway it was just ramblings and opinions and stuff. I also tried a quick Claude-only run and realized the game isn't made for that lmao (sth sth "Claude isn't available in this chapter" "Byleth is forced to come too")

can't disagree with you on any points! I love fe3h but it def could have more elaboration on all the characters. certainly it's hard with just have how many there are. also I love byleth bc they are so morally dubious lol. I guess people say they seem like a blank character vs like Ephraim, Roy, etc, main characters who were fully fleshed out? but Byleth is what I would be like in that world, blank expression, quiet, just making my own damn decisions because I'm somehow better than everyone lol. btw if anyone could solo a run it would be Claude. bc I get bored of wyvern rider Claude sometimes I like to make him an assassin with allll the movement speed.

[dramionediscussion]

I have a concern about Dramione fandom, which has been slightly troubling me lately. I am not saying that this is something that is going to happen, or is happening already. Naturally, I don’t think this is entirely unfounded either (hence why I am writing this), but I am just one Dramione shipper. If this doesn’t resonate at all, that’s totally fine! We are all aware of extremely boorish and fatuous anti-Dramione people, who troll, defame and accuse Dramione of being all sort of things. We are also probably all quite familiar with their claims about the ship and its shippers. You know, Dramione promotes racism, sexism, classism, unhealthy and abusive relationships, it’s all about bashing Ron, it’s just cuz actors are hot, we should all pay homage and tribute to canon relationships (and their shippers naturally), and offer respect and fawn over everything “canonical” for gracing us with all this HP bounty, and so on. This time I am not going to try to offer rebuttals, or deconstruct their arguments, or even psychoanalyze them more than absolutely necessarily. I am not even particularly upset about them (anymore). They are categorically wrong, their arguments are never insightful or thoughtful. Most importantly, they are disingenuous in their argumentation and especially about their own motives. I believe, the best course is ignore them totally. What I am afraid, that these endless arguments, relentless belittling, and even harassment of which they never seem to grow tired off actually might change Dramione shippers and community as well. Not in a conscious way, but constantly being on a defense can make people internalize some of these arguments. Or rather their premises and assumptions on which they are based upon. I don’t mean it, that Dramione shippers will suddenly wake up, and shout out that Dramione was actually all about abusing women all along, or anything like that. What I mean is, that people rather internalize certain assumptions, framing and logic chains, which are build into those arguments. In a defense, they start define what Dramione really means, what is ideal Dramione, what is acceptable or desirable in Dramione fics, in accordance of these attacks, by unconsciously defending their ship from slander. As an example, Romione people constantly accuse that Dramione is either all about mindless “Ron bashing”, and Dramione shippers rightly say that it’s not what Dramione is about at all. What I am afraid, that people might internalize the point, that “Ronbashing” is something truly heinous, and what should be avoided at all cost. And as a corollary to that, ideal Dramione fics are those in which there’s no conflicts between Ron, Draco and Hermione. Or the very least they are resolved in a conciliatory and harmonious manner. Or it is lazy Dramione writing, when Ron is “villainized”. Or another thing they say is, that Dramione just about glorifying and eroticizing abusive relationships. This might lead that some of us accept the framing, that describing or narrating something is totally same as promoting and celebrating it. If they accept it, then it’s quite easy to logically infer, that if Dramione is not defined by Draco abusing Hermione (it’s not), then it must be defined negatively as its opposite. Meaning that something cannot be genuine or accepted Dramione, if it contains an abusive Draco. Or as an induction from that, if a fic has an abusive Draco, it also