#i know razor isn’t here it’s just that 1. She’s so different than the other ch3s 2. I did not feel like drawing a million blades

[determinedowl23]

Chapter III: Oh My God What Did You Do

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 1: Din’s Evening

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+) with a smidge of explicit

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 5,330

Tags/warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, vomit (no description), numerous references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, non-explicit smutty thots, Din carries OFC a short distance, masturbation (male, semi-explicit, but I don’t think enough to push up the rating), 3rd person POV (part 2 will be 2nd person POV and OFC will become reader/you).

Author’s note: This was originally supposed to be for @beskarandblasters’ Din Djarin Fic Club Drabble Event, although drabble this is not! Kel said there was no word limit, but it grew so long that I couldn’t even call it a one-shot anymore, so I’m uploading it in two parts to make it easier to read and I think that probably disqualifies it from the Drabble Event. But Kel, thank you so much anyway for the prompt – it resulted in me finally pushing through my writer’s block and finishing/uploading something new, so I’m eternally grateful!

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

He’s panicking. It’s stupid, really – he’s been in situations far trickier and more critical than this. But Karga said he needed help urgently, and now his babysitter isn’t answering her comlink.

Should he just go and leave Grogu here? It’s not like he never left him alone on the ship.

Except… something’s changed since the adoption. Din has started to care what others think of his parenting style. He hears people whisper that fatherhood clearly isn’t coming easily to him (he thought he was doing alright). He watches how his babysitter closely monitors every move the kid makes (the Mandalorians never watched him that closely). He listens when people talk about how they raise their own children (he hadn’t realised it was such hard work). And it’s made him feel as if he’s… lacking.

He hates feeling less than adequate in any area of his life, but somehow, failing as a father cuts deep. Perhaps it’s because he grew up without one. Plus, that scolding Peli gave him after she found Grogu alone on the Razor Crest still haunts him.

Although the Mandalorian method of letting them learn from their mistakes has merit (and it never did him any harm), he wants to be there for his son. So, no. He won’t leave Grogu here alone. He can’t risk him waking up and wondering why nobody comes if he calls. The kid has probably had enough of that in his past.

Why isn’t Maia picking up?

Din paces the cabin’s length, listening to the gentle ping of the comlink as it tries to connect with the one he gave her. Even the soothing pulse doesn’t ease his frustration. Diligent parenting is hard.

Just as he’s wondering if he can wake the kid and bring him along, the comlink crackles to life.

“—know what the stinking stang is wrong with it! Ah, frotz! Hello? Is this thing totally borked?”

For a baffling moment, he can’t work out whether he’s shocked or thrilled. She certainly doesn’t use that type of language around the kid, but he’s delighted to hear her voice nonetheless.

“Maia!” He interrupts her frustrated confusion as loud as he dares, lest he wake the sleeping child downstairs.

“Shiny, hi! It works! What’s up, my metal man? It’s late… is this a booty call?”

Once again, Din can’t decide if he’s shocked or thrilled. However, his dick’s instant twitch of interest proves that it, at least, is clearly siding with the latter. Dank farrik, he wishes it were a booty call. “No, Maia, I need—”

“Course it’s not!” she interrupts, giggling inanely. “Sorry, that was ridiculous, ignore me. Go on, you were saying?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to push past the stab of dismay at her labelling the idea of a booty call as ridiculous. At least she sounds in a happy mood.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late, but Karga has some kind of crisis. IG-11 is still with the Anzellans for repairs after the last crisis, so he’s asked for my help. Grogu’s asleep, but I’m gonna need you to come over and wait at the cabin until I return. I’ll pay you double your usual rate. I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“Suuure! I’ll haul my jets over to you now. Five, ten minutes, tops. If you wanna take off now, I know your door code. I’ll check on the li’l bug as soon as I arrive.”

Din breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank you, I owe you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Happy hunting, Beskar Boy! Or happy dispute settling!” Maia signs off with a melodic laugh that instantly makes him grin beneath his helmet, despite the stupid nickname.

The grin fades as he processes the meaning of the words preceding her addictive laughter, and he sighs. She’s probably right, although he hopes he’ll at least need his blaster for whatever mess the High Magistrate wants him to clean up.

Karga was once able to intimidate the townsfolk, but these days, they see him as purely a leader and captain of industry. They respect his ability to govern and improve the town – he’s more than proven himself capable in those roles. But whipping out a blaster from beneath those ridiculous robes now gains him little more than dubious raised eyebrows. By contrast, Cara was a fearsome and capable law enforcer, and now IG-11 keeps the citizens in line.

Except a reptavian tore off both of IG’s legs a few nights ago. Apparently, whatever the droid equivalent of ‘sick leave’ is, he’s taking it.

Din doesn’t mind helping out when he’s not on jobs for Carson. As long as Karga doesn’t solicit his help too often, it’s an easy way to make a few extra credits. He supposes that kind of makes him a part-time deputy, though he’ll never accept a title or a contract. But if tonight’s job is nothing more than a neighbour dispute, he’ll be a little peeved. His friend is aware of his skillset and wouldn’t contact him unless it required weapons and armour. He hopes.

He checks on Grogu once more, then equips himself with his usual arsenal, making sure to lock the weapons cabinet behind him. For some reason, his blasters fascinate Maia. He’s given her several shooting lessons, and she always asks to hold them whenever the cabinet’s unlocked. Although he doubts she’d handle them without his permission, he’d rather be present if she’s caressing his things.

Truthfully, he’d prefer it if she handled and caressed something else entirely, though he buries that thought for now. He has work to do, and an ill-timed hard-on would be awkward at best, if not downright perverse. He can torture himself later.

Din wraps up the problem in less than an hour. It does require his blaster, in fact, and he does have to shoot someone. Okay, it’s in the shoulder to disarm him, but the guy is only on his drunken vendetta because he’s heartbroken. He doesn’t deserve to die.

A year ago, he would’ve just shot him in the head and gone home. But he’s lived among the citizens of Nevarro for several months now, and he’s almost starting to feel like part of the community. Passing through it to visit the old covert was different. The Mandalorians were a separate (secret) colony, and he was merely a visitor who lived on his ship. Even though his new home is still on the outskirts, Grogu attends the school in town, and he already knows many of the other parents by name. These days, the market stall owners try to chat with him instead of looking away in fear as they used to.

The guy standing on a table in the cantina tonight with a blaster trained on his ex and her new flame is someone Din recognises. He can’t recall from where, but disarming rather than killing him feels like the right thing to do.

Once he has him in binders, he delivers him to Karga and hurries straight home. The lava flats are quiet and peaceful this time of night, free from the nocturnal bustle of the town and lit only by the celestial display above. There’s no sulphur fog tonight, and the air smells fresh.

But as pleasant as it is, he doesn’t dawdle. Just like every other time he’s left Maia in charge, he relishes the chance to walk into his home and see her there. As if she belongs. He finds that image far more dazzling than the constellations sparkling above him. It’s far sweeter than the fresh air he inhales through his helmet filters as he hastens toward his cabin.

He can’t pinpoint when his interest in her changed from professional to passionate. Grogu made it clear that he liked her best out of the several childminders they auditioned, so he gave her the job. At some point between then and now, he became enamoured with her.

But he can’t do anything about it.

His loyalty to his son means he can’t fuck the babysitter, so for now, Maia belongs to the kid, and Din sleeps alone.

Even though he’s had no serious relationships in the past, he imagines he’d be willing to try it with her. But since it’ll never happen, it’s not worth dwelling on. He’s noticed a few locals checking him out, so he can always approach them if he’s looking to get laid. He’s much more used to casual encounters.

But none of that stops Din from thinking his babysitter is beautiful. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could run his hands over her welcoming body, indulge in her tender touch and heady scent, sink into her depths over and over until she’s crying out his name as they shatter together in ecstasy….

Dank farrik, he’d better quit thinking like that. He has enough trouble controlling his physical urges around her as it is. In fact, it’s starting to become a problem. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to dash off and furtively rearrange himself so his stomach padding hides his boner. He can’t wear the flight suits with the tight pants around her anymore, so the looser-fitting ones are getting much more use. In fact, he’s wearing his last pair. (That reminds him: he needs to do laundry tomorrow.)

Maia teases him whenever she can, but it’s always friendly, not flirty, and it doesn’t come close to being sexual. He’s never caught her looking anywhere other than directly at his visor. Still, he can’t help feeling embarrassed whenever something she says or does causes his cock to harden. He simply can’t control it.

Din reaches the cabin and punches in the door code, happy to note that his guest has locked it from inside. Her diligence and attention to detail certainly helped him trust her in his home from the outset of her employment.

Stepping across the threshold, he notices all the lights are out except for the one above the kitchen sink, which is unusual. Stranger still, all it illuminates is a near-full cup of water standing in a pool of condensation.

Nonetheless, it’s bright enough for him to survey the rest of the room cast in shadowed shades of grey.

He can’t see Maia.

Instantly, his heart rate rises, although he doesn’t panic. She’s probably just in the refresher or the kid’s bedroom with him. But the amount of moisture surrounding that cup shows it’s been sitting there almost as long as he was gone, which is curious. And there’s no light coming from downstairs either.

The cabin is small, with an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a staircase leading down to two bedrooms and the refresher. Din’s priority is his son, so he creeps down the ferrocrete steps, well-practised at following the route silently. With his night vision on, he can see that Grogu’s door is open a crack, and he pushes it wider. Little purring snores verify that the kid is sleeping soundly, and he slides the door fully closed to ensure he stays that way. Good.

Since his babysitter wasn’t in that room, and she wouldn’t invade his private space without permission, there’s only one other option. He bypasses his own bedroom opposite Grogu’s and heads to the door facing him – the refresher. He can’t pick up any sounds from within, but he’s not about to invade her privacy by listening too intently. The door is fully shut, but there’s a faint glow through the ventilation grill at the bottom, too weak to be the usual lights. A glowrod?

That’s rather odd. He’s grateful that Maia avoided putting on the hall lights while Grogu’s door was ajar, but she could’ve switched on the refresher lights once inside.

For an unsettling moment, Din isn’t sure how to proceed. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her if she’s busy. But… his instincts are telling him something is off, and he wants to know she’s okay.

He’ll give her a little longer. He’d rather be cautious than a perv.

He retreats upstairs again, conducting a thorough check of the living space and kitchen but finding nothing abnormal or suspicious. Nothing besides that abandoned cup of water, at least. Next comes his nightly check of the cabin’s weak points – the windows and entryway. He secures them all, figuring he can escort Maia out when she’s ready. Tipping away the water, he runs a fresh cup, turns his back to the stairs to lift his helmet and drink, and refills it. Finally, he disarms himself of most of his weapons, leaving one blaster in its holster and his vibroblade in his boot. He likes to bring some of his usual arsenal downstairs with him, even though he has multiple spares in a secure cabinet near his bed.

Which is where he’s headed now. Din sets the drink on his nightstand, switches off his night vision, and switches on the dim bedside light. His guest has seen him armourless a few times before, so he begins removing his beskar and the rest of his kit. He’s almost finished – just his armourweave stomach padding to go – when he hears a thump from the refresher.

In seconds, he’s outside it again, listening intently for any further clues. He’s been in the business of handling unconscious bodies for decades, and that sounded like an unconscious body.

“Maia?” he tries, keeping his voice low to ensure he won’t disturb the kid.

Nothing.

He knocks gently, giving it a few moments.

Still nothing.

Okay, now he’s really starting to worry. He returns to his bedroom, grabs his vambrace, and flicks through his visual settings until he’s replaced his night vision with the thermal overlay. He hopes he isn’t crossing a line here, but what else can he do? Walking to his doorway, he takes a deep breath… and directs his visor at the refresher.

Dank farrik, she’s on the fucking floor. Why didn’t he check sooner?

Jabbing off the thermal overlay, Din throws his vambrace on the bed, then rushes to the refresher door. He keeps his voice low in case he wakes Grogu, hoping it reaches her anyway. “Maia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in.”

He gives her five torturous seconds to respond or get decent if she isn’t already, and then he keys in the override code. The door slides open, revealing his unconscious (but blessedly fully clothed) babysitter slumped near the toilet, lit by a glowrod on the floor next to her. He can now hear her breathing heavily, though it doesn’t sound laboured, just a deep state of sleep.

His helmet isn’t sealed, so straight away, he’s able to detect the lingering smell of vomit. A somewhat grim consequence of being both a bounty hunter and a father means Din can also distinguish types of vomit. Although she has flushed, there’s no air filtration with the lights off, and the residual odour tells him that Maia has been drinking alcohol.

It also explains her unconscious state, so his worry dissipates a little, and mild annoyance starts to creep in.

She agreed to look after his son when she’d been drinking?

He kneels down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Maia. Wake up.” He shakes her, but she doesn’t stir.

He assumes she slipped from a propped-up position against the toilet, and the thud he heard was her slumping onto the ferrocrete floor. Did she bang her head? If that didn’t wake her… shit.

He tries shaking her again with as much force as he dares, and she groans and curls up even more. She’s fighting it, but he sees consciousness sluggishly returning.

“Maia, it’s Din. Can you sit up?”

“… y’can’t make me sing for the cup….” She’s still half asleep and confused, but that’s not surprising. A few seconds later, she cracks open her eyes, becomes aware of her situation, and slams them shut again. “Oh… fuuuck… no no, m’sorry… so so so s-sorry… please don’t be mad at meee….” She’s tearful and rambling but mostly coherent, even though she’s still curled on the floor with her eyes squeezed closed.

“What happened?” He can’t think of anything else to say until he’s established her culpability. He knows she wouldn’t drink on the job, so she must’ve been drinking earlier this evening. It certainly explains her overzealous response on the comlink. Dank farrik, he should’ve realised. But, no, he was busy revelling in his own drunken high from her joke about it being a booty call. Idiot.

“It was accidet— ac-ci-den-tal,” she continues from her foetal position. “Tried to call you back, but m’comlink’s busted… figured better I’m here drunk than not at all… ’m sorry sorry sorry, kark, pleeease don’t hate me. I jus’ wanted to make sure the li’l man was okay. I didn’t realise how much I’d had till I stood up, n’ it hit me worse on the way over. But Grogu’s fine, I checked. But I’ve grossed up your ’fresher, ’m sorry…”

Din sighs. In the scheme of things, Maia did the right thing. He’d rather she was here puking in his refresher than risk his child waking up alone. And it occurs to him that she achieved a surprising amount while seemingly drunk as a pirate. She secured the cabin, poured herself some water, stomached a few sips, managed to descend the stairs unscathed, and checked on the kid. Then she sealed herself inside the refresher and threw up neatly into the toilet bowl with no spills, even managing to flush before she passed out. And she did all that by the light of a glowrod so she wouldn’t wake Grogu.

In many ways, his babysitter’s actions tonight were more responsible than some of his own questionable choices regarding his son’s safety. He can’t be mad at her.

He tells her so. “I’m not mad, Maia. Thank you for coming over anyway. Can you sit up? I need to know you’re okay.”

Her eyes are still clamped shut, but she cracks them slightly as she tries to push herself off the floor. It doesn’t go well, so Din reaches forward to help, and together, they get her into a stable sitting position. Nevarro’s volcanic environment means the basement maintains a cosy warmth, so he’s not surprised she passed out down here. It’s not exactly soft, but those who grow up in the Outer Rim spend their lives making do. He likes that she’s a survivor. Like him.

“Everything’s s-spinning,” she groans. “N’ my mouth tastes like bantha balls.”

Din suppresses a snort. “Hold on.” He climbs to his feet, retrieves the cup of water from his bedroom, and then passes it to her. “Here, sip.”

After she’s taken a few delicate sips, Maia gives him back the cup. “Don’t wanna puke again.”

“You won’t,” he assures, placing it in her hands again. “Pretty sure you got all the alcohol out of your system already. You gotta rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”

Kneeling down next to her again, he watches her try to follow his instruction, pleased she trusts him. He can’t help but admire how adorably dishevelled she is. Her hair is mussed, her clothes are wrinkled, and she keeps pouting between sips… but it’s all so… cute.

Once she’s had half the cup, he accepts it back, though she follows it up with more apologies. “M’so sorry… , m’such a karkin’ idiot… I get it if you don’t want me to look after Grogu anym—”

“Stop,” Din interrupts sharply, unwilling to let her beat herself up. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I didn’t ask you if you were busy. I demanded you come over and bribed you with extra credits. I didn’t question why you sounded different on the comlink. And I didn’t wait for you to arrive. If I’d done any of those things differently, you might not have ended up on my ’fresher floor. So I’m sorry too.” Maia doesn’t reply besides blinking at him a few times, so he asks, “What was the occasion? For the drinking, I mean.”

“One year of freedom from a terrible relationship,” she states resolutely, and for a moment, she seems a little more sober. “Me n’ Zandi, we were both in deep with some mudscuffers who locked us in when we were too young to know any better. But we got lucky. Marshal Dune caught them dealing spice, and now they’re spending a decade mining the asteroid field at the edge of the system. The Nevarran tribunal sentenced them a year ago today, so we drank to celebrate our freedom.”

Din doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s made some previous passing remarks about the toxic relationships she and her friend escaped from, which he’s always taken as hints of her wish to remain unattached. It’s yet another reason he wouldn’t feel right about making any sort of move on her. He settles on, “You… deserve to celebrate.”

“Thanks, Shiny.” He bristles at the nickname out of habit, but he secretly likes that Maia has numerous nicknames for him. “N’ you deserve a ’fresher without a woman on the floor. I should get outta your way, Beskar Boy.”

She tries pushing herself up but instantly becomes dizzy and topples to the side. Din’s naturally quick reflexes kick in, and he positions himself to catch her, letting her fall into his chest as his arm snakes around her back. Before he can even process what he’s doing, he’s slipping his other arm beneath her knees and lifting her up.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, grabbing onto his flight suit with one hand while the other flies to grasp his neck. He almost shivers from feeling her clutch at him so keenly. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love it! Thanks for the lift, muscles!”

He’s glad his bold move has amused rather than perturbed her, so he doesn’t answer, too busy willing his cock to remain unreactive to this sudden closeness. His main goal is to get her off the ferrocrete floor and put her down somewhere softer as fast as possible. As he elbows open the door and navigates out of the refresher, he makes a split-second decision. His bed is closer than the couch.

“Shiny! This is your bedroom!” Maia whisper-shouts as he steps through the door. At least she’s lucid enough to keep her voice low in case Grogu hears across the hall.

Din grunts in agreement as he approaches his bed and starts carefully lowering her onto it.

She keeps going in a gleeful whisper. “Is this…? Are we…? Kriff, I never thought I’d actually end up in your bed, metal man! I mean, it’s been a dream, sure, but I figured your creed thing meant, like, no sex or whatever. But holy frotz, I guess tonight really was a booty call! Count me the fuck in!”

He’s already laid her down by the time he fully processes her words.

Dank farrik, he’s a fucking idiot.

He will never have sex with any woman in this state. He’s not that kind of guy. The fact that being with Maia is a dream for him too is meaningless, and so is the possibility that she might actually want him. Because does she really? Maybe this is still the alcohol talking. It has to be. Right?

It doesn’t even matter. All Din needs to do is extract himself from this situation in the least awkward way possible and without having to reject her verbally.

But how?

He points a finger at her. “Stay put.” She bites her bottom lip and acknowledges his order with a sloppy salute.

Damn it, the image of her lip caught between her teeth is now burned into his brain, haunting him with forbidden promise.

He pads back to the refresher in his socks and closes the door, relieving himself, flushing, and then pouring some cleaner down the toilet to sit overnight. He then washes up at the sink as fast as possible and refills the cup of water. Returning to his bedroom, Din places the cup on the nightstand along with the glowrod that belongs to his guest.

Speaking of whom…

In his brief absence, Maia has toed off her shoes, stripped naked and strewn her clothes across the floor, and burrowed under his covers. She’s still bleary from the booze, but he sees fire and lust behind her hopeful gaze as she blinks up at him.

It kills him.

He remembers he never finished removing his armour, so he retrieves the vambrace from where he threw it and places it on its shelf. Then he finally removes his stomach padding and puts that away too, directing his visor anywhere except at the naked woman in his bed. He’s doing everything possible to deny the physical reaction her presence is giving rise to.

When he’s done, Din approaches the bed again, acutely aware that she’s tracking him with a hunger he shares but can do nothing about.

Fuck, this is torture. The blanket has slipped down (or maybe Maia has arranged it) so low that it’s daringly close to exposing her nipples. She’s right there, waiting for him. Wanting him.

But she’s drunk. And she’s his kid’s babysitter. He tries to quell his ache by thinking about how she’s thrown up this evening, which would make kissing gross. It helps for a second, although the idea of kissing her at all ends up eclipsing the negatives, and he hardens even more.

Shit, he cannot think about kissing her. Or how naked she is. Or anything like that. Vomit. He should focus on vomit.

Okay. Din taps off the bedside light and picks up the glowrod, then heads to the door in the dark, stumbling over her clothes strewn on the floor. He can’t activate his helmet’s night vision without his vambrace control, but he won’t put it back on just to navigate his escape. Nor will he switch on the glowrod yet because he doesn’t want to see any dismay or regret in her eyes as he leaves her. He wants to remember the hunger he witnessed there.

Hazardous garments notwithstanding, he finds his way to the exit.

Crossing the darkened doorway’s threshold, he whispers, “Get some rest, Maia.” Then he fumbles for the control and taps the door close button, releasing a sigh as it swishes shut behind him.

Switching on the dim glowrod, he traipses upstairs. It’s going to be so kriffing awkward in the morning. Nonetheless, one thought keeps repeating itself to him above all others, one he can no longer prevent his dick from swelling at the prospect of.

Is she really attracted to him?

He has to know.

Din extracts another blaster from his cabinet, knowing he won’t sleep without one beside him. Then he sits heavily on the couch, thinking about how often he used to sleep in his helmet before this cabin became his home. It’s the first place he’s felt secure enough to remove it at night, so he’s no stranger to sleeping beneath his beskar mask. It’s almost a comfort in a way.

With his face covered in a darkened room lit by nothing but a glowrod while those he cares for slumber downstairs, more memories return…

Sitting in the Crest’s darkened cockpit, fucking his fist by the swirling glow of hyperspace, chasing a release during those first stressful days as a fugitive. In theory, if something had pulled him out of hyperspace, someone could’ve quite literally caught him with his dick in his hand. But the odds of anyone being close enough to peer in through the transparisteel at that very moment and notice his furtive actions were slim. Back then, he was so untethered that in his weaker moments, he desperately sought anything that made him feel good. Fleeting moments when he could pretend his life wasn’t falling apart yet again. The risk was worth it.

Here, too, although he’s locked up the cabin and closed the shutters, there’s a risk of Maia sneaking up the stairs and finding him. But a similar desperation fills him now – the utter frustration of loss. Back then, it was the loss of a stable income, the loss of his covert. Now, it’s his missed chance – the loss of what could’ve been with the woman downstairs. And maybe even the total loss of her in his life. Perhaps she’ll be too embarrassed about this evening’s events and quit. Din couldn’t take that, nor could Grogu. It’s why he tried to avoid this.

Can they get past this? Maybe he ought to find someone else to care for the kid. Would that be best? This is getting too complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

So, right now, he’ll imagine the positive and lose himself in the fantasy, just like he used to. He’ll think about the hunger he saw in her eyes and let himself believe it wasn’t merely the alcohol. Just for tonight, he’ll believe it’s the truth. The risk, once again, is worth it.

He’s already tenting his loose flight suit pants, so he fumbles to expose himself and relaxes against the couch cushions behind him. The wet spot on his underwear displays just how profoundly turned on he is simply by the idea of being with Maia.

After all the temptation it’s endured this evening, his cock is extra sensitive, so he begins with measured, lazy strokes. Whilst he’d love to revel in the fantasy, he knows he won’t last long. As he imagines joining her in his bed, filling his palms with those half-exposed breasts he saw, pressing his naked body against her, his movements begin to speed up and his pressure increases. Very soon, he’s plummeting toward the edge of ecstasy like a podracer pilot with the finish line in sight.

His helmet tips back to stare at the ceiling as he pictures how it would feel to sink into her warm depths, and the notion ignites his fuse, burning rapidly. It only takes a few more strokes before the powder keg within him explodes into a million tiny raptures. His hips stutter, his muscles clench, and his orgasm tears through his body. He comes hard, and a fractured groan far louder than he’d intended escapes through the modulator as he spills forth his pleasure…

Fucking. Bliss.

Din’s mind is blank for some time, just a sense of fulfilment and contentment gently rippling throughout his relaxed form.

As the real world filters back in, he’s able to think clearly, and he now knows what he has to do. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the mature and sensible option. It’s also a fucking daunting prospect, but he’s faced worse. Has he? Yes, he has. He can do it. 

He tucks himself away and finds a cloth to wipe down the mess on his flight suit. That task makes him realise he’ll have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow without waking Maia to grab his armour and some fresh clothes. And now he really needs to do laundry tomorrow. The only pants he has left are the tighter ones, which he tries to avoid wearing around her. Great, there’s another reason to dread the morning. Although it’s not as if he’s ever caught her checking out his package – she may tease him verbally, but her gaze is always polite.

For now, he’ll enjoy the security of darkness and the lingering swirl of happy chemicals in his brain.

Din lays down on the couch and switches off the glowrod. With a deep sigh, he surrenders to the relaxing state of comfort brought on by his orgasm, letting himself fall into a contented sleep. Before he drifts off, his last thought is of Maia’s beautiful lips… leaning in for a kiss….

If only.

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Those of you who've read my work before will be familiar with my copious end notes:

As usual, it’s British spellings I’m afraid. Demographic stats say about 60% of you are American, but I can’t help where I was born, so sorry about all the extra ‘u’s and ‘l’s and for using ‘s’ where you would expect ‘z’. However, I’ve channelled my inner linguist and used American language and speech patterns since the show is filmed in the US and Din’s accent is American. All other wording is internationally neutral, including Maia’s dialogue (since the next chapter is written from her POV and I’ll be switching to second person reader insert for that, e.g. you/your pronouns). I’m a little sad I didn’t get to include any Mando’a linguistics in this fic tbh. Maybe another time.

The cabin’s layout is inspired by the concept art by Christian Alzmann that appeared in the closing credits of s3e8, in which there appears to be a staircase leading down to a lower level. That makes sense to me, as Din would need total security to sleep without his armour on, and a windowless underground room seemed appropriate. I also like the parallel that on the Razor Crest he used to sleep on the lower level in a windowless room too.

I know Carl’s absence is going to be felt when we finally get the movie, so I wanted to write something where Karga is still around. If this had been a longer piece, I would’ve had him actually featuring in it instead of being in the background, but in any case, Karga lives forever in the universes I write.