must contain a redemption arc, and Draco has to change and make amends, and redeem himself as a person. That we start to define Dramione being really about redemption or redeeming, forgiveness, changing oneself for the better, etc (as contrary to their claim that its about abuse). Don’t get me wrong, I’d say the majority of Dramione fics contain a redemption story arc, and Draco either has changed or actively changes his views and behavior. It’s a common and wonderful theme, and almost all my favorite Dramione fics have those, and I like just for its own skae. Yet it’s not something what either makes or unmakes Dramione. There’s a minority of fics, in which Draco is never truly redeemed (usually a lust-filled obsession, with many many cognitive dissonances, which he never solves), and they are as Dramione as anything else, and some people enjoy writing them and some people reading them (or at least some of them). Also, a lot of gray areas, which can be quite delightful, thought inspiring and invigorating (and hot!).  Speaking for myself, I’d say maybe 1/20 of my favorite fics have this dynamic or something close to it. Maybe 33% are more in that gray area. It doesn’t do any harm, there’s nothing ethnically wrong about it, I never idolize that behavior. If Romione stans have problem with that, they can go away, cry and tell that Rupert Grint body pillow all their troubles, because I don’t give a damn. People don’t emulate or model their behavior or preferences from YA fanfics or smut in that sense in any significant numbers. If someone does, I am sorry to say, but you probably weren’t going to make it anyway. It’s the irl version of getting a comedy death in a video game, like if a smarter-than-average mushroom hypnotizes you and makes you walk into a bottomless pit, or something like that. Your problems are deep seated and numerous, which unless dealt with, will be triggered by just about anything. Its pure happenstance whether it will be Harlequin novels, Dramione fanfiction, urban legend your cousin told you, or whatever. This could go on, but seriously, Dramione shippers have nothing to prove or even argue with those antis. It’s just bottomless pit of resentment, what they twist into moral arguments, which they think will signify us as the worst kind of people, and they themselves as the most virtuous. Their antipathies are petty and personal concerns, in which they feel like the universe and the abominable cabal of Dramione shippers have cheated them out of all that attention, writers, fans, fics, and deference they feel entitled to. It’s natural for humans to cloak often even most pettiest and nonsensical slights and resentments into whatever moral or ethical language and arguments the society they live holds sacred. If we would be living in the 1600s, they’d be scouring the Bible for anti-Dramione arguments, and denouncing Dramione as unchristian and sinful. By their stated “moral standards”, there are a lot more “vile” and “harmful” ships out there, but they aren’t functionally bothered by them at all. So, unless really prompted, they don’t even bother to denounce them, little alone wage this never-ending crusade against them. That’s because they aren’t popular enough to trigger that envy and resentment (Hermione with basically any of the worst Death Eaters). Or they feel that they don’t compete in the same niche as their ship does (Drarry as an example). I wouldn’t be writing this, if this discourse with Antis hadn’t affected me as well. There was a time, I wanted to understand what they were about, and I read a lot of their grievances and internal discussions. While reading I couldn’t help but to be on a defense all the time. Sort of refuting and counter-arguing against their points in my mind, while reading their diatribes (I tried to start a dialog couple of times, but I was always totally ignored, which I am thankful for them in retrospect). Conditioning myself with that for long enough, I did notice that I started to feel a bit hesitant about certain tropes and Dramione fics I hadn’t before. I was thinking about Dramione like a defense attorney, excepting to be attacked from all directions. It actually took me quite long to figure this out, and how the bile of HP fandom had in subtle ways affected my sense and tastes without my really noticing.

Anonymous submitted: P.S. I wrote that previous submission, and I have to add, that I am not trying to say this is happening or pointing any fingers at anybody. There’s perfectly good reasons to not like any Dramione fic, as a Dramione shipper, in which Draco is irredeemable or evil. There’s perfectly legitimate reasons to prefer fics, which Ron is portrayed as a positive influence for Dramione. People can arrive to same conclusions or tastes from countless different routes and reasons. The negativity that the HP fandom and Romione shippers especially grace us just got to me in a way, that I wasn’t even cognizant about. It might be the case for others as well, if their own self-reflection so deems (or not).

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

I agree with every point you’ve made. While it’s obviously okay to discuss why you like Dramione (or any other pairing), people also need to remember that they don’t have to justify why they ship Draco and Hermione together or prove (especially to haters as they’re not worth anyone’s time) that their OTP makes sense because even if it makes no sense whatsoever, it’s still fine to ship it as long as you can differentiate between fantasy and reality. I don’t know about you, but when I started shipping Dramione, it was like love at first sight. I didn’t think if they made sense, didn’t spend hours trying to make a list of arguments for Dramione, I just suddenly loved the idea of them together, believed they belonged together, and that was and still is enough. I don’t need to justify why I ship them, and neither does anyone.

It’s true that in most Dramione fics, Draco gets redeemed. It’s also true that most shippers prefer fics in which Draco gets a redemption arc, but we have to remember that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying fics in which Draco’s irredeemable or his relationship with Hermione is toxic. I myself read such stories from time to time. I like a good Ron bashing fic every now and then as well, and there’s nothing wrong with that either because it’s all fantasy, it’s all fiction, which, I believe, most Dramione shippers are aware of and accept. Hopefully, it won’t change, and no one will ever try to tell others what should and shouldn’t be written or what is and what’s not allowed in a Dramione fic.

- AgnMag

[mistaeq]

steel ball run squad: what if they had a pokémon team?

continue at your own risk. i love to mix my biggest passions ♥︎

contains: johnny joestar, gyro zeppeli, diego brando, hot pants, funny valentine

johnny joestar

sandslash: it can roll up its body as if it were a ball covered with large spikes. in battle, this pokémon will try to make the foe flinch by jabbing it with its spines. it then leaps at the stunned foe to tear wildly with its sharp claws.

starmie: starmie swims through water by spinning its star-shaped body as if it were a propeller on a ship. the core at the center of this pokémon's body glows in seven colors.

kabutops: with sharp claws, this ferocious, ancient pokémon rips apart prey and sucks their body fluids. in the water, it tucks in its limbs to become more compact, then it wiggles its shell to swim fast.

zangoose: it usually stays on all fours, but when angered, it gets up on its hind legs and extends its claws. this pokémon shares a bitter rivalry with seviper that dates back over generations.

metagross: it has four brains in total. combined, the four brains can breeze through difficult calculations faster than a supercomputer. this pokémon can float in the air by tucking in its four legs.

golisopod: it will do anything to win, taking advantage of every opening and finishing opponents off with the small claws on its front legs.

gyro zeppeli

poliwrath: its highly developed, brawny muscles never grow fatigued, however much it exercises. it is so tirelessly strong, this pokémon can swim back and forth across the pacific ocean without effort.

rapidash: it usually can be seen casually cantering in the fields and plains. however, when this pokémon turns serious, its fiery manes flare and blaze as it gallops its way up to 150 mph.

ursaring: in the forests inhabited by ursaring, it is said that there are many streams and towering trees where they gather food. this pokémon walks through its forest gathering food every day.

spinda: no two spinda are said to have identical spot patterns on their hides. this pokémon moves in a curious manner as if it is stumbling in dizziness. its lurching movements can cause the opponent to become confused.

mudsdale: it can trudge mountain roads without rest for three days and three nights. mudsdale has so much stamina that it could carry over 10 tons across the region without rest or sleep.

dubwool: weave a carpet from its springy wool, and you end up with something closer to a trampoline. you'll start to bounce the moment you set foot on it.

diego brando

tyrantrum: thanks to its gargantuan jaws, which could shred thick metal plates as if they were paper, it was invincible in the ancient world it once inhabited.

amaura: an aurorus was found frozen solid within a glacier, just as it appeared long ago, which became quite a big event in the news. using its diamond-shaped crystals, it can instantly create a wall of ice to block an opponent's attack.

aerodactyl: aerodactyl is a pokémon from the age of dinosaurs. it was regenerated from genetic material extracted from amber. it is imagined to have been the king of the skies in ancient times.

kommo-o: its rigid scales function as offense and defense. in the past, its scales were processed and used to make weapons and other commodities.

bastiodon: while it can guard against any sort of attack from the front, it is left without recourse when attacked from behind. this pokémon is from roughly 100 million years ago. its terrifyingly tough face is harder than steel.

archeops: it needs a running start to take off. if archeops wants to fly, it first needs to run nearly 25 mph, building speed over a course of about 2.5 miles. though capable of flight, it was apparently better at hunting on the ground.