The reference to Din wearing looser pants is, weirdly, Canon. One of the ways you can tell it’s Brendan Wayne in the suit is because he seems to prefer these weird baggy clown pants. Contrast to Pedro who likes them tight (Din Peña?), as does Lateef Crowder, and as did Barry Lowin in season 2. Since Brendan did the majority of season 3, we saw Din in the loose-fitting style a lot more, so I decided to write in a reason for that beyond actor preference.

Though we have no information on Nevarro’s judiciary system, they’re an independent world who have a marshal and a magistrate, so my guess is they’d adopt the New Republic’s system of having a tribunal. Generally, group decision-making is favoured during this era, in contrast to the single-judge system of the Imperial era, so it seems more likely that Karga would encourage citizens to serve on a tribunal rather than unilaterally passing judgments himself.

Apologies to @the-mandawhor1an for using the name of your longtime established OC – it was coincidental, I promise! I chose it after looking up the most common female names in the world, one of which is Maria, and I settled on the variant Maia because it sounded like a more Star Wars-y version (and for another reason which you’ll see in part 2). I only realised when you reblogged my WIP Wednesday snippet, and it was a bit late to change it by then. I guess it’s a common name in the SWU too! But I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel like I’m muscling in on your domain. Your Maia is of course the original Maia 💖

I made the GIF myself. Sorry it’s a bit blurry, I’m not very good at making them yet. I tried to use Tumblr’s GIF-making function, but it wouldn’t let me crop out Grogu’s ears, so this was my alternative attempt. It’ll have to do.

Definitions: Comlinks are those little cylinder comms they all use. Glowrod is a catch-all term for anything portable that produces light. All the swears/insults (stinking stang, frotz, borked, kriff, kark) are from the Legends list of phrases and slang this time (it’s longer than Canon). Nevarran reptavians are the ones that Grogu saved Karga from in s1e7 and that the Mandalorians were roasting in s3e7. Ferrocrete is a compound building material (Canon and Legends) made from concrete and iron, used in roads, reinforced bunkers and building foundations. I figured Din would only be happy with something strong and defensible, so Karga had the cabin built with it. Transparisteel is used for windows and ship viewports, as well as helmet visors.

Part 2 is written and will be uploaded next weekend once proofing/editing is complete. What do we think? Is Din gonna be dumb and tell her she can’t babysit Grogu anymore? Deny himself what he wants for Maia’s own good?

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@foomoosworld @jude77 @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an

Those tagged below showed interest in my masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs), so I thought I’d sneak in some extra tags. Apologies if it’s too forward, if you’d prefer I didn’t tag you in part 2 just let me know…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[rachrar]

Tillie - Chapter 4

A failed experiment, Tillie is mimic made and staggers along the razor thin edge of beast and man, attempting to find stability and hoping to find a place he is accepted as he is rather than who others want him to be.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Artist: Nautes

AO3 link to full story: HERE

Previous Chapter Summary: After leaving Thunmir, Tillie feels a call on the pendant from one of his siblings. It turns out to be Glaukos, who now goes by Pun. After helping Pun heal, Pun tells him about the Black Blades, an assassin/thief guild, that Pun works for. Tillie joins.

Tillie licked the last of the blood from the vial. It was animal blood, apparently, but the taste made Tillie recoil. This was blood from something he’d never tasted before and it made his stomach turn unpleasantly in a way he’d never felt. If he had to put a name to it, it was similar to how Pun’s blood had made him throw up but less intense. He pushed the vial back across the table. Ayla picked it up, flicking it slightly to remove the few drops of Tillie’s saliva that lingered. “Is that enough?”

“Yes. Stop asking every time you give me a new one,” Tillie scowled. Ayla shrugged.

“I don’t know how much you need or if it’s different between races or species. I’d rather make sure you knew where you were going.” She shifted a paper around then passed one over to him. The paper was magicked specifically for him to have raised lettering. Since he had been earning more than enough to justify his position, he was given a little bit of special treatment.

He ran his fingers over the writing, snorting. “Why are you sending me to this guy? There isn’t even anything useful on this.”

“The customer wants something special. He wants to meet you first to, and I quote, ‘make sure you are worth paying.’” Tillie tapped on the table, nails clicking against the fine wood.

“Does he do this often?”

“When he wants someone new, yes. He’s very particular, but he also pays extremely well. If he likes you, you’ll end up being his personal contractor.”

Tillie paused his fingers. “How many people does he want killed to have a regular assassin on hand?”

“So far it’s been” —more paper shuffling— “ten. The first two were testers apparently and the rest were filled in with increasingly high guildies. He wants someone with a high level of skill but he explicitly didn’t want Pun again. He heard about you somehow so he put you as his first choice. Apparently Pun pissed him off, and since I know you like hearing that Pun failed, I figured it would be a fun one to turn over to you.”

Tillie didn’t like that it was stated so openly, but when he sat across from the third in command, he merely sunk his claw into the parchment and dragged it closer to express his displeasure. She inhaled when it left a deep scratch in the wood, irritated at the damage. He was useful enough that his spite fueled damages were tolerated well enough and he knew it. Nobody else could do what he did.

“Fine. What’s the pay? All it says is where to meet him.”

He heard Ayla shrug. The motion was just as annoyed as he was. “Listen, this guy is weird as fuck. The only reason we keep taking his money is because it’s worth his idiosyncrasies.” Tillie didn’t know that word, but from her tone he had a feeling it was a longer way of saying that the guy was a pain in the ass.

“What’s the name?”

“Ourbill. The blood is from his pets. Er, his ‘tools’. He gets pissed when you call them pets.” She snorted. “They’re just little companion mimics, they don’t actually do anything, but he’s very insistent that they’re tools and not pets.”

“Huh.” Tillie stood up, rolling the parchment and tucking it into a bag at his waist. “Alright. How far is he?”

“Same city, not sure where. He gave us the blood and said that it should be enough.”

Tillie’s tail flicked curiously and he paused at the door. “Has he heard about me then?”

She shrugged. “I guess so. We’re mostly hush hush about how we do things but rumors are always around no matter how we squash them.”

Tillie chuckled. “I’ll be back with your cut later.”

She leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up on the table. “Don’t die.”

“As if someone could kill me.” She shook her head in response but didn’t reply.

———

The tracking was easy. Tillie found little challenge in tracking down his prey, especially when he was given blood; it was practically a walk in the park. It seemed like the guy tried to complicate it on purpose though, bunking above an extremely busy and very boozy bar near the shore where seawind tried to steal away scents.

He didn’t go through the inn, tempted to buy a drink and knowing it would end up with him deep in the cups rather than working. Instead, he waited for the dark of night to steal away the sun and give him the opportunity to slink up the wall. The building was old and handholds many so it was quick and easy to climb. The guy was on the third floor and Tillie had to take more time to make sure nobody was nearby as he ascended, but after a few moments he was slipping into the open window.

“Leaving your window open when you’re expecting a killer is a bad idea,” Tillie chuffed as he closed the glass behind him.

“I pay your blood money. I expect you to do as you are told, not give opinions.” Ourbill’s voice was droning and monotonous with flicks of an unknown accent warping the syllables. Tillie leaned against the wall, toe tapping on the ground curiously. Three little creatures bounced and played in a corner on top of some blanket. From the way the vibrations were echoing, it was waxed or oiled. Ourbill himself was heavier than he expected, but he was neither tall nor wide. He was writing and as he lifted his arm to place the pen into a sandwell, Tillie heard the clank of metal against wood. Not a golem, he was too light for that, but not human either. Or elf, or dwarf, or anything else he’d spoken to as far as he was aware.

“What are you?” Tillie asked rudely, stepping forward to lap at the air around the man. Tillie felt no change in heartbeat that couldn’t be attributed to a natural adjustment as Ourbill turned around with a thoughtless magical movement spinning him so his back and chair were facing the desk and he was facing Tillie head on.

Ourbill made a sound in his throat of disgust. “Keep your bodily fluids away from me.” Tillie slurped his tongue back into his mouth wetly, making the noise loud on purpose. He heard Ourbill hiss softly under his breath, the sound catching Tillie’s attention. Gata hissed but not quite like that. Ourbill’s tongue made the sound round rather than the throat like gatas, so he was still lost as to what Ourbill was.

Tillie leaned over Ourbill, a hand on the desk and inches away from pinning the man to the wood. Ourbill didn’t move; he didn’t lean back or try to slip out from under him. Shockingly, he leaned forward instead and grabbed Tillie’s wrist, invading his space as much as Tillie was trying to invade his. Just as Tillie thought, Ourbill’s hands were metal prosthetics. The fingers and palm floated separately from each other and from the forearm. The buzz of magic made his muscles twitch but he too did not back down. A gentle, but firm, hand was placed in the middle of Tillie’s chest but below his gem. Ourbill’s fingers were spread to allow the point of the gem to slip between the middle two fingers and his palm pressed tightly against Tillie’s bare skin.

“Release me or you shall learn what my magic can do.”

Tillie debated it, tilting his head back and forth doubtfully. “You can’t be that much of a threat if you have to pay someone else to do your dirty work.”

Heat began to pool in Ourbill’s palm against his skin, his other hand gripping Tillie’s wrist more tightly. He increased the strength and it took only a couple of seconds for Tillie to acknowledge silently that Ourbill could quite easily snap his wrist if he actually tried. “This is your last warning before I burn this gem out of your chest and take it for myself.”

Tillie hummed as if thinking, the idea making a lance of fear slide through his veins. If Ourbill moved even an inch higher and pulled at the gem in the least Tillie would be on the floor like a bug, ready to be stepped on and thrown away. He kept his cool though, forcing himself to stay for a couple of seconds more before moving back. He didn’t want to show Ourbill weakness, but he was personally impressed by Ourbill, as no other person he had ever met, minus Thunmir, had ever been so calm in front of him. A begrudging respect that he had not felt in years warmed his chest from the inside.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tillie said dismissively, brushing Ourbill’s hand away as he straightened. “Fire and sulfur and explosions, I get it.” Ourbill leaned back into his chair more comfortably.

“Are you done?” Ourbill asked. When Tillie shrugged, he took it as a confirmation. “Good. Try again and I will not stay my hand.” He turned back to the desk and plucked out a paper. “I assume you cannot see, so I will read out the order. ‘For the price of—’”

“Is it written with charcoal?” Tillie interrupted. Ourbill seemed thrown off. Tillie heard something whip through the air and meaty slap against the desk with heavy thwap following immediately after.

“Excuse me?”

Tillie tapped the ground a couple of times with a toe claw, his tongue hanging out in a smirk as he confirmed what he thought he had heard. “Nice tail.”

Ourbill seemed nonplussed, the paper crinkling against itself as he lowered it slightly in his hands. “Perhaps I requested the wrong individual.” He rolled the scroll up tightly, a silken ribbon sliding in quick movements as he tied the parchment closed.

“Awh, come on, don’t be like that.” Tillie raised his hands and waved them slightly in an attempt to seem apologetic (he was not). “I didn’t mean to piss you off, I just meant that I don’t need you to read to me unless it’s written in charcoal. If it’s in ink then I’m fine, pens make an indent in the paper and I can feel it.”

Ourbill tapped the scroll against his hand. “Hm. Yes. It is written in charcoal. It is meant to be easily destroyed.” He stood, brushing past Tillie, almost shoulder-checking him. What a ballsy little man. One of Ourbill’s footsteps sounded much different than the other, another metal twang against the floor akin to his arms. Tillie resisted the urge to reach down and pull on Ourbill’s tail as he felt it slap him, the desire strong and hard to refuse. Thankfully Ourbill was out of reach before he lost his self control.

The fire ate the parchment in an eager whoosh as Ourbill tossed the scroll into the flames. “Do you actually want me to leave?” Tillie didn’t want to leave. He felt like he had been doing good at his job, actually, so to do something to wreck his positive streak was a little upsetting.

“I am re-writing the paper for you.”

Tillie fidgeted, picking at his claws awkwardly. It was unexpected and he didn’t know how to respond to that. Someone actually acknowledging something he couldn’t do, but not being angry about it and furthermore, offering to adjust in order for Tillie to be treated as an equal was something Tillie had not experienced. Not since Thunmir. He got concessions from the guild but that was only begrudging compared to Ourbill simply doing it to make sure they stood on the same level.

Ourbill returned to the desk and began writing. The sound of the nib scratching against the paper made Tillie’s skin crawl, just the right kind of noise that made him twitchy. He needed to drown it out. “What are your pe— tools?” He asked awkwardly, uncomfortable with starting conversations.

The pen paused. “Mimics.”

“Yeah, I know that, I mean, you gave me their blood to hunt you down. But if they’re tools, what do they do?” Tillie approached the corner slowly, not wanting to spook the little creatures.

“They are my bags.” Ourbill tapped the pen on the desk, probably to dislodge a clump of ink so it didn’t make a mess. Tillie stopped at the edge of the blanket and knelt down.

A mimic inched forward. It was bat like, little membranes catching the air and tiny claws helping it wobble its way over. “It’s a baby!” Tillie said, shocked, holding out a claw for the mimic to approach.

“Of course they are,” Ourbill said, waving a hand dismissively. “If they were adults they would be too heavy to carry.” Tillie couldn’t argue with that logic, but flicked it away gently when he felt the beast begin gnawing on the nail.

Ourbill finished his writing with a couple of sharp lines before setting the pen aside. “Here is the new copy.”

Tillie pushed the mimicling back onto the cloth, making sure it was toddling away and not returning before he took the paper from Ourbill. Ourbill waited silently as Tillie dragged a claw along the indentations.

Standard stuff, pay after proof of the kill, don’t do anything that incriminated him. Oddly enough, Ourbill called himself Merchant on the paper. Normally Tillie’s contracts were verbal and without any pronouns or names apart from the mark itself, but written like this, having a name of some kind was required. Tillie found it amusing that he was called “Contractor.” This order, compared to the rest he had ever taken, was written as a contract and explicitly included consequences for breaking it as well as a small section at the bottom that mentioned a reward. This guy was just full of surprises.

“So if I bring back the skin, I get an extra 20%?”

“Yes,” Ourbill said, “which I will not report to your guild. Consider it a tip for a job well done.”

“Weird,” Tillie mumbled. He brought his claw up to his mouth to lick away the ink, confused when he didn’t taste anything.

“There was no ink used,” Ourbill clarified as he returned to his desk. “There is no need to waste a resource when all you needed was the deformation of the paper.”

Tillie stood still, holding the paper for a moment, then rolled it up slowly. “Should I burn this? Or…?”

“Keep it on you. Do not be caught with it, of course, but it is your copy of our deal.” Ourbill waved a paper so it would make a sound. “I have my own copy. You can check it if you wish. I used a charcoal sheet so it would be legible to me when I traced out the letters for yours.”

“...No, I’m good.” Ourbill seemed like a person who would happily burn someone on a pyre for lying to him and Tillie had a feeling that Ourbill wouldn’t lie in return.

“Excellent. Then leave. I will see you next when you have the pound of flesh I purchased.”

Tillie tucked the rolled scroll into a bag at his waist, glad that it was one of the dimension bags that Pun had grabbed for him. He didn’t want to bend the paper.

———

Tillie took his time staking out the victim to ensure that there would be no suspects. Normally he just grabbed them and scuttled off into a dark corner to gorge himself, but he didn’t think that would be appropriate for this one. He needed to make sure the skin was whole so he had to be careful.

It was the longest hunt he’d had the entire time he’d been working for the Black Blades. The longest before this was a week, but he felt a need to be perfect, so when he was easing up on week two he didn’t mind it. He traced the parchment periodically to make sure he didn’t miss something, but there really was nothing more to it. Find the mark, kill him, make sure nobody suspects anything, and keep the skin. There was no time limitation listed, though he also didn’t dawdle. He couldn’t take another contract until his current one was done according to the guild rules.

It took 8 days, a full five day week and a half more after he first met Ourbill to find the right moment. The takedown was quick, engulfing the man’s head in his hand and yanking him into the darkness of an alley to slit his throat. Ourbill didn’t say that he couldn’t eat the insides, so he found a back alley butchery and borrowed the use of a few knives to make the work easier before eating his meal leisurely. He gave himself a day to finish the preparation before returning to Ourbill with the skin in the bag. He even removed all the hair and genitals just to make it a little cleaner. He probably didn’t need to, but he felt a need to impress that he steadfastly refused to acknowledge.

He needed to know what Ourbill looked like, the odd man making him curious and willing to deal with the initial dizziness of sight. He took a final lick of the human’s flesh before letting his bones shift and body contort. He flipped his hood up and made sure his mouth was covered, then walked into the inn casually with the bag at his hip. He winked at a beefy dwarf as he passed by, buying a pair of mugs before walking up the stairs. He sniffed a few times to make sure he went to the right door and pulled the cloth over his face to hide his mouth again before knocking.

“Merchant~!” Tillie chirped. “I have an ale for you!”

“I did not order anything.”

“I have your delivery too!” The door opened to reveal Ourbill. Tillie blinked a few times. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t a blue skinned, one eyed man with horns haloing his head.

Ourbill’s eye narrowed, the red iris glowing in the black sclera of an eye the size of an average man’s fist. The size of the eye meant there was no nose but he did still have a mouth that looked rather average for most humanoids. The horns started at each side of his forehead and curled up and around until they touched and made a solid, handle-like shape. Tillie had an intrusive urge to pick him up by the horns and launch him through the window like a bag just to watch him fly. Ourbill was perhaps 5’4” and Tillie still loomed over him as a human, a contrast that felt wrong in some way he couldn’t put his finger on. Ourbill pulled the door open further, revealing that his forearms down were both magical prosthetics with a teal glow pulsing through runes inscribed in the metal. Tillie’s gaze flicked up and he noted that the same teal glow escaping Ourbill’s shirt collar.

Ourbill looked Tillie up and down but didn’t move aside. “I ordered no delivery.”

Tillie rolled his eyes. He might look like a human ready to wrestle with some bulls and break horses, but he couldn’t hide every aspect of himself. He tugged down the scarf covering the lower half of his face, the sawtooth teeth and bony jaws impossible to miss. Understanding lit up Ourbill’s expression and he turned on his heel, waving for Tillie to come inside. Tillie all but skipped in, closing the door. He changed his speed when he saw Ourbill begin to glare, catching the door at the last moment to close it quietly. He noticed there was no second chair, so when Ourbill took the only chair by the desk, he instead pivoted to sit on Ourbill’s bed, his weight making a significant dent in the blankets and mattress. Ourbill’s eye twitched when Tillie offered him alcohol and turned away, uninterested.

“I do not drink swill.”

“More for me then!” Tillie said and raised a mug in a cheer, taking a few gulps of it before setting the cups on the ground and self consciously pulled the scarf back over his mouth. He untied the bag at his waist and tossed it over to Ourbill. The dimension bag was small even though the contents could be much larger, so it was useful in transporting large or messy items. “Here’s the skin you ordered.”

Ourbill caught it at the last second, very nearly missing it entirely. Tillie raised an eyebrow. Alright, not a quick guy. Magic might be his entire schtick. A pretty big and powerful schtick, he had to admit, but still, everyone had weaknesses. What a nice way to find out this confident man’s weak point. Knowing how to kill people was instinctive at this point and he saved that information in the back of his mind. He’d probably forget later, but it was noted nonetheless.

“Did you remove the hair?” Ourbill asked, pulling the drawstring and looking inside.

“Yup. Got rid of the dick too, figured you didn’t want that.”

“Assumption is a poor choice,” Ourbill murmured, “but you are correct.” He walked over to the mimic corner and turned the bag inside out. The wet flaps of flayed skin plopped on top of the three creatures. Tillie immediately heard little munching sounds and pleased squeaks from them as they descended, or rather, ascended into their meal.

Tillie watched in fascination as the mimiclings ate, their little bodies stretching more than he thought they could. Their forms were messy and ambiguous at best, shambling mounds of goo at worst, and it was mesmerizing.

“Have you never seen a mimic?” Ourbill asked. “They are rare but not unknown creatures.”

“I mean, no, not really. I don’t see often at all, so.” Ourbill frowned at the sarcastic tone.

“I suppose I cannot fault you for that.” He stared at Tillie, his large eye’s gaze piercing. Tillie felt like a specimen again, wiggling uncomfortably and looking away. He immediately knew he had failed the staring contest and made himself look weak, a lick of frustration burning at his still overfull stomach. “I am, however, surprised that you shift your form so often.”

Tillie shrugged as Ourbill returned to his seat. “It’s part of my special deal, makes people want to buy me over some rando in the guild, especially when they don’t want to deal with Pun. I get asked for by name sometimes cause of that.” He paused and his eyes tightened in a smirk. “Like you did.”

Ourbill scowled as it was turned back on him. “Do not get a big head,” he said sharply. “It makes for poor customer service.” Tillie went silent awkwardly, fiddling with the mug in his lap. There was less in there than he expected. He must have downed it faster than he thought he did. He tipped the last of the dregs into the other mug.

“So, uh. What do you drink if not this shit?” Tillie raised the second mug and tugged his scarf down to reveal his mouth, tilting it in a waterfall before hiding his sawtooth mouth once more.

Ourbill snorted dismissively. “You could not afford it.”

Tillie rolled his eyes. “With what you’re paying me I’m pretty sure I could afford damn near anything. What is it?”

Ourbill finally looked away to check on his mimiclings, ignoring the question. They were slowing down in their efforts to stuff themselves until they burst, rolling around like fat little balls. Tillie suppressed the desire to smoosh one gently just to feel how plump it was. He really did want to be gentle too, something that surprised him. He normally would have thought about squeezing small things like stress toys but the worst he could muster was irritation when one waddled its way over to him and bumped against his foot.

He felt Ourbill tense but the man didn’t move, watching him keenly for any hint of a threat. Tillie pushed the empty mug away from the mimic, figuring it probably shouldn’t have any booze even if it was just a few drops. It burbled and made a noise he was pretty sure was meant to be a chirp but just came out like a gurgly grumble. Tillie pulled down his scarf and gave a soft hiss, a deep one that warned the baby that it was intruding on his domain. The mimicling whined in distress, legs working overtime to skitter away and comforting itself with its siblings. Ourbill relaxed minutely but Tillie could tell that he was overstaying his welcome.

“That was a brave one,” Tillie commented as he downed the last of his ale. He picked up the other cup and stood, stretching for a moment and listening to joints pop, then cocked a hip and looked Ourbill up and down. “Contract complete or did I miss something somewhere?”

Ourbill turned in his chair and pulled out a bag of coins, the metal jingling merrily but somehow more dully than it should. “10,000 gold as we discussed.” He held the bag out for Tillie to take.

Tillie jiggled the pouch to test the weight. It was all there but there was some softness that he didn’t expect. Confused, he opened the bag and jammed a finger in. The moment he touched it, he understood. It was all wrapped up like it came right from a bank, the little rolls of coins neatly packaged with fabric to keep them together. “Gotta say, you’re the first to give me bank gold.”

“Hm. Perhaps not the last time I shall do so.” Tillie looked up at that, wondering if it meant what he thought it did. “Here is your tip of 2,000 gold for providing the additional service.”

Tillie perked up, taking the second, smaller pouch eagerly. That too was rolled and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of that before. He knew of it, but keeping the annoying little discs in neat tubes kept the gold from ringing out and tempting thieves to try and steal was something he hadn’t considered before. 

Tillie leaned forward, eyes hooded and looked Ourbill up and down like a dish he wanted to eat. “So, that drink you said was your favorite. What was it?”

Ourbill looked confused, answering before he really thought about the non-sequitur question. “Phoseon Ikuni wine, specifically the vintage from the early 500s but no later than 523.”

“So just under a hundred years ago, gotcha,” Tillie’s eyes crinkled in a smile as he thought about that . It was currently 581 so that vintage would be pretty damn old. “Next time you call, I’ll grab a bottle in thanks.”

Ourbill looked around the room as he processed what Tillie had said. “We shall see. Now leave.”

Tillie inclined his head. Now just to find out what the hell Phoseon Ikuni wine was.