hot pants

ditto: it rearranges its cell structure to transform itself into other shapes. however, if it tries to transform itself into something by relying on its memory, this pokémon manages to get details wrong.

salazzle: filled with pheromones, its poisonous gas can be diluted to use in the production of luscious perfumes. it punishes salandit that couldn't bring it food with a fierce slap of its flame-spewing palm.

mienshao: when it comes across a truly challenging opponent, it will lighten itself by biting off the fur on its arms. delivered at blinding speeds, kicks from this pokémon can shatter massive boulders into tiny pieces.

tsareena: its long, striking legs aren't just for show but to be used to kick with skill. in victory, it shows off by kicking the defeated, laughing boisterously.

masquerain: it intimidates enemies with the eyelike patterns on its antennas. this pokémon flaps its four wings to freely fly in any direction - even sideways and backwards - as if it were a helicopter.

kecleon: it alters its body coloration to blend in with its surroundings, allowing it to sneak up on its prey unnoticed. then it lashes out with its long, stretchy tongue to instantly ensnare the unsuspecting target.

funny valentine

ninetales: legend has it that ninetales came into being when nine wizards possessing sacred powers merged into one. this pokémon is highly intelligent — it can understand human speech.

milotic: it lives at the bottom of large lakes. when this pokémon's body glows a vivid pink, it releases a pulsing wave of energy that brings soothing calm to troubled hearts.

silvally: through the bond it formed with its trainer, its will was strengthened, and it was able to destroy its control mask. upon awakening, its system is activated. by employing specific memories, this pokémon can adapt its type to confound its enemies.

malamar: it lures prey close with hypnotic motions, then wraps its tentacles around it before finishing it off with digestive fluids.

gardevoir: it has the psychokinetic power to distort the dimensions and create a small black hole. this pokémon will try to protect its trainer even at the risk of its own life.

lurantis: it fires beams from its sickle-shaped petals. these beams are powerful enough to cleave through thick metal plates. for self-protection, it pretends to be a bug pokémon. both of its arms bear keen-edged petals.

[onewomancitadel]

On kisses

This isn't an incredibly well-laid out post (I say, in the process of writing the first line) but I was thinking about the necessity of A Kiss to flag a romance and how that communicates that a Romance is present to General Audiences who are less familiar with romantic conventions. I was thinking about it in the context of a ship I'm very familiar with (an M/F ship, Reylo) and Blake/Yang.

I've seen fandom speculation that BB is 'not canon', or that the creators are craven because they've not given them A Kiss yet, which is both an affront to acknowledging the couple (and an F/F one at that) and also extending the slow-burn which leads people to not recognise there is a real romance happening there.

So, there are a few things I was considering, mostly because - well, straight up - the other confirmed canon M/F relationship in the show, Ren/Nora, which has developed for about the same time as BB, has had roughly similar development, and the Kiss in V7 was actually a type of death knell for the relationship (and premature at that) alike to the Jaune/Pyrrha kiss. Inside R/WBY canon, it seems like taking your time is actually a sign of good portents.

That's reasonable, but it's not necessarily satisfying. But romance - good romance - is much more than a kiss signifying confirmation of the relationship, and in fact the reason why I find BB the most compelling ship other than my pet ship (... need I say it and distract the point of this post) is that the romantic drama in V6 surrounding the Adam fight is like the most romantic the show has ever been. It's high-drama, it's high-stakes, it's got promises broken and made, it's the dramatic setting, Yang uses her Semblance for the first time in ages! (integrating the anima!!!), and they clutch each other tenderly and Blake makes a vow.

As a small aside - and I'm not totally certain how exact it is here - the bull sacrifice of Adam is actually a type of sacred marriage according to Campbellian storytelling... so there is real mythic stuff being realised with the relationship in this sequence, that's part of why I love it so much.