[mousegard]

why hubert von fireemblem is a trans woman

ok so this morning i wrote a rambly little essay in a discord server i’m in about why i read hubert von vestra from fire emblem three houses as a closeted/in-denial trans woman and figured i’d share it here on tumblr:

so the in-game details about hubert, the pegasus knight yearnings, the straight razor as one of his lost items (prefers a close shave... i bet you do, buddy), outright disliking being called a man is all just... so very very eggy but what really got the trans headcanon juices flowing was the way hubert talks to edelgard in their supports. particularly their c-support. the dynamic of edelgard's feelings of regret that hubert is forced to share her path in life and hubert's insistence that there is no path he would rather walk really struck a chord with me regarding gender dysphoria and what it does to you 

in my experience, most of the trans people i know, myself included, start out from the assumption that our own desires are impossible to achieve. whether because you don't yet know that trans people even exist, or because you've only ever seen them portrayed as jokes or cheap pathos perverts. even when you know that transition is possible it still feels like something you can never hope to achieve. and so since you can't live your own life, you live someone else's life. you bury that yearning part of you that knows what it wants and dedicate yourself to being the person your parents want you to be. or your friends want you to be. what your social circle expects you to be. and you say, "yes, this is what i want. this is the path i want to put my life on. this is who i am. no it doesn't bother me. i'm happy like this" 

not to discount hubert's loyalty to edelgard, of course—he's clearly a true believer in her ambitions and her goals and will do anything to bring about the world she seeks to create. and like edelgard, hubert is willing to throw aside his own desires, his own freedom to decide what is to be done with his life, so that the rest of the world can have that freedom. like edelgard is resigned to being a villain and dying a villain's death, so too is hubert resigned to being a man and living a man's life. i think details in the game, from the way he carries himself and performs masculinity, to very obvious things like the pegasus knight fixation (more on that later)

somewhat related, there are some lines in hubert’s b-support with byleth that really jump out at me when i associate them with the dynamic between edelgard and hubert:

hubert is, of course, talking about byleth in these quotes and discerning the presence of sothis within them. but, of course, there's no way for him to know just how literally correct he is in these lines. after all, only byleth can see or hear sothis. so i think the aptness of hubert's similie here and how telling the language he uses ends up being for byleth isn't just hubert talking about byleth but rather him using that imagery of a second self with desires different from one's own lurking beneath the surface to describe himself

there are no details in fe3h canon regarding how easy or difficult it would be to transition in the game's setting, which is hardly surprising, but it's a bit of a moot point. even in the modern world, with hrt more easily available than ever before in human history and the vast strides in transition related medical science that have been made through the 20th and 21st century, transitioning still feels impossible before you've started to do it. you'll tell yourself, "well, sure, that other person transitioned, but i can't, it's still impossible for me," whether because transitioning would expose you to danger in your family/larger community or because "hormones just won't work on me like they work for other people, because reasons" or both. but i digress. with fodlan's institutional heteronormativity we can assume cisnormativity as well.

thinking about how impossible it might feel to be trans in fodlan makes me think of a section of a poem written by a 14th century jewish philosopher, kalonymus ben kalonymus, that is very clearly about transfeminine longing and suggests the possibility that kalonymus may have been a trans woman. this section, titled "prayer for transformation," is such a strong examination of dysphoric feelings and despair. i personally love this poem and i have used it in other trans headcanon fics in the past, in other fandoms, and you can read the full english text beside the original hebrew here: https://opensiddur.org/prayers/civic-calendar/international/transgender-day-of-visibility/prayer-of-kalonymus-from-sefer-even-bohan-1322/

that's not even getting into hubert's overall character design—with his height, his build, and the general matt smith-esque features of his face, being a trans woman would no doubt feel more impossible in his eyes than it would be for someone who got a more "favorable" spin on the genetic roulette wheel (someone like ferdinand, perhaps, who definitely seems like he could perform androgyny or femininity with so much more ease if he were so inclined than a broad-shouldered, six-foot-two frankenstein's monster). and of course, he prefers clothes that cover from head to toe, much like edelgard herself does, hiding as much of the body he does not feel comfortable in as possible. which is, also. a very trans thing. all in all, hubert comes across as uncomfortable in his own skin and with the trappings of masculinity to a degree that honestly strikes me as entirely intentional on the writers' part, especially with this (thanks to teaspoon translations on twitter for this nugget of localization):

this in particular is what pushes my thoughts on hubert being a trans woman from "headcanon" to "no, this isn't a headcanon, this is actually just what the game's text says, and i will die on the hill of hubert having been intentionally written by someone on the writing team to have gender dysphoria and be a closeted/in-denial trans woman"

i could go into so much more detail about how hubert performs masculinity and how he leans into being off-putting and frightening around other people because it’s easier and safer than being the person he wants to be while also not wanting people to feel unsafe or uncomfortable around him (see his supports with bernadetta) but i think that’s enough on why hubert is very obviously written in-game as a closeted/in-denial trans woman for now

lastly, i want to talk about how i write transfem hubert in my fire emblem fanfics and how i picked a name for her, which of course lean harder into headcanon territory since they involve actually making things up:

the name "hubert" is derived from the germanic elements hug, "heart, mind" and beraht, "bright"—bright heart. when i was searching for a name to make hubert's own in my first transfem hubert fic, i looked for similar meanings and found "heidrun"—derived from old norse heiðr, "bright, clear" and rún, "secret"—"bright secret." a secret that has been made clear, a desire of the heart brought forth for all to see. making "heidrun" the name of an in-universe fictitious(?) (wink wink) legendary pegasus knight whose origin story was a boy being blessed by the goddess and transformed to a girl as a reward for his faith so that he could be a pegasus knight was my way of tying that name as well to hubert's feelings of religious disillusionment and complex attitude toward his faith

also if some sort of magical and/or folk medicine hrt does exist in fodlan (1.) manuela definitely knows about it and (2.) a couple years of facial feminization via hormone replacement would make heidrun look like sigourney weaver and i think that’s great

also also jeritza is also very arguably canonically transfem in the same respect, but you can go to @strawberry-crocodile​ to learn more about that because i am not the jeritza expert here. anyway both in-universe and irl edelgard von hresvelg just draws trans women toward her like stand users attracting other stand users and i think that’s real fuckin neato

[ltleflrt]

Hey Carrie! You talked a little the other day about writers' tendency to start a fic too early in the story, and how you see a lot of first scenes that could have been scrapped to improve the story. My question is if you have some tips to recognize while writing that first scene that you are starting too early in the story?

Hello friend!

That's a really good question, and I'll see if I can give an answer that makes sense. I am not a professional, and I'm not educated or trained in this stuff, it's just something that I recognize from years and years and years of voracious reading. And as with all writing advice, I encourage you to take what I'm going to say with a grain of salt and remember that no writing rule is a hard rule, only a guideline.

Also, my advice is going to be pertaining fanfiction, and specifically to AUs. Obviously a published book has an editor with a razor blade going through a manuscript for you, and the problems that bother me in fanfiction crop up in AUs more than Canonverse.

Oh, and every instance of "you" is general, not specific 😜

So I think the main problem that I see is that people are starting with an Info Dump. An Info Dump is not always a bad thing, sometimes it's completely necessary, but it is NOT where you want to start your story. If it absolutely has to be done, it's better to be somewhere in the middle or near the end. When it's something that your characters need to know.

That's an important bit: Do your characters need to know this?

And related to that: Does your audience need to know this for the story to make sense?

And very important follow up: If the answers to the above questions are yes, does the character/audience need to know this RIGHT NOW?

There's a lot of information about your story that YOU need to know. Heck, my notes files are full of sooooooo much stuff that I know about the characters and plot that never reaches the final product.

So when you're reading your first chapter (I say reading, not writing, because sometimes info dumping for your own benefit is good, and then you fix it before you share the story lol), ask yourself those two questions.

So for example:

In an AU where Dean is a tattoo artist, and it's his POV. The story starts with Dean driving to work, and when he gets there he's going to find out that the empty shop next door has been purchased and is going to be a yoga studio. He meets Castiel out front, up on a ladder trying to hang a hand painted sign, and some teens go running buy and knock into the ladder and Dean has to catch Castiel from falling. (Anyone who wants to adopt this idea is welcome to it btw, I would love to read this lol)

The mistake I often see in a first chapter like this is that as Dean is walking to work, there's a whole Info Dump about why he's a tattoo artist instead of a hunter. He'll be ambling along, thinking about his nice little business, and there's info about how his mom died in a fire, and his dad was a jerk, and Dean didn't go to college because he saved his money for Sammy's college fund, and Dean's only passion was art, and Bobby Singer introduced him to a tattoo shop owner who took Dean under his wing, etc.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: Why is Dean reflecting on his past? Does Castiel need to know this information in order to build a romance with Dean?

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Why does this information matter? If Dean's only reflecting on this because you want to make sure your audience knows where the timeline changed and this became an AU, then you're starting too early in your story. Dean doesn't need to know this, and honestly in a lot of cases the reader doesn't need to know this. This is information that should have been left in your notes file.

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: If this information is pertinent to the plot, like maybe there's some trauma there that Castiel might need to know about to develop their relationship, then you don't want to put it HERE, you want to put it in a conversation with Castiel LATER.

If I was writing this AU, I would just start with Dean sipping his coffee, he's kinda tired because reasons, he looks up to see an unusual commotion, and has to drop his coffee and sprint forward to catch Cas. If he's reflecting on anything in this scene, it's going to be whatever made him tired, or how good/bad the coffee is this morning. Since Cas is a new business owner, they can talk about the origins of Dean's business on their first date, because it'll be a relevant response to Castiel talking about the origins of his yoga studio.

And just in general, if Dean's origin story includes a lot of canon elements, like mom dying in a fire, dad being a deadbeat, Sammy being the adorable overachieving Stanford student.... try to hide that info for as long as you can so that the audience is actually curious about it by the time the info might pop up. It's the wild divergences that are more interesting earlier on.

Okay, and then I want to talk about my giant pet peeve for a starting chapter. It's a specific kind of info dump, that often includes the stuff from above, but then goes a step further.

My nemesis, The Daily Grind.

I haven't asked the authors, so I could be wrong about this, but I feel like most of the time when this type of chapter is included in a story it is because the author wants to show the reader that the character's life is boring and meaningless before the plot's inciting incident. I can absolutely see why that might be considered an important detail about the character, but keep in mind if it's boring and meaningless to the character, it's boring and meaningless to your audience.

You know how I said earlier that writing tips should never be hard and fast rules? Well this is in regards to that Show Don't Tell rule, and it's an example of TOO MUCH showing lol

It is possible to do a daily grind in an interesting way, but only if you include a Shake Up right away. And you have to look at the 3 questions a little bit differently.

So for example:

Castiel POV, and he works in an office. His daily routine is to always get up at the same time every day, he goes for his run, he grooms himself, he has his breakfast, he goes to work and talks to Kelly about how Jack's doing in kindergarten for a few minutes before going into his office. Adler comes in to be a prick, Castiel hates him for it, and then he does his reports, has lunch hiding in a corner of the lunch room so that his co-workers will leave him alone, he does more reporting, leaves an hour after his shift technically ends, goes home to a lonely apartment that maybe includes a pet who is the only being that shows him affection, has an unsatisfying dinner of leftover takeout while watching a mindless reality tv show, then he goes to bed.

Ugh.

BORING.

Which, yeah I get it, the point is that his life is boring. But now the story is too, and I've clicked the back button before I can see how exciting it's capable of getting.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: No. He knows. Poor thing definitely already knows.

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Yes, but...

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: Yes, but new question for ya:

Optional Question 4, why does this need to be separate from your plot's inciting incident? The answer to this 4th question is usually that it doesn't.

Chapter 2 of this type of beginning usually shows the shake up of Castiel's day. My advice is to start with the shakeup, and sprinkle in the details of what you would have put into chapter 1 to show the contrast. It's far more interesting to learn how boring Castiel's day is by starting with the shake up.

So, same scenario:

Castiel's alarm doesn't go off for some reason, OH NO HIS ROUTINE IS SHAKEN UP! You're explaining his routine while also stressing him the fuck out because he has to rush, or skip something that he normally needs to do. Action! Interesting! He gets to work late, and has to miss his conversation with Kelly about Jack because she's telling him that Adler's already in his office being a prick because Castiel isn't there waiting for him like he always is. Oh shit, he's pissing off his asshole boss! Conflict! He's so flustered by the shakeups that he misses something on his report, and he gets a call from that new marketing guy Dean Winchester who asks if they can have a meeting about it when Castiel normally takes his lunch. BAM! MEET CUTE OPPORTUNITY! While Castiel is getting all flustered by how pretty Dean is while they talk about TPS reports, he can reflect on how this is both better and worse than hiding from his co-workers in the corner of the lunch room. The rest of the day after that meeting he's thinking about how weird this day is, he still goes home an hour late, he talks to his pet about his weird day when he gets home, and maybe he still eats leftover takeout, but he's not paying attention to the reality tv show because holy shit he wants to count Dean's freckles.

In this example, you're Telling the audience about Castiel's normal routine instead of Showing them. But since it's during a plot heavy chapter, it works!

Lemme see if I can TL:DR this...

As you're reading, ask yourself who needs to know this information, why do they need to know this information, and why is it important for this information to be included early instead of later?

If the answer to any of those questions boils down to "this is backstory" instead of "this kicks off the plot", then you've started too early.

I hope this helps? I'm always nervous about giving writing advice because so much of the time I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm just feeling around in the dark. And I definitely do not ever want to hurt an author's feelings, because this hobby is so fucking hard, and we're all fragile. Even authors who welcome con-crit with open arms will have a weak point that they're unaware of that might get poked wrong and cause a crack, ya know?

I hope anyone who gets this far who might see their own works reflected in my examples understands that I have a lot of respect for their ability to put their work out into the world, and I want them to keep doing it. We're here to have fun, okay? Okay. I love y'all 💜

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E121 (Jan. 19, 2021)

Aaaand we're back! The epic pet montage at the start is still the greatest thing ever.

Tonight's guests? Matthew Mercer and Marisha Ray!

We begin with an extensive discussion of waffle farts. As you do.

Matt is asked what it's been like to get to build out the characters in the Tombtakers. Lucien is Matt's favorite, but they've all got some fun traits to them. "It's one of those rare experiences as a dungeon master where you get to watch your players combat with the necessity of playing along. The instinct is: fuck these guys, I want to fight them, we'll take their shit... or I guess we have to play nice. And they begrudgingly grit their teeth and I smile internally."

On the Lucien accent: "You guys are all so mean to Taliesin!" Matt knew his own take would be a "weird mutation" of Mollymauk's accent anyway.

How's Marisha feeling about a lot of her predictions panning out? "Aw, I mean, gee, me? What? Noooo. It's definitely vindicating, I'm not gonna lie, and rewarding, but I also know that I write a lot of shit down in that notebook that's never relevant ever again. It's definitely a good feeling to know that I didn't go on that fifteen-minute deep dive and was utterly wrong about everything I said." Matt: "I was super proud. I was just silently cheering you on as you went on these long tangents."

What does Lucien think of the Mighty Nein? "Lucien is definitely curious about why they're getting involved in his shit and what they're planning alongside them. One, he hates Beau because he doesn't like people who challenge his authority. He gravitates towards Jester to an extent because she's the most open, which from his standpoint makes her easiest to manipulate. He loves toying with curiosity, and so between Jester and Caleb, those are the two people that he's the most comfortable interacting with. Caduceus makes him feel a little weird. He's amused by them. Fjord to Lucien is one of the more guarded and less accessible at the moment."

Is Beau enjoying getting under Lucien's skin? "Beau's picking and poking still kind of stems from her defensiveness and guardedness and her feelings, in a lot of ways, and the way that she's coping with things. It's a few steps removed from her default and what she often resorts to when she starts throwing up those barriers. She still has in the back of her head that she's looking at her dead friend. It's her way of protecting herself if she can go, fuck you, I don't care about you. This isn't too dissimilar to the way she reacted when Yasha was brainwashed." Matt: "It's a unique social sparring match the whole time they're traveling side-by-side. It's unique to have an antagonistic force that you're--" Marisha: "That we're going camping with."

Navigating the Tombtaker/M9 relationship as a DM is "challenging. At any given moment, a wrong statement could escalate matters one way or the other. It's having to pay attention to a lot of things at all points in time to be ready for how those chain reactions can happen and where it might go." He likens it to trying to follow and participate in two different conversations simultaneously at a party.

On the note from Yasha: "Oh man, you guys. Oh, it was so sweet. I don't think Beau was expecting Yasha to be so forthcoming with everything, and so complimentary and eloquent. Beau is awkward with healthy relationships, so she doesn't know how to handle them. She's still processing that and wants to not ruin it. No, it was magical." Ashley told Marisha after the episode that she was trying to think of what to say and wound up basing it on what she would say about Marisha.

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Vax (by stormfeather_cosplay, photograph by travi_b, both on Instagram)!

On using variations on the Wild Magic table: "I wanted to give it some variation to consequences. They took some of the tooth out of it from earlier editions. I knew it would be fun once I gave them the specifications of when these things would happen - players are just waiting for someone to roll a 20 or a 1 at all times."

Why is it so important to Beau that she and Yasha have a proper date? Part of it is a fresh start. "So much of Beau's past relationships have been rooted in some toxic behavior. Beau feels like, well, maybe we should just start from the beginning in the most us way possible: fighting through the tundra with our dead-ish friend."

The sci-fi-ish theme came toward the end of developing Aeor, but it mostly comes from rationalization. Matt is intrigued by how all these different societies want to usurp the gods... which has parallels with modern society. He notes that focusing more on the science of the magic means the aesthetics pull away to "instead facilitate the utility or the most direct route to the answers you want. You streamline as opposed to focusing on the aesthetics."

Beau’s reaction to all the weird magic stuff? “I think Beau’s just so focused on the pragmatic aspects of it all right now. There are greedy people with motives and the will and want to corrupt across all spans of cultures and times. She’s trying not to get lost in the magic, both proverbially and literally, of it all, and just trying to focus on the motives of these people at hand.”

In some ways, Matt was surprised by Caduceus’ strong reaction to the creepy woods. “It was the first major reveal that there are some other sides to the coin that he hadn’t learned about. I had no idea how he would react. It pushed him away more in ways than I expected.”

Fan art of the week: an amazing Lucien! (by oratorkayla on Twitter)

What’s Dagen’s motivation? “He’s definitely a man of his word when it comes to fulfilling a contract and getting the other half of his pay, but it’s not hard to see they’ve grown on him a little bit. He’s really good at getting around the tundra unseen and unnoticed.”

Brian: “In true Sam fashion-” Marisha, instantly: “OH MY GOD.”

Marisha: “Here’s the thing. Here’s the tea, okay? If I ever hear one more fucking person trying to claim that I’m ruining things by metagaming, I’m going to point to Sam. I’m expected to respond accordingly to Veth being a Sam troll. Gods damn him! Raven Queen curse upon him! Let chaos reign! He made me pull out my earphones, I can’t hear anything you’re saying. It’s frustrating because I’d be mad at it if it wasn’t so god damn funny.” Matt notes that at a different table this wouldn’t be great behavior, but they all know each other well enough (and check in with each other enough) that it’s comfortable teasing.

With a bit of a deeper pull, Matt is asked whether he knew Avantika would return someday? “I knew she was a fun, interesting option out there. The M9 still have in their grasp the single most important artifact, in Uk’otoa’s opinion, at the moment. As long as they carry that artifact, his eye of Sauron is upon them.” Matt notes that he has more encounter tables going, so a lot of the time even he’s not sure what’s going to happen.

Caduceus suggested contacting Essek, but Beau and Caleb nixed that idea. Does Beau trust him? “Gods no. Absolutely not. She can like Essek personally. As a person, he’s fine, I guess. But I think a lot of people might be forgetting that he’s kind of a war criminal and kind of set off a lot of bad things in motion with this war with the Empire and the Dynasty, because he wanted power and to know things. So now here he is, also in Aeor. Yeah. Just kinda putting two and two together there. It is another one of those things of, you’re walking that line on trying to keep him on your good side and having a mutually beneficial relationship before it could easily go completely south.”

On the Star Razor being a Vestige: “I don’t want this to be--- the Vestiges aren’t always a thing where it’s like, you get a Vestige and you get a Vestige! I want them to be still considered special and rare. This is one that had to be earned, it had to be reforged. I didn’t know the circumstances that would involve it coming about.” He based it on the circumstances of Fjord’s evolution into a paladin. “In essence, not only did he finish the creation of the sword, but he Awakened it at the same time as he made this transition. It is Exalted at this point, it’s in its final form.”

What does Beau think might lie ahead? “I have no idea. I am trying to abandon expectation when it comes to that. I know what we don’t know, and that’s it. Beau is trying to compensate for the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns. I hope we can keep this tenuous relationship through to Aeor, because we need more answers before it explodes in our face. Beau, and Marisha, is hoping for a little more information before shit hits the fan.”

[greenhappyseed]

BnHA Ch.327 - Review, parallels & comparisons

Not gonna lie, this chapter gave us lots of soft Shoto and ass shots. Both, as it turns out, are important.

In the spirit of “Rest,” I don’t really feel like going over the chapter scene by scene. Instead, let’s see how the “rest” theme plays out across our key characters, because some interesting things happen, especially on the heels of last week’s “Who are you really?” This chapter is not just about Izuku retiring “Dark Deku” — after a cleansing bath there are a few characters ready to lay old ideals and identities to rest, and assert new mission statements for who they want to be.

Ochako. We finally have Izuku thinking about Ochako (now only 3892 more times before it’s equal to how often All Might thinks about Inko). But Ochako is already exhausted and fast asleep. She didn’t hang around to see Izuku after the bath, and she didn’t try to be near him at any point; she just conked out. In other words, she didn’t force anything due to a crush. Smart, considering that relationships based on tense experiences never work.

Bakugo didn’t give his ego a rest, insisting to everyone that he’s gonna be #1. Because he is, and will remain, the image of perfect victory. BUT he signals that he’s trying to give the name “Deku” a rest and switch to “Izuku,” as befits childhood best friends. Of course Bakugo says this while he’s in the water with Izuku, with everything literally bare (and Izuku returns the “challenge” without missing a beat ETA: check out @hanashimas great post on why Izuku is only sassy in English). Oh Hori, you cheeky bastard.

Later, Bakugo doesn’t go near Izuku in the common room and he’s not visible when All Might is around because it would be awkward to talk to him, but Bakugo is there when the “strongest in the class” is nurturing and gentle to Izuku. And Bakugo finally got to see that people DO care about Shoto and his family as Shoto speaks plainly about who he really is and who he wants to be.

Shoto is in the shlubbiest outfit I can recall him wearing, and initially seems a touch off brand even if he's still handsome (although he’s not shown engaging in any of the bath shenanigans, which is very on brand for him). The baggy tshirt and shorts are a great visual signal showing how he’s like his peers while he talks openly about how he’s different from his family. These dorms and these people are HIS safe space too. Notice that Shoto had EVERY reason to be furious at Izuku, especially because his father was with Izuku the whole time. Izuku distracted Endeavor from his promises to Shoto about finding Toya together.

But Shoto doesn’t hold on to any anger and moves straight to caring for his tired friend. This is who Shoto really is now. He sees Izuku alone on the couch and goes to talk to him. If Shoto hadn’t done that, would anyone have felt comfortable just hanging out with Izuku rather than slamming him with OFA questions? (Bakugo is on the other couch between Kirishima and Kaminari.) In return, Izuku confides to Shoto about being a jerk to All Might, and how guilty he feels. After not confessing any of his OFA or All Might-related worries to Shoto before, it’s a nice restart to their relationship. And apparently, the moment was powerful enough to conjure All Might to the Heights Alliance window like Slender Man. Shoto also watches (but doesn’t say anything) as All Might speaks with Izuku, while Bakugo doesn’t appear to get off the couch. I’m curious what Shoto thinks about All Might bowing to Izuku and apologizing compared to Endeavor’s efforts to atone.

All Might. Last chapter, All Might was clearly exhausted mentally and physically. He’s been following Izuku around for weeks — even after being ditched he tracked Izuku to Kamino and UA before going back to Kamino for Stain before returning to UA for Izuku. (And there’s no sign Hercules is a self-driving car.) But now All Might is exceptionally All Might-y and is NOT resting. He seems more energetic and determined than ever. He’s even using his “I am here” catchphrase and speaking a bit more formally (“I must depart!”). There’s no real emotion when he apologizes to Izuku and then the class (good on you, Mina, for making him address 1A!!!) His apology to Izuku is also very lacking in specifics; like he still hasn’t told the kid he made the right decision to spend time with friends and rest.

This chapter makes it sound like All Might is legitimately trying to merge his identities and find a way to be as “All Might” as possible without powers. He says in front of the kids that his body limits how much he can contribute AND he has classic “old man” posture when he bows — it looks like he has a hard time bending forward without rounding his back and bending his knees, and he’s slow to stand back up. (See, I said ass shots would be important.) Remember, he also fell down and dropped the bento chasing after Izuku.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, this arc has gone out of its way to remind us that All Might isn’t as fragile as fanfic would have you believe. Not to linger on an ass shot, but, uh, the man doesn’t look skeletal. Plus, All Might still has razor sharp instincts, and he athletically leapt from a moving car, rolled across a highway and defeated assassins without any coughing/splorting. All Might has backup too — he’s got Hercules, that mystery suitcase, and the anniversary artwork depicted mecha All Might (plus there’s the old steampunk artwork showing him suited up that someone called out the other day but I can’t find the link).

All Might also references Second’s statement that what Izuku needs is people who can match pace with him. People like Iida, who represents the class and, conveniently, is right there with Izuku and All Might. And Izuku’s “together” echoes Shoto’s.

Now we know the “real” All Might is determined to fight — or at least be an “active player on the board.” He’s not going to sit on the sidelines like he did during the war. And I think he’ll do more than deliver bentos (although I suspect he’d be willing to do that too). Once again, kids have pushed him to do better. The question is HOW he’ll pull this off and how physical his fight will be. “Bad Things” will happen if he gets reckless and jumps into a fight without adequate backup or precautions. But All Might's head could be in a good place judging by how he thinks about following and joining and not bearing the burden alone; about crawling prostrate through mud for the kids (plural) and getting filthy like a hero. He’s thinking about what he has to live for, rather than what he would die for.

That said, All Might is joining Endeavor, which is concerning and means death flags are still around for our “old guard” heroes. Let’s see how the All Might/Izuku and Endy/Shoto “together” pairings work out. We know Hawks is ghosting Tokoyami, so there’s no togetherness there.

Jirou and the Culture Festival Band. I can’t imagine we are heading for a parent/child festival arc. But I love the concept of heroes using their quirks for amusement and fun. A nice rest from the fighting and the high stakes.

Who else is resting? Shigaraki.

Who else is NOT resting? Hawks’s mouth. Holy exposition dump. I can’t stop giggling that Hawks, an extreme Endeavor stan, is so dismissive about Stain’s “deranged love letter” to All Might (which is also a gigantic “fuck you” to Endy). The letter really is a thing of poetic beauty (“Now, more than ever, the masses cry out for that unshakeable sense of justice he embodies…The Symbol of Peace must stand at the vanguard and lead us all to a more just society”):

Jokes aside, I loved ending the chapter on this Endy panel, because if anyone needs to learn that villains can become allies, and maybe even redeemed, it’s Endeavor and his zealot, Hawks:

Finally, note that AFO isn’t resting either. AFO wants OFA before Shigaraki awakens and transcends humanity. Interesting -- we thought AFO needed Shigaraki as his tool to take OFA. I wonder if it’s a control thing? To try and ensure Shigaraki doesn’t take the power for himself and act against AFO’s will??? Is it a sign this master and successor pair won't fight together??

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 10

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  Neither you nor Din are handling your capture well.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,978

Warnings: captured reader, surprises, plot plot plot, violence, Din goes a bit dark side

Author Note: So sorry this is coming out late 😳 Between making YouTube videos and New Years everything got hectic, but here it is. I attempted writing from Din’s perspective this time so bear with me cuz he’s having a rough time😬 

Links to Part 1 and Part 9 and Part 11

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

When you wake up, you’re lying facedown on a pallet in a dark and cold room. You groan, head pounding, and try to sit up, but your weak muscles protest, resulting in you rolling awkwardly onto your backside. Squinting up at the ceiling, you notice it is made of rock, as is the wall to the right of you.

Your head lolls to the left, granting you a lovely view of a red laser gate trapping you inside this strange cell. The faint glow it gives off produces barely enough light to reveal more rocky walls curving off to the side. You’re in a cave, you realize, processing everything at the rate of a snail’s pace, or some kind of underground tunnel.

At first you can’t remember how you ended up here, or what happened to you, but then everything hits you all at once.

“Finally,” a voice declares from beyond your cell. The purple twi’lek from earlier steps out of the shadows and leers at you from the other side of the laser gate. “I was beginning to think I misjudged the dosage.”

With monumental effort, you push yourself onto your knees, dizziness slamming into your skull with the brutal intensity of a hammer, and reach a hand out to summon your bow.

Nothing happens.

“What—why isn’t it—” The words are thick and clumsy, slurring together as if your tongue has forgotten how to form them individually. Closing your eyes to stop the room from spinning, you feel nothing but unbalanced and vulnerable. You try to speak again, taking a steadying breath. “What is wrong with me?”

“You’ve been collared. All the pets in the Moff’s collection wear one,” she answers, as casually as if she’s discussing the weather outside. “Keeps you from using your abilities and causing trouble.”

She has no reason to lie, but you still gasp when your trembling hand brushes against the metal band encircling your neck. Panicking, you pull on it without thinking, only for a responding jolt of electricity to shock your fingertips and fry every nerve ending in your body. You cry out at the pain, but the sound is drowned out by the twi’lek’s screech-like laughter.

“That never gets old,” she says, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.

“Death,” you mutter hoarsely, closing your eyes again and breathing shallowly through your mouth. “Death is going to slaughter all of you.”

“Oh, pet, you just don’t get it, do you?“ Her voice is practically dripping with condescension as she coos at you, “The Moff wants you here because you’re precious to Death.”

Against your better judgement, you open your eyes to look at her, confused by the wide smile you see stretching across her face. At headquarters, Gideon and your superiors had seemed far more concerned about the fact you had a second soulmate rather than who it was you matched with. If Gideon is punishing you for being Din’s soulmate (a fate which you had no control over whatsoever), you can’t help thinking he must be insane or have a legitimate desire to have his body dismembered piece by bloody piece. There is no denying that Din will do anything he can to get you back. Even break the rules of the universe.

You freeze.

Kriff. The puzzle pieces begin fitting together and you loathe the hideous picture they form.

“You are Death’s weakness. And anyone with a weakness can be taken advantage of if the right strings are pulled,” the twi’lek says, confirming your fears. She then winks at you coyly. “Congratulations, pet, you’ve just become Moff Gideon’s favorite puppet.”

You barely refrain from shouting curses at her as she walks away, leaving you alone with your chaotic thoughts.

Lying back down on the pallet, you press your hands over your eyes, tuning out the coldness of your surroundings and seeking out the warmth of your soulmate bond. You call out Din’s name within your mind, a repetitive chant increasing in urgency as you pray against all odds he hears you. But as the silence continues and you start to feel a phantom sensation of pain emanating from your throat, as if you have actually scraped it raw by how loudly you call, your heart breaks as it accepts the bitter truth: he can’t hear you.

You touch the collar again, every internal instinct you have screaming it is to blame for the invisible wall blocking you from reaching out to Din. How long have you been collared? How much time has passed since you were drugged at headquarters? Regardless, you don’t have any doubt Din is losing his mind right now. And his temper.

A few tears leak from the corners of your eyes, but you do not sob or sniffle. Gideon and his minions will not have the satisfaction of hearing you crying. Din wouldn’t like it either, you think, remembering his reaction on the Razor Crest when he’d found you panicking. He had held your hand, offering you any support he could to end your sorrows. Even offering to kill for you.

It’s funny, though, because few people seem to realize the feeling is mutual. You would do anything in the galaxy to spare Din a second’s worth of pain. If Gideon is under the impression you’ll just silently let him use you in order to exploit Din to do his bidding, then he’s going to be thoroughly pissed to learn just how stubborn you can be. Taking away your Cupid abilities might have weakened you, but you’re not going to be a helpless kriffing damsel.

Although, you correct yourself ruefully as you lower your hands and look around your confines, you might currently be a little helpless. You take in the high ceiling above you, thinking you’ll be able to stand at full height once the effects of the drug wear off and still not be able to touch the top. It scares you to think how far your cell has been dug beneath the surface of whichever planet Gideon has imprisoned you on. The twi’lek had referenced he had a collection of others hidden away in these tunnels. How many have died here with no one up above being any the wiser?

Pushing the morbid thoughts aside, your gaze drifts along the walls, noting the varying shapes and sizes of the rocks. They are all different shades of brown except for one odd green one in the corner. You look at the laser gate, knowing it can’t be shut off unless you have access to the generator which severely limits your plans of escaping since—

Your thoughts screech to a halt as your eyes snap back to the corner.

A rock does not have a little green body clothed in brown wool or long pointed ears. Nor does it peer back at you with large, innocent eyes as it clutches a piece of dirty black fabric with tiny three-fingered hands. And it certainly doesn’t waddle up to you and coo curiously in your stunned face.

You rub at your eyes, half-convinced you have now begun hallucinating things.

Nope. That little green face is still there when you open them again. It’s official, your brain isn’t screwing with you.

Your cellmate is a kriffing baby.

~~

Decades ago Din was approached by a man who begged to be killed. He had been separated from his soulmate against his will and compared the pain he felt to the sensation of a thousand needles injecting acid straight into his bloodstream. However, Din had sensed the man’s lifetime was far from over and ignored his pleas.

Thinking about that incident now, Din has determined the man’s comparison to be a gross understatement. Being forcefully separated from his angel is as if an invisible force is holding him underwater, wishing him to drown. His brain is on the verge of exploding, torn between thoughts of bloodthirsty savagery and the overwhelming agony of not being able to breathe without her in his sight. Every hour they remain apart threatens to rob him of his sanity and transform his outward appearance from man to monster.

 Already he has experienced a lapse in control of his powers the moment he’d first felt their bond had been blocked. He’d been forced to teleport away from Kuiil’s farm, lest he risk reaping the Ugnaught’s soul before its destined time, and unleashed his wrath upon an uninhabitable Outer Rim planet. His powers had pierced its core in the same effortless manner a vibroblade cuts through flesh, killing its essence instantaneously. In a matter of minutes, the planet would be nothing more than scattered dust particles floating through the vastness of space, though he did not linger to witness the destruction.

Instead, he returned to his ship and sent a holographic message to his most trusted reapers, assigning them the critical task of searching the galaxy for one specific target: Valin Hess. While they hunted down the bastard, he dedicated his time to searching for his better half. He extended his powers to each individual planet and moon in every region, tendrils of darkness looking through homes and alleyways for even the faintest trace of her vibrant aura amongst trillions of souls.

Now, ten hours later, he is interrupted by the chime of an incoming call.

“Come to Trask,” Bo-Katan says bluntly, not one to waste crucial time with excess words. “I've got him ready for you.”

“Good,” Din says. His own voice sounds strange even to himself. As he reaches for his helmet, his reflection in its visor reveals his eyes have changed from brown to solid black, his true form beginning to break through the human facade he cloaks himself in. 

He had been warned in the past of the grievous consequences that will ripple across the galaxy should he ever lose control of his internal darkness. But if unleashing that force brings him even one step closer to reuniting with his angel?

He won’t even hesitate a heartbeat.

~~

You are quick to learn three important facts about your cellmate.

First and foremost, the baby adores attention. Within minutes of discovering him, he climbs into your lap and snuggles against your stomach, making a strange purring sound of happiness. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when you notice the tiny collar around his neck, identical to yours. Why would Gideon be keeping a child in his collection? Any potential answer that comes to mind makes you feel sick.

“You’re safe with me,” you tell him gently, stroking your fingertips over his wrinkly brow and the sparse amount of fuzzy hair on top of his head. He coos as if he understands you, ears perking up. “We’ll get through this together.”

Secondly, he is extremely possessive of his belongings. You learn this the hard way when you reach for the torn piece of black fabric he has gripped in his hands, intending to get a closer look at it because it doesn’t resemble a usual child’s blanket, but instead more so a torn bit of clothing—only for surprisingly sharp teeth to nip at your fingers.

You pull your hand away and hold it up, showing you mean no harm. “I’m sorry, bud. I should have asked permission first.”

Brown eyes stare back at you for a silent beat, painfully reminding you so much of Din you almost can’t bear to look at them, before the baby bobs his head with a low grunt. You chuckle at his cuteness. Although you hate the unfairness of the situation, you’re grateful for his presence as it stops you from worrying incessantly about your disconnected bond. As long as you wear the collar, you remind yourself, there isn’t anything you can do to reach Din. So you’ll just have to continue being patient and live with the uncomfortable hollow sensation until you can determine the best opportunity of freeing yourself.

And the baby now, too, you can’t help but silently add, looking down at him.

It is impossible for you within your cell to tell how much time passes as there are not any nearby clocks or windows providing a glimpse of the sky. As a Cupid, nourishment isn’t a necessity like it is for mortals, so you’re unsurprised no one has come by to offer you food or water. However, the same apparently can’t be said for the baby whose stomach growls unexpectedly, startling you both with its loudness.

He looks down at himself then at the laser gate. His ears twitch, as if he hears something, before he lets out a quiet whine. You open your mouth, wanting to console him, only for him to push himself out of your lap and waddle quicker than you anticipate towards the corner you initially spotted him in.

Thirdly, he is a master escape artist.

“What—” you start to ask, only for your jaw to drop when he squeezes himself through a small hole you failed to notice earlier, no bigger in diameter than a womp rat’s body, and disappears from view.

You stare at the corner, a million questions swirling inside your brain, each one focused on the baby. Where the kriff did he go? What is on the other side of the wall? Will he be okay?

The laser gate abruptly vanishes, plunging your cell into total darkness. You immediately press your back against the wall, blinking rapidly to try to adjust your vision, but you can’t even see your own hands in front of you. There is a distinct clicking sound of a button being pressed and then a glowing black blade lights up mere inches away from the side of your face, nearly singing your hair. You’re unable to stop yourself from crying out in terror, flinching backwards and hitting your head hard enough you see stars.

Over the pounding of your heartbeat and the eerie humming of the weapon next to your ear, you hear a familiar chuckle.

You freeze. Dank farrik.

“Believe it or not,” Gideon begins, looming ominously in the darkness. “I remember our first meeting when you awoke after your transformation. You weren’t special by any means, not one detail even remotely suggesting you would become such an invaluable asset to my plans. I’ve come to realize your unmemorable appearance was the universe’s attempt of concealing you from me. It might have worked, too, except the universe is a hopeless romantic, unable to help itself from matching soulmates. How else can it be explained why you were chosen out of all potential Cupids to monitor Death each month, thus increasing your affections for each other, if not for fate’s divine intervention?”

Gideon lifts the blade away from your personal space and holds it in front of him, outlining his features enough you’re able to see him peering down at you, expression blank and giving you no hints as to what is going on inside his head right now. “Your capture has driven Death into quite a frenzy. His influence can be felt in each region of space. Even his reapers have become involved.”

He pauses, as if he’s expecting a response from you, but you’re unable to look away from the laser sword in his grip. You wonder if all seraphs possess them, such as all Cupids wield bows, or if he had it specially crafted for his own pleasure. Regardless, the negative energy it radiates is strong enough that you feel as if dozens of spiders are crawling over every inch of your entire body.

“Your soulmate has no notion of my involvement, but even if it were revealed to him you are being kept here I thoroughly warded this location to hide myself from those intending me harm. Your presence will continue to remain invisible to his powers as long as he desires bloodshed. So I suggest you better make yourself comfortable because this cell shall be your home for the foreseeable future.”

Swallowing against your suddenly dry throat, you ask, “Do you honestly think keeping me hostage will grant you control over him?”

Gideon inclines his head. “I think you underestimate his willingness to guarantee your safety. He’ll commit any sin imaginable if it means not one hair harmed on your head.”

“Death won’t listen to a single word unless he has proof I’m okay,” you say, the beginnings of a risky plan forming in your head. “Which means you have to let me talk to him.”

“I’m not the fool you think I am,” he replies, shaking his head in a reproachful manner, as if you are no older than a child. But your hopes rise when you notice there is the smallest glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

You position yourself on your knees, eyes wide and brimming with tears, clasping your hands together as you start to beg. “Please, sir, the separation is tearing me apart. I can’t handle the pain anymore. I must see him. I’ll convince Death to kill whoever in the galaxy you want. He’ll do it without question if I’m the one who asks.”

Gideon considers you wordlessly for a long moment. The hum of the weapon and your heavy, anxious breathing are the only audible sounds. And in that moment you pray harder than you’ve ever prayed in your entire lifetime.

Let this work. Please, please let this work.

You know the exact second he gives in to your begging because a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, teeth bared almost predatorily.

“Very well then. Tomorrow I will make preparations for you to contact Death. Think carefully until then about what you will say in order to convince him to be agreeable with me. It would be a shame to use this ,” his sword hovers in front of your face once more, the tip nearly touching your chin, “to cut off your tongue should you fail or if you attempt to be clever and alert him of your whereabouts.”

Step one complete, you think to yourself after he has departed and the laser gate returns. Wiping away the lingering tears, you begin to plan step two.

Getting this kriffing collar off your neck.

~~

Valin Hess is every bit the smug bastard Din predicted him to be. Despite the binders securing his wrists to a pipe high above his head and his bleeding split lip, the high-ranking Cupid still has enough arrogance to smirk at Din when he arrives at the abandoned warehouse Bo-Katan chose as the setting for the interrogation.

“Tell me where she is,” Din demands through clenched teeth as he marches up to the pompous prick without sparing a glance towards the red-haired reaper silently leaning against the nearby wall. He knows Bo-Katan is smart enough not to intervene.

“Just who would you be referring to?” Hess blinks innocently back at him.

His nose crumples beneath the knuckles of Din’s fist, blood bursting from his nostrils and staining Din’s gloves crimson.

“I am not known for my patience,” Din says. “Your suffering will only worsen the longer you keep me from my soulmate. I know you are aware of where she’s being kept. So tell. Me. Now.”

Untamed fury burns hotly beneath his skin, threatening to incinerate his mortal guise and his armor as if both were made of paper. It takes all of Din’s self-control not to give into the wicked desire to break each one of the Cupid’s bones, to peel off his skin layer by layer, to twist and carve and scar his body until there is not a single identifiable feature left.

“I haven’t the faintest notion nor care where she wound up.” Hess’ naturally gruff voice has changed to a nasally sounding one due to his broken nose. If the response hadn’t further stirred Din’s annoyance, he might have smirked beneath his helmet instead of snarled. “As soon as that twi’lek dragged her unconscious body out of headquarters, she became a nonentity to me.”

Din places his gloved hands over the other immortal’s shoulders, resting them there long enough Hess starts to twitch, unable to hide his increasing panic, and then Din squeezes until both clavicles shatter at the same time with a resounding crack . Hess tosses his head back, howling like a wounded animal, but Din is not yet finished.

He slams his fists against Hess’ torso, growling loud enough to be heard over the merciless snapping of each individual rib, “Give me a name.”

When the only answer he receives is agonized screaming, Din decides another approach is necessary to produce the desired results. He rips his gloves off, this time unable to resist smirking when Hess immediately starts to choke on his tongue and blood as he shakes his head emphatically, eyes blown wide with fear.

Din’s fingers reach out towards the Cupid’s temples, the veins in his hands ominously black in color.

“Xi’an!” Hess shouts, blood spraying from his mouth and painting Din’s visor. He doesn’t even notice, already planning the hunt for his next target. “The twi’lek that took your whore is named Xi’an!”

Din stills. “My... whore?”

Every lightbulb within the warehouse shatters, glass and sparks raining down upon them and the concrete floor. Hess starts babbling, a litany of apologetic words, but Din is beyond reasoning. Something sinister and feral has awakened within him, intertwining itself with his powers and enhancing their strength beyond what he ever imagined possible.

Din has reaped countless souls over the span of his existence. He has mastered the precise method of coaxing a soul out of a corpse, persuading them gently with his powers. Once the essence is held within his grip, the universe judges it, deciding either eternal damnation or a glorious afterlife. Most people tend to think Din is who chooses their fates, one of the many reasons why they fear him, but he has never been powerful enough to personally influence anyone’s destiny.

Until now.

He lowers one hand to hover over the center of Hess’ sternum, sensing the soul living deep within. It is a little battered from Din’s assault, but otherwise it resembles every other soul he’s ever reaped: a glowing, fidgety, amorphous bundle of energy.

Usually, he’d patiently guide the soul towards the corpse’s esophagus. But Hess is undeserving of such kindness. Din’s powers sink into the essence like sharpened claws, yanking it into Hess’ throat. The soul puts up a valiant fight, recognizing its host is still alive and thus should not be prematurely abandoned. But Din will not yield to its struggles, his powers manifesting dark tendrils to wrap around it in an unbreakable hold.

“You’re killing him!” Din hears someone call out over the harsh choking sounds Hess is making. Their voice is familiar and feminine sounding. “It’s not his time, you have to stop!”

Stop? No. He can’t. Not now when he’s on the verge of fulfilling the oath he’d sworn to his angel.

With one forceful twist of his wrist, the soul is helplessly torn from Hess’ bloodstained mouth and ensnared by Din’s awaiting hand. Without the essence of life, the light fades from the Cupid’s eyes and his broken body hangs limply from the binders.

The afterlife was never going to be an option as the soul’s final destination. However, Din has decided damnation is also too kind a place for vermin like Hess. There must be a third fate, he thinks.

Din squeezes his fist tighter and tighter, generating a cacophony of anguished shrieks from the soul. Ignoring the near-deafening cries, he gradually increases the pressure until at last it lets out one final high-pitched wail before disintegrating into dust that forms an unsuspecting pile on the floor when he uncurls his fingers.

A sharp gasp has Din turning, forgetting he has a witness present, and he finds Bo-Katan staring back at him with blatant horror. “What have you done?”

“What was necessary.”

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[stillness-in-green]

MVA In Memoriam (2/5)

The Comprehensive Account of the Butchering of My Villain Academia

(Introduction and Part One, Episode 108: My Villain Academia)

Part Two, Episode 109: Revival Party

Chapter 224 – Revival Party

• Mr. Compress’s side comment about how the distance Re-Destro wants them to travel means he must know they have warp capabilities. Also shortens his subsequent line, removing the bit about how their position has been locked onto, leaving only the marveling about the dude on the phone being the kind of person who has access to a satellite camera. Not a major cut, but it did strip out a bit of reiteration on how very Seen the League is. The warp line is another nod to how the MLA’s been doing their research—in particular, it ties in nicely with RD’s observations about the Noumu. He talks, there, about something Dabi said after the High End fight, which means he must also know that Dabi was warped out by an “Ujiko-san.”

• Also Mr. C’s observation that they haven’t broken Machia yet, and his posed question about what to do. Mr. Compress, I’m so sorry that you’re so wordy and lose so many quips and asides because the anime was set on brutally scything out every line of non-essential dialogue it could find.

• Ujiko’s extremely hilarious, “Listening to Villain Radio is my new favorite hobby,” line. Why would you cut this; this line is hysterical.

• The bit where Mr. Compress has the bright idea to use a High End Noumu like the one Dabi used, Ujiko rejects the suggestion out of hand, citing production woes, and Shigaraki says that he wasn’t going to ask for one of them anyway. Aside from being more cut Compress content (or “Comptent,” for short), it helps center the timeline somewhat at a point where the manga is jerking it around all over; it also shows that the League has been keeping up with news from the outside world. It also shows that at least one of them thought about using the Noumu—and since we know Re-Destro did some rationalizing on that scenario too, it’s good to see that it is at least briefly on the table.           Further, Ujiko provides a few rare details about the Noumu creation process. Firstly, that AFO is normally involved, so his absence makes the procedure much more difficult (though not, apparently, impossible). Secondly, that Hood-chan was the only Noumu who’d actually reached the testing stage. This will be important later, for Ujiko’s agonizing about unleashing them early/Mirko having to fight four of them at once.           Also, I just miss Mr. C’s funny little head wilt when Ujiko immediately turns down his “use some Noumu” idea. Ditto Shigaraki’s blasé shrug and little grin. Again, not to harp on the art too much, but man I wish the anime had kept all the fierce little grins and tight, incensed smirks Shigaraki has through the majority of this and the phone call sequence.

• Spinner’s line, “Without knowing squat about what we’re up against?!” A minor cut, as these things go, but it reiterates that there’s a chance RD is bluffing and the League has no way to know one way or the other, and demonstrates that the League can give Shigaraki some pushback on his decisions without having to worry about getting dusted for the temerity.[1]

• Takes one of Spinner’s lines—“Wait. I get it. Wherever you go, Shigaraki, he’ll sniff you out and hunt you down.”—and gives it to Shigaraki instead. Because fuck Spinner’s growing understanding of Shigaraki and the way his mind works, I guess! It’s especially notable that Spinner figures this out when Mr. C had completely the wrong idea about Shigaraki’s intentions��it demonstrates the way Spinner is gradually aligning himself with Shigaraki’s way of thinking, which we’ll see even more clearly during the War Arc. Also, again, it’s good to see the moments where the League weighs in on Shigaraki’s plans.

• The visual of Twice lashing out at Dabi with his razor-edged tape measure over Dabi’s dismissal of Giran, though all the relevant dialogue was there. Possibly this is because, having cut the CRC bit, the audience has no way of knowing that Twice’s tape measure is razor-edged, so why bother raising the question, “Why is Twice trying to attack Dabi with a tape measure..?” Possibly it’s because showing that attack would require animating movement, and MAN ALIVE, did Episode 109 ever want to do everything it could to avoid animating movement.

• Slidin’ Go’s line about how Deika isn’t usually his turf, but today is a big exception. This makes the hearty affirmative with which Trumpet announces himself a response to Shigaraki’s half-phrased observation about the reason behind the city’s emptiness, rather than a response to Slidin’ Go. It works, more or less, and probably even flows more clearly, all things considered. I’m always sad to lose lines from the vanishingly few named/characterized MLA members we have, though. I like, too, that it hints at the machinations that have to have been involved with setting things up for the Revival Party, and the way those plans were carried out with confidence that Re-Destro’s “bait the League into coming for their broker” plan would work despite the total absence of a response from the League in any of the time Giran was missing/his fingers were cropping up on the nightly news reports.

• A few shots of cameras in the city, which foreshadow Skeptic’s watchful eyes and ability to track the League through the city. In retrospect, this isn’t surprising, since the anime went on to cut basically any indication of Skeptic’s entire plan re: the footage of the League attacking, so why bother keeping the cameras? (Oh, right. Skeptic’s whole thing is cameras and information/disinformation. Skeptic for second-most screwed-by-the-anime MLA member.)

Additions

• Showed Toga having stood back up somewhere during Shigaraki’s explanation of their throw-Machia-against-the-MLA plan. A simply appalling choice. In the manga, she stays crouched down by Twice the entire time Shigaraki has his mask pulled off, because Toga cares about reassuring Jin-kun when he’s in a bad way.

• Rephrased Compress’s dialogue somewhat, also giving him a new line about the MLA’s forces in Deika when the League was still in the hills looking down at the city: “The so-called Meta Liberation Army has a force of 110,000 here.” I assume it was because the scene falls in a different episode than the tactical discussion did (in the manga, they’re the same chapter), so the anime was reminding the viewer of the stakes, but it’s potentially awkward because, er, no, the MLA categorically did not bring their entire army to Deika. We’ll find out as much for sure later, with the note that the regiment advisors weren’t in attendance because they were occupied at the bases they command, but even with only the knowledge we have here, Re-Destro’s statement about his numbers is that they’re scattered all over the country—hence the shot of Japan with a bunch of lights scattered across it to represent said numbers.           That said, to be (briefly) charitable, there’s no particular reason for the League to assume that, and they did discuss the possibility that there were going to have to fight 110,000 people. So it makes sense that Mr. C might state as much when recapping for the audience.

Chapter 225 – Interview with a Vampire

• Re-Destro talking about Deika’s geography and why they chose it strategically. The anime dropped so much about the MLA’s planning and information-gathering beforehand; it really made the MLA look ludicrously overconfident. And while they don’t lack for that trait, certainly,[2] this is also an organization that has meticulously grown its membership for generations right under Hero Society’s collective nose; you don’t get to where they are by being unduly foolhardy. Erasing so many scenes demonstrating their caution and forward-planning undercuts the threat they represent to both the League and society at large.           Also too, the descriptor of Deika as a nice, quiet, isolated little town in the mountains gives us some hints about how the MLA has avoided notice for so long, when you consider how the Hero business works: because so many people who get into heroism want to make it big, like celebrities, they don’t want to stick around small-town beats, and so the rural areas are understaffed.[3] That’s presumably why groups like the CRC and the MLA grow their numbers out in the boonies: much less attention from the Powers That Be. You can guess at some of that from how Spinner describes the place—“not too small, not too big”—and what Trumpet says about the percentage of the population that’s MLA, but RD adds that key “isolated” descriptor, and says that it’s a place where they “lay low.” That gives us some potential insight into how many—likely the majority—of the MLA came to their beliefs: by being raised to them, because their hometown was infiltrated by the MLA generations ago and they have literally never known anything else.

• RD’s phrasing, “Counter to point one,” when he makes his second point about the Noumu. He acknowledges that it’s counter-intuitive to his first argument, that he knows it would normally be an argument against that opening point, not in support. It’s just conversational padding, really, but “conversational padding” like that does a lot to distinguish character voice, so that not everyone talks the same way.

• A panel showing a trio of unnamed MLA warriors strategizing about how to divide their forces now that the League has split up. It’s the little cuts like this that gradually remove the agency of unnamed characters, such that they’re left looking like unthinking puppets instead of real people with the ability to register and respond to their circumstances. It also points towards the truth of what the MLA warriors are and one reason they’re so dangerous (for all that the manga itself will neglect this most egregiously later on): they’re trained in regiment tactics and accustomed to working in groups. This contrasts them both with villains, who might group together, but certainly don’t usually fight that way, and heroes, who are so unaccustomed to working in groups that it’s cited as part of the reason to have named super moves.

• Curious’s little pageboy-cut middle school kid line telling Toga to back off when Miss Curious is on the job. This is an early example of how defensive the MLA are of people above them in the hierarchy, an important thing Spinner will pick up on and attempt to use against Trumpet. Again, it’s little moments like this that both add some welcome notes of individuality to the MLA warriors (if only by virtue of Horikoshi and his assistants’ traditional talent for distinctive character design) while also fleshing out who the MLA are as a group, and contrasting them with the League.

• Deleted Toga’s line IDing her “on-the-go suck-suck mask,” but did insert a nice little bit of her expression shifting when she whipped it out. It lost a bit of the self-conscious silliness of her support item name in exchange for a cool little animation beat. I don’t dislike it, particularly, but I am, as previously stated, very leery of edits that make the League more polished in their villainy at the cost of their human foibles.

• Curious’s line about having come prepared to counter Toga’s moves, which was supposed to further reiterate that the MLA has done their research on the League; they didn’t just decide out of the blue to target the most notorious Villains in the country without studying up on them first and planning accordingly!

• Curious’s line about how she’s going to get started with some background info while her people use their meta-abilities to keep Toga and her buddies on the ropes. A marvelously characterful line! It speaks especially to that edge of formality the MLA brass observe that even as she’s ringleading this attack, Miss Curious is still set on going through her interview process step by established step.

Framing Shifts

• Made some of Curious’s lines spoken dialogue instead of internal monologue. That’s probably fine for when she’s waxing enthusiastic about Toga’s lack of hesitation in committing murder or how she’ll use Toga’s story to further the MLA’s agenda. It’s less fine when she’s rattling out the entire name, brand and patent status of her support item for no particular reason when Toga is already halfway through trying to knife her (that’ll be next chapter).