Anyway, sort of my point is that I think that a) R/WBY has demonstrated it can do good tense romantic beats without being cheap, like a lot of bog-standard shitty romance shoehorned into action flicks or whathaveyou and b) if you can't see that whole sequence is so romantic I recommend reading some romance books and c) a kiss is obviously going to happen like it is definitely going to happen but kisses need to be turned into kisses of True Love, not Kisses of Death.

My most significant point, d), is that BB will actually really begin to develop even more if/when Raven turns up and is redeemed, once Yang fully integrates the Shadow (literally a type of integration - Raven is reintegrated into the community).

I mentioned Reylo for a reason. Reylo got a kiss in The Rise of Skywalker, a film that's only universally resonant because it was universally perceived as cinematically poor. Sure, that also led to its subsequent immense activity on AO3 (it was the most active M/F ship tag on AO3 for the fandom year of 2020, more than post-TLJ) but on the other hand there were also commentators very insistent it (a mouth-to-mouth, romantic kiss) was:

a kiss to a sibling (Rey adopted by the Skywalkers)

a friendly kiss

a kiss of gratitude

and all three of these constituted, of course, a lack of romance. Nevermind people denying the romance in TLJ: that's another lesson on the lack of understanding romance.

My point here is that people will wilfully misinterpret a text and twist it to their own end if they want to. This happened with a straight ship and at that a very popular ship (albeit controversial, hence the denial) - it's not what you would necessarily expect!

Whilst I do think it's very important to convey that a romance is textual when you intend it to be textual - that is to say, I think whatever standards M/F relationships in R/WBY are held to, in terms of hand holding or kissing, equally F/F, M/M, or X/X etc., should get to experience the same narrative treatment. On the other hand, BB is, it seems like at present, a pretty steady relationship, though Ren and Nora taking time apart from each other isn't framed like a bad thing!

I do however also think that BB are due for a conversation soon in V9, which will probably happen given the topic of Adam and Penny intersecting and maybe even a Raven with a Summer, so we shall see. Just because R/WBY may intend the slow-burn romances to be more stable or more successful, equally, they may not be totally satisfying. But on the other hand, there has been very meaningful development not traditionally recognised by many audiences as Romance, when that really does count as Romance-romance.

For that matter, it's probably reasonable to say - that big moment you're pointing to is from V6! I think the reunion in V8 was sweet, and the way they steadfastly supported each other in V7 was too, and as an ensemble show and at that the staggering of volumes means development is sometimes weighted more or less for others (notice V5/V6 is when BB is bigger, RN gets some of V7/V8). So, again, I think on this front it's reasonable to expect more development still.

There are people who may wilfully interpret the relationship or choose to stick to their homophobic (unfortunately) interpretation whether there is a kiss yet or not. So, I find it more meaningful to identify what R/WBY is trying to do thematically (slow-burn!), and I think storytellers should commit to the story they're telling. It is, however, always important to think about representation, sensitivity reading, etc., and I'm not saying not to be mindful of that - but rather that I enjoy the Romance-romance we've had so far with BB, which isn't just a checkbox of romance seen in other media - one of which is, quite rightly, a kiss, but I think they're working towards it.

But, if I had to pick a relationship which turned kisses in the show back into True Love's Kiss it would probably be BB.

[androidtwin]

Let’s go with sterek and #15 please?

15. “If we die, I’m going to kill you.”

In his defense, Stiles hadn’t been looking for anything...actively. He was trying his very best to mind his own business and make it to his destination in one piece. Sadly, he was Stiles Stilinski: Human Magnet of Chaos.

Which is why he was huddled behind metal drums in a ship dock in Virginia, instead of the most likely expensive restaurant, Derek had booked for their date.

“Come on! This is one of my nice shirts, man. It’s tailored and everything!” And to think he almost got away scot-free. His service gun is the locker back at the office, but he carries his special piece and has an extra clip with the special compound Lydia made exclusively for Chris. No matter, because right now he is trapped between a steel drum and a group of zealots.

Stiles is looking for an opening, to shoot or run, call for back-up maybe, that’s when he hears it. The revving of an engine, he sighs, of course! The hunters are scattering, there are still some surrounding him but they’ve gone to investigate closer to the entrance, where smaller vessels are docked.