• The anime implied pretty firmly that Curious’s bombers died. And like, yeah, that’s always made more sense than the idea that anyone could survive something like that, but I hate it anyway. For one thing, it makes it even harder to credit the idea that Toga’s still on her feet afterward if Curious’s supposedly not-very-lethal explosions merk all her own people. People in this series survive ludicrous amounts of damage, and these random MLA devotees are no exception! For another, it leans into the narrative that the MLA higher-ups throw away the lives of their minions without the slightest care. It’s a lot harder to make that case when it’s explicit in the manga that Curious’s people survive the blood explosions—the blonde in the tracksuit is unharmed enough to snicker about it, and the noodle chef is even doing well enough to continue attacking! I’ve always been of the opinion that the MLA are, yes, willing to spend the lives of their underlings on attaining goals, if that’s what they think is necessary, but that is not at all the same as gleefully throwing them onto the pyre to watch them burn.

Additions

• Some individual shots of Mr. Compress, Dabi and Twice fending off or fleeing from various MLA types. A nice try on getting the group split up, but it feels kind of budget save-y, when we could have gotten actual animation of those fights instead.

• Inserted a quick shot of a headline about Toga’s first attack as Curious was rambling on about why she’s interested in Toga but not the League in general. Actually a fairly reasonable insertion, given how much text is crammed into her talk bubble in the manga while the dude standing next to her is already getting a knife in the neck.

Chapter 226 – Bloody Love

• A panel of interviewees talking about Toga’s first victim being sociable and popular. It gives a bit of context on what he was like, what people thought of him, but given that we know enough about Toga at this point to know that his popularity was entirely incidental to what she liked about him, it’s not a huge loss.

• The detail of the broadcasted interviews censoring Toga’s name. Considering how Japanese media normally treats minors accused of crimes, this is an eyebrow-raising change—the manga censors it because Japanese media outlets would have done the same. No idea why the anime didn’t, unless it’s another of those places where it would feel too “real,” to have something that so closely mirrors real life treatment of criminals?

• Everything about quirk counseling, and whoo boy, that is a loaded cut. There is exactly one other mention of quirk counseling anywhere in the manga, and, curiously enough, it also comes up in relation to a villain: in the U.A. faculty meeting after the USJ attack, Midnight muses that maybe Shigaraki never received quirk counseling in elementary school. It’s a weird little non sequitur there—exactly what sort of program did she expect could single-handedly make the difference between a well-adjusted adult and a gleefully murderous manchild with aims on killing Japan’s Number 1 Hero? Just over two hundred chapters later, we get a hint: a program designed to fit people “neatly into society’s little boxes.”           Quirk counseling, then, is not about helping children find healthy ways to process their quirks, but rather, about teaching children what is and is not acceptable in terms of quirk use—and as Curious says, Toga’s admiration of blood was never going to be acceptable.[4] This explanation doesn’t just tell us a lot about Toga—that she wasn’t only failed by the hysterical condemnation of her parents, but also by a society that had no interest in helping her if it didn’t see a use for her—but also provides some insight on the viewpoint of the Meta Liberation Army vis-à-vis mandatory state-funded programs that dictate what “normalcy” looks like to impressionable children.           Curious is, of course, not a particularly trustworthy narrator in this, as one might expect of someone who uses language like “society’s little boxes,” but it does track with Midnight’s earlier musing of, “Maybe the anti-social dude never took the program intended to make sure he was a functioning member of society.” That kind of statement—“State-sponsored educational programs are there to program children into becoming unthinking cogs of society, actually.”—is one that it’s all too easy to imagine the people with an eye on broadcast standards taking issue with, even coming as it does from the mouth of a villain.

• Curious’s line, “Let’s turn your death into a legendary tragedy, shall we?” and its accompanying visual of two different papers with imagined headlines. The dialogue doesn’t strike me as crucial—Curious’s fervent belief in Toga’s story is amply demonstrated elsewhere and her intent to turn that story into a legend reiterated in the line immediately following—but it is a shame to lose the headlines. They tell us, in Curious’s own words, exactly the tack she was planning to take in telling Toga’s story to the general public, without the constant namedropping of the Liberation Army that she does when talking about it in person. One headline in particular—The Price of Suppression: A String of Bloody Murders—is an especially useful reference for discussing whether the MLA actually wants, as is popularly claimed, completely unhindered quirk use, even for people like e.g. Muscular who want nothing more than to murder people with their quirks.[5]

• Curious’s initial wait what response to getting Floated, and her people’s focus shifting away from Toga and onto Curious instead. On a surface level, that focus shift helps explain why Toga’s able to zip around the ground and touch nearly twenty people before they even react: because they’re afraid for Curious. It also hurts the ongoing characterization of the MLA rank and file as being fanatically devoted to their higher-ups which, again, is something Spinner is supposed to notice later. It’s the worst kind of plot device if that devotion is completely told to us rather than consistently shown!

• Toga’s internal reflection that she’s seen Ochaco use her quirk, and knows how to use it. It’s obvious from the panel that she knows how to use it, but the manga implies that Toga transforming doesn’t automatically grant her an understanding of peoples’ quirks; it’s only in observation (and possibly love) that she can reach this particular unlock. Leaving out that information leaves open the possibility that she can just do this all the time now, with anybody she transforms into.

• The reaction from the surviving crowd to Curious’s death. See above re: STOP FUCKING ERASING HOW MUCH THE MLA CARES FOR EACH OTHER.

Framing Shifts

• When Toga bolts, Curious in the anime sounded serious, her expression alarmed, like she was actually worried that Toga might escape, even though her dialogue said just the opposite. Maybe you could say that she was afraid Toga would die before she got her statement, but given that she tried to kill the girl herself moments later, I’m skeptical of that claim. Regardless, in the manga, she never loses her smile, and she flashes a Liberation salute as she stands up to give chase. It’s a characterization note, that she’s so wildly confident about this that she never stops being completely enthralled with whatever Toga has to show her.

Chapter 227 – Sleepy

• The last of Toga’s conscious dialogue, about how she’s lost a lot of blood, is fading out, can’t move—but more notably, the way that this state of things makes her feel closer to “them,” that it’s “the same sensation.” And who is “they” here—her victims? The people she loves? More alarmingly, why does the line sound like she’s been this beat-up before, and remembers the sensation? Does that tie into e.g. her comment during the training camp that she doesn’t want to fight too many hero students at once because she doesn’t want to die? Has she actually been subject to this kind of violence before in the past? Does that tie into her still-unexplained ability to erase her presence? It’s an interestingly loaded little line, for being so vague, and illustrative of Toga’s mentality on becoming the people she loves. Which also lets the scene segue nicely into Re-Destro’s observation that, in Toga Himiko’s world, there’s no such thing as “other people.”           On which note, guess what else the anime cut?

• The entire fucking scene where Re-Destro actually reacts to Curious’ death, the motherfuckers. This lost:           1. RD’s talk about the way Toga sees the world and how that led to society casting her out, which he points to as evidence of said society clinging to old ideals even though the nature of humanity itself has changed. It calls back to his methodology with Detnerat, marrying his lines from the commercial to his overarching ideals; it also shows that he understood very well what Curious saw in Toga, and demonstrates that he can express that understanding and empathy even in the face of losing one of his closest allies.           2. Skeptic’s reaction to Curious’s death, which is pretty sparse, but at least present. He says she never should have been on the front lines—an excellent reminder to the people who’re always going on about how the MLA brass thinks themselves so above their followers: Curious was on the front lines, against the wishes of some of her peers!—and calls her a valuable resource.[6] You can theorize about Skeptic not caring for her beyond her usefulness to the cause, or just that Skeptic is a huge autist who processes his emotions differently than most, and isn’t going to stop to do that when there’s still a battle going on, but either way, you need this scene to do it accurately.           3. Speaking of people who process their emotions in unusual ways, as I said above, this scene also shows Re-Destro openly crying over the deaths of Curious and each and every warrior diving into battle with their hopes for the future. They’re not crocodile tears, either. As was the case with Miyashita, there’s no one in this room that Re-Destro would need to perform grief for: Skeptic clearly doesn’t see a use for tears right now, so I don’t see him expecting them from Re-Destro, and the only other person in the room is Giran, a hostage who the MLA—very probably Re-Destro himself—maimed! It’s not like RD’s tears are going to change Giran’s mind about him (indeed, Giran gets a comedic reaction beat at the absurdity of the dude who started all this up here crying about it)! But RD says life is precious and he cries anyway, briefly, before he ruthlessly turns it off.           RD’s valuing of human life—especially his own peoples’ lives—crops up in roundabout ways twice more, both leading the fight with Shigaraki (“It angers me.”) and ending it (“Any more would bring about meaningless death.”). This, though, is when he’s most open about it, to the degree that—as with Machia’s grief—it’s kind of off-putting and strange. Cutting it makes it that much easier for people to get entirely the wrong impression of RD as a character.           4. The delightful scene where Skeptic berates Giran about asking brainless questions and then answers his question anyway. Fuckin’ hell, why cut this?? So much of Skeptic’s character is in this scene! You get moments of his neuroticism later on, but never in so concentrated a burst as this (there’s one other sequence that could compete, but—spoilers—the anime cut that one, too). The exchange also explains the cameras placed throughout the city—which are visually referenced early on—and what the MLA is planning to do with their footage. Without that explanation, the audience has no idea how, exactly, the MLA was planning to use wiping out the League as a springboard for their grand return to the spotlight. That footage is the crucial part of how the rest of the country reacts to Deika in the Endeavor Agency Arc, and the anime never even mentioned it! The audience was just left to assume that all the media came in afterward, not that there was the slightest whiff of footage from the battle itself.           5. Once again brings up Re-Destro’s belief in the power of the heart to move other hearts. We get a bit of that in Curious’s flashback, but here he says it in his own words—as he will also bring it up to Shigaraki. Once again, Shigaraki is going to be challenged about his conviction, which ties back into what Spinner and Ujiko demanded from him earlier in the arc. With so

many people set to be grilling Shigaraki on this front, it tells us again what the arc is for: Shigaraki’s conviction, and him demonstrating it to the people who think he lacks it.

• The panel of Spinner asking how long they’ve been at it and Mr. Compress responding. This line helps manage the pacing, giving the audience an idea how much time is passing as we cut around to different places. It’s also, you know, more cut Spinner dialogue, and shows the beginnings of Shigaraki and Spinner getting split off from the rest by Shigaraki’s sleep-drunk staggering angling him off in a different direction. The rest of the scene is moved to after Toga’s fight with Curious, but not otherwise tampered with.

• The other big reaction to Curious’s death, which is Trumpet using it to rile up the crowd. The group that attacks Shigaraki isn’t just some free-roaming mob—they’re coming at him in a grief-stricken frenzy, which they’ve been goaded into by one of their leaders.           This sequence also introduces the campaign van—a vehicle that will have several more appearances—to events, and hints at Trumpet’s meta-ability. Further, it’s one of the scenes that outright states that the MLA is less an army than a religion, in Mr. Compress’s line about how Trumpet is like a preacher rallying his flock. That understanding—that the MLA may style themselves as an army, but what they really are is a cult—is key to the way the MLA members act, from the very bottom to the very top.

• Trimmed Shigaraki’s flashback down, cutting—among other things—the very first lines Hana speaks, and her namedrop. This moment is the first one Tomura gets back, and the very first thing we find out is that he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. The anime also failed to identify Shimura Nana’s relation to Tenko/Tomura and Hana—helpful to remind the audience of a plot thread they haven’t heard about since Kamino. It also cut out the silhouette of chubby baby Tenko and Tenko’s first line, asking why Hana’s showing him this, a line which clues us in that Hana was the impetus here, not Shigaraki as he was back then. Still not satisfied, it also cut the phrase, “Daddy said all that stuff,” which is a clear and ominous warning that there was some conflict going on between young Shigaraki and the Father whose dismembered hand he now wears on his face.

• Left the dialogue but cut the silhouette of an airborne Geten with his enormous ice fists coming in hot behind Dabi when he was smarming about it not being his style to take the pacifist route. It’s not crucial, since we see the fists again shortly (it’s the end of the chapter page, whereas the anime rolls right on into the continuation of the scene), but it’s a shame, since framing Dabi from below with this sudden presence behind him is a much more fun, dynamic angle than the dead-boring medium shot the anime used. Also too, it’s good foreshadowing for the fact that Geten can fly, since he certainly didn’t get that kind of air by jumping off the roof of the mini-mart across the street.

Framing Shifts

• The crowd attacking Tomura came at him from the back of the shot, whereas in the manga, they’re surging forth from the front; that is, the anime had Shigaraki between the crowd and the POV of the viewer, whereas the manga has the crowd interposing between the viewer and Shigaraki. It makes a huge difference in the impact! Running up from a nebulous background distance, the crowd looked small and futile. Crossing directly in front of the viewer as they attack Shigaraki makes them look like the crashing human wave that they are. But, you know, coming in from the front would mean they’d have to be animated with more detail, and again, Episode 109, more than any other episode in the arc, clearly didn’t have the budget to spare on such things.

• The moment Shigaraki first uses the spreading Decay is horrifically clear in the manga. It’s full of speed lines, Shigaraki moving so fast he decays a dude mid-word, but the impact itself is spread over two pages. We watch his hand literally cleaving through the leading attacker’s face, and then are encouraged to linger on the oversized panel below, the intricately drawn crowd, full of individual faces, still intact on the left, scattering to dust on the right, all fully lit, with Shigaraki—still drawn with speedlines to emphasize his movement—the focal figure in black at the center.           The anime rendered this moment in two stills—Shigaraki’s hand about to hit the lead attacker’s face, and then the crowd already decaying. There was virtually no movement to it, the crowd was so heavily silhouetted against a glare of daylight that it was difficult to tell what was going on, and the moment stayed on screen for only two seconds before Shigaraki landed and threw up, both actions favored with more animation than one of the signature moments of the entire arc. Hell, it even left the walls on either side of the alley intact, when the manga shows them dissolving into ash as well, decay traveling through the ground in a deadly, destructive radius around Shigaraki’s attack.           The anime ever-so-graciously allowed Spinner his line to explain to the audience what just happened, but I think that’s mostly because it would be genuinely difficult to parse if he didn’t. It also gave him a flashback to what we had literally just seen, except this time it wasn’t silhouetted for some reason, so at least the audience got another chance to look at it, I guess?           “Am I seeing things? Just now, his decay effect spread to people he wasn’t even touching!” Well, I guess we’ll have to take your word for it, Spinner.

Additions

• A quick shot of a camera, there and gone almost too fast to register. I want to compliment the anime for adding a camera back in, since it removed the shot of the cameras earlier, but honestly, given that it cut all the scenes about how and why the MLA was gathering footage, I really don’t know why it even bothered. Also too, the camera was gone so fast it felt more like a marker for a scene change—which it also was, segueing the scene from Toga collapsing (only to cut back to her later staggering down an alley) to Spinner and the rest still trying to hold their own—than it did something the audience was supposed to really notice.

Chapter 228 – Wounded Soul

• Twice in the opening pages left out scattered members of the MLA that were around for the start of the Dabi/Geten fight. Leaving them out raises the question of where all the people attacking went, but it’s also the first demonstration that Geten is a danger to his own allies. We don’t see any of them dying on-panel or anything, but we do see them having to dive frantically out of the way because Geten demonstrates no care to the collateral damage of his attacks.

• Cut a small flashback, presumably from Twice’s perspective, of finding the site where Toga and Curious’s fight concluded. You can see the ground covered in blood, and a body that looks a bit like Curious if you squint (distinguishable by the sleeves of her jacket), as well as a small group of people kneeling on the ground in various poses suggesting mourning and a paying of respects. Yet another shot demonstrating the depths of care these people have for their leaders, that they’ve completely let the battle fall by the wayside in favor of their grief.

• Drops the “those zealots” phrase from Twice’s, “I’ll rip those zealots limb from limb for this!” line. Damn, the anime really was determined to erase everything that even hints at the Liberation Army being something much creepier and more damaging than just an underground militia, huh?

Framing Shifts

• For all my complaints about the material, I generally like the voice acting quite a bit. I don’t love the first exchange between Dabi and Geten, though. It’s not a fault of the voice actors themselves, but rather the delivery. Geten was very cool and level-headed throughout, which is all right to a point, but he’s a gremlin under that troll parka, and this fight is where we hear him as close as we ever will to how he is before the multi-layered humbling he’s subject to over the course of this fight. It’s a bit of a shame to play him totally straight, without any of the snark he’s so clearly capable of—and without the tick upwards in vehemence his talk bubbles indicate in his last lines.           Meanwhile, it’s fine for Dabi to get more heated as the scene goes along, and indeed he does, but he also plays it pretty cool at first. You can tell in the shape of his talk bubbles that he’s completely unruffled during his delivery of that, “Consider this a freebie, just for you: ice melts,” line. The anime had him raising his voice for it, and it just loses a lot of the humor of Dabi’s own snark to have him yelling it instead of just laughingly stating it, voice barely raising enough to give his talk bubbles some straighter lines instead of being all undisturbed curves. (For comparison’s sake, it’s about the same level of angular as Geten’s, “You’d best not think your little campfire can melt my ice!” line, but the anime had Dabi shout his line, while Geten continued at the same unperturbed volume he’d maintained since the beginning.)

• As with Shigaraki’s first mass decay, the shot of Geten’s ice dragon did not make the impact on me in the anime that the manga did. I think it’s mostly the way the ice was colored? The claw’s pretty good, but the head looks blobby and indistinct, more like blue soft-serve than the shifting, sharp-edged, brilliantly bright sculpture-in-motion of the manga.

• Twice’s voice actor did his best to sell the scene of him finding Toga, but I wish they’d kept that tight close-up on his mouth when he says, “Give it up. The girl’s dead.” They animated him leaning closer to the camera, but that doesn’t have the sharpness of that sudden cut to being right there on his lips, like some malevolent thing is using them to speak words so terrible that they can’t even be associated with the rest of his face.

                                                          ---

Come back next time (and hopefully in less time) for Part Three, Episode 110: Sad Man's Parade.

FOOTNOTES

[1] We would, of course, have an even clearer idea of that had the anime not cut the scene of Spinner shouting in Shigaraki’s face.

[2] It seems particularly strange to me that Curious and RD both mention quirk evolution as a thing they know can happen in extreme circumstances, but didn’t predict that backing the League into a life-or-death corner might provoke one or two members to undergo exactly that evolution.

[3] Mount Lady is the obvious example, but you can look to places like the island in Heroes Rising, too: one hero, and when they retired, a group of high school kids had to go sub in for a while until a replacement could be arranged. It’s not like retirements just happen overnight; the Commission had to have known it was coming. Still, they had to scramble to find someone. It doesn’t suggest they had anybody just champing at the bit to take the post, you know?

[4] In Chapter 140, we see a young Tamaki Amajiki in a class called “quirk training.” It’s uncertain how connected this P.E.-like class is to quirk counseling, but Toga wouldn’t have been getting much help there, either, seeing as it’s all about figuring out how to use one’s quirk in a way that’s “useful to society.” I can think of some ways, but nothing that I expect would be very popular or liable to be explained to a grade schooler in a country with as long a history with ritual cleanliness as Japan. To a Shinto mindset, Transformation isn’t just off-putting or unhygienic; it’s spiritually unclean.

[5] The answer there being, no, obviously not, or Curious wouldn’t, in all apparent sincerity, be trying to characterize Toga using her quirk to murder people as an undesirable outcome, a cost society is paying for its current stance on quirk use. Yes, you can gather that much from her calling Toga a tragic girl, and Re-Destro concurring later, but listen, I will take every line I can get that I can use to push back against the wretchedly widespread idea that the kid whose name means Apocrypha is the be-all-end-all source on MLA ideology, somehow more reliable and trustworthy than every other MLA character combined, including Destro himself. I would very much like it if the anime had not deleted a bunch of my talking points while making good and sure to leave all Geten’s most damning lines intact.

[6] Not that an anime-only person would fully understand why some random reporter was all that valuable a resource, since the anime cut the explanation of what Curious actually does for a living.

[archived-kin]

you are hopelessly in love with one (1) librarian

note from kin: i’m (kinda) back baby!!!!!

i thought i’d start with something for myself to get back into the ~groove~ so i chose lisa since i love her so much

in this one you’re venti’s accompanist bard buddy and play the flute! whether or not you’re a vision-holder isn’t mentioned but i like to imagine that venti gives you an anemo vision after the two of you bond as fellow musicians (though of course you don’t know it’s him who gave you it, you basically just woke up one night after a performance and found it in your pocket)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, lisa, kaeya, venti, razor

pairing(s): lisa/reader (+ some wholesome best friend venti content)

warning(s): none!

genre: fluff

“She’s so pretty,” You groan into the table. “I’m going to die.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Kaeya replies through a mouthful of hash brown. “Your bard friends would be rather sad without their favourite Buoyant Balladeer.”

“What difference is it going to make?” You raise your head and stare at him with soulless eyes. “My life has no meaning anyway.”

“Oh, now you’re just being dramatic.” Kaeya slaps your shoulder so hard that you swear you feel your bones dislocate. “Cheer up.”

You groan, but sit up and take the hash brown he offers you anyway. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” He responds, already shoving another one into his mouth and beginning to chew.

You let out a heavy sigh and begin to nibble miserably on your own hash brown. “Sorry about all this. I probably sound like an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” He reaches over and gives your hair a playful ruffle. “And you don’t sound like an idiot. Lisa’s a very beautiful lady, after all.”

You raise your head in a snap, glaring at your friend through narrow eyes. “Hey, watch it.”

“I’m uninterested, not blind. Calm down.” He flicks you in the head with a chuckle. Raising his eyes to the sky, he gives a content sigh, as if the sun that he appears to be staring directly into isn’t burning his eye. “You know, a sky like this really calls for a nice glass of dandelion wine…”

“You have beyond enough problems to deal with right now without becoming a day drinker as well,” You shoot back. “Don’t you still have a report to file about those Treasure Hoarders over in Windrise?”

“Oh, that’s taken care of,” He says dismissively, taking a sip from his cup of water. “All dealt with.”

“Careful, Mr Kaeya,” comes a familiar honey-sweet voice from somewhere behind you, and you immediately tense. “Lying is a sin.”

“Miss Lisa!” laughs your blue-haired companion as the librarian pulls up a seat at your table, leaning forward and resting her chin on a single gloved hand. It’s an innocent motion by all means, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. “So kind of you to join us. What brings you here?”

“I simply saw two familiar faces while out on a stroll,” She smiles, stealing Kaeya’s mug and taking a sip of his Wolfhook juice. “How have we all been doing?”

“I-I’m doing great,” You quickly reply as her eyes land on you, unable to form a more intelligent response under her clear green-eyed gaze.

Much better now that you’re here, you add silently as she turns her attention to Kaeya, sliding his mug back over to him with such ease that you get the impression she does this a lot.

Kaeya himself either hasn’t noticed Lisa stealing his drink or doesn’t care, since he promptly curls his fingers back around the tankard and takes a long drink without any indication that he’s noticed anything out of the norm.

“Craving some wine, but I suppose I’m fine,” He sighs, tilting his head slightly to the side and swirling the contents of his mug around. “[Name] here says I shouldn’t be drinking during daylight.”

“And [Name] is very right,” Lisa shakes her head, the little rose accessory on the end of her hat tinkling with the motion. You can’t help but silently compare the sound to the ringing of heaven’s bells. Curse your stupidly romantic heart. “You drink more than enough in the evenings.”

“Then what of you?” Kaeya counters, smirking playfully. “I know for a fact that you can drink most of Angel’s Share’s patrons under the table within a single night.”

“Perhaps so, but I spend far less nights in front of the bar than you do.”

You stare determinedly down into the bottom of your water tankard as Lisa and Kaeya continue their little back-and-forth, feeling an odd sensation tugging at the pit of your stomach. What is this? Anger? Jealousy?

Tapping your fingers agitatedly on the tabletop, you kick yourself firmly in the shin. You’re being ridiculous. Kaeya knows just how head-over-heels you are for the Witch of Purple Rose, and even if he is a sneaky little snake who swaps around the chess pieces when he thinks you’re not looking, you know that he’d never do something like… that to you. Besides, you know full well that, even if they’re close friends, they don’t harbour any romantic feelings for each other.

As the songs say, though, jealousy is a green-eyed demon that will listen to irrationality over reason any day, and so you can’t help but glare subtle holes into the side of Kaeya’s head as he continues to converse with the object of your affections as if you’re not even there.

“... I jest, I jest,” He laughs, waving his hand about as Lisa giggles into her glove. “Anyway, as I was saying to our friend here earlier - the weather’s been beautiful recently, hasn’t it?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, a signal that Kaeya clearly sees and pointedly ignores. The both of you know that the weather was far from what you had been conversing about earlier, but you’re glad that Kaeya isn’t giving you away, at the very least.

“Quite,” Lisa agrees, tossing a lock of hair out of her face in a way that knocks all the breath out of your lungs. “Pleasant weather for a stroll around Starsnatch Cliff, wouldn’t you say, [Name]?”

You jolt in your seat and heat up so abruptly that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started smoking. Kaeya sniggers not-so-subtly into his hand as you hurriedly stutter, “U-uh, yeah, totally!”

“Is that an invitation?” Kaeya raises an eyebrow with a coy smirk, and you’ve never wanted to punch him more than you do at this moment. “I’m sure [Name] would be glad to accompany you.”

“Ah, I couldn't impose myself like that,” Lisa shakes her head, and you want to cry because if only you weren’t such a coward you could tell her that she’d never be imposing on you. “Razor could do with some new scenery for his training. I might as well show him the sights.”

“How is training with your protégé going, then?” Kaeya asks. “He seems to have become quite the loyal little wolf since you first took him under your wing.”

“Oh, he’s an absolute darling,” Lisa says breezily. “He still isn’t very verbal, unfortunately, but he’s learning to communicate like a star. And he’s becoming a dab hand at using his Vision more effectively, too.”

“Sounds like you’re a wonderful teacher, then,” Kaeya compliments, then gives you a side-eyed look. “Wouldn’t you agree, [Name]?”

You nod vigorously. “Absolutely!”

“You flatter me,” Lisa sighs, “But a good teacher is nothing without a bright and willing student.”

Kaeya gives you a subtle dig in the side, and you hurriedly go to reply. “H-hey, give yourself some credit. Razor never would have been able to open up so much without you.”

“You’re too kind, darling.” She gives you a brilliant smile, and you very nearly pass out on the spot, but Kaeya helpfully keeps you conscious by stomping hard on your left foot like the little shit he is. You’ll have to get him back for that later - when your heart rate isn’t so rapid that it feels like you might just ascend to Celestia any minute now.

Lisa doesn’t stay for long after that, conversing with Kaeya for another five minutes or so while you stew in your own flustered chagrin and silently continue to freak out over just how… perfect she is. It’s honestly ridiculous. How is she even human? How are you worthy of even being in her presence?

“Well,” Kaeya says as Lisa disappears back down the street, presumably to return to her place in the office. “That went well.”

You glare at him. “You think?”

“You spoke to her, didn’t you?” He counters, grinning cheekily. “That’s a start.”

You open your mouth to give him a grumpy response, then give up and slump forward on the table again. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” He hums, draining the last of his Wolfhook juice and setting the mug down with a sharp thunk. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be preparing for your performance tonight? You should probably go find your partner.”

“Our friend Kaeya is very right,” calls an all-too-familiar figure from atop a nearby roof. “You’re late.”

If it had been any other occasion, you might have jumped, but right now you’re too emotionally exhausted to do anything but let out a long, tired sigh. Ignoring Kaeya’s evil little cackle, you look up and turn to see Venti grinning down at you. “Bard.”

“Accompanist,” He imitates your monotone address, hopping down from the roof and landing softly on the pavement without so much as a click of his shoes. Flicking out his cape, he sets his hands on his hips and offers you his usual cheeky grin. “What’s got you so gloomy?”

“Nothing,” You reply, standing up and dusting off the front of your clothes. “Let’s go.”

Venti doesn’t move. He raises a single, suspiciously perfectly-shaped eyebrow, cocking his head to the side, then looks to Kaeya, who not-so-subtly mouths something at him. You pretend not to notice his obvious hand gestures in the corner of your eye.

“Ah,” Venti says suddenly, his expression taking on a mock-wise air. “Love troubles once again, I presume. Is our dear [Name] still ailed by a paralysing infatuation with one Miss Lisa?”

Kaeya claps enthusiastically, as if he isn’t the one who basically just told Venti the whole story through poorly-done charades. “Correct! I keep telling them to make a move, you know, but they’re too much of a coward.”

You aim a kick at his shin under the table that he dodges easily. “I’m not a coward! I’m just… gauging the territory.”

“You’ve been ‘gauging the territory’ for months now,” Venti whines, holding his fists in front of his chest and giving you the widest-eye look he can muster. “Come on! The eagle that never dives will never catch its prey, after all!”

“Lisa isn’t prey,” You counter. “And I’m not an eagle.”

“Hopeless is what you are,” comments Kaeya, leaning back in his chair and toying absently with a lock of his hair. “Hmmm, why don’t you write her a song? That’s your strong suit, isn’t it?”

“A song?!” You practically combust right there and then - if you’d been a Pyro Vision holder, you have no doubt that you’d have erupted into a column of flame on the spot. “No way!”

“I think that’s a splendid idea!” Venti exclaims, hopping up and down excitedly on the spot, hat threatening to fly off his head all the while. “You write the lyrics and melody, we compose the instrumental part together, and I’ll sing it for you! We’ll be an absolutely unresistable duo!”

“Easy there,” Kaeya teases, holding up a hand. “Our friend here is the one trying to win Lisa’s affections, after all.”

“Then I’ll be sure to try to direct as much of the spotlight to them as possible,” Venti replies, completely unaffected by Kaeya’s attempt to fluster him. You wish you had his coolheadedness sometimes. “C’mon, [Name], what do you say?”

“I said no!” You holler as he jumps energetically up at you like an over-excited puppy. “No way! There’s no way I’m going to just— broadcast my feelings like that!”

“You won’t be,” Kaeya explains, infuriatingly calm in the face of your explosive embarrassment. “Write the song so that only Lisa would be able to understand the true feelings behind it. It shouldn’t be difficult - you’re the master lyricist, after all.”

“Plus you have me to help as well,” Venti chimes in, holding up a single, proud finger. “The Windborne Bard himself - with me by your side, you can’t possibly fail!”

“Look—” You sink back into your seat and hunch forward, burying your face into your hands. A moment later, you raise your head again to see Venti giving you a concerned look. “I appreciate it, I really do, but… I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” Kaeya says unhelpfully, giving you a hearty slap on the back that is also unhelpful in every way. “You’ve performed all over Teyvat - this would be a small feat in comparison.”

“You aren’t helping, Master Kaeya,” Venti says, not-so-subtly elbowing Kaeya in the side. “We need to be cautious here. Like coaxing a young hatchling to fly the nest… we must take baby steps.”

“No baby steps!” You protest, leaning away as he takes a threatening step closer. “No steps at all!”

“Surely writing a subtle confessional song would be much easier than playing an intricate ballad in front of some of the most influential figures of Liyue?” Kaeya doesn’t show any signs of relenting. “Archons above, [Name], it seems that you’ve channelled all of your courage to entirely the wrong places.”

You drop your head into your hands again and glare at him through the cracks between your fingers. “Kaeya, I’d die for you any day, but for the love of the Archons, please shut up.”

He shrugs and obligingly places his finger over his lips, but you can clearly see him hiding a laugh behind it.

Venti hums, leaning over and giving your shoulder a comforting rub as you sigh miserably into your hands. “Hey, relax. I’m not going to drag you out on stage and force you to confess in song, much as I’m tempted to. If you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to.”

You ignore that middle part and choose to focus on Venti’s earnest attempt at consolation. “...thanks.”

“No need to thank me!” He winks playfully and gives your knees a firm pat. “Now come on! Confession or not, we still have a performance to practise for!”

You sigh and smile. “...sure.”

Leaving Kaeya to pay the lunch bill in retaliation for his teasing, you and Venti head off to your usual practice spot in the gardens outside the Cathedral. There’s some debate over who gets to wear the ‘Star of the Show’ Windwheel Aster pin today, but Venti relents quickly and gives you an easy win. You’re pretty sure it’s out of pity for your romantic plight, but you don’t care. The pin looks a lot nicer fastened on the lapel of your coat, anyway - the colour doesn’t match Venti’s cloak at all.

“So what’s the quota for tonight?” Venti asks, giving his lyre an absent-minded strum. “Celestial Destiny on repeat once more, I presume.”

“Shut up,” You groan, flipping open the latches of your instrument case and carefully lifting out your flute. “I’ve just been… lacking inspiration.”

“What you’ve been lacking is emotional fulfilment,” Venti sighs, reaching over and flicking you in the side of the head. “All you do is wander around Mondstadt, practise, and perform. Surely you could compose something flavourful if you had a little more excitement in your life.”

“I have excitement enough just as I am,” You bring your flute to your mouth. “Now shut up and start practising.”

Venti huffs, but begins strumming the opening chords anyway.

The two of you work your way steadily through your usual repertoire for the next hour or so. It goes smoothly as always - you’ve performed these pieces so many times that you could probably play them in your sleep - but you can’t help but feel like something is missing throughout the entire practice. Venti seems to be fully aware of it as well - rather than closing his eyes and swaying along to the music like usual, he just keeps glancing at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, wearing that frown that says ‘I know exactly what’s going on here but I don’t know if I should bring it up’.

Finally, he has enough, abruptly stopping his strumming in the middle of Early Dawn and setting his lyre down on the bench with a huff. “Alright, that’s it!”

You lower your flute and stare at him blankly as he stands and turns to glare at you, hands set firmly on his hips like a scolding parent. “You’re far too dismal! What happened to the Buoyant Balladeer? There’s no breeze in your playing at all!”

“I’m sorry if my heart is too heavy to play as light as the wind,” You retort, setting your flute back in its case. “I’m afraid I’m a little preoccupied.”

Venti looks at you with a furrowed brow as you shut the case with a harsh snap. After a moment, his voice much softer, he asks, “Are you alright?”

You hesitate for a moment. “...yes.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and doesn’t say anything else. After a pause, you groan and concede. “Alright, I’m miserable, so what? Let’s just get on with it.”

“We are most certainly not getting on with it,” He shoots back, turning to face you directly and crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest. “I can’t have my dear [Name] walking around with such a heavy heart. Come on, talk to me. What is it that weighs you down so?”

You stare at him for a long moment. He looks back at you almost unblinkingly, and try as you might to turn away and dismiss him again, there’s something about his wide green eyes that just compels you to tell the truth.

“I’m...afraid.” You say quietly. “It’s such a cliche thing to say, but I’ve really never felt this way before. I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Venti smiles reassuringly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. First loves are always scary.”

“I understand that, but…” You bury your face in your hands and groan. “...she’s just so perfect and I’m just so me and it just feels like it’d never work out.”

“Hey, I don’t like that tone!” He scolds lightly, reaching out and flicking you in the cheek. “No talking bad about yourself. Besides, who says it’d never work out? As far as we know, your feelings are mutual.”

“I seriously doubt that,” You sigh, raising your head once again.

Venti raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever asked?”

You’re quiet for another few moments. “...no…”

“Then how do you know what her answer will be?” He asks. “Why assume that it’ll be no?”

You open your mouth to respond, but something suddenly compels you to look over to the town square. Venti goes quiet beside you as you see Lisa, standing beneath the Anemo Archon statue with Razor beside her. She seems to be explaining something to him.

Razor seems to feel your gaze almost as soon as it lands on him and his mentor. His hair bristles, and he abruptly whips around to look at you, but as soon as he sees you, he seems to relax. He lifts a gloved hand to send you a brief wave; you hesitantly return it.

He turns around and tugs on Lisa’s sleeve; she pauses and turns around to follow his pointing finger. You hold your breath as your eyes meet hers.

She raises her hand, and there’s no mistaking it - she’s smiling. An eternity seems to pass within those few seconds of eye contact, and for once your heart isn’t beating in your throat, your breaths aren’t becoming shallow and uneven, you aren’t heating up and boiling over. Instead, you feel a kind of pleasant warmth well up inside you, and you can’t help but beam and wave back.

Lisa looks at you for another moment, smiles once more, then turns around and begins walking away, gently tapping Razor’s shoulder as she goes. He glances back between you and his teacher, then turns around and follows behind her.

A long silence stretches between you and Venti.

You take a deep breath and turn to look at him, and he immediately grins. Somehow, you get the feeling that he knows what you're going to say.

“I need you to help me write a love song.”

[bookofmirth]

Hi! I’m an Elriel, but I have a totally legitimate question that I’m hoping you’ll clear up for me!

So if you don’t think Gwyn is a lightsinger (which I’m pretty sure you don’t and that’s totally your prerogative), why do you think Sarah invests so much time and specific, descriptive language into depicting Gwyn a certain way and especially when she’s singing? Just that there’s mentions of Nesta feeling entranced, of Gwyn glowing (which is repeated a bunch) etc.

Is it just that you think Gwyn has autumn court powers, or that she really is just THAT good at singing 😅?

Looking forward to reading your answer, thanks for taking the time!

Hi! Sorry this took a few days, I knew I was going to write a long response and I was doing a readathon last weekend. 🥰 Also I hope the fandom isn’t getting you down. 😬

Short answer - Nesta really likes music and most of the main characters glow at some point in the series. Sometimes we can read the story at face value, especially since sjm tends to use the same metaphors and descriptions across multiple contexts. Occam’s razor tells us that the simplest explanation of things is usually the right one, and I think that really needs to be applied to a lot of the readings of this series because sjm is Not That Deep.

Longer answer:

I think the Nesta and Gwyn singing thing is easily explained by the fact that Nesta stans music in general. It’s something huge that we learned about her in acosf - she used music in much the same way that she used alcohol and sex, and if you listen to a choir or chanting irl, it’s mesmerizing. It’s beautiful. The main difference re: music, alcohol, and sex, is that Nesta has always loved music (and dancing) and so that’s why the gift Cassian got her was so great. It was personal to her as a character.

Here are some examples of Nesta’s connection to music (in multiple contexts, not just in relation to Gwyn) (also the word music is used 81 times):

Sex, music, and drink she’d learned this past year - all of it helped.

That thing deep in Nesta stirred, but she ignored it, pushed it down as best she could without the distraction of music or sex or wine.

“Yes,” Elain said. “She was trained in dance from a very young age. She loves it, and music. Not in the way I enjoy a waltz or gavotte, but in the way that performers make an art of it. Nesta could bring an entire ballroom to a halt when she danced with someone.”

But what Feyre does with paint, that’s what Nesta did with music and dance.

(Nesta to Gwyn) “It’s a long story, and not one worth telling, but through it all, I picked taverns and pleasure halls to frequent because of the music. I’ve always loved music.”

(same scene) “The drinking, the males, I don’t miss any of it. But the music... that I miss.”

And then Gwyn invites Nesta to come listen to the singing. Occam’s razor = Gwyn saw that her friend was in pain and missed something that she loved, and offered her a chance to experience it again. It’s after this that Nesta ends up unintentionally scrying to find the harp, and it makes sense that music is what would help her with that because she uses it to forget her anxieties (see: the first two quotes above).

I was going to do a full meta on the use of the word “glow” in acosf, but when I did a search in my ebook it came up 64 times 💀 Some examples, and I tried to vary the uses I found:

immortal glow radiating from Elain’s fair skin

Amren’s eyes glowed, a remnant of the power that once burned inside her

Rhys’s violet eyes glowed

his siphons glowing

Gwyn’s hair seemed to glow brighter with her song

“do you know that your eyes glow when your power rises to the surface?” (Cassian to Nesta)

Elain had been glowing the next morning

Gwyn lowered her hands, noted the lack of glowing power in Nesta’s eyes, and sighed in relief.

And inch by inch, fresh steel glowed - truly glowed, like moonlight lay within the metal

Her eyes practically glowed in the dimness (Nesta)

No grey fire glowed in her eyes (also Nesta)

His grin was brighter than the glowing siphon (Cassian)

One small lantern glowed, faintly illuminating

Nesta seemed to glow with the attention

Eris’ eyes gleamed with wanton desire, as he drank in Nesta’s smile, the glow about her

And as a side note, in acowar (I believe? someone correct me if I’m wrong) Lucien’s hair is also described as glowing when he gets upset. I think it’s when he and Feyre are escaping the Spring Court.

Another side note, Feyre, Nesta, and Elain are all described as glowing during and after sex.

So what I get from this, in this mini meta, is that “glow” is used in two ways: 

to show that something is going on with fae powers, 

or as literal description of light

While yes, Gwyn is described as glowing, the word is used most often to describe Nesta’s eyes glowing, although Lucien, Rhys, Amren, Elain, Cassian, and Feyre all glow at some point as well, and more than once. That alone points to it being maybe about fae power, but if we were to say that Gwyn glowing = lightsinger, then what does it mean when all these other characters glow? 

Occam’s razor = Nesta is super into music, nearly all the characters glow when their powers are acting up.

The idea of lightsingers is cool, especially if it were used to complement or contrast shadowsingers. But then their description in acosf is.... creepy af. And there isn’t any description of glowing (or singing!) as being inherent to their power. I don’t think anyone has ever suggested that Azriel, as a shadowsinger, tortures his victims with... song? Or lures them with song? 

My main thing with analysis of certain words or phrases is that they need to be applied across the board. If we’re going to say that use of a word is super important in one context, then it should be looked at in all contexts. That’s when it becomes a theme, and so looking at the word (or phrase, or idea) across contexts can tell us what the theme is. For example, discussion of Az’s shadows should include every instance of them being described for the full picture to emerge. I think there are other examples that make people think Gwyn is a lightsinger but glowing and music aren’t enough because when looking at the broader context and use of those words 1) there is way more evidence to show that Nesta was being influenced not by Gwyn’s “power” but more by her own preference for music, and 2) If we’re going to say glowing is a lightsinger thing then almost everyone in the books is a lightsinger.

I hope this makes sense! Sorry this got long, I like to cover all my bases. 

[maxdark158]

OOOH two chapters in one week??? damn even i’m jealous. of myself. though this also isn’t edited so i might read it tomorrow morning and regret life, soooo

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

oooOOOooo

The large plant in the street wasn’t promising.

Neither was the very loud scream of pain they heard as they arrived to the scene.

Damian might’ve popped some knuckles when he clenched his fists, he wasn’t fully paying attention. What the ever-loving fucking hell in a fuck was Ivy doing? Harley best not be here too or Damian may strangle both of them for coming near his Angel.

Deep fucking breaths I’m going to fucking lose it-

When they arrived, father signaled a quick “to first two follow” plan and he and Grayson went ahead, leaving Damian and Drake on the roof. Damian itched to jump and move forward. The worry was awful, filling his mind with the most unrealistic of thoughts. He tried to correct them, prove them wrong, but they were overwhelming.

What if I check through her window to make sure she’s in there and oka- he didn’t know which room she had and it would take too long.

What if the scream was hers- It was deeper, male sounding.

What if she was crushed under that plant- She wouldn’t be, right? There wasn’t any evidence of someone being under there-

What if she’s hurt? Afraid? Dying?

He heard yelling. Angry yelling, in a male voice. The constricting worry reminded him of every dangerous male villain in Gotham right now. He went through a list of those currently MIA, those who might’ve yelled. It didn’t make sense, no villain sighting was reported aside from Ivy…

But it was possible.

And the possibility made Damian want to puke.

He had to move he had to do something. He jumped down. It hadn’t been enough time yet but he didn’t care. He heard Drake hiss something in warning about Batman’s orders or something Damian didn’t fucking care about, because he had to see for himself. He had to walk in there and he had to make sure she was okay.

Before he could go in, he saw Ivy walk out through the door. What?! he moved to intercept her before seeing the blood going down her leg- What the fucking fuck happened?! Why was she bleeding?

Ivy raised a brow when she saw him. “I got a pass this time, bird. Might want to help them in there.”

The sick feeling returned. He didn’t want to trust a villain, a criminal… but Ivy wasn’t the most horrible.

He eyed the blood, the worried weeds supplying images of his Angel bleeding in the same way. Ivy was not the worst that could happen… His mind went through that handy list of villains again. Many much worse than Ivy.

Damian turned away from Ivy. Father and Grayson shattered the window the plant hadn’t gone through, he made a motion toward it before Drake grabbed his shoulder.

“Let go of me you-“

“If you’re going to disobey Batman, at least let me go with you,” Drake looked exasperated. “You’re focused on your friend, right? Someone needs to watch your ass then.”

Damian glared before prying Drake’s hand off his shoulder. If he wanted to follow, fine. Damian wouldn’t stop him. He went through the broken window and finally entered the hotel.

The vending machine was unplugged and face down on the ground, glass surrounding it. Ivy’s giant plant was in the middle of the room, steam thicker than the pot it previously inhabited and petals as big as the Batmobile’s tires. Other miscellaneous things were strewn across the room, including cut hair near the elevator.

But what had Damian’s heart pounding was the playing cards. Playing cards that were embedded in the walls and the front desk and the floor. Razor sharp playing cards. A certain villain’s playing cards.

Fucking fucking shit fuck bitch ass fuck-

“Father,” Damian’s voice was surprisingly level as he spoke. His eyes landed on the fucking purple suited clown mother fucker himself. “What is Joker doing here?”

Father however seemed to be answering something Grayson must have said, “It appears she was rescuing…”

Ivy was rescuing.

Ivy was helping.

Damian’s eyes scanned the room right as someone else made themselves known.

Marinette!

The air left his lungs. She looked worse for wear, dark circles under her eyes and blood- fucking hell blood on her person. She was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and Damian wanted nothing more than to comfort her. Help her.

He opened his mouth to speak, stepping toward her.

She began to sob.

As if Damian somehow needed to panic even more.

“I’m sorry,” the words were quietly choked out between hics and sobs. “I’m a hor- horrible person and-”

“Hey now,” Grayson took a step closer, trying to comfort her. Damian’s feet were stuck to the floor, the words stuck in his mouth, preventing him from doing the same. “I’m sure you’re not-”

She held up her hands, showing the blood on them. Damian inhaled sharply when he saw the bits of glass embedded into her palm – the green haired fuck hurt her.

“I broke his leg,” she took a big gulp of air. Damian bit back the words and he deserved it. “With a rock. And I threw things at him. A chocolate bar, a cookie, a phone, a lamp, a vending machine-”

“A vending machine?” His father glanced at the vending machine on the ground. Damian didn’t bother trying to decipher his expression, Marinette was turning red and gasping between her sobs. She needed to breathe.

“Miss, please calm down,” Grayson began to step toward her. Damian’s feet finally moved, and he began surging toward her as well.

She fell, nearly hitting her head on the way down. Damian caught her before she could though, barely. Fuck, she needed to breathe like yesterday.

“I’m terrible, horrible, I shouldn’t have done this,” the words used the last of her breath and were only a whisper.

Panic made his throat feel stuck and his voice thick. “Angel,” Damian spoke as calmly as he could. “You need to breathe.”

She didn’t breathe.

oooOOOooo

Usually, lack of sleep was associated with the coffee obsessed Drake, but it seemed Damian’s own mind was determined to show him what it was like to live like a lunatic. He wasn’t able to sleep even when he tried, though he didn’t try that much either. He’s pretty sure he spent an hour staring at his weedkiller order – an order that somehow got lost in Kentucky – wishing it to suddenly appear at the front gate. Then again after coming home, most of the night was a blur.

He rubbed his eyes and let his thoughts wander through the memories of last night. Or, early morning technically.

Marinette looked delicate and broken on the stretcher as she was loaded into the ambulance. Damian had to turn his head away. He saw Drake and Todd looking at him, but he didn’t want their fucking pity.

She’d be fine.

She had to be.

After Angel had passed out, she began to breathe again. She immediately got medical attention for her injuries, riding in a different ambulance than Joker, who also got medical attention at Arkham. Damian wanted nothing more than to skin him alive as he left, but he avoided doing it for the time being. Barely.

“There’s some of Joker’s laughing shit over here, B-man.”

“Have Red Robin neutralize it. We’ll have to check the tapes and see if anyone was affected.”

“Besides the guy who’s body we found behind the desk, I don’t think anyone else got hit. But good call. Red Robin, over here!”

Drake got the security camera feed and Damian saw the entirety of what happened in the hotel lobby. His Angel fought bravely and intelligently, though he couldn’t say he was a fan of the bitch who left her behind.

“Why did she go for the elevator? I’d hate being stuck in there with the Joker. And she let her classmate just fight?”

“Maybe she called for help once she got away. And even if she didn’t, we can’t judge a teenager for panicking in this situation, Tim. Damian’s friend is an anomaly.”

“I don’t know… too bad the cameras don’t have audio, I wonder what she’s saying before they realize that Joker is there.”

“Are you able to read her lips?”

“Golly jee I wish I fucking thought of that! Thanks for reminding me to read her lips on this old and grainy camera footage where you can barely tell her eyes from her nose!”

“Jesus Replacement, no need to bite my head off.”

Damian looked into it,and found that no calls were made to the police until the plant fell through the window. The calls then were about Ivy appearing, deduced by people nearby who saw the plant. That good for nothing bitch left my Angel with the Joker-

“No calls were made by anyone within the hotel. All the calls were made by people on the street or living nearby who saw the plant.”

“Hmm… Odd…”

“…I’m sorry but how the fuck did someone sleep through a giant ass plant breaking the main floor windows? How?!”

“Maybe it’s a French secret.”

He shook his head. After they got all the information, father decided to send the French children back early and pay for it himself. Damian, internally, knew why. He painted a target on Angel’s back, if she didn’t have one before.

“You realize he heard you, right?”

“What do you want, Todd?”

“Fucks’ sake demon spawn, listen to me. Joker heard you call her Angel.”

“…”

“I was already aware of that. I’ve made plans to have the class moved back in Paris. If it gets around, She’ll be an ocean away and more difficult to harm.”

“Alright, B. Was just trying to warn Demon Spawn.”

“Maybe next time he won’t fuck up.”

“Tim, no need to be harsh.”

“It’s vigilante 101, Bruce. Damian’s been doing this for years.”

“Perhaps instead of being berated for a mistake he didn’t intend, you should let Master Damian retire to his room to rest.”

Damian grumbled to himself, trying to push the intrusive awful worrisome thoughts out of his head. The ones that said maybe going back to Paris wouldn’t be enough to protect her. The ones that said Joker would want revenge, the ones that-

The ones that he wasn’t fucking listening to right now thank you very fucking much!

Damian sighed to himself. He needed some sleep. After handling the news, getting the class handled, and looking into everything involving Joker’s break in at the hotel he was told to get to bed as the sun began rising. It hadn’t really worked, as now a few hours later he was debating stealing some of Drake’s coffee to make it through the day.

Because he did have one very important task to do today. He needed to check on his Angel, and say goodbye to her. He had her number of course, and they could text as often as possible for the two of them, but he still needed to see her. See her and apologize for how horrible this trip must’ve turned out for her.

I’m bad luck, being near me ruined her trip.

Damian went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, ignoring that train of thought.

Riddler attacked her when I was there. Joker appeared after I dropped her off. I made her unlucky. I got her hurt.

It’d be easier to ignore that train of thought if it weren’t so fucking loud.

Time felt blurry right now. Probably because he was tired. But soon he was dressed in a hoodie and sunglasses, disguised so he didn’t get mobbed by paparazzi while visiting his Angel in the hotel. He was pulling his shoes on when there was a knock at the door.

“What do you want?” The knocking bounced in his head and made it hurt. Maybe he had a migraine, he wasn’t sure.

“Such a nice way to say good morning Demon Spawn,” Todd strolled in like he fucking owned the place and leaned against the wall next to the door. Damian wondered what it’d be like to have Jon’s laser sight so he could glare at Todd and kill him.

“You didn’t have permission to come in.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to.”

“Tough shit,” Todd rolled his eyes. “…You… alright?”

Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “Why are you asking something like that?”

“Your friend got attacked and is leaving the city because of a target on her back. Which, while I did point out that you called her a petname in front of Joker-“

“It isn’t a petname-“

“-It isn’t your fault.”

The words starkly contrasted Damian’s internal beliefs and he had to blink a few moments to make sure what he heard was real. Because what the fuck? Why would Todd try to convince him his fuck up somehow wasn’t his fucking fault!?

“It’s… not my fault that I stupidly revealed a relationship connection to a civilian in front of one of the worst villains this city has suffered?”

“Okay, that was all you, smartass,” Todd sighed. “but the other shit isn’t your fault. You didn’t hurt her, the fucked up clown did. You didn’t put her in danger, her fucking teacher and class did by abandoning her. You’re at fault for your actions, not other people’s, so if you’re blaming yourself then fucking stop. Freckles’d probably get upset if you were using her to hate yourself.”

“What on this planet makes you think I’m doing that?!” Damian’s voice rose in a snap, hypocritically, because he realized as he spoke the words that he… kind of was doing that.

Fucking feelings and fucking worry and fucking weeds in his head were the reason, of course, but he… was… fuck, he’s tired isn’t he?

“I died, Demon Spawn.” Damian raised a brow at Todd, waiting for the halfwit to continue. “Bruce and I… aren’t on the best of terms, but I did realize he… he did that. Where what Joker did was his fault. I’m not happy the fucker is still alive, but that doesn’t mean Bruce was the one who killed me. No that was all Joker.”

“What does that have to do with anything again?” Damian really just wanted Todd out of his room and not talking about things in the past. He totally understood his point and everything, but it wasn’t anything a gallon sized bottle of weedkiller wouldn’t fix.

“Wow, you must be really tired, damn,” the fucker smirked before his expression changed into something less asshole-ish. “I’m saying that if you’re blaming yourself for what the Joker did to Freckles, stop it. The fucker lost a leg and she’s on her way to the hotel from the hospital now.”