The cold snout against the back of his neck makes him jump, but he turns to face the icy blue eyes of a full fledge wolf. “Derek, why are you here?”

The wolf just huffs and pokes him in the chest this time. He wants to apologize for this, but in all honesty, it wasn’t his fault. He moves, gun at ready, more willing to shoot them into unconsciousness now that Derek is here. The engine is still revving in the distance and Stiles uses his momentary reprieve to duck around the shipping containers. Derek in wolf form by his side. “Look, I even wore that shirt, you like so much.”

He was not expecting an answer at all, but the lack of noise by his companion was telling for sure. “This is not my fault, I was on my way and these nutbags ambushed me!”

A shot pinged about 20 feet from them and Stiles was ducking while Derek pulled him down by his belt. His heartbeat spiked as he looked for an opening.

“If we die, I’m gonna kill you.” The words are a dark whisper against the conch of his ear and it shouldn’t be erotic, it shouldn’t make his body react that way, but this is Derek Hale, naked and irritated about having to fight when is the last thing on his schedule. It’s Derek, that had made them reservations and was probably dressed to the nines before he had to come here.

“We’re getting out of here, Der-bear.” Stiles chance a glance at his not-yet-boyfriend and swore, this man was a gift to the world and all that’s still sacred he was getting into that man’s bed... Tonight. “Shift, babe. Lead the way.”

Derek huffed again, but gave him a small peck on the cheek before shifting again.

Stiles followed him like old sailors followed the stars, true; they didn’t make it to the restaurant that night, his nice shirt didn’t survive the ordeal and might have given a hunter or two a concussion.

But they made it out and they made it home to each other. And if Derek used the same place to propose down the line and it was cheesy and very romantic and Stiles cried a little, well, that was their business.

[onwesterlywinds]

Shelter from the Quake

In the heart of the great temple, she danced in time with the earth. Though absolute in its might, the quake faltered her steps scarcely at all; the subterranean refuge shook, stone and marble and bedrock threatening collapse, and still she continued in the very movements the saint had committed to doctrine so long ago.

Only during her exit did she come to understand that this was no ordinary quake, as she passed toppled pillars, cracked foundations and caved-in doorways. When she arrived at the surface and sunlight again kissed her face, she emerged into the streets of Lea Monde and found them empty.

All was silent, save for intermittent birdsong: there came neither cries of rapture nor lamentations for the dead. The city itself remained untouched by the monumental quake, and yet there was not a soul to be found. Every inhabitant and every invader had vanished, as though they had never been there to begin with - and yet if she reached out with all her heart, she could swear she could feel them, somewhere on the knife-edge of her memory-

And when she opened her eyes, a Garlean prodded her hard in the back with the pommel of his sword. Sounds flooded her ears: the market bustled with activity, and behind her, a magitek vanguard whirred out its rotation. She blinked twice, and the scene remained unchanged; some few passersby had turned to watch her, perhaps to ensure her safety. With one last shout of a warning, the Garlean soldier shoved her away, and she hurried home in her threadbare dancing shoes.

When she descended into the temple the next day, the tremors arose again, and she understood.

The quake had happened long ago. The quake had only recently come to pass. The quake would happen soon. The quake would happen in an age to come.

***

Her mothers had named her Tircolas Flow, after the bright blue river whose journey was circumscribed entirely within the walls of Lea Monde. Its spring came from under the old quarry, deeper than anyone had yet to chart. Its course ran parallel to the streets and cut through the town center, past their little house, until its reached the Valnard Sea at its mouth.

Her Viera mother had long insisted on the significance of such a name. She had been the one to adopt the faith on the family's behalf; she had taken great stock in omens from the land and had always been quick to respond to potential misfortunes with the sign of the Kildean cross. She had never spoken of what had driven her from the home of her birth, at least not to Tir - and yet her devotion to Saint Müllenkamp, cast out of the Light for her supposedly apocryphal teachings, conveyed what words never could.