Wait.

Wait what?

“Wait what?!” Damian wasn’t even sure which one he was reacting to – the news that Angel was okay or the news that the Joker was permanently damaged.

Angel’s self defense might’ve permanently helped Gotham?!

Okay maybe he knew what he was reacting to.

Todd turned to leave like a fucking dickhead and Damian could hear the smirk in his voice as he walked away. “Check the news for the Joker thing and ask Alfred to take you to Freckles in like an hour.”

Damian was smart enough to realize that not checking out of spite for Todd would only disadvantage himself.

He still only checked a couple minutes later though. After glaring at his phone willing himself to somehow know without checking.

He needing headache pills.

oooOOOooo

The Unnamed Teenager That Defeated The Riddler Cripples Joker!

Just days after beating The Riddler at his own game, the same teenage girl holds off The Joker until Batman arrives!

“We had to amputate him below the knee,” Arkham doctor says. “There was too much glass in the wound, it cut several muscles, tendons, and arties. The shattered bone didn’t help.”

French Teenager Unavailable for Comment.

[Read More]

oooOOOooo

Damian had snuck through the lobby up to his Angel’s room. Some of her classmates were downstairs, but he hadn’t paid much attention to them, not caring at the moment.

The last memory he had of her was the blood on her hands and tears in her eyes before she fell to the floor. He wanted to change that, wanted to maybe even see if he could get her to smile. Though that felt ambitious…

He just… needed to make sure she was okay.

Damian knocked on Marinette’s hotel room door.

[wardensantoineandevka]

Can Fjord knock out every member of the Nein in a single turn—without critting?

I saw someone remark, “Fjord could probably knock out every member of the Nein in a single turn, so long as he crits.” That got me wondering if that’s actually true, then additionally wondering how many he could knock out without critting. So, I did the math. (Hopefully, there’s no major errors.)

The parameters of this exercise are:

Fjord must knock out one given member of the Nein in a single turn.

This member of the Nein is at full hit points: Veth, 89; Caleb, 96; Beau, 109; Caduceus, 115; Jester, 117; and Yasha, 140.

Fjord's turn is the first and only turn of the initiative. Every spell and ability he intends to use must be done so in this turn, i.e. no precasting on a prior turn, and the given member of the Nein is not affected by any spells or abilities that must be invoked on their turn, such as Death Ward or Rage.

Fjord succeeds on every attack roll, and maximum damage is rolled.

None of the attack rolls are crits. After all, if this is achievable without them, it is certainly so with them.

The verdict—or the TL;DR since the post is extremely long: Even without critting, Fjord has multiple combinations of spells and effects that will knock out every single member of the Nein who is not Yasha. In fact, he has so many options, he can knock out each of them in a slightly different way. Divine Smites are no joke.

Yasha stands on her feet in all options because her resistance to radiant damage as an aasimar halves his Divine Smites; she requires a crit. Veth can use Uncanny Dodge to halve the damage of one of his strikes, but it is not enough to remain standing for the majority of his options.

While using a Banishing Smite will allow him to reach his maximum possible damage for the turn, 140 points, generally his actual best bet is to save both of his 5th level spell slots for Divine Smite and use his bonus action to cast Hex, Hexblade's Curse, or a 1st level paladin spell such as Thunderous Smite or even Divine Favor for a range of 120 to 126 points of damage. This will most consistently avoid accidentally banishing most of them before he can make his second attack.

As a fun aside, if he DID roll a crit, he can instantly kill Veth, provided she does not Uncanny Dodge, and Caleb with a single strike of Banishing Smite and a 5th level Divine Smite. This crit also knocks out all members of the Nein, even with Yasha's radiant damage resistance, without need for a second swing.

On the Star Razor’s damage

Currently, last I can tell, the Star Razor is a +1 longsword normally and a +2 longsword when invoked. It does a base of 1d8 slashing damage, but it is a versatile weapon and can be wielded two-handed for 1d10 slashing. It will be treated as two-handed here. (Yes, I know about Fjord's shield. No, I don't care about adjudicating that in this post. It is apparently used two-handed at the table.)

Technically, it takes a bonus action to invoke, but it's a little unclear how evenly that distinction is applied across Fjord's damage numbers at the table, especially since Travis makes it a habit to invoke the sword well before the threat of combat. These numbers assume an invoked Star Razor, but that only makes an overall difference of 2 points of slashing damage.

I'm not choosing to be pedantic about this, but if you want be pedantic about it, subtract 1 point of slashing damage off each swing, turning that +7 damage bonus into a +6, and rerun the numbers.

Banishing Smite, Divine Smite at 5th and 1st level

When it comes to raw damage output, Fjord's best option is to use his bonus action to cast Banishing Smite (5th level, concentration, 5d10 force) and use his action to make two attacks with the Star Razor (1d10 + 7 slashing), adding a 5th level Divine Smite (5d8 radiant) to the first attack and a 1st level Divine Smite (2d8 radiant) to the second attack. Reminder that he must cast everything in this single turn, so he cannot cast Hexblade's Curse on a previous turn in this exercise.

The math for this is:

[5d10 force + (1d10 + 7) slashing + 5d8 radiant] first attack + [(1d10 + 7) slashing + 2d8 radiant] second attack

[50 force + 17 slashing + 40 radiant] first attack + [17 slashing + 16 radiant] second attack

[107 mixed damage] first attack + [33 mixed damage] second attack 

140 mixed damage for the entire turn

Now, 140 points is exactly Yasha's total hit points, but it isn't so simple to declare that Fjord has successfully knocked out every member of the Nein in a single turn. Firstly, there's the "banishing" part of Banishing Smite:

If this attack reduces the target to 50 hit points or fewer, you banish it. [...] It remains there until the spell ends [after 1 minute of concentration], at which point the target reappears in the space it left or in the nearest unoccupied space if that space is occupied.

If the member of the Nein in question is reduced to that threshold, they will be banished in the middle of his action, before he can make his second strike and knock them out. By the time they reappear, it will have been well past the end of his one and only turn.

As the first strike deals 107 points of mixed damage, Veth (89) and Caleb (96) are successfully knocked out in a single turn. Beau (109), Caduceus (115), and Jester (117) will have less than or equal to 50 hit points, meaning that they will be banished and Fjord fails to knock them out in a single turn in this scenario. This would happen even if Fjord reversed the order of the Divine Smites; the Banishing Smite swing does a base of 67 points of damage before Divine Smite, which would reduce Jester to exactly 50 points and Beau and Caduceus to fewer.

So, what about Yasha?

Now, Yasha is a more complicated case. Due to being an aasimar, she has Celestial Resistance, which grants her resistance to radiant damage. This halves the damage dealt to her by Fjord's Divine Smites. So, for her, the math of this scenario looks like:

(50 force + 17 slashing + [40/2] radiant) first attack + (17 slashing + [16/8] radiant) second attack

(50 force + 17 slashing + 20 radiant) first attack + (17 slashing + 8 radiant) second attack

(87 mixed damage) first attack + (25 mixed damage) second attack

With 87 points of damage applied to her in the first swing, she is reduced to 53 hit points—just barely above the banishing threshold. She remains on the plane for Fjord to make his second attack, but he cannot apply enough damage to knock her out in this scenario.

But, Veth is a rogue. Uncanny Dodge would allow Veth to reduce the damage of an attack by half, rounded up. It is a class feature that Veth invokes as a reaction, so it can indeed be optionally invoked during Fjord’s turn. If she used Uncanny Dodge to reduce the 107 points of the first attack to 54 points, she would survive the swing with 35 hit points; she would also be banished, and Fjord would fail in this scenario as well.

However, since the dodge is optional, unlike Yasha’s radiant resistance, it stands that, in theory, Fjord can knock Veth out in a single turn using this method—provided she choose not to use her optional Uncanny Dodge ability.

The verdict on Banishing Smite

Using a Banishing Smite, two strikes with the Star Razor, a 5th level Divine Smite, and a 1st level Divine Smite, Fjord can knock out Veth, provided she does not use Uncanny Dodge, and Caleb. He cannot knock out Beau, Jester, and Caduceus because they will be banished before his second strike. Yasha will not be banished, but he cannot do enough damage to overcome her radiant resistance and knock her out.

Given this number is the highest he can do without crits, he cannot knock Yasha out until he lands a crit. So, that's the end of this exercise for Yasha. But, can Fjord approach this problem differently to knock out Beau, Jester, Caduceus, and Veth dodging without banishing them accidentally mid-turn?

Two Divine Smites at 5th level, plus stuff

The solution is simple: don't cast Banishing Smite.

Instead of the previous, Fjord goes directly into using his action to make two strikes with the Star Razor, applying a 5th level Divine Smite to each of them. The math for this is:

2 * [(1d10 + 7) slashing + 5d8 radiant]

2 * [17 slashing + 40 radiant]

2 * [57 mixed damage]

114 mixed damage

[Note, this is NOT the same as the calculation for a crit on one strike from the Star Razor with an applied 5th level Divine Smite.]

This would be just barely enough to knock out Beau (109), but Caduceus (115) and Jester (117) would still be standing with 1 and 3 hit points respectively.

This isn't a problem, however. Since Fjord did not use this bonus action (nor his concentration) in the above numbers, he simply needs to use it before he takes his action. The following are bonus actions he can take that, when added to that 114 points of damage, would put him over the threshold to knock out Caduceus and Jester:

Searing Smite, +6 (1d6) fire damage to first strike for a total of 120 points

Wrathful Smite, +6 (1d6) psychic damage to first strike for a total of 120 points

Divine Favor, +4 (1d4) radiant damage to both strikes for a total of 122 points

Hexblade's Curse, +5 (flat) slashing damage to both strikes for a total of 124 points

Hex, +6 (1d6) necrotic damage to both strikes for a total of 126 points

Thunderous Smite, +12 (2d6) thunder damage to first strike for a total of 126 points

So, any of these six methods would knock out Jester. Because Jester has the most hit points after Yasha and Fjord, this means Fjord can also knock out every other member of the Nein who is not Yasha by the end of his turn—without worrying about accidentally banishing them.

Again, would Veth's (89) Uncanny Dodge keep her standing in all these options?

Searing Smite, Wrathful Smite: first strike of 63 points is halved to 32, leaving her at 57 points, the second strike is exactly 57 points, knocking her out

Divine Favor: first strike of 61 points is halved to 31 points, leaving her at 58 points, the second strike is again 61 points, knocking her out

Hexblade's Curse: first strike of 62 points is halved to 31 points, leaving her at 58 points, the second strike is again 62 points, knocking her out

Hex: first strike of 63 points is halved to 32, leaving her at 57 hit points, the second strike is again 63, knocking her out

Thunderous Smite: first strike of 69 (nice) points is halved to 35 points, leaving her at 54 points, the second strike is 57 points, knocking her out

The short answer is: no. Fjord would always just barely manage to knock her out.

Bonus: Banishing Smite with crit

What would the numbers look like if Fjord crit on a swing with the Banishing Smite (5d10 force), then applied a 5th level Divine Smite (5d8 radiant)? Remember, in Fjord's hands, the Star Razor does 3d10 on a crit, rather than 2d10 because his Savage Attacks as a half-orc allows him to roll one of the weapon's damage die one additional time and add it to the extra damage of the crit. So, the math is:

10d10 force + (3d10 + 7) slashing + 10d8 radiant

100 force + 37 slashing + 80 radiant

217 mixed damage

For Yasha, the radiant damage would be halved to 40 points, bringing it to a total of 177 points. Veth's Uncanny Dodge would reduce this to 109 points.

This would knock out every single member of the Nein, without the need to progress to a second attack.

Fun note, that 217 points of damage would instantly kill Caleb, considering that number is enough to drop him to 0 from full health and then have the remainder still be equal to or greater than his 96 hit point maximum. If Veth does not use Uncanny Dodge, this would instantly kill her as well. Beau escapes instant death by a single point.

TL;DR

Even though he isn't critting, Fjord still has at least one combination of spells and effects that will knock out every single member of the Nein who is not Yasha. In fact, he has so many options, he can knock out each of them in a slightly different way. Divine Smites are no joke.

Yasha stands on her feet in all options because her resistance to radiant damage as an aasimar halves his Divine Smites; she requires a crit. Veth can use Uncanny Dodge to halve the damage of one of his strikes, but it is not enough to remain standing for the majority of his options.

While using a Banishing Smite will allow him to reach his maximum possible damage, generally his actual best bet is to save both of his 5th level spell slots for Divine Smite and use his bonus action to cast Hex, Hexblade's Curse, or a 1st level paladin spell such as Thunderous Smite or even Divine Favor. This will most consistently avoid accidentally banishing them before he can make his second attack.

As a fun aside, if he DID roll a crit, he can instantly kill Veth, provided she does not Uncanny Dodge, and Caleb with a single strike of Banishing Smite and a 5th level Divine Smite. This crit also knocks out all members of the Nein, even with Yasha's radiant damage resistance, without need for a second swing.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Hey, how do you and other Krexie shippers work around the age gap? I mean, I ship Krexie and have my own headcanons, but I'm curious to see what others have done.

I feel like I answered this before several months ago, but I don’t feel like finding that post so I’ll answer again. The full answer to your question is a short essay (and that’s without including the footnotes) so I’m gonna put it under a cut. This is based upon my own experience in the fandom, and the krexie circles I frequent are the ones on FFN, AO3, and of course, here on tumblr. Abuse and grooming (in the context of real people) will be talked about below the cut.

TL;DR I’ve seen three main ways of dealing with the age gap: ignoring it, aging Krel up, and aging Douxie down.

Ignore It

This one actually encompasses two different methods. The first of the two is to treat one or both of the boys’ ages as nebulous, with the maturity level of “teenager” and nothing more explicit since Douxie is about nine centuries old and Akiridion royals live for centuries Krel’s exact age is unknown. In this case, the age of one or both of the boys won’t be mentioned aside from being hundereds of years old. In addition, at least on Douxie’s end, this is somewhat canon. Fun fact: Douxie never calls himself a college student, and neither does Archie. Likewise, neither of them call Douxie 19. That was Steve, who deserved far better of a character arc than just to be the idiot that he is in Wizards. However, even though he deserved better Steve is not a reliable source of information on Douxie’s age, but Douxie and Archie are. In Wizards, the only information Douxie and Archie give on Douxie’s age is that he’s about nine centuries old.[1]

The other method of ignoring the ages is to treat Douxie as a 19-year-old (ignoring the immortality) and Krel as a 16-year-old, and to mention one or both of their ages. Their ages are ignored due to one or both of the following reasons: for one, in real life a three year gap between teenagers doesn’t automatically mean the older person is a predator. It’s something to be cautious about, and the younger person really needs to have people they can trust since if the relationship does turn toxic they would have less power and thus be in more danger (usually, though it is possible for the younger person to be more dangerous to the older one), but that doesn’t automatically mean something bad will happen. The other reason to ignore the boys’ ages is because honestly? If someone needs non-canon ships to tell them which relationships are healthy and which ones are dangerous, then their parents/guardians and teachers have failed them. Fanfic authors, fanartists, and other people creating/consuming fanworks on the internet are not responsible for educating random people on the internet. In fact, they and their content are not responsible for if a random person is abused, even if the abuser uses fanworks to groom the victim. It’s the fault of the abuser for being abusive.[2]

Out of these two methods, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen more using the former method of ignoring than the age gap than the latter.

Age Krel Up

This, again, has two different methods. The more common method is to have Krel (and the other Arcadia Oaks High students) age naturally, until they’re at an age that the fanwork creator is more comfortable with having krexie at. These types of fanworks take place years after the events of Wizards. The other method is to create an au where Krel (and likely the other Arcadia Oaks High students) were already the age the fanwork creator is more comfortable with when Douxie and Krel first met. I, personally, have created a lot of content for the first method, and I’ve seen other people use this method as well. My fake marriage au utilizes the latter method, and this method would also work for au’s where Douxie and Krel are both adults when they meet but the au does not follow canon.

Age Douxie Down

This one also has a basis in canon, though I haven’t seen any other krexie shipper use this method of dealing with the age gap. I, personally, use this whenever I want to make krexie content that’s compliant with Trollhunters and 3Below but also do not want to deal wit backwards time travel because I hate backwards time travel. However, someone should write an au where Douxie and Krel are human high schoolers whose biggest problem is being gay for the guy attending your rival school.

Now, while Douxie and Archie gave Douxie the vague age of about 900 years old and Steve made the assumption that Douxie was a 19-year-old college student, Trollhunters actually went out of its way to show that Douxie was a high school student.

In season two episode 10, Mary reveals that she was dating a student from Arcadia Oaks Academy, and Eli remarked that that was their rival school. I was in high school when Trollhunters was airing, and let me tell you: high schools do not have rivalries with colleges. Arcadia Oaks Academy would have to be a high school, or maybe a k-12 or 6-12. However, it’s far more likely that Arcadia Oaks Academy is a high school with the same age range of students as Arcadia Oaks High. In season three episode 1, Mary excitedly tells Claire that a student from Arcadia Oaks Academy is at Arcadia Oaks High. This student is Douxie, and unless I’m remembering wrong he also mentions attending the Academy. Unless Mary knew all along that Douxie was a wizard and was trying to give him a cover story for why he was hanging out at Arcadia Oaks High only for this information about Mary to be cut from Wizards due to time constraints, there is absolutely no reason for Mary to lie about Douxie’s age to Claire. The fact that Douxie was considered to be a high schooler by most of the fandom (some people had been on the train of “he’s a centuries old adult” for a long time) is why the krexie fanworks created pre-Wizards are all treating Douxie like a high schooler. (Yes, people shipped krexie (or at least consumed/produced fanworks for the ship) before Wizards came out. I have my fic on AO3/FFN and other people’s comments to prove it, as well as some fanart saved to my blog. Sadly, some of the people are now antis, and one them has now harassed at least one krexie shipper.)

Personally, when I age Douxie down, I age him down to 17. Only 17. Not 17-plus-several-centuries-without-aging. In-universe he may try to call himself 1492 years old, but he’s really just 17. However, as I mentioned before, if I’m aging him down to 17 then I’m also completely ignoring the backwards time travel aspects of Wizards. And, by doing that, I end up really changing the lore of Wizards. If you would like more information for the timeline I use when I age Douxie down, please refer to this ask.

In Conclusion

Thank you for reading this. These footnotes aren’t nearly as on topic and are more of a ramble.

[1] Re: Douxie having a really vague age of nine centuries. If you take enough chemistry and physics (but in my experience especially chemistry) courses, you will have it drilled into your head that 900 years old could really be anywhere from 850 to 949 years old. So, while 919 is definitely possible in the age range given by the age of “about 900″, it’s really a give-or-take number. However, if we truly want to be accurate, then if we choose to have Trollhunters take place in the 2016-2017 school year, choose to have had the moppet been between 16 and 19 years old at the Battle of Killahead Bridge, and we consider that the late 12th century (aka the time period of Wizards... supposedly, considering that it is not historically accurate) to be the latter half of that century, then Douxie would have to be somewhere between 834 and 886 years old. If we want a 16-year-old moppet and for the 900 years to be an accurate case of rounding, then the Battle of Killahead Bridge would have needed to be in 1183 at the earliest, which is accurate for the description of late twelfth century. If Douxie were to really be 919 in 2017, then the Battle of Killahead Bridge would have needed to take place somewhere from 1114 to 1117, aka the early twelfth century.

[2] Re: the argument that fanwork creators are not responsible for if an abuser uses their content to groom a victim. When I was a kid, the big scare was that strangers would lure off innocent children with candy. We were told not to go anywhere with a stranger, even if they had candy (or puppies, kittens, etc.) I don’t know how many kids have been hurt by strangers promising candy, nor do I know if this is something kids are still being warned about, but I do know that there isn’t some campaign against candy companies for daring to sell candy that an abuser would use against kids. This is because, as horrible as children being hurt is, it’s not the fault of the candy companies. It’s the fault of the abuser. And likewise, it’s not the fault of a fanwork creator if someone else uses their content to harm others.

PS: A side note since we’re discussing ages. I’ve been in this fandom for years, specifically on tumblr, AO3, and FFN as well as one of the discords. It wasn’t until the krexie discourse started that I started seeing people start calling Krel 14. I had seen people call him 15-16 in the past, because the fandom wasn’t sure if he and Aja were twins or had a minimum of a 9-month gap (assuming, of course, that Akiridions reproduce like humans do). That being said, before the discourse I never saw anyone treat Krel (or Aja, for that matter) like he had a canonical age. 14, however, seems to be something that stemmed from the wiki. You know, the same fan-run wiki that claims that Nomura’s full name is Zelda Nomura even though nowhere in the shows, books, games, or graphic novels is she ever called by that name. Yeah, the Arcadia Oaks-Pedia is not a reputable source. I’m going to give the wiki editors the benefit of Hanlon’s razor and hope that they were just going “well, since Krel is Aja’s younger brother and we’re assuming she’s 15-16 years old like the rest of the protagonists he must be 14-15 years old” and it was only after that that antis took the idea of Krel being 14 as canon and then ran off with it to be cruel and cause chaos.

[something-tofightfor]

Magnetic; Din’s POV - Part 1 (Chapters 1-2)

Pairing: None.

Word Count: 4,400

Rating: None, really. This is pretty general. Din’s thinking about women, but it’s not graphic in any way. 

Summary: Din’s adjusting to life on Mandalore as the Mand’alor, but his mind is constantly elsewhere. After a year, he receives a transmission from Luke Skywalker that changes everything. 

Author’s note:

Hello friends! As I’ve been writing Magnetic, I’ve realized that I want to take a look at things from Din’s perspective. I’m not sure that I’ll cover everything in the story this way, but there are certain moments (especially ones coming up) that you’ll definitely benefit from being in the man’s head while reading.  These will always come after the corresponding parts of the story, because I want you, as a reader to experience things first ... but I promise, these will make things that happen in the main storyline make more sense.  IDK. Maybe this is dumb. Maybe no one cares ... but I do. And I think that since Din spends so much time in his own head, we should too. 

If you want to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know - it’s open.

His favorite part of the day was returning to his quarters and locking the door behind him. Even though his schedule wasn’t exactly full, the Mandalorian was usually exhausted by the end of the day - especially when those days extended well into the nighttime hours. And when she’s here? It’s worse. 

 He stood at the foot of his bed, carefully removing his armor piece by piece and stacking it on the shelving that was built into the wall behind him. Working his way down his body - beginning with the pauldrons on his shoulders, the man saved his helmet for last - as he always did - hesitating before removing it, but not because he didn’t want to. Did I forget anything? He sighed, pressing the button on the bottom edge and lifting the beskar from his head, taking two steps and setting it down on the the table next to his pillow without looking down. No. After the reluctant removal on Morak and the no-hesitation answer to Grogu’s silent request on the light cruiser, the man found that taking his helmet off came easier for him both in private and in front of those that had previously seen his face. Though that number was still small enough to count on two hands, it was more people than he’d ever thought would see him for who he was: not the stoic, beskar encased warrior he presented to the galaxy, but the emotional man that he’d pretended didn’t exist for the better part of his life. But it was for the kid. All of it. 

 Undoing the closures on his flight suit, he stepped out of it and tossed it into the bin full of clothing leaning against the wall and raised both arms, stretching. There was no reason for him to spend each day fully armored, but for him, it was as much a habit as reciting the four most important words of his creed had become. This is the Way. 

 The area of Mandalore they occupied wasn’t dangerous, at least in the sense that they had to worry about an attack from others. Despite the fact that there were Mandalorians and residents of the planet’s larger cities that were still sympathetic to the Imperial remnants, no one paid any mind to their small group taking over an outpost hours by ship or speeder from the capital city of Sundari. It was an arrangement that worked for him, but he knew that others in his group were growing tired of the waiting and planning, Bo-Katan included. Mandalorians were few in number, but he’d met many more of them than he ever thought could exist in the months spent on the planet’s surface. Some were like him, keeping their faces covered at all times; a few of them had even been members of the Nevarro covert. Others were like Bo-Katan and Koska and Axe; they’d sworn the Creed but still showed their faces. It was a lot for the man to come to terms with, but as he too had removed his helmet and exposed his face to other living things, he knew that it wasn’t his place to judge the way that they lived their lives. After all, under the beskar, we’re all just … 

 He sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and then dragging one hand down over his mouth and chin, stroking the short beard he’d allowed to grow. It was new for him, like most things on Mandalore were, but with no worry of unending fighting and constantly chasing bounties, there was no need for him to worry as much about the comfort level of spending long, difficult hours beneath the helmet. He’d let his hair grow, too, the ends curling down and around his ears and against his neck. Even Cara had commented on it the last time she’d visited the planet to update them on Nevarro’s progress, and he hadn’t been able to hold back the quiet laugh or keep the blush from rising to his cheeks at her words - the surprisingly positive reaction to his ‘new look’. Just a man. He sighed. Even though I hate it. 

 In the year since Grogu had left with the Jedi, the Mandalorian had learned many things about himself and about the galaxy, but he was still coming to terms with the way it felt for others to see his reactions to their words. Used to hiding behind the visor, each day was another learning experience for him - but they were also the reason he hadn’t committed to taking the helmet off for good. No one was pressuring him to, and it wasn’t even true that the other Mandalorians needed to see his face to trust him, to believe in him, but he knew that it would have helped. I’m not ready yet. Closing his eyes, he bit down on his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth. For the first few months, he’d dealt with the raging loneliness he felt by hunting more bounties, Karga hesitant but in the end willing to give him more pucks. He’d also found ways to keep busy that had nothing to do with bounties and everything to do with the most basic human needs and desires. 

 He’d spent countless hours in the company of women - other Mandalorians, a Twi’lek that had reminded him too much of Xi’an for him to go through with anything, Morganians, Kiffar, a few human women on Coruscant and Naboo … but none of them filled the empty spaces in his chest or his mind in quite the same way the Child had. They were distractions - nothing more - and even though they sought him out more frequently and warmed up to him more easily when they knew he was the Mand’alor, it still meant nothing to him. Mand’alor. He scoffed at the word, laying back on the bed and folding an arm beneath his head. The word still struck him each time he thought or heard it. It was his title - rightful because of the battle he’d fought and won with Gideon, but still not one that he wanted. But the galaxy - and the Way of the Mandalore didn’t care what a single man wanted. So he dutifully spent each day with the blade clipped to his belt, though he’d only ignited it a few times following the light cruiser and wasn’t comfortable using it. I will be. It will happen. He learned more about the planet and the people and their history, and he spent time with Bo-Katan and her crew, took an active part in the planning for their future. The ultimate goal was to retake Sundari, but that couldn’t happen until they were truly ready, and all corners of the galaxy had been searched for others to join their cause. It was a waiting game, and one thing that the Mandalorian was good at was waiting. 

 He’d waited for his parents to come back and rescue him from the bunker. He’d waited for bounties to show themselves. Waited for the repercussions of rescuing the kid from the Client and the doctor. Waited for the day when his quest came to an end and he reunited Grogu with his kind. 

 But the waiting on Mandalore - for whatever would come next - was truly wearing on Din. Maybe if it was my home, then I … But he sighed, turning his head to the side at the sight of a blinking red light reflecting off of the shining surface of his helmet. Who would leave a message? Din sat up again, reaching for the device on the tabletop and pulling it into his lap. Cara would have tried the ship. I just talked to Bo-Katan. Karga wouldn’t… Frowning into the darkness, he pressed play. There was silence for a few seconds, but then at the sound of the voice coming through the small speaker, the Mandalorian swore under his breath, fatigue all but gone. Skywalker. “”I’m hoping this message reaches you, Mandalorian. This isn’t an update like the others I’ve sent. This is …” There was a long pause and Din heard a slow exhale. “This is different.” Different? Is the kid… “Grogu’s been struggling. Not physically, but … mentally. We - the other Jedi Masters - have talked about it, and agree that he needs to see you again, to spend time with you. It’s been a year since you’ve seen each other, and we… I think that it’ll help him one way or another.” Luke paused again and Din lowered his face into his hands, the tips of his fingers gripping the ends of his hair tightly. This isn’t … he … the kid… I… “And I don’t mean a few days, either. I’m thinking long term. You know how to reach me, Mandalorian. I’ll be waiting.” The transmission cut off there, the light going dark. But Din saw none of it, his eyes closed and hands still in place. Seeing … seeing the kid again? Can I? Should I? He raised his head, looking up and into the darkness. He wanted to; there was no question about it. The seed had been planted - if Luke and the other Jedi thought that Grogu needed time away, time spent with him, who was he to say no? But … He looked around the room, sparsely furnished - barely more welcoming than the sleeping quarters on the Razor Crest or the Razor II - and groaned. Can’t bring the kid here right away, can I? There was too much to consider; Bo-Katan’s plans, Din’s responsibilities, the future of an entire race of people and their planet… but each of those things was no more important to him than the last, especially at the thought of Grogu’s wide eyes looking up at him and his weight settled against the crook of Din’s arm. It’s something to think about, Din admitted to himself as he put the device back onto the table and laid back, the arm back beneath his head. Just to think about it. Like always, it took him long minutes to fall asleep, and when he finally did, his dreams were filled with the sound of Grogu’s quiet coos. --- But upon waking up the following morning, Din realized that no matter how much he wanted to see Grogu in person again, he had to do what was right for the kid. Even if it means… He dressed slowly, pulling on his armor piece by piece, saving the helmet for last again. Once dressed, he sat back on the edge of the bed and picked up the device, turning it over in his hands. I need to do this. Switching it from recording audio to a video reply, the man set the device down, squaring his shoulders and spoke out loud, commanding it to begin recording. 

 “Master Skywalker. My quest was to bring Grogu to his kind, and that’s what I did.” He paused, thankful that his face was hidden, along with the trembling of his upper lip. “When you came and took him from Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, I completed that quest. He was … he is safe with you, with the Jedi. You’ve updated me on his progress, and I thank you for that, but …” His shoulders slumped, and even though he had to fight to get the next words out, he managed. “This is The Way. I don’t want to …dank farrik.” Lowering his helmet toward his chest, he finally continued. “I just want what’s best for the kid. That’s all I …” Say it. You have to say it. “You know how to reach me. I’ll be waiting.” 

 But he hadn’t said what he needed to. 

 It wasn’t an answer - Din knew that. It wasn’t an outright refusal - he knew that, too. But it was an out for Skywalker, proof that the Mandalorian wasn’t as selfish as he felt, as willing to drop everything and fly to wherever he needed to be to see the kid again. But I am. I just needed to… He didn’t give himself a chance to second guess the words he’d spoken, instead typing in the necessary information and sending the transmission. Before the device had beeped to confirm, Din was already heading for the door, needing to face the day and deal with whatever was expected of him, keeping his mind from the device … and any possible response. This is the Way. 

 ---  

 His resolve only lasted until the middle of the night, Din finally returning to his quarters and beginning the ritual of removing the armor from his body. He didn’t even look at the table until it was time to take the helmet off, and he froze at the sight of another blinking light. Skywalker sent a message back. He hesitated then, hand held above the device, and without speaking, Din turned to the shelving on the far wall, his hand digging into the pouch on his belt, fingers curling around the familiar spherical shape there. Did I ruin everything, kid? Is Skywalker going to tell me that the offer isn’t… The metal cool against his palm, Din once again walked the short distance to the bed, keeping the knob held tightly in one hand and grabbing for the comm device with the other. “Only one way to find out.” 

 The quiet of the room gave him the ability to hear each of the Jedi’s words clearly, the man not stumbling over them a single time. Mandalorian. If you’re willing to listen before you make your decision, there’s someone here much more convincing than me. It’ll only take a few minutes, but I know you’ll want to hear it. I don’t know you well, but I know what it sounds like when someone says things that they don’t really believe. It doesn’t even need to be a holo message, just … let me call you. It was simple; Din knew it, and yet he didn’t want to believe that there was still a chance that he’d be reunited with Grogu in the near future. He’d half expected the man’s response to be in agreement; yes, you did what you were supposed to. The kid might miss you, but he really is better here. You’re right. But instead, there’d been a slight note of surprise in the Jedi’s voice, especially as he’d mentioned the other person he wanted Din to talk to. But who could it be? I haven’t … haven’t talked to the kid this whole time. He wouldn’t… But Din didn’t know what the Jedi had planned, and that worried him more than he wanted to admit. But why? He squeezed the ball again and then set it down next to the beskar of his helmet, staring at the two pieces of metal. Before the Razor Crest had been blown up, he hadn’t known that Grogu’s favorite toy was made of the same metal that he wore for protection. He’d assumed it was durasteel, but when he’d unearthed it from the ashes, right alongside the new spear, he’d made the connection. He didn’t know if the kid had been drawn to it because he connected beskar with the man himself, but in the months since he’d last seen the child, the thought comforted Din. At least he has the pendant. Din’s eyes closed, remembering the final moments on the light cruiser’s bridge. Alright, pal. It's time to go. Don't be afraid.  He’d been trying to remain strong for the kid, but Din had also been speaking to himself - and the coercion hadn’t worked. He’d been afraid to lose the child - his child, for good. He’d been afraid of what came next for him and Mandalore. He’d been worried about what it meant to go back to his solo existence, even with the addition of people like Fennec and Cara and Boba Fett - even Peli had crossed his mind then. But mostly, he’d focused on the way it felt to see those huge eyes staring at him until the last possible second. I'll see you again. I promise. For a few seconds - time that stretched out into an eternity, Din had imagined that he could hear the kid speaking back to him. Don’t want to go. But have to. See you again.  They were short, broken sentences, similar to those that children used, but Din later realized that he’d imagined them, because it was what he’d wanted to hear. But if I call him back, I might … The man swallowed hard, reaching for the device before he allowed himself to think about it, and pressed the record button without switching the holo on. “Skywalker. I’ll listen. I don’t …. I don’t know what the time difference is between where I am and where you are, but if you call within the next eight hours, I’ll answer. Otherwise … we’ll need to figure something else out.” He sighed, running a hand over the back of his head. “I’ll … as long as it’s not the kid you want me to talk to, I’ll listen.” He repeated the direct connection procedure for the device and then sent the message, keeping it switched on while he picked up the ball and laid back, head against the pillow. Din was nervous, but with the message sent, he was calmer than he had been the entire day, and it gave him a chance to think back to the time he’d spent with Bo-Katan and Koska, the women talking excitedly about a small clan that had made contact, and what it meant. He agreed that the more Mandalorians they knew to exist, the better. 

 He hadn’t heard from all of the members of the Covert, but surprisingly, many of them had survived Gideon’s attack on Nevarro and the breach of their underground sanctuary. Paz was alive, as was the Armorer. Many of the foundlings were accounted for - and that was something that brought Din relief beyond words. This was true not only as the Mand’alor, but as someone that had lived and learned side by side with them. They’d lost a great deal of beskar in abandoning the tunnels, but Din had it on good authority that the pieces that had been recovered were slowly being removed from Nevarro a few at a time, transported to the Armorer’s new forge location in secret. She wasn’t the only one skilled with the metal, but she was the only one Din trusted, and as angry as that seemed to make Bo-Katan, he refused to budge on who he allowed to touch the precious metal. It’s the right call. I… know where it is, and I know that she can’t… use it against me. 

 The woman hadn’t given him any outright reason to mistrust her, but her attitude toward him since he’d shown up with the Moff and Darksaber in tow had made him pause. Din’s circle of trust was small, and though she’d proven helpful, she hadn’t quite worked her way into it in the months they’d known each other. It bothered her much more than it bothered him, but he tried not to think about it. Especially when I could be … thinking about the kid. Din’s thoughts went to Grogu and Skywalker, the child’s reaction to seeing the droid that the man had with him, the way the doors closing behind the two of them had felt like someone was squeezing his chest, while at the same time, there’d be a small kernel of hope buried there. He’d kept it buried but hadn’t let it die, and with each report from the Jedi, the pressure had decreased slightly. He’s doing well, or … he was. He’s learning, he’s with his own … But Din’s thoughts were interrupted with the insistent beeping of the device, and he shot up in the bed, fingers still closed around the beskar sphere. He hadn’t expected the reply to come so soon, but knowing that the Jedi was on the other end of the line, he was more excited than nervous. Just want to know what … what he has to say. Din took a deep breath, making sure that the video switch was still off and then answered the call, taking another long, slow breath to calm himself. They’re too many parsecs away, there’s nothing to be worried about. 

 “Hello? Are -” The Jedi replied, and Din continued, wanting to get the conversation going before he had time to overthink it. “I didn’t think you’d call. I wasn’t -” But Skywalker spoke quickly, too, no pretense before reminding him that he had someone for the Mandalorian to talk to. However, at the revelation that that someone was female, Din felt his eyes narrow, head cocking to one side. What? He was determined to begin the conversation in control, and so without hesitation, he focused his eyes on the comm device, slipping into the voice he used with the people he was trying to get information from. “Tell me your name.” The first time he heard your voice - even though it was through a tiny speaker - Din was surprised by confidence in it, the way you replied back to him immediately. You answered his questions with honesty, at least as far as he could tell, and the longer the conversation went on, the more certain Din was that Skywalker knew him better than he’d thought. The kid… the kid probably… they must talk too. He smiled at the thought, absently scratching the cheek that Grogu had laid his hand on, but when you revealed that the kid snuck into your room at night, the Mandalorian had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from reacting audibly. Dank farrik. “I thought he had to complete his training before he leaves the Academy, before he can become a Jedi, so why are you -” You didn’t get to answer that, Skywalker interjecting with similar words to the ones from his initial transmission, and Din began thinking. He wanted to agree to seeing the kid, but instead of saying that, he heard another denial leaving his lips, only cut off by your words. “If he stays here, his attachment to you might change his life, Mandalorian.” It was another simple, straightforward sentence, but hearing it, another joly passed through Din’s body. Skywalker said something about attachment on the light cruiser. So did Ahsoka on Corvus. Din knew that they were attached to each other, that was more about simply caring for the kid, but hearing someone else - someone that had spent just as much time with Grogu as Din had saying the same thing finally got through to him. That, compounded with the admission that Grogo reenacted bounty hunts with you and the others at the Academy often had Din’s lips pressed tightly together, almost to the point of pain. He misses me. He thinks of me. But what really impacted him was hearing the word aliit come through the speaker, reaching his ears in your voice. She shouldn’t know Mando’a. Hearing that, it… Instead of replying directly to that, Din voiced another denial, head shaking back and forth and eyes squeezing shut. Seeing him would be … But with the rounded sphere still in his hand, Din’s eyes opened, brow furrowed. No, you know what? I want this. Why shouldn’t I? 

 If he’d thought about it, there were multiple reasons why reconnecting with Grogu was a bad idea, but he could only turn the Jedi - and you - down so many times before it became impossible - or, even worse, the refusals were accepted. There’s no one chasing him right now. There’s no more danger than usual for me. There’s… 

 Din blinked again at the revelation that the reunion could last months, asking who’d be escorting Grogu back to the Mandalorian, and another surprised huff left his lips as you admitted that it would be you. But that means… “Are you a Jedi?” He asked the question before he could stop himself, listening intently for your answer, and the following explanation.

She’s not a Jedi, but she does care about the kid. I … I hear it. I believe it. That surprised him, but Din didn’t want to second guess you. You’d been persuasive throughout the conversation, even before the admissions you’d made, honest instead of trying to pretend that you were something that you weren’t. Complicated? I wonder what … Instead of continuing that thought, Din’s attention snapped back to you and Skywalker, the details falling into place as the discussion continued. He’d have a week to get things in order, to contact Cara and Karga, arranging the arrival on Nevarro. He’d need at least a few days to convince Bo-Katan that leaving Mandalore for months was the right call. It is. He was still speaking to you and the Jedi, but Din’s mind was on everything that he needed to do to get ready to leave. I’ll need to start in the morning. The conversation wound down, and as Din reminded you that you’d need to be ready to leave and meet him in a week, you sighed, the sound loud, even through the speaker. “That’s fine, Mandalorian. More than fine.” You were being short with him, but it didn’t seem to because you wanted to be; you were doing what was best for the situation. She’s leaving her life there to come … here with him. He blinked, telling you that he looked forward to Nevarro, and then the conversation ended, the room going quiet. 

 His thoughts were on Grogu - whether or not he’d grown out of his robe, if he was speaking yet, if he was more confident with his power - but they were also on the trip itself, and on the fact that once again, he’d be going from being alone to having others with him. And this time, it’s not … short term. 

 It was longer than he’d ever hoped for, he realized as he lifted to sphere up and over his face, the smooth surface gleaming as the filtered moonlight coming in through the window hit it. I’ll finally get to give this back. He smiled at the thought, and for the first time in the year that he’d been separated from Grogu, Din fell asleep quickly, no dreams of the kid peering over the Jedi’s shoulder keeping him awake. 

---

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove @siegfriedkingsglaive @valkblue @hehe-oof @jynrumbly @psychedelic-star  @nuttyenthusiastdetective @gingib @bitchylittleredhead @littlemissoblivious @misguidedandbeguiled @cannedsoupsucks

[wingsofhcpe]

whumptober day 1- barbed wire

fandom: shadow & bone

pairing: fivan [ivan x fedyor kaminsky]

rating: T+

additional warnings: blood & injury

you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34208404/chapters/85114393

[tagging @camilleisback upon request <3]

It’s days before Ivan finally finds Fedyor.

The druskelle, clever bastards that they are, have elected to hide near the borders with Fjerda and wait for reinforcements rather than make a run for it. There’s an abandoned warehouse that must have once been a butcher’s store near a withering Ravkan village; it’s well-camouflaged between the trees, and the vegetation and snowdrifts muffle the sounds of screaming that echo from inside as the witch-hunters torment their prisoners night and day. The location would have been impossible to hide, had it not been for the honed senses of a Heartrender being able to detect the distressed heartbeats from miles away, as well as an experienced Squaller sensing the slightest vibrations in the air that are commonly caused by loud noises such as screams.

Seven Grisha had been taken captive during the druskelle raid at their camp; when Ivan barrels into the warehouse, druskelle dropping left and right with nothing but a flicker of his wrists, he finds two survivors and five rotting corpses. For a moment, he fears the worst- but as his senses clear and the adrenaline of battle fades, he realises one of the two remaining heartbeats echoing in the dark, murky space, belongs to Fedyor. Ivan’s head snaps like a hound catching the scent of blood, and it is mere seconds before his eyes adjust to the distorted light coming from the busted door, and he finally makes out a shape at the far end of the warehouse. Before he can even think about it, he’s running.

Fedyor’s body is suspended by the wrists from a meat hook attached to the ceiling; it’s bad enough to see his lover limp and unmoving like a corpse, but then Ivan takes a closer look and realises with gut-wrenching horror that Fedyor’s hands aren’t bound with rope but with thick coils of barbed wire. The jagged points have dug deep within the skin, leaving sickening gouges across Fedyor’s wrists and forearms. There’s blood everywhere, having dripped down to his elbows, shoulders and even his hair. It has created a small puddle on the rotting floorboards, and Ivan’s boots squelch as he steps on it, trying to get as close to Fedyor as possible. The latter is nearly unconscious, but he makes a low, keening sound when Ivan attempts, in vain, to undo his bindings. It’s no use; the barbs are embedded deep into the flesh, and trying to uncoil them now will only cause more damage, more bleeding, more pain. They have to be cut away, but Ivan isn’t sure whether any of his Grisha is carrying a blade sharp and slender enough for the job. Either way, his first concern should be getting Fedyor down from where he’s still hanging from; this way, he’ll be able to get a better look.

It’s slow work, painstaking for both parties. Fedyor stirs in and out of consciousness as Ivan works, whimpering and begging for mercy. Ivan realises with a pang of unrestrained fury what a devilishly clever idea it had been to bind a Grisha’s hands in such a manner- Fedyor’s hands are close enough, he could twist them if he tried, he could use his powers to do away with his captors. But the barbed edges would shred his skin further if he did, would cause him to suffer and bleed even more. The druskelle had evidently known that; they had risked their own lives for the sake of toying with their prisoners in such a sadistic, inhuman manner.

Fedyor’s weak, pained cry jolts Ivan out of his fury-addled thoughts, and he realises belatedly that he has pulled too roughly at the wires; fresh blood is trickling from somewhere, and Ivan swears colourfully under his breath.

“I’m sorry, moye serdtse, I’m sorry,” he whispers, hoping Fedyor can hear him, hoping he knows Ivan doesn’t want to hurt him, he just has to get him down for his own good “I’m almost done. Just stay strong for me, Fedya.”

Finally, he manages to pry the hook loose from the wire; Fedyor’s body drops lifelessly, but Ivan is there to catch him and gently lower him to the floor, until Fedyor is lying against his chest. Ivan holds him gently, cradling him against his own body and whispering apologies and reassurances. It’s only then that Fedyor’s eyes open just slightly, brown irises glazed with pain and pupils dilated. His cracked, bloodied lips move, and Ivan has to strain to hear him.

“You found me.” The injured man whispers, and Ivan nods seriously.

“Of course I did, my love. I’m here now. You’re safe.” He doesn’t mention how he’s been too late; how he’s allowed the druskelle to torture Fedyor for four long, endless days. How they have lost five of their own, because Ivan had been too incompetent to find them fast enough.

Yet Fedyor’s mouth twitches into a small, relieved smile. “I knew you would… you always… find me…”

“Shh…” Ivan lays a hand on Fedyor’s cheek, flushed with fever. “Don’t talk now.”

They stay still for a little while; Fedyor’s ragged breathing echoing in sync with Ivan’s relieved sighs as he holds his beloved close, peppering gentle, loving kisses across his bloodied cheeks and brow. Eventually, Ivan carefully places a hand over Fedyor’s still bound wrists.

“I need to take these off.” He says softly, and catches the glint of fear in Fedyor’s delirious gaze. “I cannot lie to you, Fedya, it will hurt. But it will only be for a little while. It’ll feel much better after.”

Fedyor whimpers softly. “…so much. They hurt so much, Vanya. My hands… it feels like they’re on fire…”

“I know, I know.” Ivan voice cracks with despair; seeing Fedyor suffer like this, it’s too much to bear. “I will make it better, I promise. Just… Just trust me, dearest.”

Fedyor’s eyes close, but he nods tiredly; even while in so much pain, he must know there’s no other solution. Ivan takes his kefta off, bundles it up into a makeshift pillow and lays Fedyor down on it as carefully as he can. Then he calls out to one of his Grisha, requesting the sharpest and thinnest blade that can be found in their equipment or the druskelle’s. While rummaging, he takes the opportunity to hastily check on the other survivor, a younger Inferni woman- she’s alive and in slightly better condition than Fedyor, although her hands have been bound in a similar manner. By using her powers to heat them up, however, she has made the wires pliant and thus easier to remove. Clever, Ivan thinks to himself. He would have asked her to do the same for Fedyor’s bonds, but she looks so pale, and she can’t even sit up without feeling faint. No, he can’t run her any more ragged. The dagger will have to do.

Finally, Ivan finds a fine, razor-sharp blade within one of the druskelle’s coats. It’s possibly used for gutting fish, and is less than clean, but it’s his only choice, and anyway, Fedyor’s probably already suffering from an infection judging by the rust that covers the wires. Dried fish gore won’t make a big difference at this point.

“Close your eyes and count to fifty, Fedya.” Ivan encourages as he kneels next to his partner. “Focus on the numbers. Don’t think of anything else.”

Fedyor nods feebly and does as he’s told; his eyes close and his lips begin to move in a voiceless mumble as he starts to count. Ivan slips his fingers carefully between the coils of wire, and as gently as he can, he begins to saw at it with the dagger. No matter how gentle he tries to be, however, Fedyor’s body immediately tenses and his breath comes out in short gasps. Ivan shushes him softly, although he knows it’s not much help. The best he can do for Fedyor now, is focus on his task. And so he does- he does his best to shut off the pained gasps that soon turn into whimpers, and saws methodically at the accursed barbed coil until, little by little, it starts to come off.

“…fifty.” Fedyor murmurs shakily at some point, and Ivan doesn’t have to look to know there are tears running down his blood-crusted cheeks.

“Ten more, moye serdtse. I’m almost done. You’re doing so well. You’re so, so brave, my Fedyenka. So brave.”

Fedyor’s chest heaves as he cries quietly, but he doesn’t complain, not even when Ivan finally cuts through the wires and is able to pull them away. There’s a sickening wet sound as the barbs are pulled free from Fedyor’s flesh, where they’d been wedged for days, and Fedyor’s back arches- for once, he can’t keep in the hoarse scream that rips out of his throat. But the next moment his muscles relax as Ivan unbinds him completely, his fingers twitching slightly in relief as blood circulates back to them. Ivan breathes out a sigh, and places his palm on Fedyor’s forehead.

“I’m done, Fedya. It’s alright now.” Fedyor only shakes his head a little, unable to speak. But his heartbeat has eased just slightly- he’s still in pain, but he’s better.

The group makes camp right there, inside the warehouse (after moving the corpses of the druskelle away and dumping them into a snowdrift to be prey for scavenging animals. Serves them right). They hold a funeral pyre for the deceased Grisha, but Ivan only speaks a few words as the squad’s leader and then retreats back into the building; one of the others has lit a fire in the middle, right under an opening in the rotting roof, using old scraps and thin branches. The interior is warm now, and the smell of burning cloth and wood is chasing away the odour of stale blood and dead bodies. Ivan directs two of the Grisha to stand watch as soon as the funeral pyre outside is done, and focuses on the task at hand.

He digs around the ruins until he finds something that resembles an old, cracked wooden bowl- possibly used by the previous owner of the establishment to collect the majority of the blood that poured from freshly slaughtered cattle. It looks cleaner than one would expect, and it smells only vaguely of blood; nothing a good rinse with snow can’t fix. After that’s done, Ivan refills the bowl with snow and holds it over the fire until it’s turned into warm water. He rummages through the squad’s supplies too, and finds clean cloths and bandages.

Fedyor’s eyes flutter behind pale, close lids when Ivan returns to his side, although he seems to weak to open them. Still, Ivan knows he’s still conscious and in pain.

“I’m going to clean your wounds.” He says softly, sitting next to the other man. Fedyor can only hum in agreement- it’s not like he could move away even if he wanted to. Even if he didn’t know his wounds had to be cleaned before infection set in for real. There was no Healer with them, as conflict hadn’t been expected. It had only been a reconnaissance mission. It would be three days of fast riding at the very best, until they made it back to the Little Palace, and Fedyor wouldn’t last for half of it if Ivan didn’t do something to keep the infection at bay.

So with as much care as he can possibly muster, Ivan takes hold of Fedyor’s hand into his own and lifts it up slowly to take a closer look. Even with the dried blood obscuring the worst of it, Ivan can already tell it’s worse than he’s initially assessed; the cuts are deep, the skin around them swollen and hot to the touch, and there’s white liquid concentrated on the edges of the deeper, wider gashes. Fedyor’s hand is trembling in his own, and Ivan can only imagine how much it truly hurts. Fedyor has a high pain tolerance, yet even for him this must be almost unbearable.

In a desperate attempt to comfort his partner, Ivan starts to hum a slow lullaby as he soaks a strip of cloth in the warm water, then wrings it out and starts to slowly, gently clean the blood and grime away from the cuts. Fedyor lets out a quiet sigh of relief, the clean, warm water immediately doing wonders for his mangled hand. Ivan allows himself a small smile; he doesn’t cease his humming while he continues to carefully clean and bandage Fedyor’s left hand, then his right. All the while he keeps a metaphorical eye on Fedyor’s heartbeat, glad to feel it gradually grow slower and more relaxed. The last thing Ivan does after he’s checked Fedyor for other open wounds (he’s satisfied to find nothing, although the dark bruises on his face, chest and ribs are certainly worrisome), is clean the rest of the blood from his husband’s hair, face, and neck. By the end of it, the water in the bowl has turned from clear to a dark, muddy brown colour. Ivan does away with it as soon as he can- he can no longer stand to look at Fedyor’s blood.

Most of the other Grisha have gone to sleep by now, including the other survivor- a good sign all in all, and Ivan can see from where he stands that her own wounds have also been taken care of. The two Grisha he’d ordered to stand watch are doing so in a perfectly straight posture, even after four gruelling days of riding and searching, and Ivan makes a mental note to mention their names and devotion to the General when they go back to the capital. When he’s certain everything is in order, Ivan finally allows himself to lie down next to Fedyor. The wooden floor is uncomfortable at best, but he doesn’t care. Gently, he slings one arm over his husband’s sleeping form and draws him close. He’s never letting Fedyor go, ever again.

Fedyor hums a little in his sleep, cracking one eye open to look at Ivan. Immediately, he smiles tiredly and Ivan smiles back, unable to begrudge him such a simple pleasure.

“How are you feeling, moye serdtse?” He asks.

“Much… much better.” Fedyor whispers in a relaxed manner. Yet Ivan doesn’t harbour any illusions- he knows the pain and fever will come back with a vengeance soon, and he wants Fedyor to get as much rest as possible until then. He’ll need it. So he places a chaste kiss on Fedyor’s lips and starts filing his hand through the latter’s hair. Predictably, Fedyor submits to the affections; Ivan knows how to best make him relax, even under such conditions.

“Sleep.” Ivan whispers tenderly, and Fedyor nods. Before he closes his eyes again, Fedyor offers him another small smile.

“I knew you’d find me.” He mouthed, and Ivan nodded, pride and love and devotion swelling in his chest.

“Of course, my love. I will never leave you. I promise.”

Even if the whole Ravka, the whole world, was against them, they believed in each other. And in the end, that was that really mattered.