Her Bangaa mother had been a skeptic by comparison. When Tir had started to speak of her dreams of the quake, she had taken out a book of geology and shown her where Lea Monde lay on the precipice of two disparate sheets of earth - tectonic plates - which moved against each other to cause tremors. And yet her reverence for the land had by no means been lesser. She had constructed all sorts of devices to measure reverberations deep within the ground and placed them like talismans upon the dining table. She had known everything about the world, or so it had seemed to Tir; in her youth, she had traveled as far west as Ala Mhigo, though she had not left the ship during her journey for worry of how they might treat one with a face such as hers.

The city had loved both her mothers, and they had returned that love by granting their only daughter the name of its life-giving river.

The city welcomed every soul into its walls.

***

The brothers had come for her long after the quake, or else when the last of its tremors had faded. By then, all the others of her order had long since disappeared or died, whether by the Garleans or the plague or the earth itself. She had simply assumed each of their duties, just as they had trained her for, and she had danced for so long with only traditions to guide her that perhaps she had thought herself special for it - had come to think of her solitude as a sign of her own divinity. The brothers came as if to disabuse her of that notion, and yet she had been so alone in her faith that she had welcomed their company.

They were from an old family in Rabanastre, and like her, they had been tasked with the keeping of Müllenkamp's legacy. The elder brother was tall, straight-backed and cleanshaven, with a loud and haughty voice he employed for rebukes and holy magicks alike.

Yet his younger brother was the true threat. He was the one with the knife, and the one who asked her questions about the auracite.

The stone had been given many names, but her mentor had called it Demonia. It shimmered like an opal even in the darkest underground halls, and legend held that Müllenkamp had drawn upon its power to dance for a week without rest and had thusly saved the city from invasion.

Tir had held it but once, to dance those same sacred steps, and still the Garleans had entered Lea Monde's walls. It was through no fault of her own, her mentor had explained thereafter: she was so young for one of her kind, and still untrained, and thus could not reasonably be tasked with the welfare of two thousand souls.

The brothers had disagreed with this, particularly the younger. For all they learned from her teachings and shared their own in kind, they berated her often for her failures. Any true priestess of the saint would have known to give a life for the city to keep it out of imperial hands - if not her own, then that of another.

When the older brother taught her how to make such a sacrifice, the younger brother taught her not to look away.

Blood for the Seraph. Blood for the Lady. Blood for the resurrection and the forgiveness of sins.

And when it was done, they took Demonia from her safekeeping.

***

She left her mothers' little house, left the occupied city, and walked further than she had ever walked before under the cover of night. Her legs ached in brand-new places by the time she reached the port city of Valnain. Only one ship not flying imperial colors was bound for the west: a tiny vessel on its maiden voyage to Radz-at-Han. She tried to smuggle herself into a crate of wine bottles but would not fit, and so she bundled up in bolts of silks and prayed through her hunger, not knowing if the saint had already deserted her for her sins. For a mercy, the sailors discovered her only when the last of the cargo had been offloaded at its destination, and by that point any threats of throwing her overboard were somewhat moot.

She relied far less on grace for the next leg of her journey, and treated directly with Lominsan traders. The captain of the Misery had the good grace not to laugh when she told him she was bound for Ala Mhigo and that he could simply drop her off along the way. By way of fare, he demanded only one of her earrings and her mother's flintlock, which she handed over with effusive thanks. He even encouraged her presence abovedecks once they were well away from shore, and he indulged in her company by pointing out landmarks throughout their two-moon journey.

On the night before they were due into port, she asked Captain Carvallain why he had been so willing to ferry her to the other side of the world. It could not have been for the Bangaa pistol, for it had not seen use in decades and would likely send its wielder to a fiery grave. Carvallain smiled with great patience, laid a hand on her shoulder, and informed her that he knew all too well the look of a child who had but one chance to change her fate.

By the time she awoke in the next morning, the Misery had made its way to port, and Carvallain had already departed for his next venture. Tircolas Flow disembarked at the docks of Limsa Lominsa, a city that neither knew nor loved her, and set out in pursuit of new histories.